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John Singer Sargent - Poppies (1886)
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Emma Odumade — Mister Fly (charcoal, acrylic, vintage photos, ink, graphite, coloured pencil and black tea, on canvas, 2024)
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I think it's cute how so many art movements are simply called "new art" to differentiate "not like the old stuff". Contemporary dance. New wave fashion. Pop (literally popular) music. Art Nouveau. Modernism. Postmodernism. Even terms starting with neo- (neo-classicism, neo-expressionism) all are just saying NEW ART. And yet all of these things are now distinctive styles of the past. It's kind of beautiful how humanity never stops outgrowing itself. Art is a state of matter that refuses to sit still, old as soon as it is new, original upon its thousandth performance, new forever so long as there is someone who has not yet seen it, and old the second the artist picks up their instrument again.
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Love this! Her pieces are dope af.
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Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (1864-1901)
Toulouse-Lautrec drank constantly and slept little. After a long night of drawing and binge-drinking, he would often wake early to print lithographs, then head to a café for lunch and several glasses of wine. Returning to his studio, he would take a nap to sleep off the wine, then paint until the late afternoon, when it was time for aperitifs.
(One of his inventions was the Maiden Blush, a combination of absinthe, mandarin, bitters, red wine, and champagne. He wanted the sensation, he said, of “a peacock’s tail in the mouth.”)
From Daily rituals by Mason Currey
#dailyrituals #inktober #henriToulouseLautrec @masoncurrey
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they should. give me one thousand dollars every month so i can commission artists who are very clearly unwell
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Last year, I spent so much time looking at other people's art and being genuinely amazed, not at just what they make, but at what they're willing to share. This year, I'm going to try to follow their lead by not just making more art, but by experimenting as well. So here's a study I did, combining the flat arts style of mid century animation and the birds of Arizona
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absolutely enchanted with the glowing, grinning something that rushes over people at a good concert, a froth of wildling glee. how an audience leaves good theatre all friends suddenly, whispering oh my gosh did you see. how we giggle and hum the songs to each other, untuned karaoke. how after a bad movie our first instinct is to look at the person next to us and start deconstructing everything.
love every moment in an museum where you can whisper it's just so lovely! and hear a stranger say i know, i was just thinking the same thing! the swelling, pink-bright cheer that you get when you're in a car full of people loudly singing the song badly. the unchoregraphed dancing-jumping of your friends around your room at 2:30 in the morning.
how even after a somber symphony - you lock eyes with someone and they give you this little smile and nod like i know, this cut through me too. we go see a musical where the characters all die, and afterwards, in the bathroom, the women hand each other tissues, laughing self-consciously, saying i cried too! we go to see a musical where the characters all live and make fast friends with strangers, everyone stunned because how do they dance in those shoes?
there are ways that art is personal. that is unbelievably lovely. i will never really understand what something means to you, nor can you understand for me.
but it's cold out and i see her breath in the air as she bounces through her favorite lines, half-laughing, magic-tinged and happy.
oh, we are birds in our hearts! so beautiful - we love art so much, that love makes us so-quick into family.
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the problem with being creative is that you start to feel very guilty when you haven’t created anything in a while
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"It took me TWO years to finish this sketch book!" Well that's cuz you're not fuckin sketching. Those are fully painted pieces dawg that's a renderedbook. I've gone through four sketchbooks in my off time this year alone I just draw stupid faces and shit for fun. pussy up like the rest of us and start drawing stick figures with guns
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Cyril Edward Power
The Age of Speed, Linocuts, 1920s-30s
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oh yeh we're drawing on fabric again lol
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i've been making a lot of bad art lately which is one of the world's most healing activities but if you have perfectionist tendencies you really have to commit to volume (if you make ONE bad painting it's just a bad painting whereas if you make 20 it's a meditative practice!). unfortunately we live in a one bedroom apartment and now we have to commit a significant portion of our storage to bad paintings. i would recycle them but unfortunately i need spare bad paintings to weave together into bad papercraft!!
anyway so i decided to move my bad artmaking into a new, smaller sphere and make bad linocuts. and let me tell you. if you are trying to get past thinking "my art should be good," linocut is a wonderful teacher. everything can be going great and then you exert slightly too much palm pressure and WHOOPS! sliced the face off. luckily the craft is so niche that negative self-talk can't really stick to it. i'll think something like "everybody else's linocuts are perfect. nobody else fucked up their linocut of a hot lady sphinx." and this is such a patently bananas sentence that i can simply laugh fondly at it and continue hacking away at my little rubber square. recommend
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Berthe Morisot (1841–1895) "the orange picker"
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