“eugh arts” says mr shankly
and tells me to do chemistry
no
no
no
i can’t.
i did an art exam once
(twice)
(three times)
(actually it was this morning)
there was matisse’s icarus
and caravaggio’s (caravan’s) somebody else
(actually to tell the truth i am captain of this sinking ship)
(actually i love it)
The arts, its something we should all appreciate.
You can find beauty in anything,, really.
Sometimes you just need to take a step back.
Or get to know a piece real well in order to fully understand it.
arts are in every culture. It defines everything that the human brain thinks up. It is a form of expression, it shows what the artist is thinking. There are a multitude of types of art. THere’s painting, drawing, music, drama, photography, and others.
I love art. There are many forms of arts. Personally I like music that is my favorite type of art. I like how the artist makes rytham and writes his or her lyrics to match their feelings.
Artistic abilities hindering me to blind to see the light is shining past the trees and absorbing directly into me because of this I will find the peace to cure the doubt without the beast.
i love the arts. i am a dancer. i am a creator. i love to make things, to express myself in a way i have never been able to get out with words. dance is my preferred art, though music is a close second. there is just something about going into an empty studio late at night, only the lights of the streetlamps illuminating patches on the floor. dancing in and out of the patches while music blares from the stereo… it’s candidly, expressively, incredibly… me.
“Some people may call it a skill or something that I have been trained in. Others may say the skills I have are a curse. But I believe that the art that I practice is a blessing in disguise. Who else can claim that they are gifted in the arts of espionage, murder, and thievery?” I cross my arms, glaring at the guy who stood carving another message into wood.
“Your gifts will cost you,” he says. His blue eyes briefly hold mine. Then, they swing back to his riddle. “Are you willing to take those risks?”
Mingling in the cool, dawn morning air, the vapor of my sigh drifts into oblivion. . . .and I can’t help but think that my life could very well be like the vapor. It will disappear into bleak blackness, leaving no sign that it had been there before.
“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
The arts are what keep me grounded, really. They are my ecstasy. They give me that deep love just like the drug. Giving me that escape from the world, as if I were in the midst of a rave waving my arms back and forth. The serotonin in my brain is running wild giving me deep love for the moment. But instead of a rave and love for others it is love for this brush going to the paper, creating something that I cannot describe in words.
meow meow. i live to think, i live to feel. the arts capture me and make me renew myself, my thoughts, my perspective, the air that surrounds my mind. the way i shape my thoughts. it’s been a long time since ive hung my head and written, but i will do it. i will do it. i will. i must let the thoughts escape.
He found his life in the simple arts of dipping a stick into watercolors sprayed out in streams in a private river he kept flowing through his bedroom, perched on a bridge that he built from bamboo and stray strings of bark and sinews holding together his dreams on a monument, constantly stroking the vigor back into the walls of his old establishment owned by a father who didn’t exactly enjoy the brightness of Picasso or insanity of Van Gogh.
I’m very into the art world. I love everything about art. I think that with out art in this world eveything would be plain. Art is what makes the world so beautiful and complex.
if there was an arts program where a bunch of mules were in one room together what would it be called. politics. because all they do is make an ass of themselves while they could pretty much be doing arts and crafts. they are useless puppets and figureheads and some (george bush) pretty much have the minds of children.
Arts arts like ants in my head. They echo and craw, like monsterous birds, swarming around. All beauty is sadd. Voices in my head. They said I was crazy. They said art wuld help me. Help me get out my… Perpetual anger.
art. how can there be a plural of arts? art is an all-encompassing term. You cant have more than one art because that would imply that theres more to encompass beyond… well, everything. Maybe there is, but that’s getting awfully philisophical for “arts and humanities”
therea are many arts – dance, music, visual, fine arts, crude arts, mud arts and porceline arts but there is absolutely no wrong arts. All arts are spectacularly necessary even those no one ever sees.
i love the arts it is one thing that allows your mind to escape and set free things you didnt know exist. Art is the expressions inside, the true meanings of what your mind and or brain may be experiencing, it is all around a great way to escape from reality. show the worlds something new by expressing your thoughts into images.
The arts. A powerful, exaggerated, often colorful way of expressing oneself.
At least, that’s what I thought when I took that paint brush in my hand… I never thought it would lead to my own undoing, lead to my very death. Ah, how could I be seen as a heretic, by the very god I worshipped?
Art is a powerful, exaggerated, often colorful way of expressing oneself.
There was a steadily growing pile of rubbish and debris around her. “There!” she exclaimed proudly, holding out her mangled candy corn turkey for inspection. “Finished.”
I have given up on the arts. After graduating with a degree in theatre, I’ve dropped everything that had been my life for five years. I’m not even sure I miss it. Now, as a teacher, I often think about what it is that I am doing and how it may prove to still be artistic. I have given up on the arts but have they given up on me?
A sacred call to the hill on the other side of the island,
A collection of rag tag humans with the sake or arts on their side,
A hopeful stream of wistfulness still exists.
How do I start with art.
It is a movement within that insists that it must get out.
It is never second guessing.
It is resilient,
it is insisting,
it is a friend.
I don’t know when why we consider ourselves “bad artists”
We each have our own art and hobby.
Honestly, who can say that they aren’t good at something?
We aren’t ‘good artists’ when we can’t trust our work.
Artworks, illustrations backed by different and incomparable motivations. The dark form of dragon across the sky, a sparse black world visible behind a draft of sparkling stars. Layers, bounds we crossed them to cross that sentence out; rewrite, review, resee – check our dictionary; become the new Shakesphere, create words to fit our purpose. Mine the Elysian fields for blooming regrets, and set our hands across the clouds in the sky – complete the bunny’s ears, the ladles end and lay, peacefully, from dawn to late in the night. Hear a violin, piano quick keys, heartening, brightening, peaceful hearkening, seeking a place within ourselves, the envisioned solitude of some inner sanctuary. A build, low it rises, motivation, on the horizon, a long sunder of the bow. Over the mountains a pan, a ship upon the sea, a rocky cove, a cave and then longing for a home, more of an identity than a location. Circular journey. Romantic fate.
It is something of an art, the arts
When delivered so confident and self-assured
All while knowing it was nourished in a heap
Potent mix of both fear and doubt, a pile of peat
Twins in the night
Forcing us to reach out for the light
What goes around comes around, tendrils twine
Unknown is how many times will it be magnified
Beyond its original scope
Awash in a new haze of intent
Something retrospectively envisioned
Something a shade beyond the term unique
happiness
Expressing feeling
showmanship
craft
love
beauty is in the eye of the beholder
nature
building
design
sculpture
passion
“You need to do performing arts,” they’ll say. “It’s good to have. It’ll look good”
Performing arts suck.
Cooking is the only art form I enjoy.
“eugh arts” says mr shankly
and tells me to do chemistry
no
no
no
i can’t.
i did an art exam once
(twice)
(three times)
(actually it was this morning)
there was matisse’s icarus
and caravaggio’s (caravan’s) somebody else
(actually to tell the truth i am captain of this sinking ship)
(actually i love it)
Les arts
Les beaux arts
Les beaus arts sont vie.
The arts, its something we should all appreciate.
You can find beauty in anything,, really.
Sometimes you just need to take a step back.
Or get to know a piece real well in order to fully understand it.
Measurement of time in pictures. Methods. Moods. Knowledge of the day. Legacy of past. Art.
arts are in every culture. It defines everything that the human brain thinks up. It is a form of expression, it shows what the artist is thinking. There are a multitude of types of art. THere’s painting, drawing, music, drama, photography, and others.
I love art. There are many forms of arts. Personally I like music that is my favorite type of art. I like how the artist makes rytham and writes his or her lyrics to match their feelings.
“What about the arts?” he asked, with a small smile on his handsome face.
I squirmed. “What about them?”
“Do you enjoy them?”
“Well I suppose I do …. I prefer Banksy though, and other street art. I tend to feel out of place at art museums, ballet shows, and opera houses.”
“Hmm.. well we’ll see if I can change that.”
Artistic abilities hindering me to blind to see the light is shining past the trees and absorbing directly into me because of this I will find the peace to cure the doubt without the beast.
Arts
flood the wall
brush strokes of symphonies
bright colors paint the walls
i love the arts. i am a dancer. i am a creator. i love to make things, to express myself in a way i have never been able to get out with words. dance is my preferred art, though music is a close second. there is just something about going into an empty studio late at night, only the lights of the streetlamps illuminating patches on the floor. dancing in and out of the patches while music blares from the stereo… it’s candidly, expressively, incredibly… me.
“Some people may call it a skill or something that I have been trained in. Others may say the skills I have are a curse. But I believe that the art that I practice is a blessing in disguise. Who else can claim that they are gifted in the arts of espionage, murder, and thievery?” I cross my arms, glaring at the guy who stood carving another message into wood.
“Your gifts will cost you,” he says. His blue eyes briefly hold mine. Then, they swing back to his riddle. “Are you willing to take those risks?”
Mingling in the cool, dawn morning air, the vapor of my sigh drifts into oblivion. . . .and I can’t help but think that my life could very well be like the vapor. It will disappear into bleak blackness, leaving no sign that it had been there before.
“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
The arts are what keep me grounded, really. They are my ecstasy. They give me that deep love just like the drug. Giving me that escape from the world, as if I were in the midst of a rave waving my arms back and forth. The serotonin in my brain is running wild giving me deep love for the moment. But instead of a rave and love for others it is love for this brush going to the paper, creating something that I cannot describe in words.
meow meow. i live to think, i live to feel. the arts capture me and make me renew myself, my thoughts, my perspective, the air that surrounds my mind. the way i shape my thoughts. it’s been a long time since ive hung my head and written, but i will do it. i will do it. i will. i must let the thoughts escape.
I am the arts
of my own
creativity and lifelessness
I am
something
you have never seen
before.
Anyone someone can express himself.
It also rhymes with farts. Well that’s awkward.
Pop tarts.
Paul Blart.
Grocery mart.
He found his life in the simple arts of dipping a stick into watercolors sprayed out in streams in a private river he kept flowing through his bedroom, perched on a bridge that he built from bamboo and stray strings of bark and sinews holding together his dreams on a monument, constantly stroking the vigor back into the walls of his old establishment owned by a father who didn’t exactly enjoy the brightness of Picasso or insanity of Van Gogh.
I’m very into the art world. I love everything about art. I think that with out art in this world eveything would be plain. Art is what makes the world so beautiful and complex.
if there was an arts program where a bunch of mules were in one room together what would it be called. politics. because all they do is make an ass of themselves while they could pretty much be doing arts and crafts. they are useless puppets and figureheads and some (george bush) pretty much have the minds of children.
arts. weird that there’s a plural. art, because it’s so universal, seems like it should be singular. I wish I wasn’t singular.
Arts arts like ants in my head. They echo and craw, like monsterous birds, swarming around. All beauty is sadd. Voices in my head. They said I was crazy. They said art wuld help me. Help me get out my… Perpetual anger.
art. how can there be a plural of arts? art is an all-encompassing term. You cant have more than one art because that would imply that theres more to encompass beyond… well, everything. Maybe there is, but that’s getting awfully philisophical for “arts and humanities”
I do art. Only because the human beauty is too good to pass up, it needs to be known. Everyone is beautiful, art is something that helps one see that.
therea are many arts – dance, music, visual, fine arts, crude arts, mud arts and porceline arts but there is absolutely no wrong arts. All arts are spectacularly necessary even those no one ever sees.
i love the arts it is one thing that allows your mind to escape and set free things you didnt know exist. Art is the expressions inside, the true meanings of what your mind and or brain may be experiencing, it is all around a great way to escape from reality. show the worlds something new by expressing your thoughts into images.
The arts. A powerful, exaggerated, often colorful way of expressing oneself.
At least, that’s what I thought when I took that paint brush in my hand… I never thought it would lead to my own undoing, lead to my very death. Ah, how could I be seen as a heretic, by the very god I worshipped?
Art is a powerful, exaggerated, often colorful way of expressing oneself.
It is also a tool that leads to one’s own demise.
There’s a drama in the way your eyes dance.
There’s music in the marble of your voice.
There are paintings in the freckles on your skin.
Your existence is a whirlwind of poetry which dizzies and dazzles me to a point where I don’t know if I can love anything but you and your arts
There was a steadily growing pile of rubbish and debris around her. “There!” she exclaimed proudly, holding out her mangled candy corn turkey for inspection. “Finished.”
Arts and crafts was not her forte.
I have given up on the arts. After graduating with a degree in theatre, I’ve dropped everything that had been my life for five years. I’m not even sure I miss it. Now, as a teacher, I often think about what it is that I am doing and how it may prove to still be artistic. I have given up on the arts but have they given up on me?
It’s just the way the icy water hits my leg from the faucet
It’s just the way
A sacred call to the hill on the other side of the island,
A collection of rag tag humans with the sake or arts on their side,
A hopeful stream of wistfulness still exists.
Simple and smooth is
true art, layers make shapes in
space, larger than life.
How do I start with art.
It is a movement within that insists that it must get out.
It is never second guessing.
It is resilient,
it is insisting,
it is a friend.
I don’t know when why we consider ourselves “bad artists”
We each have our own art and hobby.
Honestly, who can say that they aren’t good at something?
We aren’t ‘good artists’ when we can’t trust our work.
arts
flood the space
stares penetrated
the layers
the walls flooded with color
each brush stroke was a symphony
fine. color. studies, and different thoughts, many people like, class, sculpture, painting, college of, pictures, monet, colorful lines and vangho.
Artworks, illustrations backed by different and incomparable motivations. The dark form of dragon across the sky, a sparse black world visible behind a draft of sparkling stars. Layers, bounds we crossed them to cross that sentence out; rewrite, review, resee – check our dictionary; become the new Shakesphere, create words to fit our purpose. Mine the Elysian fields for blooming regrets, and set our hands across the clouds in the sky – complete the bunny’s ears, the ladles end and lay, peacefully, from dawn to late in the night. Hear a violin, piano quick keys, heartening, brightening, peaceful hearkening, seeking a place within ourselves, the envisioned solitude of some inner sanctuary. A build, low it rises, motivation, on the horizon, a long sunder of the bow. Over the mountains a pan, a ship upon the sea, a rocky cove, a cave and then longing for a home, more of an identity than a location. Circular journey. Romantic fate.
God, Love, painting, theater, frames, pictures, nature, fun, friendship, colors, red, pink, way of life, happiness.
It is something of an art, the arts
When delivered so confident and self-assured
All while knowing it was nourished in a heap
Potent mix of both fear and doubt, a pile of peat
Twins in the night
Forcing us to reach out for the light
What goes around comes around, tendrils twine
Unknown is how many times will it be magnified
Beyond its original scope
Awash in a new haze of intent
Something retrospectively envisioned
Something a shade beyond the term unique