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My art has never been satisfactory. Whatever i do, my visions of grandure will never transfer to my chosen medium. I watch my friends create things constantly, yet i never can.
By madeleine on 05.23.2014
Your love is like artwork
You make me feel beautiful, more beautiful than artwork
You drip drop your paint all over me
I take that as the highest form of artistry
By cg on 05.23.2014
it was a painting. it could not be real in the sense that it seemed sculpted. perhaps he was joking and it had been that new world trend, something along the lines of modern art, but then again, she doubted it. she traced her hands along the mirror, begging to break the glass. it was putty, she found, and she shoved her hand in before completely filling the space and setting out to free the cages.
By verbomaniac11 on 05.23.2014
Empty. My brain is empty like a blank canvas waiting for some sort of color to fill the page or for light to shine on the shadows on the wall. I sit and I stare at the wall and I can’t see the images I use to see there anymore. Has all of the wonder died? Has all of the color faded into this unending black? I look down an empty hall and I see the flickers of a dim candlelight shimmering there, but my feet are stuck into the dark sticky floor where I stand.
By K.A.E. on 05.23.2014
She wasn’t sure where to look, there was so much art around her. Each painting seemed to capture another emotion of hers, thoughts that she’d had that she’d thought were unnameable. Looking at a work seemed to draw out those deep-seated emotions of hers, her feelings becoming phantoms in the night.
By Shannon on 05.23.2014
As I stared at the artwork displayed on the wall before me, I thought back to a simpler time. A time when things weren’t so complicated. One didn’t have to worry that the creepy guy standing behind you in the Starbucks line breathing much too heavily near your ear, just might be a terrorist about to take the whole place out. Who knows, maybe he just has really bad allergies or high anxiety. The guy just wants his frickin’ mocha latte, skim, no whip so he get the hell outta dodge. Just like me. It’s time to move on. Thongs just got really complicated, really fast. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love. I told him that from the very beginning.
By nicole on 05.23.2014
i can lean in close and smell your cigarette stained eyeballs
when you whisper that you are tired
of being a teacher’s artist
when you whisper through your teeth that you want to explode
like frida kahlo
on your canvas
By kani on 05.23.2014
I love drawing. Artwork can be inspired by many things, but I like to be inspired by the closet lake. Lakes are beautiful, and can really get one going if they are stuck in drawing.
By Jade on 05.23.2014
eren is equal parts touched and confused when he reclines on the tattered sheets, prostrate and nude, but when he feels the tips of levi’s fingers, cold with paint, brush along his clavicle, he decides it would be a worthwhile venture to not complain; after all, it isn’t often that levi is so open and personal with his artwork.
levi’s fingers are deft and exact as they glide along eren’s skin, painting shapeless whorls, circling around his nipples, trailing down to his navel, and stopping just above his groin. levi looks into eren’s eyes, watches him carefully. it isn’t until eren grins at him, a challenging gleam in his youthful eyes, dos levi reach down and share something intimate and personal with him.
By heartful on 05.23.2014
I always fancied myself an artist of words, crafting emotion through text, image through written syllables. Yet, creating a world in which characters can explore and see a problem, climax, and solution through is difficult for me.
By Ashi URL on 05.23.2014
We stared at it for a while, before she laughed and shook her head, tilting it sideways to look at the painting again. “I guess I just don’t get it” it was too bad, that I just couldn’t get her. She was everything to me and then she was gone.
By Alison on 05.23.2014
your veins are artwork meant for the most prestigious museums but
somehow they ended up inside of you, showing through your flesh
and one at a time i started to notice them – connected canals and rivers
your reddest and bluest passions flowing beneath your scarred skin
these vessels caught my eye on the rainiest of days – one, first, protruding from your fore arm
that i had never seen before and like shooting stars showing one by one as your fist grew tighter and tighter
i kissed them and felt your pulse against my once dead lips
the world’s most beautiful piece of art exists inside of you
By stargirl on 05.23.2014
The toddlers beamed up at their frazzled mother, never such pride. Their Frazzled Mother looked at their soiled hands, then up at the wall- their diapers were empty, and the walls would be a bitch to clean..
By Moth on 05.24.2014
Dragging his brush through paint again, he makes one more long, even stroke. A light dab is the finishing touch and he steps back to admire his handiwork.
He grins, satisfied.
With a skip in his step he quickly gathers his supplies and scurries away, sure in the knowledge someone will stumble over her body soon enough.
Amazing how easy it is to gain free publicity.
By The Black Flamingo on 05.24.2014
Obviously logged on too early today. I’m sure I wrote about artwork yesterday!
By Alexandra on 05.24.2014
every thing is an artwork, the whole world is an artwork, because the beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. with wonder and beauty in your eyes, everything will be a beautiful artwork in your eyes
By Cuteberry on 05.24.2014
every thing is an artwork, the whole world is an artwork, because the beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. with wonder and beauty in your eyes, everything will be a beautiful artwork to you.
So many people have tried to describe art, using silly words with too many letters.
Truth it, none of us can describe art. None of us are capable of putting the size of it, the meaning of it, the truth behind it, the aching and the happiness put into it, into a stream of words to describe it.
Not you, not your neighbor, not me.
Have a good day.
By chicken on 05.24.2014
I haven’t been able to create art in a while
sharpening my nails and carving into wood
drawing thin lines of red on soft fabrics
It’s been 7 months now
and I still can’t recreate how soft
your face is.
By Chicken on 05.24.2014
The artwork on the wall presented itself swimmingly. The crashing waves rolled over the jaded, antique hell. Many a people had chosen that path–walking boldly to the edge, flinging oneself over it in a last, horrid attempt to end one’s life. Although the oftentimes succeeded, not so often in the ways they had pictured such a glorious last choice. Too often, the rocky stakes didn’t kill them instantly. Rather, a bloody and mysterious dance with the sea and the rocks as their jealous partners did; and, when they didn’t bleed to death, they often drowned. Ah, yes–this glorious artwork. It made the cliffs of D’Amoir seem almost beautiful. But, I knew better. How could I not? For I had been sentenced to a life of retrieving those bodies.
By cherrieygrl18 URL on 05.24.2014
Artwork is very interesting it is art and work like are you even serious art work
like maybe something that is probably very colourful and fun i like potatoes why dont they try to make parrots more cute in the televisions cartman is cool what even how did this happen i am not sure how i vevn got here did i get here by accident or was ithis a coiincidence lolololol wtf man why am i using slang here this makes no scene okay i’m done
By L on 05.24.2014
your soul is an artwork
the most beautiful, i’ve ever seen
i want to keep it
alone for me
By angy URL on 05.24.2014
lovely.we will buy this one, that one, and that one over there. they are not for sale. not for sale? what do you mean? i do them for my enjoyment and for the vi
By Lee on 05.24.2014
The child bent low over her artwork, chubby hand clutching a black crayon. The wide-ruled paper was covered in strange symbols, all black in spite of the array of bright colors strewn across the table.
By mrsmig on 05.24.2014
I have to get back to my artwork. I haven’t drawn or painted anything in almost a year. Artwork is a way of expressing yourself. The same can be said bout writing.
By Vixen Black on 05.24.2014
The walls seemed to blind me with color. I had to find the minimalist section in order to not have to wear safety glasses. I can’t believe I could’ve thought this was a good idea. The artwork here never phased me and yet I come here too often.
By Sami on 05.24.2014
His artwork hadn’t aged well over the years, much like himself. Paint was flaking onto his knotted hands, leaving dull, bald patches of canvas visible. His life’s work had come apart in so many ways…
By WearyWater URL on 05.24.2014
i remember looking at your body
and all it’s subtleties
every carefully placed colour
and knowing, all the canvases
in every white room
could not ever compare
By harri ollier on 05.24.2014
The greens and blues of a pastel ocean flowed through the canvas. Small daps of white paint were cluttered around the edges, as if the image was slowly deteriorating. Although it was quite obviously a drawing, the way the colors danced across the page made it come alive.
By Alyson on 05.24.2014
My body is a mere canvas on which misery can display its artwork.
By aura.rayne on 05.24.2014
Artwork is what I do in my sleep, which comes as natural as breathing.
I confess, maybe I do think about it all the time in one form or another.
By Intuition on 05.24.2014
His artwork spanned across the entire wall. It was a mixture of different ideas and colors, as one giant collage. I could see the memories, the strong emotions, the shapes of people he carefully or not-so carefully designed. It was a masterpiece.
By umbazachika on 05.24.2014
Footsteps echoed down the hall, filled with magnificent artwork that decorated the grand halls. But the sound of a single pair of feet was the only other sound.
The old man sat at his desk, having reached his destination. With a quill in hand, he began scribbling on a clean piece of paper, a contract for the next artist.
By Rosheen on 05.24.2014
he liked the same things as me.
We liked the same things.
I think he’s so
He is a piece of artwork.
By Brooke Tuinei on 05.24.2014
it had to be something out of one of her latest dreams, she was thinking. as the cloth blew in the wind, it tainted the sky, but always came up after itself, erasing any marks it made save the wind that said it had been there and dome something. it was a sign to her that nature could not be tainted with- then again, she was the odd one out of the family, wasn’t she? She liked this very much, though. at least she could have a free spirit.
By verbomaniac11 on 05.24.2014
It hung on the wall and everyone stared. I couldn’t see the merit in it but they were mesmerized. There was chatter of the artist’s promise and people clamoring to buy the artwork. My mouth just sort of hung open a little, drool pooling at the corners as I struggled to see what they saw.
By Carlee on 05.24.2014
artwork is an insanely stressful thing
I just made artwork about 2.5 seconds ago
and I don’t know whether to throw it out or keep it because I am so frustrated about it
it’s probably not even that good or maybe it is but its horrible but fascinatingly horrbile
but they are put on the paper as the artwork so it is describing your mixed feelings, but then again you don’t want to describe it so you
light it on fire
or shred it up
or simply just put it away to know that you have it or to just ignore it for a little while and then work on it again
and that is artwork
By Brittany on 05.24.2014
a piece of feeling
r ready to be ripped
t time will tell
w who will see
o organized meetings
r reading the delicate yet harsh fine lines with stories to tell, pull them out from underneath it all
Jenny fought the urge to laugh. She tipped the champagne flute to her lips and concentrated hard on the man’s face. His slightly greying hair, his lively eyebrows, the long Roman nose. Her lips quivered and she made an involuntary noise. Quick thinking, she accompanied it with eyebrow work of her own and he assumed he’d said something witty. Art, she thought. Nice work if you can get it.
By Tex on 05.24.2014
when i see this word i think of grass and trees and leaves. and landscapes like the landscape with the fall of icarus. it’s sad to see that no one cares about him and art is beautiful. it’s like when someone creates somehting so mystical and undefined. it has no limits it has no upper bounds. its isimpl
By sammy keyes on 05.24.2014
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.