art wide open space with lots of pompus people reminds me of that film with the guy whos playing watson in the the new film about a detective shit cant remember his name errr well anyways always really expensive places and full of tourists aswell, all stuck up
I love going to galleries. Seeing art on the gallery walls tells you something about the artist and also the business person who owns the gallery. Never had my work in a gallery yet
as i walkedc in the gallery the piece that stood before me was like nothing i had ever seen before it was a shock to my heart and soul. the perfect reflection of everything i despised in the world, place on a piece of 10$ ccanvas and called art.
And then it was, the galley, all the paintings rising, like art was world. You don’t even know what thing is in that moment, and all, just makes sense.
A gallery of friends there upon the shelf, what with those steinbeck fellows in back sharing a drink, that shoddy looking salinger talking to himself, and borges over there inventing the never-ending story of the shelf’s existence.
I walked in to the gallery and there she was, right where she said she would be. By her painting of the field where we first met. She gasped and ran over to me and gave me a long satisfying hug. Then she took me over to her painting and I couldn’t help but wonder why everything had worked out so well. I was so happy we fell in love.
It’s hard to think of a word than is so instantly linked with pretentiousness, except for old favorites like opera. Not that it’s necessarily pretentious to like art. But the word gallery makes you think of rich people and stuck-up artists, and thus the meaning is obscured.
The gallery was white – white light, white walls, white floor. The only light cam from the radiance of the paintings, which were lush reds, vibrant blues, pulsing yellows and deep greens.
the room where people meet and greet and make smalll talk and look at the walls which behind are blank and unintresting all it takes is a cover on it to make something seem more than it is. what are you? the cover or the wall behind?
Where ideas are exposed for the world to witness, where creation takes a step forward in order to reach our minds, where we get to escape reality if only for a little while.
where we go to see art and wonder what the hell it’s all about. and does anyone really know anyway? and who the hell cares what it means. it doesn’t make any difference in my life either way
A beautiful opportunity to be entertained, challenged, transported to another time, place, dimension, brain wave, or laughing state of mind, blessings to those who deliver this opportunity
I went to an art gallery yesterday. Such a Fascinating experience. The art was incredible; so old, with so much history. The Sun shining through the drafty old windows, perfectly illuminating all that history
i had an art gallery opening at my store the other day. art galleries are very awesome. but actually. i was just joking. i didn’t have an art gallery. i had a shopping gallery. i know right? it’s awesome!! shopping galleries are so fucking fun. and you get to invite your friends to it and go shopping. its like a shopping spree, but its mixed with a show.
galleries are something for
you to look at and
not know
if you are seeing
what you see.
what is the truth of the matter?
why am I asking these questions?
what could my soul want to know so badly
that it would rip down these
walls
in between
in a cage of
safety
(mockingbird mockingbird,
fly away with me…)
my sister works in a gallery and it’s causing her problems right now she wants to find a better one and make a carreer of it. i like galleries but i get bored really quickly. i think it’s because i have a short attention span…
As I walked down the hall, I stared at the framed photographs on it. They were nameless. To me, and to everyone else, it was not only that I didn’t know them, but they weren’t identified with a metal plank.
But then I realize this isn’t my gallery.
A gallery of pictures. That’s what i find myself doing every free time I have at home with my son’s photos. Trying to put them all nicely into neat and easily retrievable folders in my picasa is just so enjoyable.
white and plain, until you meet the art work, living and still, colours and shades. This is where you meet the world, and are faced with truth and ridicule. meet yourself
If I look at my colleagues as a Daumier gallery, then work with them becomes bearable, because they are just a source of entertainment, not of irritation or frustration. They are not really part of my life, only unaware objects of derision, laughable in their self-satisfaction.
a gallery full of images is quite extra ordinary
full of colours, misery, happiness, whatever you choose, or well, the artists choose,
a gallery is more than a room of paintings
it could be a gallery for pictures, earrings, goats,
The gallery was a glow with candles and flowers were scattered about the floor. It was her favorite exhibit and she had it all to herself. she looked to her companion who was now kneeling on the floor. She was about to ask him why when he pulled out the ring.
We built a gallery to our home, and have loved every moment since it’s inception. The old south used to have galleries, and we discussed how much enjoyment an afternoon would be in a quiet tranquil area filled with friends, flowers and the entire family.
Part of the planning was my own project. The array of flowers that would dress the gallery were to be outstanding. I addressed the issue by using pass along plants.
Pass along plants are those that are given to you from cuttings from friends, neighbors, et cetera. Many of these cannot be purchased their are what I refer to as antique plants, and they are lovely. Not only are they lovely, but they are strong and insect resistant.
I had a lovely pass along rose that has the most impressive yellow flowers I have ever seen. That particular plant loves crushed egg shells placed at it’s base.
She walked into the gallery. There were beautiful paintings all around. She loved the one with the horses running across an open meadow. The sun was setting and the sky was a brilliant orange red.
Galleries are full of painted people. When you wander down a gallery, painted eyes follow you disinterestedly. If you turned around, they would all look the other way.
Art comes to all, but are all willing to listen? Messages scream forth from the walls, but we turn our head away. People cry out for somebody to listen and understand, but we are all content living in our own little world.
The elderly gentleman walked out the squeaky door one last time. He turned around as he crossed the threshhold and thought of all the pictures which had graced the 70 year old walls, walls nearly as old as he was. He thought of the many different wallpapers and matte colours which had covered the walls under the pictures. Ghosts of pretensious art critics, spaced out hippies and nervous design students still roamed the long room. Difficult-to-budge paint and ink marks tattooed the floors, reminants from installations and performance art.
i love galleries. i love photos, paintings, sculptures,and anything you can see there. i love that i can meet a lot of interesting people, with similar tastes in art. i love that it’s quiet ,clean,and simple.
an art gallery. where paintings exist in total freedom, free for the artist to see its masterpiece and the public to enjoy the energy flowing from the painting. a gallery of people looking in the gallery of art.
I felt like I was displayed in a gallery. Like when you have that dream when you are walking around andall you have on i s
A place that I love to walk through. Peacful, beautiful and inspirational. I am an artist and I am nothing if I can’t create.
art wide open space with lots of pompus people reminds me of that film with the guy whos playing watson in the the new film about a detective shit cant remember his name errr well anyways always really expensive places and full of tourists aswell, all stuck up
spectacular beauty falling gently into star dust. Wind blows through violently stacking the dust into columns
I love going to galleries. Seeing art on the gallery walls tells you something about the artist and also the business person who owns the gallery. Never had my work in a gallery yet
photos. A place to display things.
as i walkedc in the gallery the piece that stood before me was like nothing i had ever seen before it was a shock to my heart and soul. the perfect reflection of everything i despised in the world, place on a piece of 10$ ccanvas and called art.
And then it was, the galley, all the paintings rising, like art was world. You don’t even know what thing is in that moment, and all, just makes sense.
A gallery of friends there upon the shelf, what with those steinbeck fellows in back sharing a drink, that shoddy looking salinger talking to himself, and borges over there inventing the never-ending story of the shelf’s existence.
I walked in to the gallery and there she was, right where she said she would be. By her painting of the field where we first met. She gasped and ran over to me and gave me a long satisfying hug. Then she took me over to her painting and I couldn’t help but wonder why everything had worked out so well. I was so happy we fell in love.
It’s hard to think of a word than is so instantly linked with pretentiousness, except for old favorites like opera. Not that it’s necessarily pretentious to like art. But the word gallery makes you think of rich people and stuck-up artists, and thus the meaning is obscured.
The gallery was filled with bloody monsters and blood dripping down the walls. It was just like in a horror movie, only everything was real.
The gallery was white – white light, white walls, white floor. The only light cam from the radiance of the paintings, which were lush reds, vibrant blues, pulsing yellows and deep greens.
the room where people meet and greet and make smalll talk and look at the walls which behind are blank and unintresting all it takes is a cover on it to make something seem more than it is. what are you? the cover or the wall behind?
Where ideas are exposed for the world to witness, where creation takes a step forward in order to reach our minds, where we get to escape reality if only for a little while.
where we go to see art and wonder what the hell it’s all about. and does anyone really know anyway? and who the hell cares what it means. it doesn’t make any difference in my life either way
A beautiful opportunity to be entertained, challenged, transported to another time, place, dimension, brain wave, or laughing state of mind, blessings to those who deliver this opportunity
I went to an art gallery yesterday. Such a Fascinating experience. The art was incredible; so old, with so much history. The Sun shining through the drafty old windows, perfectly illuminating all that history
i had an art gallery opening at my store the other day. art galleries are very awesome. but actually. i was just joking. i didn’t have an art gallery. i had a shopping gallery. i know right? it’s awesome!! shopping galleries are so fucking fun. and you get to invite your friends to it and go shopping. its like a shopping spree, but its mixed with a show.
galleries are something for
you to look at and
not know
if you are seeing
what you see.
what is the truth of the matter?
why am I asking these questions?
what could my soul want to know so badly
that it would rip down these
walls
in between
in a cage of
safety
(mockingbird mockingbird,
fly away with me…)
my sister works in a gallery and it’s causing her problems right now she wants to find a better one and make a carreer of it. i like galleries but i get bored really quickly. i think it’s because i have a short attention span…
As I walked down the hall, I stared at the framed photographs on it. They were nameless. To me, and to everyone else, it was not only that I didn’t know them, but they weren’t identified with a metal plank.
But then I realize this isn’t my gallery.
A gallery of pictures. That’s what i find myself doing every free time I have at home with my son’s photos. Trying to put them all nicely into neat and easily retrievable folders in my picasa is just so enjoyable.
Gallery of goons. Galling gulls gawk. Any place called a Galleria is awful.
white and plain, until you meet the art work, living and still, colours and shades. This is where you meet the world, and are faced with truth and ridicule. meet yourself
If I look at my colleagues as a Daumier gallery, then work with them becomes bearable, because they are just a source of entertainment, not of irritation or frustration. They are not really part of my life, only unaware objects of derision, laughable in their self-satisfaction.
A gallery is the idea of displaying many related items in one room or hall. A gallery can exemplify many examples running along a common theme.
a gallery full of images is quite extra ordinary
full of colours, misery, happiness, whatever you choose, or well, the artists choose,
a gallery is more than a room of paintings
it could be a gallery for pictures, earrings, goats,
The gallery was a glow with candles and flowers were scattered about the floor. It was her favorite exhibit and she had it all to herself. she looked to her companion who was now kneeling on the floor. She was about to ask him why when he pulled out the ring.
We built a gallery to our home, and have loved every moment since it’s inception. The old south used to have galleries, and we discussed how much enjoyment an afternoon would be in a quiet tranquil area filled with friends, flowers and the entire family.
Part of the planning was my own project. The array of flowers that would dress the gallery were to be outstanding. I addressed the issue by using pass along plants.
Pass along plants are those that are given to you from cuttings from friends, neighbors, et cetera. Many of these cannot be purchased their are what I refer to as antique plants, and they are lovely. Not only are they lovely, but they are strong and insect resistant.
I had a lovely pass along rose that has the most impressive yellow flowers I have ever seen. That particular plant loves crushed egg shells placed at it’s base.
She walked into the gallery. There were beautiful paintings all around. She loved the one with the horses running across an open meadow. The sun was setting and the sky was a brilliant orange red.
My favourite art gallery? the ones in montmatre, where I can take my time browsing and appreciating the quirky and the conventional
beautiful
A place you find the world at your eyes!!
Photo gallery
Galleries are full of painted people. When you wander down a gallery, painted eyes follow you disinterestedly. If you turned around, they would all look the other way.
Art comes to all, but are all willing to listen? Messages scream forth from the walls, but we turn our head away. People cry out for somebody to listen and understand, but we are all content living in our own little world.
The gallery cries out. Will you listen?
The elderly gentleman walked out the squeaky door one last time. He turned around as he crossed the threshhold and thought of all the pictures which had graced the 70 year old walls, walls nearly as old as he was. He thought of the many different wallpapers and matte colours which had covered the walls under the pictures. Ghosts of pretensious art critics, spaced out hippies and nervous design students still roamed the long room. Difficult-to-budge paint and ink marks tattooed the floors, reminants from installations and performance art.
i love pie
i love galleries. i love photos, paintings, sculptures,and anything you can see there. i love that i can meet a lot of interesting people, with similar tastes in art. i love that it’s quiet ,clean,and simple.
a gallery is a place where things are displayed, where exhibitions are held. a gallery is also referred to an open place , sort of like a balcony.
an art gallery. where paintings exist in total freedom, free for the artist to see its masterpiece and the public to enjoy the energy flowing from the painting. a gallery of people looking in the gallery of art.