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.
The Last Lily BurnedThere are petals littering the ash wood surrounding a solitary sheaf of paper that is riddled with the ashes and bullet holes from the silver sparks in the air around you. Your caramel arms are scarred with the burn marks of years gone by as you clutch at the last few lilies left in this once mysterious garden.The Last Lily Burned by Kassi-Kamira
The maze that once held you safely, securely in its grasp now mourns the loss of your innocence and your slow discovery of the fire outside the leafy walls of your fortress.
The blackened scars tattooed across your skin all have names and word engraved in them, every one a tribute to those that whispered dreams in your ear and ran lit matches across your skin, tracing lace patterns ever less painfully through the scorches that moulded themselves to your flesh.
They drew you around them like a moth to flame until you didn't remember the scent of frangipani and jasmine that used to peer from behind soft evergreens and stubbly little branches drowned in mud.
You learned of fire but
la vie serait facile si.i read the story of icarus, and cried.la vie serait facile si. by WanderingHere
because i know we've both tried to fly beyond our limits,
and we both fell just as hard.
so i stopped making paper cranes when you told me you'd been in a car crash.
because i didn't want anything to be able to fly if your wings were broken.
^ 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!