art
The best relationship art depicts the highs and lows of the authentic couple.
How does contemporary art reflect our society?
You can call contemporary art as a reflection of the society. If you can deep dive and explore contemporary art, you will figure out all the reasons available for us to call like that. In fact, contemporary art is translating the experiences and values of people who live out there in the society. This fact has even been proven from the deep studies that were conducted on contemporary art as well.
By Michelle Morgan5 years ago in Humans
Holi !!
Holi, also known as the Color Festival, is one of the most popular festivals in Nepal. It occurs on the day of the full moon in the month of Nepali Fagu (February to March in the Sun Calendar) and lasts for two days. The festival takes place from March 20 to 21, 2019, and from March 9 to 10, 2020. After Dashain and Tihar Festival, Holi was celebrated with a victory over evil and the coming of spring. During this colorful festival, visitors from Nepal and abroad will pour in dried flour and colored water to express their sincere blessings and good wishes.
By prashant sapkota5 years ago in Humans
The Admirable Mathias Cox
Mathias was thinking about Kathy again. Kathy Smart was a cowardly friend with brunette eyelashes and beautiful fingers. Mathias walked over to the window and reflected on his cosy surroundings. He had always loved chilly Dallas with its tired, testy trees. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel lonely.
By Francis Sereva5 years ago in Humans
Him
His eyes were deep blue but soft. The kind of rough that glides across the tip of your fingers like water pulling sand off the beach. He wasn't tall but tall enough. His hair, black and curly. complementing his eyes almost as much as the blue modal long sleeve he was wearing. His beard was long and scruffy but I could see his skin was pale and smooth underneath, shaping his lips like a drop of water rippling the surface. He dressed casual. his casual was clean and his Liz Clainorne cologne lurked around me making it hard to breathe, making it hard to stand still, coagulating any kind of blood flow to my head. His voice was deep, raspy almost. You could hear the compassion but it was stern and assuring. His hands were bridle and dry, daddy always told me a man with beaten hands Is a man with a healing heart. He was cloying, every inch of him. Hanging my head trying to hide my pale freckled skin that seemed to detail in the sun. Dragging my toes through the sand twirling my hair between my thin fingers like my mother used to do. Making her long thin hair naturally curly. It exasperated me as a child, here I find myself doing it. I deliberately nudged his shoulder hoping it would start even the slightest conversation. He was a raconteur, you could tell just by the way he held himself. He was witty and a storyteller, lucky for me so was I or I thought I was at least. ”sorry” he muffled out, not even picking his head up. ”thats okay” I managed to get out through the stone that laid in the bottom of my dry, itchy throat. I remember i kept walking. A million things were rolling through my mind like stones rolling down a mountain crashing into dry bridle clay, leaving dust that fogged what little vision I had left ”what do I do” I murmured to myself. I felt a slight tap on my shoulder, making every nerve in my body tingle with what felt like integrety. ”Excuse me” ill never forget his voice hitting the back of my neck abetting and diffusing any train of thought I had. ”do I know you” he spoke again softly. No, but I would love to know you I thought to myself at the time. The wind blushing his pale skin. ”no I don't believe so, I'm not from here”. knowing damn good and well that I was stuck in this shit hole of a town I sadly called home. For a min he sat there, as if he were contemplating whether he knew me or not, or observing my face. I could feel the sweat rolling down my chest. ”shit” I murmured. I couldn't breathe again. ”what?” he said, with concern in his voice. ”what?” I said, not even realizing I just said what I said aloud. I put my hand to my chest, making sure I was still breathing. ”nothing” I pushed out ”its nothing, no I'm sorry I do not know you”. ”oh okay” he said. ”well I'll let you go now.” the moment was almost fervid. Odd but breath taking. Because who knew I would simply, let him walk away. Why did he turn around to adress me? He didnt even pick up his head, he couldnt have seen my face? I didn't even know I was capable of letting someone so blithe go, I myself was blithe and it takes one to know one. Despite the urge of wanting to chase you like some sappy fairytale, or get your number, it is that day in time id assume. I watched you walk away leaving me with nothing but urge and curiosity. Who were you? why did I need to know you ? i remember thinking that to myself....
By Lauren mae 5 years ago in Humans
The Therapeutic Nature Of Art
Hi, This is going to be my first (and hopefully not last) post on Vocal, and I wanted the topic be something which I can talk a lot about over a long period of time and over various posts, as there is so much I can say. I had a few ideas in mind, but I ended up settling on this : "The Therapeutic Nature Of Art". A bit weird sounding I know, but also very true. So, if you will, let me explain.
By Alice Farmer5 years ago in Humans
A Creative Space That Brings Happiness and Challenge
I have developed an interest in making bead chains at a later stage in my life. My husband fancies bead chains and he gets eager to research the bead’s history when he sees it. He totally admires a bead by the way he holds it and carefully turns it around to explore its sphere. One Christmas I was looking for a gift for him, and I wanted to give him something special that he will fancy and keep for life. I found very special hand-painted beads that were black with colorful Asian designs. And that’s when I made my first beads chain.
By Grace Kusta Nasralla5 years ago in Humans
Let It Out
I’ve decided that life is about moments of happiness. I don’t know about you, but I don’t know if it’s possible to be happy for longer than a moment. I don’t think I’ve experienced it and perhaps I never will. That’s okay. I’ve found solace in the little moments. Since I was a teenager, a lot of those little moments have existed when I’m painting. There is so much comfort in creating a piece that represents exactly where you are right now. Paint doesn’t judge, it doesn’t talk back, it doesn’t tell you to get over it or talk about itself instead. It allows you to feel all you need to feel and maneuver your way through the fog at your own pace.
By Shae Moreno5 years ago in Humans
Weaving Dreams
Weaving and cutting, threads not matching up correctly as a knot is tied, though I will not start over. A metal frame, colored string crisscrossing across empty space, pull tight, tie a knot, cut, keep going. Gifts are best when they are made by hand, no matter what they are. Something from the heart and sprinkled with a little soul. Another loose thread cut and removed from the rest of the others, and I admire my work. There are a few crooked knots, though that’s alright. Imperfections make art, and humans themselves are art because of their imperfections, and as art often is a gift, so is human life.
By Violet Fugere5 years ago in Humans
