Posts Tagged: Art
Ink on canvas / Typewriter font / Late twentieth-century
I want to tell the truth for a living Because museums make no use of text
Ink on canvas / Typewriter font / Late twentieth-century
I want to tell the truth for a living Because museums make no use of text
Seamster
Sometimes, I wish I could draw To be able to show How beautiful some people are But, with words I can show you their beauty Inside and out
Art gallery
A congregation of females In a steady march Roaming between glass rooms, pillars, and columns Each one passes with a dry swallow Clicking as the slide changes While another one comes into view Twisting and turning and brushing against you
Art gallery
A congregation of females In a steady march Roaming between glass rooms, pillars, and columns Each one passes with a dry swallow Clicking as the slide changes While another one comes into view Twisting and turning and brushing against you
A work of art
A dark room, a stubborn thought Pestering and tormenting It racks your brain Like the shelf that holds a heart A red dab on a palette As the crimson swirls around Blood and wine Flooding the fields With grazing memories
A work of art
A dark room, a stubborn thought Pestering and tormenting It racks your brain Like the shelf that holds a heart A red dab on a palette As the crimson swirls around Blood and wine Flooding the fields With grazing memories
Liberty
Looking at Liberty leading the people What do you see? The wooden floorboards that creak under your foot As you shift your weight to sit on the bench That groans and strains to hold you up What do you hear?
4×6 or A4?
A picture is worth a thousand words. I’d rather have the pages. All folded up and carried around in my wallet. The wrinkles and creases don’t distort the beauty of what’s written, they add to it. You can feel the
4×6 or A4?
A picture is worth a thousand words. I’d rather have the pages. All folded up and carried around in my wallet. The wrinkles and creases don’t distort the beauty of what’s written, they add to it. You can feel the
Placebo (part 1)
I was standing in an art gallery. Staring at the wall. Actually, it was a corner. The point where two walls connect. The walls are the same color. But, the way the light shines over here makes one look darker
Placebo (part 1)
I was standing in an art gallery. Staring at the wall. Actually, it was a corner. The point where two walls connect. The walls are the same color. But, the way the light shines over here makes one look darker
LITTLE TALKS 