That is rather an abstract concept, don’t you think? Perhaps narrowing it down a bit might get it past the Board. They do tend to be a bit fussy about these things …
colour is a very abstract thing. most people express their feelings by drawing abstract paintings and most of them are freaks that has no friends nor family. idiots.
A face
Pulled apart
Stretched and twisted
Nose where an eye goes
Ear next to chin
All colours
Like the life of a bruise
Flowing from plummy purple
To outback gold
Framed as art 0
To some
They tell me that the concrete is what is practical and that the concrete is what is beautiful. They say that there is no replacement for the feeling of the sunshine in your hair, for the breeze and the perfumes of a field on a balmy summer day.
They say that my obsession with the immaterial is wrong, unnatural and — most horrendous of all crimes — not pragmatic. Impractical, they say. But where has “practical” ever taken them that I can not go? Have they ever considered that the world of every book is merely an abstraction? That it isn’t truth in that hard, concrete way? That truth can be found through the abstract sometimes more readily than through myriad fields of wildflowers? Must they really loathe my abstract philosophy?
this is the moment where everything pieces together, in the opposite direction. every component of this piece exists somewhere within the frame. most often the subject matter is dramatic. most often there is a use of color. most often these themes can be monochromatic.
To see me in the abstract is to see me in two dimensions. To think you know me is to only see half of me, to have the audacity to believe me is to see too much of yourself in what I project.
I finish the final sentences of my length research paper, thinking wistfully of what I could have done with the hours wasted. This work is all for a greater goal. Five years from now I won’t be thinking about whatever grade I receive on this assignment.
The world is abstract. Everyone isn’t defined, and everything has no meaning. Or maybe there is, but we can’t comprehend it. The future is unknown, and the past is uncertain. Our reality is warped (is it even true?), and the present is the only thing we are certain of. The only thing we can keep. (Or can we?)
You are abstract. Your eyes hold the world, your fingertips touch the stars. You’re surreal, and that’s why I’m drawn to you.
you can do anything but it better be strange. anything you want goes. look at the world from a different perspective and explore your inner mad scientist that we all seem to have, lurking deep inside of us.
There’s this funny thing about living in a world full of pluralism, relativism and individualism. People seem to think that certain things don’t matter, or they can be or do whatever they want, without rules and boundaries. Sometimes these ideals are harmful and sometimes they are innocent and can even produce a sort of beauty. They think that to produce this sort of beauty, they have to add these ideals into what they create. Abstract art.
In my mind thoughts jump around in one big imagination, lives and colors. Golden princes and princess and purple skies in the winter. Sisters with intertwined hands . Songs at dish time and a million days of school…..
the world is an abstract place
we try to fit in
we are all the pieces
of an ever changing puzzle
everything different
is ordinary
take it out of context
it is what it is
“What kind of ‘art’ is this?” I questioned, dramatically emphasizing the word ‘art’ with air quotes. “This painting is worth what, millions? It’s just a bunch of rectangles and squares, seriously – ”
“Let me guess,” a stranger interrupted, suddenly appearing at my side. Strong, handsome features and touseled blonde hair were the first things that caught my eye. A playful smile spread across face, “You could do something like that?”
“She has a very abstract way to look at the world,” the doctor hesitated, “And that’s just putting it nicely, Mrs. Riley. She’s got some pretty bad mental issues from what we can tell.”
Mrs. Riley heaved a heavy sigh, “Doctor, she’s been killing every pet we’ve ever had since she could walk. I’m pretty sure I realize this by now.”
He had seen her laughing out loud, reading a book. He felt that she had some sort of grounded quality, that pulled him to her like gravity, he fixated on her in a moment. Where as he had a quality abstract like air, and merely floated about the room, unnoticed.
It was such an abstract thought, death. Who would have known that it’s not so abstract as everyone seems to think. It’s really simple, really. In the end… you just stop. Everything about you: the things that keep you going, your organs, your blood, your thoughts, your love… your life… it all just stops.
Life. Life is abstract. It just pulls you in all these different directions. And you don’t know where you’re going. Or who will be there when you get there. You just get there, and sometimes you’re incredibly surprised by who is there, but more so by who isn’t. It’s sad and beautiful. And probably tragic in a way.
The painting was moving. She knew it was cheesy and she had never describes anything as simply moving, but this one was out of the ordinary. She looked around to see who the painter was, and her eyes fell upon a man she had seen once before….
Everything she did, everything she said- it amazed him. She was different. She was unusual. She was unique. She was abstract in her ways of thinking, in her ways of doing. She was breaking the mold- a mold that he was far too accustomed to.
abstract. my whole life is abstract; from the way i think, to the way i feel. i have not one straight thought in my body. it’s dark and deep growing down, and tunneling. it’s unreal.
I was never prone to drawing in the lines, I preferred shapes of all different kinds. When my inner cry was set free it was an array of shapes and colours for you to see. To be abstract is to stray from everyday and take a wander far far away, and it is only when I’m truly abstract that I can move forward without ever looking back.
He was odd
Kind of abstract and quixotic
With his mismatched shoes
And a small gold earring
He walked like a broken marionette
All joints and bent strings
Certainly a site to see
On a Sunday afternoon
Ugh, abstracts. You’d think I would read them more often, or think about abstractness more often, considering I’m an arts student: an English student, at that. Why would they even call it an “abstract” anyway? An abstract is something against the norm, something considered unconventional; not the summary for an essay or article which, quite the opposite, is very specific in a conventional way.
The abstract concept of abstract art is completely abstract. What type of abstract person would want to look at such an abstract thing? Let alone abstractly think about it… abstract.
The artist looked fondly at the block of clay. He knew not what he was going to make of it yet, but he knew it was going to be beautiful. With one delicate stroke of his tool, the gentle artist started his meaningful journey towards a greater outcome.
The abstract mind wandered far away from where it was supposed to be. Instead of sitting in the class listening to his teacher drone on about calculus and probability, it was flying across deserts under a sky broken with flashes of lightning. It was flying under the ocean as a thousand tiny fish formed into a mass cloud of silver scales.
The abstract sounded great. The actual text of the document was cluster fuck of big words with very little meaning. The whole thing could have been reduced to about four pages sans the intellectual gobblegook. Why do people insist on making themselves appear better than they really are, even in writing.
my thoughts come and go at all hours of the day and night.
some real possibilities, most abstract,
yet they all lead back to you.
you’re what my heart wants and what my mind knows it shouldn’t have.
All I can think of is art . . . my one trip to the Guggenheim my freshman year of high school. The pure abstract art, the energy, the excitement of new art. Laughter with friends. Music … STOMP! Getting splashed with water in the front row. Fun. Joyful memories with much-missed folks in my life.
abstract is when you take everything that isn’t needed anymore, its how i feel sometimes when i don;’t know where to go.. its the emptiness i have inside, or the uncertainy i’m afraid of…
anything real can be defined this way. if it can be defined in any more substantial terms then its meaningless. this is the kind of thing theologians and priests and artists ramble over. palahniuk’s frontier. you might call it truth. or divinity. or music. but its not any one thing. it isnt just love or faith its existence. and we, ourselves, are abstract in that paradoxical kind of way. but thats probably not the point. the point is that abstract provides that the way in which it is perceived is singular. we can have anything we want. we and life can be whatever we wish to be. if you want something profound or divine, consider our own sacred, vast, and endless power to shape the world. not that im saying we should mistaken ourselves for gods…we shouldnt meddle in everything…
there is no why, there is only this. expression, informality, vagueness all merging to create something beautiful and different to each one of us.
That is rather an abstract concept, don’t you think? Perhaps narrowing it down a bit might get it past the Board. They do tend to be a bit fussy about these things …
colour is a very abstract thing. most people express their feelings by drawing abstract paintings and most of them are freaks that has no friends nor family. idiots.
A face
Pulled apart
Stretched and twisted
Nose where an eye goes
Ear next to chin
All colours
Like the life of a bruise
Flowing from plummy purple
To outback gold
Framed as art 0
To some
there isn’t time to define the lines to read between
i can’t and i won’t
can you?
help
sixty seconds feels like forever
Thoughts. People. Ideas. Love. Lifestyles. IT keeps us unique. Abstract meanings.
They tell me that the concrete is what is practical and that the concrete is what is beautiful. They say that there is no replacement for the feeling of the sunshine in your hair, for the breeze and the perfumes of a field on a balmy summer day.
They say that my obsession with the immaterial is wrong, unnatural and — most horrendous of all crimes — not pragmatic. Impractical, they say. But where has “practical” ever taken them that I can not go? Have they ever considered that the world of every book is merely an abstraction? That it isn’t truth in that hard, concrete way? That truth can be found through the abstract sometimes more readily than through myriad fields of wildflowers? Must they really loathe my abstract philosophy?
this is the moment where everything pieces together, in the opposite direction. every component of this piece exists somewhere within the frame. most often the subject matter is dramatic. most often there is a use of color. most often these themes can be monochromatic.
To see me in the abstract is to see me in two dimensions. To think you know me is to only see half of me, to have the audacity to believe me is to see too much of yourself in what I project.
I finish the final sentences of my length research paper, thinking wistfully of what I could have done with the hours wasted. This work is all for a greater goal. Five years from now I won’t be thinking about whatever grade I receive on this assignment.
The world is abstract. Everyone isn’t defined, and everything has no meaning. Or maybe there is, but we can’t comprehend it. The future is unknown, and the past is uncertain. Our reality is warped (is it even true?), and the present is the only thing we are certain of. The only thing we can keep. (Or can we?)
You are abstract. Your eyes hold the world, your fingertips touch the stars. You’re surreal, and that’s why I’m drawn to you.
you can do anything but it better be strange. anything you want goes. look at the world from a different perspective and explore your inner mad scientist that we all seem to have, lurking deep inside of us.
There’s this funny thing about living in a world full of pluralism, relativism and individualism. People seem to think that certain things don’t matter, or they can be or do whatever they want, without rules and boundaries. Sometimes these ideals are harmful and sometimes they are innocent and can even produce a sort of beauty. They think that to produce this sort of beauty, they have to add these ideals into what they create. Abstract art.
i like lurking in the realm of abstract
thought
hiding behind mindless obfuscation
confusing
reality with lines of meaningless
musing
In my mind thoughts jump around in one big imagination, lives and colors. Golden princes and princess and purple skies in the winter. Sisters with intertwined hands . Songs at dish time and a million days of school…..
the world is an abstract place
we try to fit in
we are all the pieces
of an ever changing puzzle
everything different
is ordinary
take it out of context
it is what it is
“What kind of ‘art’ is this?” I questioned, dramatically emphasizing the word ‘art’ with air quotes. “This painting is worth what, millions? It’s just a bunch of rectangles and squares, seriously – ”
“Let me guess,” a stranger interrupted, suddenly appearing at my side. Strong, handsome features and touseled blonde hair were the first things that caught my eye. A playful smile spread across face, “You could do something like that?”
“Precisely.”
rapid react
rope wrapped
reel tactfully tighten towards tiptoe
push envelopes
slandered canvases
bomb systems
mister glistens
heathenish heroes
hiding heralded
heels faltering foes finished fancily
crush pens and dope
abandoned ransacks
tomb vapors
sisters listen
nothing
nothing
i have
nothing
abstract
just
far
too
real
and tangible
and felt
and
not
abstract
Oh, what I would give for some sweet abstract
Abstract isn’t the complexity of what you think is before you, but rather the imagination from within on what It could be.
“She has a very abstract way to look at the world,” the doctor hesitated, “And that’s just putting it nicely, Mrs. Riley. She’s got some pretty bad mental issues from what we can tell.”
Mrs. Riley heaved a heavy sigh, “Doctor, she’s been killing every pet we’ve ever had since she could walk. I’m pretty sure I realize this by now.”
He had seen her laughing out loud, reading a book. He felt that she had some sort of grounded quality, that pulled him to her like gravity, he fixated on her in a moment. Where as he had a quality abstract like air, and merely floated about the room, unnoticed.
It was such an abstract thought, death. Who would have known that it’s not so abstract as everyone seems to think. It’s really simple, really. In the end… you just stop. Everything about you: the things that keep you going, your organs, your blood, your thoughts, your love… your life… it all just stops.
Life. Life is abstract. It just pulls you in all these different directions. And you don’t know where you’re going. Or who will be there when you get there. You just get there, and sometimes you’re incredibly surprised by who is there, but more so by who isn’t. It’s sad and beautiful. And probably tragic in a way.
The painting was moving. She knew it was cheesy and she had never describes anything as simply moving, but this one was out of the ordinary. She looked around to see who the painter was, and her eyes fell upon a man she had seen once before….
Everything she did, everything she said- it amazed him. She was different. She was unusual. She was unique. She was abstract in her ways of thinking, in her ways of doing. She was breaking the mold- a mold that he was far too accustomed to.
abstract. my whole life is abstract; from the way i think, to the way i feel. i have not one straight thought in my body. it’s dark and deep growing down, and tunneling. it’s unreal.
I was never prone to drawing in the lines, I preferred shapes of all different kinds. When my inner cry was set free it was an array of shapes and colours for you to see. To be abstract is to stray from everyday and take a wander far far away, and it is only when I’m truly abstract that I can move forward without ever looking back.
He was odd
Kind of abstract and quixotic
With his mismatched shoes
And a small gold earring
He walked like a broken marionette
All joints and bent strings
Certainly a site to see
On a Sunday afternoon
Ugh, abstracts. You’d think I would read them more often, or think about abstractness more often, considering I’m an arts student: an English student, at that. Why would they even call it an “abstract” anyway? An abstract is something against the norm, something considered unconventional; not the summary for an essay or article which, quite the opposite, is very specific in a conventional way.
The abstract concept of abstract art is completely abstract. What type of abstract person would want to look at such an abstract thing? Let alone abstractly think about it… abstract.
The artist looked fondly at the block of clay. He knew not what he was going to make of it yet, but he knew it was going to be beautiful. With one delicate stroke of his tool, the gentle artist started his meaningful journey towards a greater outcome.
The abstract mind wandered far away from where it was supposed to be. Instead of sitting in the class listening to his teacher drone on about calculus and probability, it was flying across deserts under a sky broken with flashes of lightning. It was flying under the ocean as a thousand tiny fish formed into a mass cloud of silver scales.
i think in the abstract.
i see words forming the world around me.
why haven’t i taken the time to write them down?
The abstract sounded great. The actual text of the document was cluster fuck of big words with very little meaning. The whole thing could have been reduced to about four pages sans the intellectual gobblegook. Why do people insist on making themselves appear better than they really are, even in writing.
my thoughts come and go at all hours of the day and night.
some real possibilities, most abstract,
yet they all lead back to you.
you’re what my heart wants and what my mind knows it shouldn’t have.
All I can think of is art . . . my one trip to the Guggenheim my freshman year of high school. The pure abstract art, the energy, the excitement of new art. Laughter with friends. Music … STOMP! Getting splashed with water in the front row. Fun. Joyful memories with much-missed folks in my life.
The moon lies down in a sea of sleep.
She curls into a fetus bracing herself for
the onslaught of the coming sun.
He doesn’t like the night.
abstract is when you take everything that isn’t needed anymore, its how i feel sometimes when i don;’t know where to go.. its the emptiness i have inside, or the uncertainy i’m afraid of…
anything real can be defined this way. if it can be defined in any more substantial terms then its meaningless. this is the kind of thing theologians and priests and artists ramble over. palahniuk’s frontier. you might call it truth. or divinity. or music. but its not any one thing. it isnt just love or faith its existence. and we, ourselves, are abstract in that paradoxical kind of way. but thats probably not the point. the point is that abstract provides that the way in which it is perceived is singular. we can have anything we want. we and life can be whatever we wish to be. if you want something profound or divine, consider our own sacred, vast, and endless power to shape the world. not that im saying we should mistaken ourselves for gods…we shouldnt meddle in everything…