the paper is a blank canvas, my thoughts the paint, the computer my paintbrush. thoughts run so fast,it’s hard to melt them down to concise words that would something to anyone except me.
Today in art class we got to paint on a clean, fresh canvas. The teacher told us we can choose any subject or item we want. I decided to choose my dog, Sparky. I painted his every detail and made sure it looked very life like. So it did, and when I was finished, I got an A+ and a sucker.
there’s a blank canvas staring at me from across the room. i can make an entire list of things I’d like to fill it with but can’t bring myself to raise a hand or a brush or a pair of scissors to get started. but yet the ideas keep coming. help me break through this block.
red. black. blue. gray. there are these colors, all spread on the canvas. my fingers ache for comfort. i’m gripping the brush with an intensity that i can’t believe. my nightmares are real. i have to paint them. the monsters that live in my head. i must paint them vividly and intensely.
blank canvas. that is what i see in front of me. And i’m supposed to fill it, fill it with art, words, beautiful things that bring something out of the people who see it. And as i stare longer and longer at the lingering emptiness, i channel all of the things that make me feel empty. And all of a sudden the emptiness is crowded with the creative workings of my brain.
I think that life is a canvas. You can paint whatever you want on it. Whatever you’re thinking or what mood you’re in set your canvas for the day. No matter what happens your canvas is yours and you can paint whatever your heart desires. Just like in life you can do whatever your heart desires.
People say that your life is a blank canvas, but that’s not really true is it? From the moment you are born, it is enhanced are marred by the people surrounding you.
I sit here with a pen poised, unable to create what used to come so naturally. I forgot what it’s like to try. Now I realize you’ve not only broken my heart, but my spirit too. A pen that no longer works. I’m left with memories of you – of us – and a blank canvas.
There are few things more intreging than blank canvases. The suple bumps of the cloths and the moment of expectation before you make your mark on the camel colored cloth…
sometimes canvases are not meant to be filled and yet our eyes and memories and thoughts and nightmares act like paintbrushes covering them with us and what we see sometimes we want to look away from but we can’t because it’s right there and if we close our eyes it’s still there just in our memory to be painted on yet another canvas.
my life is a canvas
and it’s not exactly empty or pretty
it has dark splotches full of regret
messy areas filled with mistake
wet drops from all the tears
but even though my canvas has a few ugly areas of the not-so-great times
there are still huge sections overflowing with bright bursts and splashes of color
color that represents excitement, joy, happiness, and love
and this i owe to my friends and my family
it may not be beautiful all the time but its my canvas
my life
I think of painting and then bags. Canvas can also mean to spread the word, so to speak. I like the word canvas. Sometimes, I’d like to canvas the city with messages of love and tolerance, but then sometimes I’d like to take a blank canvas and paint a really nice picture.
a canvas is a thing on with i create i create beautiful things please respect my art no, i wish i had art all i have is the written word, which is good enough for me, the written word makes me happy what about you?
canvas takes paint and gives it a home. While blank says little, but all potential it holds. Stretched taut, pulled to all sides like a meadow between heavy trees… waiting for the sun to reach down and give it meaning. Large or small, it’s meaning can be infinite.
nothing but white staring at me
staring at me with huge eyes filled with
an idea
an idea not yet found
an idea calling to me
calling me by name
yearning to be found
yearning to be painted
a story not yet told because it does not possess the lips for speech
blank, writing on the screen. The wind shifted between his fingers as he sat on the dune, looking at the sunset. The sailboat was only a dot on the horizon, but distance didn’t matter now.
a canvas is art. to paint the world as you see it through your eyes and to create any possibility or impossibility into view for those who are blind to the magic in the world.
blank. fresh. clean. vacant. if you were to look at the canvas of my life you would see red splattered with blue, a tiny yellow and green. the only bit of purple would orientate itself to my centre.
it’s beautiful to have something empty and clean and pure. it means you can do whatever you want. The world is your oyster, whatever that means. everything is a canvas, everything is what you make of it.
My life sat there, unmoving and blank. It wasn’t like starting over on a fresh canvas. It was at a standstill; the power was in my hands, and whether I wanted the canvas muddled with colors or clean and white wasn’t completely up in the air anymore. I was just confused as to when I should put the paint away. The colors sat and looked at me glumly, but I knew I couldn’t handle the chaos they brought when they were mixed together.
Do you ever feel the pressure of drawing under pressure? Every choice of color seems dubious and every stroke of the brush brings on regret? Like you have to paint the perfect picture?
But why, really, do we try so hard to be someone we’ve imagined? Why not just be ourselves, paint our canvas, with all its imperfections and flaws.
Why not?
once i buy new canvas, i plan to schlep all my heartache over. i still haven’t decided what the medium will be, thick oils or water color. but the colors will be muted and the shape indistinct from breakage.
a palet of your inner artist, your way to express your colors your thoughts and you love for new and interesting things, all you see is the endless posiblity of the blank sheet.. in your mind you race with thoughts and ideas, bringing to life your true thought of the moment.
canvas is kind of like life. It’s just a blank thing, waiting to be drawn on. Just like life. The actions that you make are the colours, the way these actions cause reactions are the texture. Of life. Life is a canvas. Make it your own.
It was blank, ready to be filled. He hesitated, before filling it with the beauty of his paint. Red was never brighter, more violent, than when it left his brush. He never stopped, not until it was full, the colour dripping off of the canvas to the floor.
a blank canvas is a thrilling thing, its a form of expression, its the artists blank mind, its a blank slate. it can create a wonderful masterpiece or a heartbreaking captivation of a tragedy, it can be a middle schoolers playground or a middle ageders savior.
i put my hands on the smooth surface, closing my eyes and seeing a beautiful picture, what I desire to paint. I get to work right away, not really thinking, just feeling. feeling all the emotions of my picture, living it. It is how I can make something beautiful, breathe life into all of my paintings.
I paint on you.
I lay my life on you.
I make the boundaries for my future, on you.
You may be blank at first,
but you soon shall be filled with colour.
What starts as white; ends in a rainbow.
I’ll paint my canvas with the most beautiful colors of you: the red of your lipsticked lips, the pink that your face flushes when you get embarrassed. The light yellow of your hair will paint the sun, and the blue of your nails will be the sky. We’ll float away together in my painting of you.
A blank canvas is more of a blessing than anything else. The white, open space represents ideas. Freedom. Things unsaid and unseen that are left to the mind to morph and shape into whatever it dreams possible.
The canvas sits in the corner of the room. Bright, lovely colours dazzle the covering. One small girl begins to scratch the red out of the canvas, leaving no blood remaining. It was such a young canvas. No longer innocent.
I paint on you.
I lay my life on you.
I make the boundaries for my future, on you.
You may be blank at first,
but you soon shall be filled with colour.
What starts as white, ends in a rainbow.
the paper is a blank canvas, my thoughts the paint, the computer my paintbrush. thoughts run so fast,it’s hard to melt them down to concise words that would something to anyone except me.
Today in art class we got to paint on a clean, fresh canvas. The teacher told us we can choose any subject or item we want. I decided to choose my dog, Sparky. I painted his every detail and made sure it looked very life like. So it did, and when I was finished, I got an A+ and a sucker.
there’s a blank canvas staring at me from across the room. i can make an entire list of things I’d like to fill it with but can’t bring myself to raise a hand or a brush or a pair of scissors to get started. but yet the ideas keep coming. help me break through this block.
Blank. ready for me to breathe life on to it. Never judging always accepting, open. Loving my mind for what it is and what it is capable of.
red. black. blue. gray. there are these colors, all spread on the canvas. my fingers ache for comfort. i’m gripping the brush with an intensity that i can’t believe. my nightmares are real. i have to paint them. the monsters that live in my head. i must paint them vividly and intensely.
blank canvas. that is what i see in front of me. And i’m supposed to fill it, fill it with art, words, beautiful things that bring something out of the people who see it. And as i stare longer and longer at the lingering emptiness, i channel all of the things that make me feel empty. And all of a sudden the emptiness is crowded with the creative workings of my brain.
I think that life is a canvas. You can paint whatever you want on it. Whatever you’re thinking or what mood you’re in set your canvas for the day. No matter what happens your canvas is yours and you can paint whatever your heart desires. Just like in life you can do whatever your heart desires.
People say that your life is a blank canvas, but that’s not really true is it? From the moment you are born, it is enhanced are marred by the people surrounding you.
I sit here with a pen poised, unable to create what used to come so naturally. I forgot what it’s like to try. Now I realize you’ve not only broken my heart, but my spirit too. A pen that no longer works. I’m left with memories of you – of us – and a blank canvas.
There are few things more intreging than blank canvases. The suple bumps of the cloths and the moment of expectation before you make your mark on the camel colored cloth…
sometimes canvases are not meant to be filled and yet our eyes and memories and thoughts and nightmares act like paintbrushes covering them with us and what we see sometimes we want to look away from but we can’t because it’s right there and if we close our eyes it’s still there just in our memory to be painted on yet another canvas.
The canvas lies empty. Waiting for me to bring it to life.
my life is a canvas
and it’s not exactly empty or pretty
it has dark splotches full of regret
messy areas filled with mistake
wet drops from all the tears
but even though my canvas has a few ugly areas of the not-so-great times
there are still huge sections overflowing with bright bursts and splashes of color
color that represents excitement, joy, happiness, and love
and this i owe to my friends and my family
it may not be beautiful all the time but its my canvas
my life
I think of painting and then bags. Canvas can also mean to spread the word, so to speak. I like the word canvas. Sometimes, I’d like to canvas the city with messages of love and tolerance, but then sometimes I’d like to take a blank canvas and paint a really nice picture.
a canvas is a thing on with i create i create beautiful things please respect my art no, i wish i had art all i have is the written word, which is good enough for me, the written word makes me happy what about you?
painting
colours
bright
scenery
rolling hills
Tuscany
Holiday
relaxation
artistic
HAVING FUN!
canvas takes paint and gives it a home. While blank says little, but all potential it holds. Stretched taut, pulled to all sides like a meadow between heavy trees… waiting for the sun to reach down and give it meaning. Large or small, it’s meaning can be infinite.
canvas.
i love it!
i sort of wish it wasn’t so expensive.
so i could pain on it more often.
i deal with my sketchpad, and i paint.
nothing but white staring at me
staring at me with huge eyes filled with
an idea
an idea not yet found
an idea calling to me
calling me by name
yearning to be found
yearning to be painted
a story not yet told because it does not possess the lips for speech
blank, writing on the screen. The wind shifted between his fingers as he sat on the dune, looking at the sunset. The sailboat was only a dot on the horizon, but distance didn’t matter now.
a canvas is art. to paint the world as you see it through your eyes and to create any possibility or impossibility into view for those who are blind to the magic in the world.
gjdsklfvgsfegjhfd.
oil paint dirty shades
bright shades
texture fly
human textures
finger touching canvas
blank. fresh. clean. vacant. if you were to look at the canvas of my life you would see red splattered with blue, a tiny yellow and green. the only bit of purple would orientate itself to my centre.
it’s beautiful to have something empty and clean and pure. it means you can do whatever you want. The world is your oyster, whatever that means. everything is a canvas, everything is what you make of it.
blank insperation beauty empty creative
My life sat there, unmoving and blank. It wasn’t like starting over on a fresh canvas. It was at a standstill; the power was in my hands, and whether I wanted the canvas muddled with colors or clean and white wasn’t completely up in the air anymore. I was just confused as to when I should put the paint away. The colors sat and looked at me glumly, but I knew I couldn’t handle the chaos they brought when they were mixed together.
Do you ever feel the pressure of drawing under pressure? Every choice of color seems dubious and every stroke of the brush brings on regret? Like you have to paint the perfect picture?
But why, really, do we try so hard to be someone we’ve imagined? Why not just be ourselves, paint our canvas, with all its imperfections and flaws.
Why not?
once i buy new canvas, i plan to schlep all my heartache over. i still haven’t decided what the medium will be, thick oils or water color. but the colors will be muted and the shape indistinct from breakage.
a palet of your inner artist, your way to express your colors your thoughts and you love for new and interesting things, all you see is the endless posiblity of the blank sheet.. in your mind you race with thoughts and ideas, bringing to life your true thought of the moment.
canvas is kind of like life. It’s just a blank thing, waiting to be drawn on. Just like life. The actions that you make are the colours, the way these actions cause reactions are the texture. Of life. Life is a canvas. Make it your own.
It was blank, ready to be filled. He hesitated, before filling it with the beauty of his paint. Red was never brighter, more violent, than when it left his brush. He never stopped, not until it was full, the colour dripping off of the canvas to the floor.
a blank canvas is a thrilling thing, its a form of expression, its the artists blank mind, its a blank slate. it can create a wonderful masterpiece or a heartbreaking captivation of a tragedy, it can be a middle schoolers playground or a middle ageders savior.
i put my hands on the smooth surface, closing my eyes and seeing a beautiful picture, what I desire to paint. I get to work right away, not really thinking, just feeling. feeling all the emotions of my picture, living it. It is how I can make something beautiful, breathe life into all of my paintings.
I paint on you.
I lay my life on you.
I make the boundaries for my future, on you.
You may be blank at first,
but you soon shall be filled with colour.
What starts as white; ends in a rainbow.
I’ll paint my canvas with the most beautiful colors of you: the red of your lipsticked lips, the pink that your face flushes when you get embarrassed. The light yellow of your hair will paint the sun, and the blue of your nails will be the sky. We’ll float away together in my painting of you.
Your body is a canvas. It is marked in my mind with my thoughts, my words. Your words stain my skin. Memories marked in indelible ink.
A blank canvas is more of a blessing than anything else. The white, open space represents ideas. Freedom. Things unsaid and unseen that are left to the mind to morph and shape into whatever it dreams possible.
The canvas sits in the corner of the room. Bright, lovely colours dazzle the covering. One small girl begins to scratch the red out of the canvas, leaving no blood remaining. It was such a young canvas. No longer innocent.
I paint on you.
I lay my life on you.
I make the boundaries for my future, on you.
You may be blank at first,
but you soon shall be filled with colour.
What starts as white, ends in a rainbow.