Life is a canvas. You can paint it how you please. Bright colours. Dark colours. You can try painting in as few colours as possble but that might get a bit boring. I’ll try to paint everything with as many colours as i can. It might end up looking gaudy but to me it will be beautiful.
You paint on these. The spill canvas is an amazing band. I’ve seen them so many times in concert. I wonder if their “canvas” is indeed about and actual canvas. Maybe a canvas they SPILLED paint on? Canvas is also a type of material isn’t it? Or maybe not.
A blank canvas is all that people need sometimes. It allows for a fresh start, a clean sweep, and if problems, it can all be erased. Canvas’ allow for growth for new chapters for new innovations. A canvas is just another place to dream.
A canvas is a place to put things that you can not put into words, a way to more beautifully share your thoughts; a place to share with your hands rather than your mouth, and excercize your creativity.
Life is like a blank canvas. You’ve always had that image of the finished product in the back of you mind, accompanied with the everlasting doubt of what it’ll actually look like.
it is a brown thing that can be cloth or a thing to write on i don’t actually know what it stands for or the origin of the word i don’t even know why i am writing here it’s a stupid thing and boring waiting here for a minute to pass i think it has already passed
my life is an empty canvas after he disappeared. I used to be a person, I used to think and feel, but everything I built myself around collapsed when he turned out to be an illusion. Now I am nothing, an empty canvas, free to be anything in this world… lost.
canvases are a good thing to bring to the beach to keep all of your stuff safe and protected from rain and nature. canvas can also be used on onnings to protect people from the elements. canvas can come in a lot of different pretty colors that you can sometimes customize at ll bean! everybody needs a canvas sometimes!!
her brush slid across the ridges of what seemed to be her savior. it was the one thing she didn’t have to give any thought to. no one could judge her or tell her she was wrong, she was in peace with herself through her thoughts and creations.
we had canvased the entire neighborhood looking for any sign of her. the broken back window, the television left playing with no one to watch it, the deafening silence of the empty house had all been too much for my father to handle. he was currently sitting in the bar down the street
Canvases are like imagination. It’s impossible to understand, but at the same time, it’s not. Maybe I don’t even know what the hell a canvas is. I don’t even know what I’m typing about. That purple line at the bottom of the screen bothers me. I’m hungry. WHY. I don’t know. What the hell is going on?
she slashed through it as if it was air whipping past an airplane wing. the paint flecked off onto the sheet and the canvas holder toppled to the floor with a definitive clatter. she screamed, an agonizing groan that was born from her very soul, then abruptly stopped.
Canvas is a fabric which makes a good surface for artwork when stretched across a wooden frame. However, clothing made from canvas is entirely unattractive and likely rather uncomfortable. I’m thinking that this word is really boring because it’s so blank. When I think of “canvas,” I think of something entirely blank and unfinished. This isn’t leaving me much to write about, now is it? Dumb word. Dumb.
The canvas had been painted in the night before, and we’d lost all hope for creativity in our lives. Without the place where we could express our true colours, our lives would forever be black. darkened. subdued with the sadness of what we truly had to deal with. Without the canvas, we had to look deep into ourselves and say. Who are we? The canvas was helping us through, but it was now time to go on our own.
Our canvas is life and we hold the paintbrush. When drawing, some choose to replicate pictures they admire. But paintings that really stand out are the genuine, original ones. The ones we were bold enough to create.
She was the canvas. beautiful and terrifying because he had the power to shape her, to write what happened next for her. his breath caught in his thought as he thought about the potential for happiness, sadness, for the future.
I was sitting in my living room and for the first time in a long time, I felt like painting. So I went to the art room and pulled out a fresh piece of canvas, and spilled my heart onto it. Bright blues, pinks, yellows, and oranges.
i always wanted to paint on my front porch at my old house on a big canvas of a lake and a boat on the lake but the funny thing was that the only thing you could see from my porch was a neighborhood like in desperate housewives and i had no view of any lake. but at my new house i do have a view of a lake and i have no desire to go out and buy a canvas to paint the scenery on like i once did, ironic isn’t it?
painting pictures is like writing stories is like drawing underdiscovered truths. i love my canvas and all the truths it bears. i know i have no right to say i´m a painter, but i know what to do with a brush. and everything you create is truth.
The writer is a painter without the canvas. the one who can paint a picture into the mind of its reader, with vivid, flowing colors which swim across the mind like a graceful fish, real images that only experiences can form, and it’s always unique. for painters, everyone sees only one picture on the canvas, though they may interpret it however they like. Writers on the other hand, create a world that is different within any mind that comes across it. Because when it comes to experiences, a Californian biker and a New York Gangster have different ideas on what a bar looks like, it’s different for every person.
You were like my blank canvas.
I dressed you up in bright colours
And painted a smile on your face.
I covered up everything
That I didn’t want you to be.
And you were my masterpiece.
But then I realized I was wrong
And I washed away the paint
And hung the real you on my wall.
You are my masterpiece.
The blank canvas of the page stared me in my face. A new beginning, ready to receive the words in my head and string together a story that has been a long time coming. I’ve filled the canvas thus far with Nine thousand, two hundred, and sixty four words. Only 40,736 to go.
the world is my canvas. My mind is the canvas of the world. I never understand things, just paint them in the time of my life. Time and space are the only canvas we have to express ourselves.
Paint.
Live.
A Canvas can be thought as a place to escape to for an artist, a canvas can be the making or demise of somebody. A canvas is more than a word it can mean fame and fortune or it can mean the dream that will never be reached. A canvas.
It’s bright with color, the canvas. It’s not unlike things I’ve seen many times before, but this time it’s different, better. Because she’s here, too, sharing it with me. This minute. This hour. This day.
painting on a canvas is so much better than painting on paper. I would love to own some. I wish I could paint well and have a more creative mind. I want to paint a canvas so brilliant that I get noticed for it. I want to make a difference.
The canvas stares back at me. Everything blurs and all that’s left is me and the brush and the peach-colored sheet in front of me. And then it moves and changes and evolves.
i attended a funeral today
the widowed wife’s tears were loud and silencing
she kissed the casket as if she were kissing her husband of 30 years’ lips
for the last time
it’s interesting to think how full our canvases
are
will get
and how blank they start
was it a nice picture he painted?
he was selfish
but we don’t mention that
when honoring the recently deceased
i didn’t know you well
i didn’t ever see your canvas
beside a brush stroke or two.
i am sorry for your loss
The beautiful canvas was painted with a magnificent masterpiece by a girl with luscious red hair and fair skin, lovely green eyes and a brilliant smile. She painted the world that was the canvas of her life. She would bring beauty to the life. Never forget.
This is a blank canvas for my thoughts. Right now unfortunately I don’t have many colors on my pallet. I like the feel of the word canvas. I like it’s texture.
He swirled the tip of his paintbrush through the many hues and shades of colour on his palette. Delicately, he raised the paintbrush to the canvas and painted one swift stroke. Colour slowly filled the canvas, giving it life and meaning.
His body was like a canvas, every scar had a story, every line a reason, every curve and dip a secret. Try as the blonde might though, he could never figured out what the tattoo meant until he asked.
“Why do you have Fenrir tattooed on you?”
“It shows that I love you.”
“Oh…” A blush blossomed and a kiss was given, the reason that was once hidden now known.
white. or not. I have to pee so I’m not really focusing on the word but rather on that. Why would I even start this when I had to pee? TMI? Well, sorry. Welcome to the world folks. I thought the word was “crayon,” i would have liked that better, I think. Crayons. Cerulean blue is a crayon color that was always my favorite. When I was little I thought it was called kur-yoo-leen, though. Woops. I hate when American people spell color like “colour” and all other British spellings… it’s so pretentious.
Life is a canvas. You can paint it how you please. Bright colours. Dark colours. You can try painting in as few colours as possble but that might get a bit boring. I’ll try to paint everything with as many colours as i can. It might end up looking gaudy but to me it will be beautiful.
You paint on these. The spill canvas is an amazing band. I’ve seen them so many times in concert. I wonder if their “canvas” is indeed about and actual canvas. Maybe a canvas they SPILLED paint on? Canvas is also a type of material isn’t it? Or maybe not.
blank place where you can express your feelings trough a painting or anything else for that matter. A canvas is a bigining of a masterpiece.
A blank canvas is all that people need sometimes. It allows for a fresh start, a clean sweep, and if problems, it can all be erased. Canvas’ allow for growth for new chapters for new innovations. A canvas is just another place to dream.
A canvas is a place to put things that you can not put into words, a way to more beautifully share your thoughts; a place to share with your hands rather than your mouth, and excercize your creativity.
Life is like a blank canvas. You’ve always had that image of the finished product in the back of you mind, accompanied with the everlasting doubt of what it’ll actually look like.
it is a brown thing that can be cloth or a thing to write on i don’t actually know what it stands for or the origin of the word i don’t even know why i am writing here it’s a stupid thing and boring waiting here for a minute to pass i think it has already passed
my life is an empty canvas after he disappeared. I used to be a person, I used to think and feel, but everything I built myself around collapsed when he turned out to be an illusion. Now I am nothing, an empty canvas, free to be anything in this world… lost.
canvases are a good thing to bring to the beach to keep all of your stuff safe and protected from rain and nature. canvas can also be used on onnings to protect people from the elements. canvas can come in a lot of different pretty colors that you can sometimes customize at ll bean! everybody needs a canvas sometimes!!
its empty. there. there for me to produce whatever i feel. on the plain blank canvas.
her brush slid across the ridges of what seemed to be her savior. it was the one thing she didn’t have to give any thought to. no one could judge her or tell her she was wrong, she was in peace with herself through her thoughts and creations.
we had canvased the entire neighborhood looking for any sign of her. the broken back window, the television left playing with no one to watch it, the deafening silence of the empty house had all been too much for my father to handle. he was currently sitting in the bar down the street
Canvases are like imagination. It’s impossible to understand, but at the same time, it’s not. Maybe I don’t even know what the hell a canvas is. I don’t even know what I’m typing about. That purple line at the bottom of the screen bothers me. I’m hungry. WHY. I don’t know. What the hell is going on?
she slashed through it as if it was air whipping past an airplane wing. the paint flecked off onto the sheet and the canvas holder toppled to the floor with a definitive clatter. she screamed, an agonizing groan that was born from her very soul, then abruptly stopped.
Canvas is a fabric which makes a good surface for artwork when stretched across a wooden frame. However, clothing made from canvas is entirely unattractive and likely rather uncomfortable. I’m thinking that this word is really boring because it’s so blank. When I think of “canvas,” I think of something entirely blank and unfinished. This isn’t leaving me much to write about, now is it? Dumb word. Dumb.
The canvas had been painted in the night before, and we’d lost all hope for creativity in our lives. Without the place where we could express our true colours, our lives would forever be black. darkened. subdued with the sadness of what we truly had to deal with. Without the canvas, we had to look deep into ourselves and say. Who are we? The canvas was helping us through, but it was now time to go on our own.
The paintbrush skimmed over the canvas, leaving a trail of crimson paint in its wake. It looked like a trail of blood on a pristine, white sheet.
Our canvas is life and we hold the paintbrush. When drawing, some choose to replicate pictures they admire. But paintings that really stand out are the genuine, original ones. The ones we were bold enough to create.
She was the canvas. beautiful and terrifying because he had the power to shape her, to write what happened next for her. his breath caught in his thought as he thought about the potential for happiness, sadness, for the future.
I was sitting in my living room and for the first time in a long time, I felt like painting. So I went to the art room and pulled out a fresh piece of canvas, and spilled my heart onto it. Bright blues, pinks, yellows, and oranges.
i always wanted to paint on my front porch at my old house on a big canvas of a lake and a boat on the lake but the funny thing was that the only thing you could see from my porch was a neighborhood like in desperate housewives and i had no view of any lake. but at my new house i do have a view of a lake and i have no desire to go out and buy a canvas to paint the scenery on like i once did, ironic isn’t it?
painting pictures is like writing stories is like drawing underdiscovered truths. i love my canvas and all the truths it bears. i know i have no right to say i´m a painter, but i know what to do with a brush. and everything you create is truth.
The writer is a painter without the canvas. the one who can paint a picture into the mind of its reader, with vivid, flowing colors which swim across the mind like a graceful fish, real images that only experiences can form, and it’s always unique. for painters, everyone sees only one picture on the canvas, though they may interpret it however they like. Writers on the other hand, create a world that is different within any mind that comes across it. Because when it comes to experiences, a Californian biker and a New York Gangster have different ideas on what a bar looks like, it’s different for every person.
You were like my blank canvas.
I dressed you up in bright colours
And painted a smile on your face.
I covered up everything
That I didn’t want you to be.
And you were my masterpiece.
But then I realized I was wrong
And I washed away the paint
And hung the real you on my wall.
You are my masterpiece.
de l’âme duvet si
l’i-race juas’car le
The blank canvas of the page stared me in my face. A new beginning, ready to receive the words in my head and string together a story that has been a long time coming. I’ve filled the canvas thus far with Nine thousand, two hundred, and sixty four words. Only 40,736 to go.
the world is my canvas. My mind is the canvas of the world. I never understand things, just paint them in the time of my life. Time and space are the only canvas we have to express ourselves.
Paint.
Live.
A Canvas can be thought as a place to escape to for an artist, a canvas can be the making or demise of somebody. A canvas is more than a word it can mean fame and fortune or it can mean the dream that will never be reached. A canvas.
the canvas was bare….needing to be filled with vibrant color.
It’s bright with color, the canvas. It’s not unlike things I’ve seen many times before, but this time it’s different, better. Because she’s here, too, sharing it with me. This minute. This hour. This day.
painting on a canvas is so much better than painting on paper. I would love to own some. I wish I could paint well and have a more creative mind. I want to paint a canvas so brilliant that I get noticed for it. I want to make a difference.
To reveal the canvas meant revealing his deepest feelings and desires – so he hid it away in his secret cavern.
The canvas stares back at me. Everything blurs and all that’s left is me and the brush and the peach-colored sheet in front of me. And then it moves and changes and evolves.
Nothing else matters.
Everything’s infinite.
i attended a funeral today
the widowed wife’s tears were loud and silencing
she kissed the casket as if she were kissing her husband of 30 years’ lips
for the last time
it’s interesting to think how full our canvases
are
will get
and how blank they start
was it a nice picture he painted?
he was selfish
but we don’t mention that
when honoring the recently deceased
i didn’t know you well
i didn’t ever see your canvas
beside a brush stroke or two.
i am sorry for your loss
The beautiful canvas was painted with a magnificent masterpiece by a girl with luscious red hair and fair skin, lovely green eyes and a brilliant smile. She painted the world that was the canvas of her life. She would bring beauty to the life. Never forget.
This is a blank canvas for my thoughts. Right now unfortunately I don’t have many colors on my pallet. I like the feel of the word canvas. I like it’s texture.
He swirled the tip of his paintbrush through the many hues and shades of colour on his palette. Delicately, he raised the paintbrush to the canvas and painted one swift stroke. Colour slowly filled the canvas, giving it life and meaning.
His body was like a canvas, every scar had a story, every line a reason, every curve and dip a secret. Try as the blonde might though, he could never figured out what the tattoo meant until he asked.
“Why do you have Fenrir tattooed on you?”
“It shows that I love you.”
“Oh…” A blush blossomed and a kiss was given, the reason that was once hidden now known.
it’s something we paint on, or sketch on, or it could be left blank.
white. or not. I have to pee so I’m not really focusing on the word but rather on that. Why would I even start this when I had to pee? TMI? Well, sorry. Welcome to the world folks. I thought the word was “crayon,” i would have liked that better, I think. Crayons. Cerulean blue is a crayon color that was always my favorite. When I was little I thought it was called kur-yoo-leen, though. Woops. I hate when American people spell color like “colour” and all other British spellings… it’s so pretentious.