A great place to go view the latest films where you are treated to great customer service and are given the best seats in the house, all be it it costs triple the cost of a regular seat, it is generally worth it in the end.
images of teddy bears bent on the seven sins. bunny rabbits avoiding hell. peaceful and full of inspirational wisdom. the upper crust. glasses with long stems. fabulous. glass walls
they are there, you with them,
on display
the trophies of my mouth
I browse past your smell
past your skin
I observe you as a piece of art
yet I am able to walk away
change rooms
you are in my gallery
of memories
do you feel proud?
do you prefer to be there than inside my heart?
and i’m not here to put you on the wall to show you off to put my name plate next to you i’m here because i love you because i know this is right because while you will someday be a part of my gallery i plan on giving you an entire section to yourrself
The gallery was almost ready for the public viewing. Janey was very excited–this was her show, her chance to prove to the world that she had talent. All the struggles she’d gone through over the years, it was all leading up to this moment.
Art gallery. Many people, quietly observing stationary objects. Some people are actually considering the importance or meaning of these pieces of art, while others really just have no clue what they’re looking at.
Gallery of ideas, pictures, names, places. Its a huge gallery in my head of all things I ve ever seen or been exposed to. The good, the bad and the ugly all included. My friends faces, my families faces all of the things we’ve experienced as one. This is my gallery. I love my gallery. Reminds me of all Ive know and loved.
She walked about the gallery, taking in each picture slowly like sips of fine wine. Her heels were muffled by the plush carpet so that she seemed to move about the long room like a ghost. The pictures stared down at her.
I hear the papperozi? taking pictures of Lady Gaga posing in front of the statue. Her peel of laugther echos throughout the air around me. Kids are screaming, “Can I have your autograph, please!?”
a gallery of portraits of moments of memories. a gallery of smiles, of teeth. a gallery of cavities. a gallery of owls, or no… a parliament. of owls. i feel uninspired. i’m tired and my face hurts. a gallery of pain.
We hear elegant music. Photographers are clicking the cameras at people and their colorful artwork. The eagar kindergarteners walk around with their teacher.
It has different stuff in it. You can put stuff in it. Pictures go in it. Family photos go in it. The photos are elegant. You can see art in it. Interesting art.
Sparrow grinned around at all the pieces in the gallery. She wished she could draw. She supposed she could well enough to get by, but these things, these masterpieces, these were just stunning.
She suddenly sensed a presence beside her. She grinned up at the towering trickster, at her Lee, and he answered her grin with a kiss.
i think of photography art and my camera:) i love photography and every photographers dream is to have a gallery but most of the time that doesn`t happen.
i’m twirling around in my very own personal gallery and in-between the lines of all the pretty pictures, and lovely faces, i’ve come to realize that i am oh so alone. here by myself, in the world without another soul. everyone else is holding someone’s hand while they look at the pretty pictures.
I had to go to a gallery once for a class. I still don’t understand what the purpose was. We were probably supposed to feel a deep connection of some sort. – I get bored in museums.
After the class trip, a bunch of us went out for lunch, and the teacher joined us. Everyone was sitting around, talking. Most were fawning over the teacher and asking her lots of questions, which she answered. I don’t think I asked anything, but I listened. At one point, a guy in the class started talking about something. I think he may have been enthusiastically telling a story. Eventually the teacher interrupted him and told him that here she was, with us, a rare opportunity for us to ask questions of her and learn about her and her insights, and here he was talking about himself.
– This teacher was a piece of work.
I also remember that, at one point, she said she liked stuffed grape leaves. She had some on her salad. I had some on mine too. I was saving mine for last because I also liked them. After she finished hers, she asked if I was going to eat mine. I said yes. I just hadn’t gotten to it yet. She paused, then asked me again, as if I hadn’t answered correctly. – I gave the same answer again. She seemed shocked that I didn’t give her my grape leaves. – She had her own!
Pictures line the wall of my gallery. My pictures, the wonderful ones, I want everyone to see. Not that they’d care for them all, but what fun to see my shots up there and discussed. I like those angles and curves and colors.
A place where you go to be inspired by great artists work. You go to view and be one with other peoples genius. Respect it, love it, and try and comprehend the greater meaning behind what’s on the canvas. There’s always more than meets the eye.
I thought galleries were where smart, successful people discussed what they saw in someone else’s thoughts. An empty canvas, a sculpture, every colour you can imagine, people can analyze and discuss it until it doesn’t really mean anything. I’d love to see a gallery where everything meant nothing.
“Hey there grandpa, what are you doing hanging on the wall?”
“My butt itches.”
“Look at that man over there, his ear hair, all the smudges.”
“Lemmings? Lemons? Leggings? All.”
A gallery of his most renowned works were there for all to see. In every direction, displayed for those whom could get in to see. It was a private gallery, left only to those privileged to see his work. A gallery everyone can see is not special, it is general.
Lars Burton just’ve passed an art gallery, wondering whether she will be there or not. She saw her just once, but it was enough for him to start looking for her. Her smile, her eyes, her body and style were astonishing for him. He wanted to meet her, talk to her … And he knew she wanted the same, otherwise she wouldn’t leave him her scarf.
a gallery of paintings hangs above me. it is beautiful, with many famous paintings in it. a gallery of paintings hanging above, the treasure of some people. the treasure of an artist.
The gallery was full of admires and naysayers alike – anyone who wanted to see Josephine fail and everyone who hoped that she would succeed. There was no conversation, as everyone held their breath waiting to see which group would be more content at the end of the night.
The gallery was white and simple, big empty walls with big, modern pieces. The pieces themselves were interesting, not the kind of “modern art” people question as “art.” But the white, the gaps, the quiet people meandering through, created a sense of absolute emptiness. Loneliness.
“Welcome,” He said, spreading his arms out to the side to encompass the vast space, a terrible grin cracking his face in two, “To my Gallery!”
One by one, the lights to the warehouse crashed on, illuminating the scene around them.
Cheryl’s eyes widened in horror and her mouth dropped open. Jeremy’s face drained of color and he swayed on the spot.
Cheryl covered her mouth with a trembling hand. “No…oh, God, no…”
A great place to go view the latest films where you are treated to great customer service and are given the best seats in the house, all be it it costs triple the cost of a regular seat, it is generally worth it in the end.
images of teddy bears bent on the seven sins. bunny rabbits avoiding hell. peaceful and full of inspirational wisdom. the upper crust. glasses with long stems. fabulous. glass walls
they are there, you with them,
on display
the trophies of my mouth
I browse past your smell
past your skin
I observe you as a piece of art
yet I am able to walk away
change rooms
you are in my gallery
of memories
do you feel proud?
do you prefer to be there than inside my heart?
and i’m not here to put you on the wall to show you off to put my name plate next to you i’m here because i love you because i know this is right because while you will someday be a part of my gallery i plan on giving you an entire section to yourrself
The gallery was almost ready for the public viewing. Janey was very excited–this was her show, her chance to prove to the world that she had talent. All the struggles she’d gone through over the years, it was all leading up to this moment.
Art gallery. Many people, quietly observing stationary objects. Some people are actually considering the importance or meaning of these pieces of art, while others really just have no clue what they’re looking at.
Gallery of ideas, pictures, names, places. Its a huge gallery in my head of all things I ve ever seen or been exposed to. The good, the bad and the ugly all included. My friends faces, my families faces all of the things we’ve experienced as one. This is my gallery. I love my gallery. Reminds me of all Ive know and loved.
She walked about the gallery, taking in each picture slowly like sips of fine wine. Her heels were muffled by the plush carpet so that she seemed to move about the long room like a ghost. The pictures stared down at her.
I hear the papperozi? taking pictures of Lady Gaga posing in front of the statue. Her peel of laugther echos throughout the air around me. Kids are screaming, “Can I have your autograph, please!?”
a gallery of portraits of moments of memories. a gallery of smiles, of teeth. a gallery of cavities. a gallery of owls, or no… a parliament. of owls. i feel uninspired. i’m tired and my face hurts. a gallery of pain.
We hear elegant music. Photographers are clicking the cameras at people and their colorful artwork. The eagar kindergarteners walk around with their teacher.
It has different stuff in it. You can put stuff in it. Pictures go in it. Family photos go in it. The photos are elegant. You can see art in it. Interesting art.
Sparrow grinned around at all the pieces in the gallery. She wished she could draw. She supposed she could well enough to get by, but these things, these masterpieces, these were just stunning.
She suddenly sensed a presence beside her. She grinned up at the towering trickster, at her Lee, and he answered her grin with a kiss.
i think of photography art and my camera:) i love photography and every photographers dream is to have a gallery but most of the time that doesn`t happen.
A gallery is something that shows or displays something. For example an art gallery, it displays art.
a place where couples go to look at art. it is pronounced GHALLARREYY!!!!! that makes me think of old people eating chocolate:P
A galerey is where you can put things like pictures or any art tipe things. it can also be like a place where you can look at things.
art, pictures, paintings, colors and really weird people
when i think of gallery i think of colors for some reason.
i’m twirling around in my very own personal gallery and in-between the lines of all the pretty pictures, and lovely faces, i’ve come to realize that i am oh so alone. here by myself, in the world without another soul. everyone else is holding someone’s hand while they look at the pretty pictures.
there are a bunch of different kinds of galleries
movies, paintings, hall ways, beauty, and galleries.
One day I will have a gallery filled with my sculptures. And maybe, just maybe, I will be well known as a famous sculptress.
Gallery
I had to go to a gallery once for a class. I still don’t understand what the purpose was. We were probably supposed to feel a deep connection of some sort. – I get bored in museums.
After the class trip, a bunch of us went out for lunch, and the teacher joined us. Everyone was sitting around, talking. Most were fawning over the teacher and asking her lots of questions, which she answered. I don’t think I asked anything, but I listened. At one point, a guy in the class started talking about something. I think he may have been enthusiastically telling a story. Eventually the teacher interrupted him and told him that here she was, with us, a rare opportunity for us to ask questions of her and learn about her and her insights, and here he was talking about himself.
– This teacher was a piece of work.
I also remember that, at one point, she said she liked stuffed grape leaves. She had some on her salad. I had some on mine too. I was saving mine for last because I also liked them. After she finished hers, she asked if I was going to eat mine. I said yes. I just hadn’t gotten to it yet. She paused, then asked me again, as if I hadn’t answered correctly. – I gave the same answer again. She seemed shocked that I didn’t give her my grape leaves. – She had her own!
Pictures line the wall of my gallery. My pictures, the wonderful ones, I want everyone to see. Not that they’d care for them all, but what fun to see my shots up there and discussed. I like those angles and curves and colors.
I hang in the gallery and wait. I wait for you, for your observation, for your adoration, for your need.
I hang in the gallery at night and watch the travelling lights illuminate my fellows, each in their own little world, each hungry for your gaze.
I hang in the gallery and know that you wish you were beside me, that you were worthy of wood and wire, frame and glaze.
A place where you go to be inspired by great artists work. You go to view and be one with other peoples genius. Respect it, love it, and try and comprehend the greater meaning behind what’s on the canvas. There’s always more than meets the eye.
I thought galleries were where smart, successful people discussed what they saw in someone else’s thoughts. An empty canvas, a sculpture, every colour you can imagine, people can analyze and discuss it until it doesn’t really mean anything. I’d love to see a gallery where everything meant nothing.
“Hey there grandpa, what are you doing hanging on the wall?”
“My butt itches.”
“Look at that man over there, his ear hair, all the smudges.”
“Lemmings? Lemons? Leggings? All.”
A gallery of his most renowned works were there for all to see. In every direction, displayed for those whom could get in to see. It was a private gallery, left only to those privileged to see his work. A gallery everyone can see is not special, it is general.
art galleries make my feet hurt from walking a lot.
Lars Burton just’ve passed an art gallery, wondering whether she will be there or not. She saw her just once, but it was enough for him to start looking for her. Her smile, her eyes, her body and style were astonishing for him. He wanted to meet her, talk to her … And he knew she wanted the same, otherwise she wouldn’t leave him her scarf.
Art can be in a gallery.
A gallery is a gallery of photos or styles of clothes…
place of showing and seeing. view to all possibilities.
I have never been to an art gallery. Actually I have never been to any kind of gallery. Is there any kind of galleries here in Show low?
a gallery of paintings hangs above me. it is beautiful, with many famous paintings in it. a gallery of paintings hanging above, the treasure of some people. the treasure of an artist.
The gallery was full of admires and naysayers alike – anyone who wanted to see Josephine fail and everyone who hoped that she would succeed. There was no conversation, as everyone held their breath waiting to see which group would be more content at the end of the night.
The gallery was white and simple, big empty walls with big, modern pieces. The pieces themselves were interesting, not the kind of “modern art” people question as “art.” But the white, the gaps, the quiet people meandering through, created a sense of absolute emptiness. Loneliness.