Drawing
The Golden Apple Quest. AI-Generated.
In a small village, friends Omar, Layla, Sami, and Noor eyed the tallest apple tree in Mr. Khalid’s orchard. Its top held the legendary golden apple, said to be the sweetest. “First to grab it wins!” Omar challenged. Layla smirked, ready to climb, while Sami hesitated, fearing a fall or Mr. Khalid’s wrath. Noor just laughed. “Let’s go!”
By Omar Mohammed 7 months ago in Art
The Great Fruit Quest. AI-Generated.
In the heart of the Whispering Forest, where sunlight danced through emerald leaves, a clever monkey named Milo hatched a plan. The juiciest mangoes grew on the tallest tree, guarded by a grumpy old hawk named Horus. Milo, with his best friends—Lila the parrot and Tiko the tortoise—set out on a daring adventure to claim the prize.
By Omar Mohammed 7 months ago in Art
The Clockmaker's Secret
In the quiet village of Windmere, nestled between green hills and silver lakes, there lived an old clockmaker named Elias Greaves. His shop sat at the corner of the cobbled main street, filled with the soft ticking of countless timepieces, from tiny pocket watches to grand floor clocks that boomed on the hour.
By Hamdan Khan7 months ago in Art
🫧 Dissociative Landscapes: Music for Leaving the Body
Some music isn't made for dancing, focus, or relaxation. Some music is made for leaving. Not physically. Not even fully spiritually. But emotionally, perceptually—for the moments when your mind drifts from your skin and your sense of “I” becomes a fog, suspended in sound.
By Yokai Circle7 months ago in Art
The Artist Who Never Finished a Single Piece Of Art In His Whole Life
There are artists whose works hang in galleries, framed and lit, admired by the world. And then there was Elijah Ward—a man whose name appeared on no canvas, whose brushstrokes were always halfway done, whose art never saw completion.
By Hamad Haider7 months ago in Art
🌫 Haunted Field Recordings: Capturing Spaces That Remember
There are sounds that don’t just echo — they linger. At Yokai Circle, we’ve long been obsessed with sound’s ability to carry memory. Not the clean, documentary kind — but the emotional kind. The kind that haunts.
By Yokai Circle7 months ago in Art
The Lamp in My Father’s Room
The Lamp in My Father’s Room The house smelled of old wood, rain-soaked soil, and memories. Arif hadn’t returned home in almost eight years. The city had become his world—skyscrapers, meetings, deadlines. He had gone to chase success, to become “someone,” as he used to say to his father during their arguments.
By Khalid khan7 months ago in Art
