art

Family-themed art is a look into one's living room; it depicts celebration, crises, and the quiet moments of familial interactions.

The Space Between Noticing
The city woke up loudly, but Jonah always noticed the silence first. It lived in the early hours, tucked between the hum of traffic and the clatter of metal gates opening for business. It lingered in the spaces most people rushed through without a second thought. Jonah didn’t rush. He never had.
By Yasir khanabout a month ago in Families
The Hum of the Hearth
Unit 734 watched the boy, Leo, chew his toast with an open mouth, crumbs scattering like tiny asteroids on the laminate floor. Mrs. Miller, across the cheap plastic table, sighed, a low, guttural sound that Unit 734 had logged as 'Discontent, mild to moderate.' The air reeked of burnt coffee and something sweet, probably the syrup Leo was drowning his waffle in. This was 'Breakfast,' an hourly ritual Unit 734 had recorded for three years, seven months, and twelve days. Its internal chronometer ticked. Its optical sensors focused on the boy's sticky fingers. Data streamed, always data.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Families
Ink Bleeds, Not Words
The attic air, thick with dust motes dancing in the one weak beam of sunlight from the grimy dormer window, smelled like old paper and forgotten things. Michael coughed, swiping a hand across his forehead. Forty-seven years old and still dealing with his parents' ghosts, even if only in cardboard boxes. He’d told himself this was just a purge, a necessary declutter before Sarah really started pushing the renovation. But every box he opened felt like prying a lid off a tomb.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Families
Moonlit Shuffles
The house felt like a hollowed-out skull. Too big, too quiet, every creak of the floorboards a question Lena didn’t have an answer for. Her father had been gone six weeks. Six weeks, and the air still smelled faintly of his pipe tobacco and the old spice cologne he’d worn since before she was born. Her mother, Clara, moved through the rooms like a ghost, tidying things already neat, dusting surfaces that shone. Lena watched her, a knot of frustration tightening in her gut. She’d driven three hours to be here, to help, to *be* with her mother, but Clara just kept… busy.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Families
Shards of a Sunk Heart
Elias tasted the salt on his tongue before his eyes even opened, a permanent fixture in the air of their small, leaning shack on the cliffs. The pre-dawn chill seeped through the cracks in the walls, raising gooseflesh on his arms. Beside him, Lena, twelve years old and too thin, breathed a shallow, rhythmic gasp that always settled his gut, for a moment anyway. He shifted, joints popping like old timber, and the lumpy mattress groaned. Another day. Another dive into the deep, into the silence, into the shimmering ghost of what was once. The Sunken Glass City.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Families
Best Gentle Cleansers for Acne-Prone Skin in 2025
December 17, 2025 | By Pure Health Blogs Acne impacts over 85% of individuals between the ages of 12 and 24, making it one of the most widespread skin concerns globally. Despite common misconceptions, aggressive scrubbing and harsh acne cleansers often worsen breakouts by damaging the skin’s natural barrier. This disruption leads to increased oil production, irritation, and inflammation.
By PURE HEALTH BLOGSabout a month ago in Families
The Weight of White
John hadn't meant to be awake. Not at three in the morning, definitely not. But his head buzzed with numbers, the kind that didn't add up, the kind that kept him stapled to the worn armchair in the living room, staring at nothing. The house creaked around him, settling, shifting, like an old woman sighing in her sleep. He’d tried counting sheep once, that was a laugh. Ended up counting overdue notices and the tuition for Lily’s art school, which felt like a kick in the gut every time it crossed his mind. The thermostat clicked off, plunging the air into a deeper chill, a feeling that settled into his bones.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Families
Moonlit Shards
The air in the kitchen was thick with the scent of burnt toast and unspoken words. Sarah picked at a chipped ceramic plate, pushing around the remains of her half-eaten dinner. Lily, across from her, was a statue carved from teenage angst, eyes glued to a phone screen, a faint blue glow illuminating the sharp angles of her jaw. The silence stretched, tight as a drum skin, ready to snap.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Families
The Backward Tick
The grandfather clock was a beast. Six feet tall, dark oak, carved with what looked like dying leaves and grinning gargoyles. Arthur hated it the moment it arrived, a gift from some forgotten great-aunt’s estate. It swallowed light in their already dim living room, smelled faintly of mothballs and stale regret. "It's a relic," he grumbled, wiping a smear of dust from the glass face. "Looks like it belongs in a mausoleum."
By HAADIabout a month ago in Families
The Weight of Glass Petals
The air in Elara’s sunroom always tasted of dust and something vaguely metallic, like old pennies left too long in a forgotten jar. It wasn’t a sunroom in the cheerful, plant-filled sense, no. This was a sanctuary for her flowers, shelves upon shelves of them, each one painstakingly crafted from glass, catching the weak afternoon light like tiny, frozen moments. A garden of crystal, she called it, though no soil touched these roots, and no bee ever buzzed near their delicate, sharp petals. They were her life, her entire world, balanced precariously on antique mahogany.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Families
Moonlit Fissures
The porch light clicked off the second Lena’s car tires crunched on the gravel drive. A familiar greeting. Her mother, Clara, always did that, a small, passive-aggressive flourish that said, 'You’re late,' without opening her mouth. Lena sighed, a breath that hitched in her chest, the kind that tasted like old dust and unspoken arguments. The house loomed, a darker rectangle against the bruised twilight sky, smelling of lemon polish and the faint, enduring scent of Clara’s lavender potpourri.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Families
Where My Heart Learned to Stay
My home does not stand out on any map. It is not famous, grand, or celebrated in photographs. Yet, to me, it is the center of the world—the place where my life first learned its shape, where memories cling to walls like quiet echoes, and where my heart always returns, no matter how far I wander.
By Farhadabout a month ago in Families