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Theres a collection of images that tell all my secrets, wishes and fantasies……I made for me to remember and brainwash my over the shoulder cohorts….Its better than my usual ….I know its working because I havent had to make any new galleries……the only thing is that I cant escape the washing and my own hype is begining to take over for my better judgement…..just be careful….Im almost stable????
By Mr.584903 URL on 10.05.2013
The gallery was filled with beautiful painting of far away places. Places that for some reason felt that I remembered, even though I have never heard of or been to any of the places. I guess this is because the painters captured the images so vividly
By Janai Carlson on 10.05.2013
The day the gallery opened, she had just arrived in town and was looking for something to do. So when she saw the neon lights illuminate the darkened city streets, she knew she had to go. She stepped inside, wiping off the germ, gritty sidewalk filth, and was surprised at what she saw.
By Josie URL on 10.05.2013
The gallery is big and vast. It is empty as it always is after hours. I cut through the main office and go to my room where I am staying fr the summer. Living in an old art gallery was never my plan when I moved here but now that I am I am glad that it happened because I love it. Every time I leave my room it is like I am in a new place depending on witch picture I am looking at.
By Janai Carlson URL on 10.05.2013
We walked into the art gallery . . . and stopped. Where was all of the art? There was but one measly painting hanging on the wall- one painting in the whole place. I turned to leave, but my dad was impressed. “Wow,” he breathed softly. “Must be quite a painting.” He walked over to it and stood there in awe. He then began to look around wildly. “Katie, look!” He pointed to the bare, empty walls. “The paintings, they’re . . . they’re . . . there!”
I shook my dad. “Dad, are you okay?” I asked. Great. This was the last thing I needed. For my elderly father to becoming delusional.
“No, Katie, they’re there, they really are!” he protested. “Come over here and see for yourself!”
I sighed. This was not good. “Dad, we’re leaving, now,” I said, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the entrance. “I’m taking you to see Doctor Smith.”
“No, Katie!” my dad cried. “Let me show you! Please!”
He was wasting my time, that was for sure. But finally I gave in. “Fine,” I told him. “I’ll look at the painting with you. But we are leaving right after that.”
I walked over to the paining reluctantly. It wasn’t even that spectacular- it was just an abstract by a lesser-known artist. “Let’s go, Dad,” I said. But as I was turning to leave, the plaque under the painting caught my eye. It read: ‘Many just turned and walked out the door when they saw this desolate place. However, those few who have faith and believe in this place, well, those lucky, selected few will have their eyes opened, and see a world of wonders.’
‘What exactly did that sign mean,’ I asked myself curiously. I turned . . . and stopped. The walls were filled with beautiful, amazing, colorful paintings that covered all of the walls from floor to ceiling. “What the . . .?” I exclaimed. My dad walked over to me and squeezed my hand. “You have to have faith, Katie,” he told me with a twinkle in his eye. “Look beneath the surface . . . at a WORLD of wonders.”
By Corinne on 10.05.2013
Mentally I am pushing people out of the way.
Simplicity is beauty
But often misunderstood.
I want to show my love for artistic nature
That is, for once, not overcomplicated.
I quiet down and put my headphones in.
Ignorance is once again ignored.
By Shayna URL on 10.05.2013
A an empty space where you can hear the air either moving or sitting, depending on if a window is open or if there are other bodies moving around. White walls waiting to be filled. I think of angles and hard surfaces. Nothing soft or comfortable. I want my living room.
By Meredith on 10.05.2013
My thoughts are abstract as paintings, and their gallery is a maze of wrong decisions and mislead interpretations. Can you navigate the corridors of my mind, or will you lose yourself much like I did so many years ago?
By shadow-poet URL on 10.05.2013
I paused at the door. My breath was slow, almost as if every bone in my body was impressed. The art reached the ceiling, craning towards the sky. There were hundreds of paintings, huge; floor to ceiling paintings, and little, tiny wallet sized sketches.
By Ella-Belle URL on 10.05.2013
My cold bones
have never ached so hard
(I think about you all the time)
make me st st st stutter
when I say your name
teeth ch ch ch chatter
in the winter winds
By Destroyer of Man on 10.05.2013
the simple picture
he knows the work is fine
the phrased framing contrast intwines
a thoughtful whisper
what’s yours is not mine
grated gallery of perspective’s lies
By Matty M. on 10.05.2013
I found three of my least impressive artworks hanging in the large gallery, and everyone seemed to adore them. Of course, as they flocked around the rope separating them from the glaring, sloppy canvasses, they all had something different to say about it. For one of my lackluster paintings, one man thought it was a portrayal of a dystopian America. His friend had sharply scoffed, “Oh, you mean like the America we live in now?”
They could think all they wanted about the paintings. I was blissfully indifferent.
By Belinda Roddie URL on 10.05.2013
Id take you by the hand if I could, id hold your face in my hands. Id kiss you on the cheek if I could, id kiss you on your lips cuz I can. Id put your face on every canvas, id make stain glass portraits for my walls. Id paint your hands and display your arms, a gorgeous elusive art. I want to capture your personality with every stroke I make, with your lollipop lips and your vibrant smile, I want to create a gallery of your beauty.
By Yahtzee URL on 10.05.2013
“That painting is really wonderful. Look, I think that woman looks really like the life itself.”
“Yes, the artist really did a good job.”
I smiled while I was looking at my first exhibition in the art gallery.
Eleven paintings of beautiful women hung on the walls.
Beautiful women who desired to be painted.
Beautiful women who trusted me enough to show themselves uncovered in front of myself.
And no one knew I had to take their life afterwards…
By Alice Shina on 10.05.2013
The art gallery was an ideal place for the wedding ceremony. Not too fussy, like they were some young couple it was more stately in keeping with their maturity.
By Tracey URL on 10.05.2013
We took slow steps together, hand in hand, looking at each piece of art as if we had a clue what it meant. There was a bench in front of your favorite one, and we sat for hours pondering what it meant, myself silently pondering what it actually was depicting. You smiled, though, and that’s all that matters. The swirls of color and emotion reflected onto your face, full of awe staring up at this ten foot tall canvas in front of us. Your sense of wonder was contagious. I smiled.
By Samantha URL on 10.05.2013
The elderly couple sat at the gallery watching the comings and goings o the neighborhood. Lost in their memory of days gone by. Of when it was them playing in the sprinklers sneaking kisses when they thought their parents weren’t watching.
The their kids doing the same and thinking that they had the idea first and that their parent wouldn’t have a clue (never mind that was exactly how their eldest was conceived) and now they are watching doing the same thing again. Maybe it was in their blood or maybe it was in the soil. It didn’t matter, the only thing that mattered was family.
By FairyNiamh on 10.05.2013
A long corridor looms ahead of me, its dark paintings are illistrations of destruction and I see death in every window of “art”. My heart pounds with nessecity and I find myself holding my breath. I try to run but my legs don’t carry me far and I slip into the void as the demon’s long fingers pull me closer to my fate.
By SalmaAMK on 10.05.2013
the art gallery was almost full now, and her nerves were through the roof. all she could think of was if he was here. she knew it was a slim chance, but she could hope anyways. as the lights dimmed and the gallery quieted down, she stepped out to begin her speech. her eyes locked with his in the next moment, and then all she could see was black as she collapsed on the floor.
By Stori Hull on 10.05.2013
Monalisa, Michaelangelo, Van Goh, Matisse, they are only some of the very genuises in the area of arts. great artist of all time. They are the inspiration of modern artists. Arts, even though non-academic, most people have talent in this section. Drawing, painting, etc, etc.
Now me, in the art class. I’m painting and the teacher just finished lecturing. Time for real painting. She said we will visit an art gallery as a school field trip. I was so happy. So many people in this world would like their artwork to be in the gallery.
The teacher said that one of us who has the best painting will be posted in the gallery. so everybody is doing their job. For me, is different. I wanted my painting to be up there the same as my father. My father died of sickness but his painting lives as a legacy.
By roze_princess URL on 10.05.2013
paintings fluttered like butterflies,
colours fell like autumn leaves
words scribbled like secrets
in a dream of light and blue
the people stood and stared
admiring all that was left
of someone’s dream.
By fz URL on 10.05.2013
“This place is amazing, Kala,” she said, turning in place. “And it’s yours?”
I nodded. “Every inch,”
“How did you find it?”
“Well, one of my friends actually applied to have her artwork displayed here and they were turned down by the owner. She was devastated so I told her I’d look into it. Thanks to my parents, I still have a little bit of pull in the art world and it didn’t take long for me to figure out the guy was a scumbag trying to manipulate the female artists into some, uh, artistically liberal situations,” she shrugged. “After I turned him in, the gallery went up for sale and I thought ‘Hey? Why the fuck not’?”
By S.C. Lovelace URL on 10.05.2013
Galleries are places which can be beautifully silent, without ‘filler’ talking. You are uninterrupted and detached from the outside noise.
By Lily Jones on 10.05.2013
The gallery of art stood before me. I had never been to an art museum before so I was interested in what art looked like in real life. It was just as I figured. More amazing than I ever could imagine. I reached up to touch one and the guard grabbed me. “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!!?!” He shouted. I shook and cried, being only seven at the time. The guard picked me up and put me in this room. I remember staying in there for a couple hours. When my parents finally got me, they started yelling too. About a week later they were sorry for yelling. The week after my art gallery visit I got sick. Really sick. But it is all in the past now…
By Coolio is Cool URL on 10.05.2013
acumular millas, florinda moreno kunz. documento 37279488, cel 099 588 897, domicilio avenida batlle y ordoñez 278 . nueva helvecia. departamento de colonia. uruguay
By florinda moreno URL on 10.05.2013
This was his gallery. The lovely statues lined the halls. He strolled down the long hall, smiling to himself. One after another, tears slipped from frozen eyes. His smile deepened. His gallery was so lovely.
By Drivven Wrinth on 10.05.2013
she walked through the silent halls
heels clicking and echoing off walls
portraits hung high
and paintings all low
men starring at them with intent in their eyes
trying to comprehend
what the galleries are saying
By sydney URL on 10.05.2013
The gallery was awash in color. Pollack color. Splattered everywhere.
“Where’s your piece?” She asked.
“Well, see if you can figure it out,” he replied.
By Karen on 10.05.2013
so we met at this gallery. some art thing i didnt even know why i attended.
in the end i understood it was all fate.
just to meet him. and here we are, 45 years later. still together. living happily ever after. i think it is the best love story i ever heard, and its mine.
By Ilicena Malek URL on 10.05.2013
Paintings of buildings and plants or girls that I don’t think are very good but apparently they’re marvelous but I think that’s just because they’re from a long time ago. Makes me think of the word “gal” like “girl” but I don’t like that word. Maybe like “gally” like… like a gal?
By KJ on 10.05.2013
Ive always wanted to own my own Art Gallery. I imagine it to have so many colors that each person would be wowed by the brightness and difference in each piece. I would love to meet each person who comes in and answer all the questions about my art. I want to know how it makes them feel and think. That makes me happy.
By Courtney Singleton on 10.05.2013
A hall of images painted by the greats those who were deemed amateurs if there now hang in these halls for those only wish to be as great. But soon will discover that it is not fame that drives but there spark of creativity.
By Matthew Hart URL on 10.05.2013
I went to the art gallery with my boyfriend. He’d been wanting to go since he saw the commercial on TV and he couldn’t wait to enter. It was huge on the inside. Bigger than I thought it would be. It was nice, though the concept and everything about the gallery was completely foreign to me. “Hey babe, look!” he said as he pointed excitedly at a Picasso in front of us. I didn’t know what was so special about it but I nodded and smiled along with him anyway.
By Santana Ramirez on 10.05.2013
display me like they do in the myriads of galleries
but never show them my face
show them what i look like when i cry
but never show them my face
show them what i look like when i feel like
im dying inside, but i beg you not to
show them my face
let them wonder what it’s like to live inside
this body and let them picture what it is like to
look through these eyes
but don’t show them that they are brown and
rich in texture, i’ll hide until i have no
where else to go, ill shut my eyes
and you wont exist anymore
make them see the pain the runs through
these veins, make them feel it in their veins
as if though it’s a flame they can’t escape
but don’t show them what i look like when im falling
instead show them what i see when im in the air
because when i fall ill see the ground
but when i fly i see billions and billions of lights
each one reminding me that its ok to fight
instead let them feel this heart that wins wars within
let them feel the strength with every small victory
let them feel the glory of being on top
let them know what it’s like to get back up
ill open up this ribcage and let you see
the heart that beats within this lonely me
and maybe if you feel the heavy weight suspended on these shoulders
ill stop in mid air and decide to dive
ill walk this earth with these tired thighs
ill follow the curve of your spine
and ask you to turn as i pry further inside
every atom through out your being
ill look at you through my window
and youll see me
By Lola URL on 10.05.2013
“Well, that’s an impressive piece you’ve got there.”
“Why yes, I’d say it’s the highlight of all of them tonight.”
“I love the free booze and sausages. These things are a blast.”
“Sorry, do I know you?”
By J URL on 10.06.2013
Frustrating. Intimidating. I love galleries. Art galleries. But I never have enough time or energy to see everything. I always end up wishing I had more time. I tried to see every National Gallery in England when I was there.
By Sarah Brooks URL on 10.06.2013
Colorful squares decorated the monocrome walls.
They brought out the distinctive personality of an otherwise quiet and secluded place.
A woman frowned, yet her smiles adorned the gallery.
By angie on 10.06.2013
They watched back with unmoving eyes, unless, of course, there were security cameras there, behind opaque glass. I never liked going to galleries. Everyone else moved like art connoisseurs, adopting a slow, heavy stride; everyone else thought they were doing the watching. But there are more of them then us: eyes of kings, of angels, eyes from the past.
By Holden URL on 10.06.2013
We met at the gallery late at night. It was down a dark passage way hidden from the main street. Each painting glowed in the dark like a fluorescent nightmare.
Greens and yellows and dark reds eat their way into my consciousness, tearing at my nerve ends. It was the place of death and no exit.
By david lloyd on 10.06.2013
I went to an art gallery. so beautiful, the colors the painting, and the artist there explaining how each painting changed his life. and thus they changed my life too. Because I experienced it with him. Community is everything!
By Joseph on 10.06.2013
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.