And then I saw your face.
And then I saw your face.
summertime.i've realized i miss you most in the summer. when we were together, we belonged to the cold; trees would lose their leaves, winter winds would blow, but the summer was ours. it was a time when we could leave essays and exams behind and start dreaming. a time for stargazing and raindancing and treeclimbing. for the wild. for us.summertime. by jonathoncomfortreed
i feel so out of place. in the light of a bonfire or the wind of a highway, i find myself thinking: you would have loved this. and i get lost in memories of running through a subway station, reaching for lights across the dark ocean or swinging by a lake and dangling our feet in the stars.
this has always been a season of early sunrises and fast-moving clouds. of picking strawberries and meeting strangers. i thought june would last forever.
but it's august. and back then, whenever i drove home at midnight or walked across the city at dawn, you were by my side. you feel far away from me, and listening to your music doesn't bring you any closer. i mi
With a camera in my hands;
I love photography, and I always have. I strive to capture that "moment" and keep it forever.
And a pen behind my ear;
I'm a writer, focusing on short stories and poetry; I love to convey emotion with words.
A laptop in my bag;
I do a lot of experimentation with digital art and other technology. I like to learn new things.
And imagination in my heart.
Artistic expression comes to me like breathing. I couldn't live without it.
Art means a lot more to me than people think.
It's that reminder that there's something more. Something worth living for.
Something worth dreaming about.
There's only us.
NightYou are not the crags and the forlorn coast.Night by ProvenParadox
Nor the forest damp with dew and majesty.
Nor the fading star after the roar of sound.
You are not who you think you are,
Your myth will never be written.
But hold your head up high,
Because you can still hold breath.
And your breath can still hold spirit.
And if you look closely at the spirit,
You will notice it holds
Crag and coast and dew and stars.
There is no danger.
Coffee, cigarettes, a newspaper,
A bastard son of
Waiting for the stream to
Swell, and take us away.
Waiting for the moss to envelop
WolfsbaneIt is too far south for wolves,Wolfsbane by ProvenParadox
and when we heard the howls,
our hackles rose
and it set the dogs ablaze.
It is too far north for hallucinations though,
and it had been a lean winter.
when the moon was down,
a shaggy haired rats-coat stranger
with a pipe and a lupine smile
stumbled into the village,
played a tune
and waltzed the children
out of town.
And no parent wants to explain
why the cows have been disappearing
or why they bring chains to the rooms
of their tiny blessings
on evenings without clouds.
No one wants to explain
the blood on pastel curtains,
the dolls made of bone.
No one wants to admit
that they are raising a monster.
And it is only really haunting
when the howling stops.
^ Deal with it. ;]
If you ask me, art is about a whole lot more than dropping into a gallery every now and then or downloading retro desktop wallpapers for your laptop. It’s about falling in love and falling apart. Creating and believing. It’s about your heart beating in your chest and maybe your eyes getting a little wet.
I love it all. Vintage photography and lomo editing. Typography. Classic literature. Philharmonic orchestra. Ballet and breakdancing. Graffiti. Watercolour and oil painting.
I don’t really think of myself as an artist. Just another human being a little lost in the world.
WanderingHere and ProvenParadox
Offering critiques —
— for anyone needing constructive feedback on their artwork. I love to help out any artists in need of advice and ideas, so here is your chance! Just ask.
Send a note or just leave a comment on my profile!