wandering in the gallery with a martini the floors are white and my shoes are clacking loudly i feel self conscious. im trying to find a piece of art i connect with whic will change my life but it’s not happening… maybe I should switch to theater
standing all around me
me looking as hard as i can
but nothing
i cant seem to get what i want
maybe if i ask politely
you and your colors
your mischievous shape
i cant figure it out
how does it work
what are you looking for ?
because ill match it and then some
they hung in the air like clouds in a sky. Each revealing to me their secrets. The minds of the artists all nailed up like sacrificial christ upon the cross–each of their thoughts yearning to be conveyed to me.
an entire gallery dedicated to you. i have painted you so many times in my head. i’d love nothing more than to make it a reality and be able to look at you every day, never getting enough.
I open my gallery to find words poured across the net. Words that fill the feelings, that piece together the emotions, that hold together my sanity. Words that I haven’t spoken, but which remain in a secure place which no one has access too.
art gallery. a place where one can go to be alone and truly contemplate the hard work and actions of another human. it is a safe space where uncomfortable, unconventional things may some times take place, but it is also a space where we can learn from each other without ever speaking a single word.
I was shown through the hall. I had never seen anything like this before. A massive collage of color hit me like a tidal wave. I believed in everything.
the art gallery was packed full of people, all of them wearing very suave and sophisticated clothes, trying to give the impression of being suave and sophisticated themselves. Mrs. Honesty walked into the gallery and threw up, appalled by the lack of her namesake there. The paintings looked back at her, and wished they were somewhere else.
she walked through the room, and saw the walls. covered in pictures of every description. abstract beauties, gratuitous pinup girls. snooty museum guards pacing nervously, hoping someone wouldn’t try to touch the paintings, and break the sacred law
She sat on a bench in the gallery, staring at the portrait of her grandfather in front of her. He was a distinguished loooking man, with beautiful grey silvery hair, and bright eyes which had not been dimmed by age. She had loved her grandfather dearly and was moved to see the likeness of him.
i love art galleries. i’ve never been to one, but i see them on the movies and i really want to visit one. my friend wants to own one and i think that’d be nice to visit it one day. it’s include awesome modern art that would be really expensive and pretty.
The last time I went to an art gallery, it was with my ex-boyfriend. The funny thing was, even though we were both art students, he still felt compelled to explain the complex features of every painting. It was annoying.
art galleries…..cant say I’ve really been a fan of them, I mean if an artist would like to get noticed, they should put them into more public places, where as an art gallery will only draw the attention of those looking for good art, where as it’s the public’s view that holds the most sway over the popularity of a piece.
a portrait of the ending saw me through to the beginning. a gallery of misery was the fruit of my hallucination. a pointless existence clouds the unfortunate simplicity that resolves all things. a joke? no, but nevertheless a monstrosity. oh how the beloved become the beneath.
Pacing through the gallery, taking the antiquated paintings with a definite boredom, I saw, from the corner of my eye, a man, a guide I believe, looking at me pecuilarly. For a second, I was amused, did I match the profile of an art thief?
Thumbnails. Reminds me of my anime days where for hours at a time I would prowl the internet for pictures of my favorite anime characters. Those were the good ol days. The 12 and 13 year old days where nothing mattered except what I wanted to eat and when I wanted to go to sleep, what anime I wanted to watch and which gallery I wanted to creep around in.
I have nothing to say about a gallery, except art & pictures. I’ve never, ever been to an art museum. Maybe going to the Louvre would be fun. No, it would be great cause I’d be in Paris. I really want to go to Paris. Or anywhere in Europe.
I went to the Lourve this summer. I spent only 2 hours in it. Its funny, the less you care about the paintings, the less time you spend. Or if youre not high. That helps museums too.
galleries and galleries but nothing to see
nothing inspiring to modivate me
pictures and paintings and moderny art
nothing but wastred pieaces of … bart…
umm
art
dart
dart
fart
i looked into the crowd and saw a gallery of people.
however unlike most normal galleries, I only glimpsed each person for a second and in that second I made an assumtion. a judgement, an opinion of that person.
may it be love, hate or jealousy,
a full cocktail of emotion was brewing in my brain.
parade, a line up of beautiful things that perhaps and hopefully perhaps…sum up my life. If my life were enclosed in a gallery, I would hope it would show only my triumphs. At this moment, I can’t recall how any of my failures helped me. I’m certain that can’t be true though.
In the gallery hung hundreds and thousands of faces, so many that I began to lose intrest as I strolled into it’s depths. Upon emerging from the gallery and into the lobby, I realized I had not seen a single face that I recognized. This startled me. There are so many people in this world, yet I know so few.
I love galleries of all kinds. The ones with painted people in black and white are the best. Motion of living captured in a blank canvas, the ability to really have an opportunity to analyse the particulars of a scene. Life in stills. I wonder what I would look like, in the motion of my everyday.
the art gallery is a majestic place, with views from all over the world, from different walks of life, re-creating a single moment in history. All of these moments of history come together to make a collection, which is then displayed for many to see. Some appreciate it, some glance and walk by, but no matter what, you are always moved by it.
I would like my home to be like a gallery displaying all of the things I think of as ART. I have three photos I took, enlarged and then framed hanging in my foyer right now. The joy I feel as I look at them when entering my home, just makes me smile.
galleries are where most people see paintings or have art shows. ive never been to an art show, although id like to go to one. im not that great at art myself though, which kinda sucks. gallery reminds me of the word galleria. im supposing theyre realted. duh. im an idiot. and galleria reminds me of that part of the move in the terminator….kinda weird.
The art at the gallery was so emotionally inspiring and moving, she knew she would never be the same in any way. Food and sex would be different forever, at least whenever she thought of the art she saw.
i’m running through all the rooms and every frame is a temptation to be torn down. they’re all silent, milling about, headphones on, soaking in predigested slices of bread from the birds above. and still i’m running, blending into the colors, the gold, the irony of it all.
Patience hate looking at herself, at my past, at the horrible pieces she had once considered masterpieces. Staring into Julia’s face, all she could was now that was true art.
wandering in the gallery with a martini the floors are white and my shoes are clacking loudly i feel self conscious. im trying to find a piece of art i connect with whic will change my life but it’s not happening… maybe I should switch to theater
a place where you stand with a serious look from your toes to your eyeballs
standing all around me
me looking as hard as i can
but nothing
i cant seem to get what i want
maybe if i ask politely
you and your colors
your mischievous shape
i cant figure it out
how does it work
what are you looking for ?
because ill match it and then some
there is a good music gallery near my office.
they hung in the air like clouds in a sky. Each revealing to me their secrets. The minds of the artists all nailed up like sacrificial christ upon the cross–each of their thoughts yearning to be conveyed to me.
Art galleries are amazing places. My favorite so far are the MET in NYC, Louve in Paris and the Smithsonians in Washington DC.
Galleries provide the public with displays of the most amazing art, bizarre art etc.
an entire gallery dedicated to you. i have painted you so many times in my head. i’d love nothing more than to make it a reality and be able to look at you every day, never getting enough.
I open my gallery to find words poured across the net. Words that fill the feelings, that piece together the emotions, that hold together my sanity. Words that I haven’t spoken, but which remain in a secure place which no one has access too.
gray. gay. all. ray. age. lag. gear. year. ear. lay. aye. rage. all words from gallery, a place to put your misfindings. a heart that is lost.
art gallery. a place where one can go to be alone and truly contemplate the hard work and actions of another human. it is a safe space where uncomfortable, unconventional things may some times take place, but it is also a space where we can learn from each other without ever speaking a single word.
I was shown through the hall. I had never seen anything like this before. A massive collage of color hit me like a tidal wave. I believed in everything.
the art gallery was packed full of people, all of them wearing very suave and sophisticated clothes, trying to give the impression of being suave and sophisticated themselves. Mrs. Honesty walked into the gallery and threw up, appalled by the lack of her namesake there. The paintings looked back at her, and wished they were somewhere else.
she walked through the room, and saw the walls. covered in pictures of every description. abstract beauties, gratuitous pinup girls. snooty museum guards pacing nervously, hoping someone wouldn’t try to touch the paintings, and break the sacred law
She sat on a bench in the gallery, staring at the portrait of her grandfather in front of her. He was a distinguished loooking man, with beautiful grey silvery hair, and bright eyes which had not been dimmed by age. She had loved her grandfather dearly and was moved to see the likeness of him.
i love art galleries. i’ve never been to one, but i see them on the movies and i really want to visit one. my friend wants to own one and i think that’d be nice to visit it one day. it’s include awesome modern art that would be really expensive and pretty.
The last time I went to an art gallery, it was with my ex-boyfriend. The funny thing was, even though we were both art students, he still felt compelled to explain the complex features of every painting. It was annoying.
prying eyes to see
the mistake they made in me
never letting me breathe
this prison of my own making
art galleries…..cant say I’ve really been a fan of them, I mean if an artist would like to get noticed, they should put them into more public places, where as an art gallery will only draw the attention of those looking for good art, where as it’s the public’s view that holds the most sway over the popularity of a piece.
a portrait of the ending saw me through to the beginning. a gallery of misery was the fruit of my hallucination. a pointless existence clouds the unfortunate simplicity that resolves all things. a joke? no, but nevertheless a monstrosity. oh how the beloved become the beneath.
Pacing through the gallery, taking the antiquated paintings with a definite boredom, I saw, from the corner of my eye, a man, a guide I believe, looking at me pecuilarly. For a second, I was amused, did I match the profile of an art thief?
i want someone to put my work in a gallery. my work has only been displayed once. sometimes i thinki deserve more. i probably don’t
art gallery .portraits.gallery of music,art,gallery of pure awesomenesss. gallery 4 u. gallery of cool
Thumbnails. Reminds me of my anime days where for hours at a time I would prowl the internet for pictures of my favorite anime characters. Those were the good ol days. The 12 and 13 year old days where nothing mattered except what I wanted to eat and when I wanted to go to sleep, what anime I wanted to watch and which gallery I wanted to creep around in.
I have nothing to say about a gallery, except art & pictures. I’ve never, ever been to an art museum. Maybe going to the Louvre would be fun. No, it would be great cause I’d be in Paris. I really want to go to Paris. Or anywhere in Europe.
in the place where i stow my soul
already i have once mistaken it for a garage
with no sale
just cheap and trite
I went to the Lourve this summer. I spent only 2 hours in it. Its funny, the less you care about the paintings, the less time you spend. Or if youre not high. That helps museums too.
A swanky place where people come to eat the latest creation, and learn new ways to communicate with one another.
I step into the huge art gallery, I am amazed at all the masterpieces. They are amazing, and .. Just plain creative. I love the gallery.
galleries and galleries but nothing to see
nothing inspiring to modivate me
pictures and paintings and moderny art
nothing but wastred pieaces of … bart…
umm
art
dart
dart
fart
I was in the gallery. But how long? I´ve never know. Now it´s too late. Now, they´re looking at me.
i looked into the crowd and saw a gallery of people.
however unlike most normal galleries, I only glimpsed each person for a second and in that second I made an assumtion. a judgement, an opinion of that person.
may it be love, hate or jealousy,
a full cocktail of emotion was brewing in my brain.
parade, a line up of beautiful things that perhaps and hopefully perhaps…sum up my life. If my life were enclosed in a gallery, I would hope it would show only my triumphs. At this moment, I can’t recall how any of my failures helped me. I’m certain that can’t be true though.
In the gallery hung hundreds and thousands of faces, so many that I began to lose intrest as I strolled into it’s depths. Upon emerging from the gallery and into the lobby, I realized I had not seen a single face that I recognized. This startled me. There are so many people in this world, yet I know so few.
I love galleries of all kinds. The ones with painted people in black and white are the best. Motion of living captured in a blank canvas, the ability to really have an opportunity to analyse the particulars of a scene. Life in stills. I wonder what I would look like, in the motion of my everyday.
the art gallery is a majestic place, with views from all over the world, from different walks of life, re-creating a single moment in history. All of these moments of history come together to make a collection, which is then displayed for many to see. Some appreciate it, some glance and walk by, but no matter what, you are always moved by it.
I would like my home to be like a gallery displaying all of the things I think of as ART. I have three photos I took, enlarged and then framed hanging in my foyer right now. The joy I feel as I look at them when entering my home, just makes me smile.
galleries are where most people see paintings or have art shows. ive never been to an art show, although id like to go to one. im not that great at art myself though, which kinda sucks. gallery reminds me of the word galleria. im supposing theyre realted. duh. im an idiot. and galleria reminds me of that part of the move in the terminator….kinda weird.
The art at the gallery was so emotionally inspiring and moving, she knew she would never be the same in any way. Food and sex would be different forever, at least whenever she thought of the art she saw.
i’m running through all the rooms and every frame is a temptation to be torn down. they’re all silent, milling about, headphones on, soaking in predigested slices of bread from the birds above. and still i’m running, blending into the colors, the gold, the irony of it all.
Patience hate looking at herself, at my past, at the horrible pieces she had once considered masterpieces. Staring into Julia’s face, all she could was now that was true art.