I don't paint dreams or nightmares, I paint my own reality.
dreams art inspirational reality painting nightmares paint
The tools are real. The viewer is real, you, the artist, is real and a part of everything you paint. You connect yourself to the viewer by sharing something that is inside of you that connects with something inside of him. All you have as your guide is that you know what moves you. All you have to do it with is a brush, some chemical and canvas, and technique.
sharing art real inspirational tools artist inside part paint
I love so many books and authors that it's hard to name just a few, but I'm always particularly excited when new books by and come out. (And, of course, books by, and, and the rest of the Bordertown crew!) I'm impatiently looking forward to 's next book too. Aside from writing and reading, my favorite things to do are paint, walk in the countryside with my dog, and listen to music -- especially when it's live and it's played by friends. Fortunately there's a lot of live music where I live.
reading writing rest music live friends book authors countryside listen dog forward hard things walk favorite interests love books paint
Evan ran his finger across the faded leather spines. He laughed at how silly some of the names were: Paint Your Roses Red, Edelweiss and Me, World of Mushrooms and Fungi, The Toadstool Diaries, Daffodils Unseen and Exotic Plants Unleashed, to name but a few.
funny fantasy names world fiction diaries roses red silly plants books humour paint
After my mom died she ate my father up completely. She would have hated it. Every minute of his life since then has been marked by her absence, every action has lacked dimension because she is not there to measure against. And when I was young I didn't understand, but now, I know, how absence can be present, like a damaged nerve, like a dark bird. If I had to live on without you I know I could not do it. But I hope, I have this vision of you walking unencumbered, with your shining hair in the sun. I have not seen this with my eyes, but only with my imagination, that makes pictures, that always wanted to paint you, shining; but I hope that this vision will be true, anyway.
vision mom life imagination absence action death live walking true present dark sun eyes measure pictures understand young father hair bird hope paint
The thing about old friends is not that they love you, but that they know you. They remember that disastrous New Year's Eve when you mixed White Russians and champagne, and how you wore that red maternity dress until everyone was sick of seeing the blaze of it in the office, and the uncomfortable couch in your first apartment and the smoky stove in your beach rental. They look at you and don't really think you look older because they've grown old along with you, and, like the faded paint in a beloved room, they're used to the look. And then one of them is gone, and you've lost a chunk of yourself. The stories of the terrorist attacks of 2001, the tsunami, the Japanese earthquake always used numbers, the deaths of thousands a measure of how great the disaster. Catastrophe is numerical. Loss is singular, one beloved at a time.
numbers friendship disaster death time stories friends loss lost remember measure japanese aging sick beach white great red dress love thing champagne beloved paint
Though there had been moments of beauty in it Mariam knew that life for most part had been unkind to her. But as she walked the final twenty paces, she could not help but wish for more of it. She wished she could see Laila again, wished to hear the clangor of her laugh, to sit with her once more for a pot of chai and leftover halwa under a starlit sky. She mourned that she would never see Aziza grow up, would not see the beautiful young woman that she would oneday become, would not get to paint her hands with henna and toss noqul candy at her wedding. She would never play with Aziza's children. She would have liked that very much, to be old and play with Aziza's children. Mariam wished for so much in those final moments. Yet as she closed her eyes, it was not regret any longer but a sensation of abundant peace that wshed over her. She thought of her entry into this world, the harami child of a lowly villager, an unintended thing, a pitiable, regrettable accident. A weed, And yet she was leaving the wolrd as a woman who had loved and been loved back. She was leaving it as a friend, a companion, a guardian.A mother. A person of consequence at last. No. It was no so bad, Mariam thought, that she should die this way. Not so bad. This was a legitimate end to a life of illegitimate beginnings. Pg. 360
accident wedding life peace death beauty children leaving thought world regret beautiful sky moments mother person woman end bad play grow child eyes friend laugh hands beginnings young die hear part thing candy companion paint
Put a gun to my head and paint the wall with my brains.
death wall suicide gun head brains paint
In Collegium it had been the fashion, while he had been resident there, to paint death as a grey-skinned, balding Beetle man in plain robes, perhaps with a doctor's bag but more often an artificer's toolstrip and apron, like the man who came in, at the close of the day, to put out the lamps and still the workings of the machines. Among his own people, death was a swift insect, gleaming black, its wings a blur - too fast to be outrun and too agile to be avoided, the unplumbed void in which he swam was but the depth of a single facet of its darkly jewelled eyes.
man people death fashion wings day black eyes depth single close void machines paint
I decided I would fill the emptiness in me with God and with paint.
faith sad love-story emptiness break-up empty heartbroken god paint
.. God daubs stars into galaxies with fiery paint - the same lacquer he uses upon your lips..
lips god paint
You put your soul into those paintings, and nothing in this world is more beautiful to me than that soul of yours.
soul beautiful paint
It was any outcast's nightmare. If I looked carefully, I suspected I might find it beneath the black paint of the small acrylic by the window.
fear hiding nightmares paint
Use your blood to paint. Keep painting until you faint. Keep painting until you die.
blood paint
I spray the sky fast. Eyes ahead and behind. Looking for cops. Looking for anyone I don't want to be here. Paint sails and the things that kick in my head scream from can to brick. See this, see this. See me emptied onto a wall.
painting paint
A painted surface is a real, living form.
Being a painter, I ought to say why in pictures people's faces are painted green and red.
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