drawings are everything in life. typing is like drawing i think. there are a lot of different shapes going on. draw up the fireplace? what’s the phrase? draw the drapes. draw a picture of your life. drawing is really nice because it’s an interpretation of what you’re seeing in the world. draw something today so you can understand your world.
I love to draw. Drawing is the best thing aside from dance. It takes away your worries and how you can express yourself. It keeps all your thoughts organized and implanted on a blank canvas.
To give something of oneself is to draw.
To pull out something, to take out something.
To open a draw of oneself, to draw on a paper.
Drawing is breathing out, it is giving back.
And healthy for the soul.
draw more.
she drew a stick figure
and painted him green
they applauded her talent
the meaningless seems
the paper got slaughtered
got fed to the dogs
the artist was cold
the purpose got lost
To draw. To draw is to turn your internal thoughts into an image. You can draw on anything, a wall, a canvas, or your hand. Drawing turns words into art.
I draw the thought out like its a bug that has gotten caught up in my water. It is drowning and barely hanging on to life yet I just pull it out and take another sip. Its small, its a fruit fly, whats it going to do give me e coli?
I used to wish that I could be a good artist, but I don’t really try anymore. Some of my friends are great at drawing, but it’s just something that I’ve never been good at. I used to wish I could draw awesome anime, like my friend Andrea. She’s always been good, ever since she was really young. Maybe it’s something you’re born with.
draw
I am drawing and I am drawing what you cannot see. how can I see it? I can’t. That’s the issue. So I can draw and I can draw and I can draw but you cannot tell, because you cannot see. I am learning sight. You are learning sighs.
You see, that is the difference.
Drawing is a mastery of looking and repeating. Repeat and repeat until you justified that it’s looks rather similar to whatever you were looking at before. It’s not really a talent more-so just a good person with a good set of eyes and a pencil in hand.
draw a piece of rain in the sun. Draw a bow wide until you know it’s a cat. draw water from my well. draw a line that doesn’t end until you feel it in your ear. draw my cheek with charcoal pen. draw an ocean Frank until the end draw my paws and pause
I was never ever very good at drawing. As if my mind was too fast for my hand and the shakiness was a byproduct of my frustration that I could never, ever, with pictures truly express what I was feeling inside. I can draw a pretty solid stick figure, but a stick figure is not only extremely easy, it is extremely plain, and if its easy and plain then I probably don’t care about it.
the way she plays her violin her bow moves like through water thick and controlled.. i always thought, like drawing water out of a stone, pulling steady and smooth…
pictured on the coffee table, nude and bare boned, fleshed out with fingers and sinewy strands. coloured in with tear droplets and whispered over boiled water, steam forming shoulder blades in the crisp morning.
I drag the thin, dark colored pencil across the picture, My feelings pouring from my heart and head onto the paper. It’s easier to draw how I feel then speak it.
I don’t really like to draw. Freshman year I took a drawing class and I started to see things differently. I enjoy the feeling I get when I am drawing. I feel like I am doing something important, but it never turns out like I wish it would.
we watch helplessly as she draws names written on the popsicle sticks from the metal can and wonder what our classroom job will be this week. no say in anything, we just hope we won’t have lunch duty because we all hate wiping tables and sweeping.
three cowboys standing alone in the middle of a dusty desert, they all have an easel in their holsters – on the ground in front of them lie foot long coloured pencils, one of them throatily drawls – draw.
I know several people, whom I met in college, that love to draw. The ability to draw well seems to come quite naturally to them. The way their pencil flows effortlessly over the paper converting white nothing into some of the most fantastic works of art I have seen. When these artists turn up and perform almost effortlessly, I wonder how they developed such a stout ability and love for drawing
drawing is soemthing that i used to be somewhat decent at. well, i drew well for a short amount of time. then, i isucked again. i don’t like to draw if i don’t have to anymore. how much more do I have to write? I thougth it iwas only for one minute. are these ten second increments? if you go back, you get mroe time and can write additional information. who even wants to do that? not me…. i think i ‘ll wait for this timer to run out in ten seconds….
i would love to be able to draw. I have an artistic mind but i do not have the ability to put it on paper. The most i can draw is dinosaurs and hearts. my dream is to be able to draw people and nature by memory.
the lines are smooth the charcoal jagged. The stick figures leap into fully fleshed out pastel forms of horses galloping across the page. A pen, a pencils, the colored sticks of dusted dreams. They lay in your had waiting to be used.
If i could, I would draw the world with my words. With the brushstrokes of the english language, I would create a masterpiece! Flowing hills of ideas, mountains of metaphor, valleys of allegory. I would make the sky out of verbs.
A tree grew in the middle of the city, surrounded by all that was gray and all that was sad. One day a boy came along and thought if that tree ever were to disappear people should remember it so he drew the tree and in his drawing the leaves were golden and the branches were silver and all who saw it dreamt of a world to come.
I draw every day. Hands, feet, eyes, a whale as long as my school bus with large eyes and a blunt nose hitting the rock wall of the canyon hard, hard as a stubbed toe. I draw to escape. I drew you eating a green apple…only I knew it was green. Only I knew.
drawing is one of the most intimate activities in my life. Essential, challenging, fluid, all depends on the day. Its like breathing. A way of thought. Expression. Logical or nonsensical. Draw.
The two men stood back to back both afraid of the next 60 seconds. They began marching away from one another and at ten paces turned and screamed the battle cry, “draw”.
I used to draw when I was a child. It was a filter for me, a way to express what I felt. I have no time for that nowadays. I am happy though. Missing something perhaps.
pictures, like of elephants and boats and things you have seen, or dreamed. Draw with a pen or a pencil. Doodle. On work books, note paper, old receipts.
a life. a picture. a dream. the pencil is in your hand. as is the eraser. you can even have the pen.
draw the mountains, sun, house, fields that we did as children. draw the sky. draw the hope. the open future. mysterious, potent, teasing.
draw the lines. draw outside the lines you drew. draw the boundaries. draw the out-of-the-box.
keep drawing.
imagine more than what you can draw.
The world is like a piece of paper, and you must make your drawing. Whether or not others like your artwork, it doesn’t matter, because it is yours and you are proud of it. People are always opinionated towards their own drawings, so don’t think that yours is bad.
drawing? Who does that anymore? Ever since the apocalypse, all of the arts and crafts stores disintegrated. Hell, everything disintegrated. I, disintegrated. Why the hell would you draw something, when you want to survive. What the hell is wrong with you?
She was there,
and he,
entranced,
staring at her elegant body;
her curves;
her skin.
soft and angelic,
pure felicity.
so he drew.
a white, beautiful canvas,
made spectacular by her;
and her body.
spectacular, wonderful inspiration. You need it to live and you live to do it. Draw your mother’s face as she looks into the light, the strong lines are offset by the soft light. The lines ccan carry you away and dump you into the colors.
drawings are everything in life. typing is like drawing i think. there are a lot of different shapes going on. draw up the fireplace? what’s the phrase? draw the drapes. draw a picture of your life. drawing is really nice because it’s an interpretation of what you’re seeing in the world. draw something today so you can understand your world.
I love to draw. Drawing is the best thing aside from dance. It takes away your worries and how you can express yourself. It keeps all your thoughts organized and implanted on a blank canvas.
To give something of oneself is to draw.
To pull out something, to take out something.
To open a draw of oneself, to draw on a paper.
Drawing is breathing out, it is giving back.
And healthy for the soul.
draw more.
she drew a stick figure
and painted him green
they applauded her talent
the meaningless seems
the paper got slaughtered
got fed to the dogs
the artist was cold
the purpose got lost
a way of manually portraying images
way for a cowboy to reveal his 6 shooter
a tie
To draw. To draw is to turn your internal thoughts into an image. You can draw on anything, a wall, a canvas, or your hand. Drawing turns words into art.
I draw the thought out like its a bug that has gotten caught up in my water. It is drowning and barely hanging on to life yet I just pull it out and take another sip. Its small, its a fruit fly, whats it going to do give me e coli?
Somedays you just need a little something to draw from. A little cup of creativity to spark your insides
I used to wish that I could be a good artist, but I don’t really try anymore. Some of my friends are great at drawing, but it’s just something that I’ve never been good at. I used to wish I could draw awesome anime, like my friend Andrea. She’s always been good, ever since she was really young. Maybe it’s something you’re born with.
Drawing is fun.A person that likes to draw is probabaly creative.I love to draw becacause it brings out my creative juices.
i draw a picture in my head. it is beautiful and vibrant. it’s of a lush forest and pond. it has mysterious flowers and whimsical air.
draw
I am drawing and I am drawing what you cannot see. how can I see it? I can’t. That’s the issue. So I can draw and I can draw and I can draw but you cannot tell, because you cannot see. I am learning sight. You are learning sighs.
You see, that is the difference.
Drawing is a mastery of looking and repeating. Repeat and repeat until you justified that it’s looks rather similar to whatever you were looking at before. It’s not really a talent more-so just a good person with a good set of eyes and a pencil in hand.
draw a piece of rain in the sun. Draw a bow wide until you know it’s a cat. draw water from my well. draw a line that doesn’t end until you feel it in your ear. draw my cheek with charcoal pen. draw an ocean Frank until the end draw my paws and pause
I was never ever very good at drawing. As if my mind was too fast for my hand and the shakiness was a byproduct of my frustration that I could never, ever, with pictures truly express what I was feeling inside. I can draw a pretty solid stick figure, but a stick figure is not only extremely easy, it is extremely plain, and if its easy and plain then I probably don’t care about it.
the way she plays her violin her bow moves like through water thick and controlled.. i always thought, like drawing water out of a stone, pulling steady and smooth…
pictured on the coffee table, nude and bare boned, fleshed out with fingers and sinewy strands. coloured in with tear droplets and whispered over boiled water, steam forming shoulder blades in the crisp morning.
I drag the thin, dark colored pencil across the picture, My feelings pouring from my heart and head onto the paper. It’s easier to draw how I feel then speak it.
I don’t really like to draw. Freshman year I took a drawing class and I started to see things differently. I enjoy the feeling I get when I am drawing. I feel like I am doing something important, but it never turns out like I wish it would.
we watch helplessly as she draws names written on the popsicle sticks from the metal can and wonder what our classroom job will be this week. no say in anything, we just hope we won’t have lunch duty because we all hate wiping tables and sweeping.
three cowboys standing alone in the middle of a dusty desert, they all have an easel in their holsters – on the ground in front of them lie foot long coloured pencils, one of them throatily drawls – draw.
I know several people, whom I met in college, that love to draw. The ability to draw well seems to come quite naturally to them. The way their pencil flows effortlessly over the paper converting white nothing into some of the most fantastic works of art I have seen. When these artists turn up and perform almost effortlessly, I wonder how they developed such a stout ability and love for drawing
drawing is soemthing that i used to be somewhat decent at. well, i drew well for a short amount of time. then, i isucked again. i don’t like to draw if i don’t have to anymore. how much more do I have to write? I thougth it iwas only for one minute. are these ten second increments? if you go back, you get mroe time and can write additional information. who even wants to do that? not me…. i think i ‘ll wait for this timer to run out in ten seconds….
i would love to be able to draw. I have an artistic mind but i do not have the ability to put it on paper. The most i can draw is dinosaurs and hearts. my dream is to be able to draw people and nature by memory.
the lines are smooth the charcoal jagged. The stick figures leap into fully fleshed out pastel forms of horses galloping across the page. A pen, a pencils, the colored sticks of dusted dreams. They lay in your had waiting to be used.
If i could, I would draw the world with my words. With the brushstrokes of the english language, I would create a masterpiece! Flowing hills of ideas, mountains of metaphor, valleys of allegory. I would make the sky out of verbs.
A tree grew in the middle of the city, surrounded by all that was gray and all that was sad. One day a boy came along and thought if that tree ever were to disappear people should remember it so he drew the tree and in his drawing the leaves were golden and the branches were silver and all who saw it dreamt of a world to come.
I draw every day. Hands, feet, eyes, a whale as long as my school bus with large eyes and a blunt nose hitting the rock wall of the canyon hard, hard as a stubbed toe. I draw to escape. I drew you eating a green apple…only I knew it was green. Only I knew.
drawing is one of the most intimate activities in my life. Essential, challenging, fluid, all depends on the day. Its like breathing. A way of thought. Expression. Logical or nonsensical. Draw.
blahblahblah bioIEBUWU UWGEU
The two men stood back to back both afraid of the next 60 seconds. They began marching away from one another and at ten paces turned and screamed the battle cry, “draw”.
I used to draw when I was a child. It was a filter for me, a way to express what I felt. I have no time for that nowadays. I am happy though. Missing something perhaps.
pictures, like of elephants and boats and things you have seen, or dreamed. Draw with a pen or a pencil. Doodle. On work books, note paper, old receipts.
a life. a picture. a dream. the pencil is in your hand. as is the eraser. you can even have the pen.
draw the mountains, sun, house, fields that we did as children. draw the sky. draw the hope. the open future. mysterious, potent, teasing.
draw the lines. draw outside the lines you drew. draw the boundaries. draw the out-of-the-box.
keep drawing.
imagine more than what you can draw.
I once drew a little lamb as i ate a piece of ham. Then i wonder about who i am. I thought, perhaps a little lamb.
The world is like a piece of paper, and you must make your drawing. Whether or not others like your artwork, it doesn’t matter, because it is yours and you are proud of it. People are always opinionated towards their own drawings, so don’t think that yours is bad.
drawing? Who does that anymore? Ever since the apocalypse, all of the arts and crafts stores disintegrated. Hell, everything disintegrated. I, disintegrated. Why the hell would you draw something, when you want to survive. What the hell is wrong with you?
Drawing circles in a tree, wonder where your life will be, after you zoom your life times three.
She was there,
and he,
entranced,
staring at her elegant body;
her curves;
her skin.
soft and angelic,
pure felicity.
so he drew.
a white, beautiful canvas,
made spectacular by her;
and her body.
spectacular, wonderful inspiration. You need it to live and you live to do it. Draw your mother’s face as she looks into the light, the strong lines are offset by the soft light. The lines ccan carry you away and dump you into the colors.