#Divine angelic canvas prints | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tyej49 · 1 year ago

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Christian Art on Classic Canvas

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Elevate your living space with a touch of divine inspiration through our exquisite Christian Art on Classic Canvas. Crafted with the utmost care and reverence, this stunning piece of spiritual artwork is designed to captivate your heart and soul.

🌟 Key Features:

Timeless Elegance: Our Christian Art on Classic Canvas is a timeless masterpiece that seamlessly blends traditional Christian symbolism with modern artistic techniques. It brings an air of serenity and grace to any room.

Quality Craftsmanship: Each canvas is meticulously printed and stretched by skilled artisans to ensure the highest quality. The vibrant, fade-resistant inks capture every intricate detail, allowing the artwork to remain radiant for generations.

Spiritual Significance: Featuring iconic Christian symbols like the Cross, Angelic Wings, and Scripture verses, this artwork serves as a powerful reminder of faith, hope, and love. It's perfect for daily devotionals, prayer spaces, or as a cherished gift for loved ones.

Versatile Décor: The versatile design of our Christian Art makes it suitable for various room styles. Whether you're decorating your living room, bedroom, or office, this piece will seamlessly complement your interior decor.

Ready to Hang: Your canvas arrives ready to grace your walls. The sturdy wooden frame and pre-installed hanging hardware make the installation process a breeze.

Multiple Sizes: We offer a range of size options, allowing you to select the perfect dimensions to suit your space and preferences.

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Embrace the divine beauty and spiritual serenity of our Christian Art on Classic Canvas. Add this exceptional piece to your cart today and let the love and grace of your faith shine through your home decor.

Shop Now and Bring Inspiration home. https://www.etsy.com/shop/POOTSYJ

The sturdy New Zealand Pinewood frame, this canvas is made from a high-quality polycotton material perfect for printing stunning, high-resolution designs with a semi-gloss satin finish. Setup is super-swift—it already comes with a self-assembly hanging kit.

.: 60" x 20" (Horizontal), 1.18" .: Material: high-quality polycotton .: New Zealand Pinewood frame .: Semi-glossy satin finish .: Horizontal, vertical and square options available .: Comes with a self-assembly hanging kit .: NB! Due to the production process of the canvases, please allow for slight size deviations with a tolerance +/- 0.05"

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aasthrielle · 4 years ago

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RUNDOWN: In a place where the guardians are wrapped with pure love from the creator, it was peaceful for an angel like you, not until Wooyoung invaded the safe skies and caused chaos in the heart that you’ve locked away from evilness

PAIRING: Jung Wooyoung x reader

HEED: angel au, character death, may include inaccuracies regarding the known nature of angels

WORDS: 2.1k

EXTRA: Masterlist

The perfect canvas covered with light blue and painted with littering as soft as cushion clouds was considered the sky of humans. Vivid splash of red, sometimes pink or orange, add some yellow, maybe gray, or just plain white, a wonder made by the powerful creator, a part of the world that never cease to amaze humans.

But under the disguise of the lovely sky that the people look up to every day, hides the perfect heaven that showers true love. Brightness of gold, white, and pale blue covers the shelter of every do-gooders, the pastel and shining colors appearing as a symbol of purity and naivete.

Laughs pure from the belly resounded across the rich green garden of the humble home you share with your fellow angels, prints from heavy steps of every bare feet created dents on the soft surface of clouds. You and Eli, another divine soul and a companion, dash to every corners of the yard chasing for the younger blessed spirits that floats arounds using their slow flapping appendages.

You nearly knocked out the golden pots on the side if it wasn’t for a pair of arms that held your shoulders firmly, rescuing you from meeting the ground in seconds with a loud crash. “The Almighty is looking forward to seeing you in his sacred sanctuary as soon as possible” The messenger uttered with steady voice, tone knotted with absolute calmness. Your orbs darted to your buddies and they gave you assurance before you moved to follow the messenger that guided you to where the creator dwells.

A curtain of mariposa by the door of the shrine welcomed your presence before your company left you all alone to enter. You clenched your hands in emptiness of a offering as sign of respect, but thoughts seem to be washed away instantly as your gaze locked in a soul laying unconscious on ground, another angel that the family gained last night.

“Jung Wooyoung, would be your first mission” You don’t need a complicated explanation to figure out that the young man was named Wooyoung. The used to be peaceful bush in the middle of the sanctuary started catching fire on its little emerald green leaves before it slowly spread on the whole structure. “I’ll do my best” Determination fueled your non existing veins as you spare a glance at the creator who took the form of flames before diverting onto the man laying on the floor.

Loose clothing decorated Wooyoung’s form, his soft angelic features on display as a ray of light above shine past his face. But somehow, he exudes bad nature, like something is definitely wrong within his past life. And that would be your mission, to repair his broken future and bring him back to life with a completely different identity.

The now benevolent soul opened his eyes and you were taken aback by the sudden shoot of unclear images, your attention became torn as your eyes catch the flashing scenarios in the world of living thru the stained glass that surrounds inside. Figures of an unfamiliar family of three emerged in plain sight, their story slowly unfolding right before your eyes. However, as fast as the images surfaced is how quick the scenes switched.

It was about the vibrant life of earthlings at first, replaced by the awful truth that people hide in the second

Wooyoung’s, to be exact.

Unpleasant.

An ugly, or to say sickening, way of living he used to have.

He was wrapped in all kind of sins the humankind can name.

Addiction. His powerful cravings for either alcohol or cigarettes ate him alive in a painful and slow manner. It destroys his organs in every flood of liquor and every puff of smoke inside his system without his knowledge.

Greed. His desire to make everything his coated his heart with great amount of wickedness. He got an itchy hand to steal from people, ranging from the most valuable items to the random or smallest belongings he can lay a finger to.

Violent tendencies. He engages himself in brawls that brings him no good, but only wounds that left painful memories on his entire body. He scared his skin, slashed the gift of flesh that he never took care of at least once.

His immorality then got its pay, as he lost his breath in the dark alley with a knife that is buried deep under his skin due to one of his fights. But it bewildered you that he suddenly captured faith in his self and managed to repent for all his wrong doings, he returned to where he turned his back at

and now he’s in heaven, carrying all the flaws.

The series of pictures ended, and you blink your eyes rapidly after. You have gathered different stories from the others before about their accomplished missions, pile of history inside your head that you can’t even count all of them. Still, you would never forget how their spirit turn into a ecstatic one as they speak of the feeling of fulfillment and the trust that they obtained from the higher-ups.

“Now your mission is to make his soul a good one and send him to the world once you are certain of his bright future. He will reincarnate as an offspring of the family that you just saw” The blaze on the shrub died down, replaced by the mysterious mist and soft glow enclosing the newly blessed spirit who now stood in his wobbly legs. “Where am I?” Wooyoung’s features contorted, dumbfounded, as he spin on his heels slowly to look around.

Of course, he would ask that, and your eyes can only twinkle in his oblivion.

At the age of second year as a guardian, that day was marked the most unforgettable for you as the load of your mission began weighing on your shoulders, but mind Wooyoung by your side that made all the pressure subside.

He was just an assignment that demands time and huge amount of patience. You meet him at the Garden of Eden every morning and provided sacred teachings like a moral teacher, engraving life lessons and the message of the Almighty deep in his mind and heart. “There are plenty of resources here, but I haven’t seen any one of you consume food” Wooyoung scratched his nape, acting like he shrink all of a sudden and felt so small beside you. “We don’t eat actual meals, but we do feast and feel full every time a person repented” You clarified while walking side by side, eyeing the birds that flies around from distance. The two of you glanced at each other only to view a pair of doe eyes of one another through different point of views that made you two shy away.

It was difficult to push away the awkwardness at first but you’ve learned to build a closer relationship of a mentor and student, friends. It used to be just a simple question and answer conversation before, adding your lecture soon after to raise a comfortable atmosphere between the two of you. But as you progressed, funny remarks and laughter were never missing during your interactions. You got to keep up with his current personality better, misplacing all the ideas of his previous life inside your head. He can’t remember his past, and you concluded that you should lose memory of it too; and so you did.

First thing that he wanted to explore when your fellowship bloomed was the true nature of divine souls like you, given the fact that Wooyoung is still half human at this point. “Can I?” He asked for permission as he stood in his feet in front of you, gaze fixed on the appendage that covers your entire back and peeks in the front. You gave the male a signal and he stretched out his arm instantly, still focused on you like a deer in headlights. His digits then brushed the feathers gently, and the two of you could only giggle at the smoothness underneath his fingertips.

Your bond then developed into bosom buddies over time. You still meet at the garden to read him books or start a sermon but majority of the time consists of him polishing his given character, the identity that he’ll bring until he lands back with humans. As if Wooyoung being granted with visuals and your dedication to format his destiny aren’t enough, you offered him the gift of an enchanting voice in which he didn’t take second thoughts to agree.

And you weren’t even surprised when he sang his way to a confession to be sweethearts. “I think...I like you” Wooyoung faltered as if he wasn’t convinced that he really adores you. Your frame stiffen, mouth agape as you study the young one in front you that has his cheeks dusting pink, nearly falling into pieces from self-consciousness. “I like you too, you know” Your hand flew to grip your elbow as you lifted up the corners of your lips. “Should we kiss right now?” He asked

You put Wooyoung at ease, while he awards you with havoc on your heart. You weren’t actually blind regarding the concept of infatuation nor deep affection, the interactions between actual people is already an enough lesson for you to grasp the idea of what they call ‘love.’

You are certain about what you feel,

but weren’t with the consequences.

You trembled as you decline Wooyoung that day, frightened that once you give into him you might fail your mission and be viewed as selfish, an evil rather. Because you know that you’ll cling onto his warmth and won’t ever let him go right after (when sending him back is your task, in the first place).

You labeled your connection as boon companions in the end, finished your responsibility with great patience as you make an effort as to not give into temptation. With lots and lots of stories that you’ve heard from your friends, you never heard from them that they struggled to keep their emotions inside of them. You never once heard that they fell in love with their subjects either. “You’re ready to be sent back now” Your feet was glued to the ground as you face the young male in front of the gates of heaven. “Can I just stay?” His orbs stare at you, dejected. “But, you are destined to be a mortal” Tears brimmed your eyes as his palms encaged your cheeks and you just let him. If this would be the last, why not?

You’re aware that he would fail to remember you once he take the form of flesh and blood again, but only the teachings engraved onto him and the future that you shape would be left, and you are ready to accept that

because the safe skies just borrowed him from where he needs to be.

“I’m so drawn to you, my precious temporary angel I got to cherish” Words full of little details was thrown out from your mouth sweetly as your palms flew to get a grip of his neck to attract him closer. He can only acknowledge your declaration of deep affection with a slight curve on both the sides of his lips and a hum of understanding as soon as your feet lift up from the ground to stand on tip toes to dip in, placing a gentle kiss right under his eye.

“After your presence is known among the living, your moles would be the stain of my existence who aided you” Your fingers advanced to caress his left cheek, a mole becoming visible after a swipe. “For every kiss your spots would be evident?” He tilted his head on the side, voice low as he demand assurance. You could only nod, mind situated in the imaginary fog of desire due to the close proximity between the two of you, before he took you out of the haze as he crashed onto you, latching his lips onto yours in a feverish warm kiss of yearning for intimacy.

You move against his lips as your hands relocated on his shoulders, squeezing as you grip for dear life for him to not go and leave you as you crumble under his touch. The softness of being connected can be compared to the clouds and as sweet as every cotton candy. Soon, the intensity vanished as well as Wooyoung’s angel self, his figure departing from the good heavens as he was sent as a blessing to his future family without a single warning. You were left with your figure alone, fingers gracing your bottom lip as you instantly long for his companionship that would never reappear.

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez x reader #ateez au #ateez masterlist #ateez scenarios #ateez wooyoung #jung wooyoung

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the7directions · 3 years ago

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Printed out my affirmation on canvas, I wrote this in 2014 and I’m still #manifesting today. I am so grateful. As I look back, these were just words, I really don’t know what it truly meant. But I can say now, with confidence that I am embodying it. It is part of who I am. And I am so grateful for that. When I looked at the date on my journal, 6/13/2014 full-moon in Sagittarius - Nothing is random 🙏🏻 - #fullmoon #the7directions #om #Crystalhealing #crystals #sacredspace #sacredgeometry #totem #meditation #clearquartz #crystalgrid #reiki #altar #buddha #bestill #zodiac #tarotcard #divination #mercuryretrograde #vibrationalhealing #namaste (at Los Angeles, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/CXB8-YGvwKt/?utm_medium=tumblr

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spjcomicart · 7 years ago

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Analysis of Joan of Arc by Jules Bastien Lepage (my most favorite painting) by Stefano Junior

Amidst the European paintings within the colourfully littered halls of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, resides a 100x110 rectangular oil on canvas painting by Naturalist 19th century French painter Jules Bastien-Lepage dated 1879. The lush contradictory genre like realistic meets religious iconographic painting depicting a young peasant girl possessed by some unseen force beckoning her toward the foreground has captivated my attention since I was a child and first started studying art. It has often been the only reason I have visited the Met over the years, a vain attempt to memorize every detail, stroke, and emotion they evoke within my mind. A feat no photograph or print can reproduce either. The peasant girl is of course, Jean D’arc, or Joan of Arc as it is titled and as she is more famously known--the young teen of 18 years from Domremy, France who, claiming to have been charged by angels and the Christian God, successfully led the French Army to victory over the English during a battle at Orleans during the Hundred year war of the 1400’s. A victory than immortalized her through history as a warrior woman, a champion of providence, and a beacon of French independence. All this, led to her death at the hands of the English a year later, burned at the stake--labeled a heretic. Remembered as “The Maid of Orleans”, Jean has gone on to become a matyr and symbol of mythic heroism and sacrifice. The impressively large canvas conservatively framed by a slim gold plated frame is painted in oil. Lepage, an emergent student of the movement of realism and naturalism, expertly uses each stroke to create a lifelike hypereal representation of nature, flesh, and light. Beginning with the profusion of foliage which dominates the composition and acts as a framing device for both Joan and her almost  “invisible” angelic apparitions behind her, the barn or small home behind her and various wooden “peasant” world paraphenalia Lepage has effectively placed around her, further illustrating the mise en scène that establishes the narrative. Following the tradition of naturalistic painting, Lepage carefully delineates the varied textures and colours native to each plant’s leaf structure and branch and trunk surface, each plant no doubt carefully observed from life, whilst arranging the colours from light to dark, diminishing in size and clarity to support both chiaroscuro and depth of space. The colours are rich and warm, ranging from burnt sienna, vermillion, and grayish browns to blue greens and deep pines, with subtle notes of pinks and rose connoting the presence of flowers both at the foreground and impression like in the distance. Joan herself, gazing with piercingly crystal blue eyes and flush cheeks, gently carressing the leaves drawing the viewer into her gaze as she herself seems intent on stepping through the fourth wall, perhaps unaware of St. Michael, Margaret, and Catherine looming ethereally behind her, or having just had communion with them, debating or acquiescing to her new holy mission. Lepage’s handling of Joan illustrates great care to the heroine. The oils strokes so refinely massaged on her figure as to create an illusion of porcelain like flesh, brought to life the usage of warm caucasion peach, pink, and olive tones. Her folded, crumpled unassuming peasant dress (a rouched white blouse, a tattered lace front long sleeve vest and skirt) are, though drably coloured, made to feel vibrant and regal, with Lepage’s attention to their velvety texture. All this firmly plants the focus of this painting on a veritable ground and supports the symbolic stature of Joan as a heroine of the people. Her sainted angelic broadcasters, in high contrast to the rest of the paintings naturalistic approach, loom behind her-ephemeral, Lepage attempting to convey their existence on a spiritual intangible plane approaches each of the three as painterly impressionistic gestural figures; they “float” at the apex of a central compositional triangle behind Joan, balancing her foreground stance and the painting as a whole-additionally illustrating their connection to the divine (upward point) and framed by the brightest part of the painting, the home or barn in the backyard-it’s color acting a golden lit portal from which these figures presumably materialized. The usage of diagonal lines compositionally in conjuction with chiaroscuro and naturalistic rendering is reminiscent of Rembrandt and simultaneously acts as genre like in its’ depiction of a natural “everyday like” peasant life moment strangely colliding with an allegorical religious event. Although Lepage’s virtuoso capability in conveying light and dark, outside of the somewhat side and backlit trees, there doesn't appear to be one or a definitive light source. The primary light seems to be generalized in the background over the home and impressionistic implied neighboring terracotta structures visible through the leaves, yet Joan, deep within the green is brightly illuminated, which is in direct opposition of that staging-if for no other reason than to illuminate the protaganist of this event and illustrate her significance. Whether or not Lepage intended on the viewer to imagine the St. Michael and company to be emanating their own light is moot, as this would further have cast Joan’s face in shadow. Yet another tool Lepage implements to convey story, contradictory to his Naturalistic approach and creating an accidentally or intentionally Baroque like outdoor theatre staging. Nature does take precedence over all elements, however. Its’ teeming lushness and illusionary rolling hills in the distance eliminates Lepage’s need for precision regarding linear perspective of architectural elements in the background. The usage of lightening colour and diminution of scale in tandem with a softer more gestural approach to form as elements recede in the background present all the information the viewer needs to know where in space we are, what the most important focul points are, without sacrificing a sense of naturalism and pristiness of line and texture. The painting is at once collosal in scale, magical in its subject matter, yet demure and intimate in its staging. It’s size in conjuction with Joan’s yearning stare command the viewer’s attention as does the envelopment of its warm woodland setting practically reaching out tentacle like off the canvas to envelop us. We can almost her the rustling of the leaves and cracks and crunches of delicate branches beneath Joan’s feet as she steps forward. It is a painting of revelations. That upon closer inspection, demand the viewer to engage and dicipher it as both the presence of otherworldly players emerge as do details across the canvas. It demands its viewer to confront a young woman at once in reverie in her parent’s garden yet charged with a deadly and mystical task. What is Joan thinking at this moment? Is she afraid? Is she relieved that she has purpose beyond her means? The painting, though representing in a highly representational fashion, an important religious story for Roman Catholics, but its overwhelming presence transcends that sole purpose, if even that had been Lepage’s only intent. It’s appreciation expands beyond faith or as evidence of the divine for a secular devout audience. It’s visually arresting, thematically charged, naturalistically abundant, and replete with depth and the subjective emotions of its teenage principal on the precipice of change amidst civil unrest, famine, and war. I miss this painting after every visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Its magnificence in encapsulating a story, myth, nature, and the human condition forever resonate in my mind and I cannot wait to see it again. An engaging piece of art that is both representative of the artist, the era, the movements of the time, the movements that informed them, historical truth, religious iconography, and none of those things and most of all, a testament to the potential of a unique medium and the capacity and power of all art over language, belief, and time.

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newshirtonlines-blog · 4 years ago

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luxuryt-shirt · 4 years ago

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Los Angeles Lakers 2020 NBA Finals Lebron James MVP T-Shirt

#LosAngelesLakers2020NBAFinalsLebronJamesMVPT-Shirt

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tshirttrend · 4 years ago

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Los Angeles Lakers 2020 NBA Finals Lebron James MVP T-Shirt

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thedeacanedous · 5 years ago

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Rainbow skies - Mirrored seas Rainbow skies Mirrored seas The sun drifting back to sleep A solitary man fishing away Hoping for a catch today Palm trees sway gently To the rhythm of the wind Scents of the ocean Dreams calling Lazy days and cocktail nights The beauty of day switching to night As above so below Divine wonders smoothly flow Angels step across the sands of time Delicate prints so refined Ever watchful of mankind Guardians of love and keepers of light Beautiful shells washed ashore Sounds of the waves echo inside An artist sits and paints with pride A canvas of many colours His mind full of dreams As he sips his tequila sunrise In awe of the scenery Evolving yet still as he masters each shade Focused and fulfilled Hope repaid Painting away the perspective he sees Rainbow skies Mirrored seas;

#love #life

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globalworship · 5 years ago

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Indian Jewish American art by Siona Benjamin

Siona Benjamin (born 11 December 1960) is an Indian-American artist originally from Bombay, India and now residing in the New York City area .

In her “About Me’ page on her website, she wrties:

As a Bene Israel Jew from India now living in the United States, I am a transcultural artist. My perspective bridges the traditional and the modern, and sparks discourse across cultures.

My family gradually dispersed, mostly to Israel and America, but my parents remained in India. I still recall the ornate synagogues of my Bombay childhood: the oil lamps, the velvet-and-silver-covered Torahs, a chair left vacant for the prophet Elijah. Having grown up in a predominantly Hindu and Muslim society, educated in Catholic and Zoroastrian schools, raised Jewish in India, and now calling America home, I have always had to reflect on cultural boundary zones. So, in my paintings I combine the imagery of my past with the role I play in America today, making a mosaic inspired by illuminated manuscripts and multicultural mythology.

Image and text from her website at https://artsiona.com/about-siona-benjamin/

Ori Soltes, professor and curator, comments, "She applies a skin color most frequently associated with a male--the Hindu god, Krishna--to female figures, forcing the viewer to stop and rethink whatever (s)he thought (s)he knew about that association.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siona_Benjamin

The website where she has art for sale is called ‘Blue Like Me’ - reflecting her use of Krishna’s typically blue skin tone to mark and empower her own identity as a bearer of the Divine image, as a creator, as a Jewish Indian woman. www.bluelikeme.com

From that site, here is a scarf she calls “Rachel.” It has many women, some birds and animals, and a large lotus flower. The scarf is 6 feet long. https://www.bluelikeme.com/collections/art-shawls-tallits-and-scarves/products/rachel-silk-unlined

A further note:

The name Blue Like Me represents the strength and clarity of the ocean and sky, while also tracing Siona's journey growing up Jewish in Hindu and Muslim India, and her personal feeling of an outsider looking in. https://www.bluelikeme.com/pages/about-us

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A movie documents her adult-age visit to a Jewish community in Mumbai. https://www.amazon.com/Blue-Like-Me-Siona-Benjamin/dp/B07FKRG7TJ/ref=sr_1_2?crid=3CPHDGGBLF3NB&keywords=siona+benjamin&qid=1566096139&s=gateway&sprefix=siona+benja%2Caps%2C236&sr=8-2

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She has created a lot of art over the decades, in various mediums. This piece reference famous Jewish (OT) women.

Her 2014 gouache on paper series, The Four Mothers Who Entered Pardes, includes works showing Rachel, Sara, Leah, and Rebecca. Rather than the four wise men who, according to a Jewish legend entered Pardes, or Paradise, in the first century C.E., Benjamin substitutes these four women (Wikipedia article above).

Four works each 6 feet tall x 3 feet wide (total installation size: 6 feet tall x 12 feet wide) Hand embellished and archival prints on canvas – 2014.

In this installation photo, the artist stands with her art:

Images are from her website at https://artsiona.com/installations/four-mothers-who-entered-pardes/

Go there to see all 4 images close-up and be amazed at the colorful details, the mix of Indian and Jewish and Persian motifs, and the juxtaposition of classical and contemporary media forms.

My favorite image of the 4 is this one of Rebecca. You’ll see some motifs also in the ‘Rachel’ scarf above.

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Rachel Scheinerman has written more about the whole piece:

This painting grew out of Benjamin’s study of midrash. In Four Mothers Who Entered Pardes, she reinterprets the famous talmudic tale (Chagigah, 14b) of four rabbis who entered an orchard, a metaphor for ecstatic mystical practice. The experience is so dangerous that one of the rabbis dies, one goes insane, and one becomes a heretic. Only Rabbi Akiva escapes the pardes unscathed. Benjamin casts the four matriarchs in the roles of those rabbis. From left to right, [in a different order than above] Rachel is the one who dies—in childbirth. Her death is represented by a swan dive amidst weeping angels. Sarah, Benjamin imagines, went insane after Abraham nearly sacrificed Isaac. She squats in front of an atomic mushroom cloud of demonic faces, devouring and excreting money. Leah is cast as the heretic, her face hidden behind a veil, having lost faith because she never won her husband’s love. Leah’s weak vision is represented by two columns of blindfolded faces, the fire from her fingertips alludes to the tribes emanating from her, and the field behind her recalls the unusual expression the Talmud uses in this context: “cut shoots.” It is Rebecca, the matriarch who courageously took control of her offspring’s destiny, who is pictured ascending and descending unharmed. Her frame contains lotus flowers (a symbol of rebirth), a lion of Judah, and many tiny houses—one of which contains an eye shaped like a flame. https://jewishreviewofbooks.com/articles/3153/new-indian-jewish-art/

The quote above refers to the 4 panels in this order.

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The art of Siona Benjamin, and her writings, are easy to find on the internet, and she has museum shows in various countries. I’d love to see her work in person someday.

Thanks to my FB friend Matt Stone who first introduced me to Siona’s art today in his blog post at ‘Curious Christian.’ https://curiouschristian.blog/2019/08/17/indian-jewish-art/?fbclid=IwAR1y0jIJA-kQHQvGywVqOrBmInGHVAxovo_n2-h1JgywEBudSs1qS2SeTRU

He highlighted a painting by Siona that at first looks like an Indian goddess with 7 arms, which on closer view you see is a menorah.

About this painting, Rachel Scheinerman writes:

In one of her more famous paintings, Tikkun HaOlam (#46 in her Finding Home series), a pale blue female figure, a portrait of the artist herself, balances on a lotus flower and extends seven arms upward like a Hindu goddess. On closer examination, we can see that her hennaed hands are topped with flames; she is not a goddess, but a menorah. In its mixing of religious iconography, this painting has been compared to Chagall’s White Crucifixion, which portrays Jesus on the cross with a tallit loincloth. Benjamin’s seven-armed woman is bedecked with more cross-cultural symbols, a third eye on her forehead and a hamsa around her neck. The flames are shaped like tiny houses. https://jewishreviewofbooks.com/articles/3153/new-indian-jewish-art/

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Siona is just one of multiple Indian-Jewish artists - look at this 2015 book! Jews And The Indian National Art Project https://www.amazon.com/Jews-Indian-National-Art-Project/dp/9383098546

It features’the above painting by Siona on the cover:

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shirttrendingstore-blog · 5 years ago

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Lip this girl loves Los Angeles shirt

“In the dream were Lip this girl loves Los Angeles shirt . People of God-like stature there was no judgment, segregation nor hate. These inhabitants walked around with high self-esteem, infinite intelligence and actually had the literal universe swirling in their eyes.That dream inspired me so much that I dedicated my clothing line brand to them; The Divines is what I named them. The vision I had far outreaches my dream in the fact that I would love to see people in my reality live the way they did. Stupidity, violence and all other negative things goes viral with ease and it's a shame because in that dream world, those things wouldn't have touched the surface.”The debuts it’s Fall/Winter line with 5 designs embedded with profound messages using visual concepts and cool art styles. Lip this girl loves Los Angeles shirt, hoodie, sweater, longsleeve and ladies t-shirt

Lip this girl loves Los Angeles Classic Ladies

Lip this girl loves Los Angeles Hoodie

Lip this girl loves Los Angeles LongSleeve

Lip this girl loves Los Angeles Sweatshirt

Lip this girl loves Los Angeles Unisex Each piece of clothing is made with the intent to make a statement Lip this girl loves Los Angeles shirt . Each is 100% preshrunk deluxe ring-spun cotton with a fashion fit and very soft. The are 50/50 cotton poly blend with pill resistant air jet-spun yarn.The brand wants to promote a lifestyle in which we strive for the optimum way of life, spread love and power, and treat ourselves as kings and queens. “No matter the situations we face in life, the obstacles we climb and the problems that hurt us, we must keep our heads up, push forward, be inspirational and remain Divine,was born back in 2012, out of three passions: cultures, history, and traveling. How to make all 3 into something fashionable was certainly not easy, but 2 Flags Clothing focuses on their designs and their designs only by utilizing 100% ring spun cotton from American Apparel, Canvas, and Anvil that create a fashionable fit.comes with a post card with the history of each particular design so 2 Flags' dream of sharing how cool our ancestors were becomes a reality. All are manufactured in printed in the US a balance of an entrepreneurial and creative mindset. You Can See More Product: https://shirttrending.com/product-category/trending/ Read the full article

#LipthisgirllovesLosAngelesshirt

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the7directions · 4 years ago

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One of my favorite photos - Got it printed on canvas 💕 - #nativeamericanflute #the7directions #om #Crystalhealing #crystals #sacredspace #sacredgeometry #totem #meditation #clearquartz #crystalgrid #reiki #altar #buddha #bestill #zodiac #tarotcard #divination #mercuryretrograde #vibrationalhealing #namaste (at Los Angeles, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/CPT9-geB9ax/?utm_medium=tumblr

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godforsakenthing-blog · 8 years ago

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@greatbigbagoftricks

He stays a lump beneath the sheets for three days. Gabriel is a near constant, a stream of consciousness babbling brook in his ear, fingers in his hair. Dean knows he’s broken something loose in the angel, can feel the undercurrent of fear every time he disappears.

Gabe doesn’t expect him to be there when he gets back.

Dean sleeps. A lot.

Cas shows up on the second day, shaking with anger and fear in equal measure. Because you’re my friend plays on loop in his head for hours after he’s left in silence again.

Sam doesn’t come. There’s only a hotel wall between them, and Dean presses his fingers to it in the dark, eyes closed like he might be able to feel his brother on the other side.

He can’t.

Dean dreams of dark shapes and blurry colors. Nothing vicious so much as unsettling.

Dawn on the fourth day tips something over in his chest. No one can save him from this. The misery in his chest is his own to bear, no one can take the weight away from him.

For the first time in a long time, Dean prays. On his knees on the side of the bed, forehead pressed against his laced fingers. He doesn’t ask for anything. Not forgiveness, not patience or strength.

Dean lets it all out. His jealousy, his sickness, his sadness. His self loathing, self hatred, and everything that has drug him down. He admits to regretting all of it, leaving Sam, leaving the church.

He admits not regretting loving his brother. Loving Ruby. Loving Gabriel.

Slowly but surely, Dean takes each and every stone off of his chest. Hating Azazel. Hating Lucifer. Hating Michael.

By the time he stands on creaking knees, there’s an emptiness in Dean that he hasn’t felt in a very long time. There’s no such thing as a clean slate, but his has been wiped down as best it can, leaving him a foundation to start on.

Dean steps beneath the heat of the shower’s spray, and the few fraying strands of a plan come together neatly. He scrubs himself clean, skin pink with heat, but he doesn’t shave the stubble building on his cheeks. Maybe he’ll keep it.

Teeth brushed, the Metallica shirt is pulled off and folded neatly on the bed, and Dean puts on a clean pair of jeans and some flannel. He runs his fingers over the embossed letters on the front of his bible before he pulls the amulet free of the pages (right next to one of Gabe’s notes, the one about Mary and the sandal) and pulls it over his head.

It settles against his sternum, a comforting weight.

“Gabriel.” He’s not surprised to turn around and see the angel, a tentative smile tucked into the corner of his lips. “Want to take a road trip?” There is no hesitation on Gabe’s part, no moment to think it over.

Thankfully, Gabe is able to get the keys from the next room without conversation. (Thankfully, Gabe is the kind of guy who’ll steal keys at Dean’s request.)

Dean doesn’t say anything until they’re out on the highway, windows down and the wind whipping through the car’s interior, the radio not much more than a murmur in the background. “I doubt there’s much I can show you that you haven’t already seen, but-”

Gabe finishes the sentence with conviction. Dean can’t help his smile.

“Try me.”

They drive. And drive. And drive. The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in bright swathes of pinks and yellows and oranges. Gabe talks. He’s good at filling the air, anecdotes at the ready, a few stories from his time in Heaven slipped in. He lets his fingers cut through the air outside of the window, following the flow of the wind as he talks.

Dean glances over just after they cross the state line into Oklahoma. Gabe’s eyes are closed, head tipped back, dark hair flitting across his face. He’s beautiful in a wholly human way, that faint glow of grace back beneath his skin once more. Dean’s heart clenches with warmth.

He wants to believe it’s not luck, but divine providence when he sees the cardboard sign on a paint dowel on the side of the road. Dean whispers thank you to the sky as he takes the exit, paved highway giving way to gravel within a mile, and down to pitted dirt within another mile. There’s another cardboard sign, simple black letters on white pasteboard.

It’s perfect.

The Impala is a stand out in the grassy field being used as a parking lot, shiny in the midst of mud spattered pick-ups and mini vans. But she glides nice and easy into a spot, and Dean doesn’t worry about locking the doors behind them.

The tents are crisp white canvas snapping in the wind, the red stripes faded to something closer to pink by years in the sun. The metal folding chairs are set up in neat rows, and an old woman with an ankle length skirt and almost as long braid hands them a program with a smile.

Dean picks seats near the aisle in the back, an old hunter’s habit to keep his back safe and his exit clear. But the only people around them are focused on the man on the stage, speaking into a microphone, his ancient speakers crackling at the edges of the stage.

The pastor preaches a message of strength. Faith in the face of impossible odds. Finding yourself in God, in doing His works on Earth. There is no fire, no brimstone to this sermon, just warmth and love, given out with enthusiasm. Dean watches, lips parted, enraptured.

The congregation stands as one, chairs scraping against the dirt. The programs have the words to the hymns printed inside of them, but he doesn’t need them. Dean closes his eyes and he sings along with Bring Them In and Open My Eyes, That I May See. His voice is rough, long unused like this, but the years melt away in the closeness of the people around him. And Gabriel at his side.

They end up staying for supper, caught up in the wave of people moving towards the next tent. Dean loads down a plate with fried chicken, mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese, a big glass of lemonade sitting at his knee when they find a spot in the grass to settle on, fireflies dancing over their heads.

“We came to one of these when I was a kid. Maybe seven or eight years old.” His fingers are shiny with honey where he’s broken open a biscuit and poured it inside. Dean licks the sweetness from the pad of his thumb before he continues. “Sammy was barely walking. But he liked the music. I think my Dad was looking for answers. Something to hang onto, you know?”

John Winchester never found the answers he was looking for. But he unknowingly set his son’s path in motion.

Gabe’s plate bows beneath the weight of the food piled on, and Dean finds himself watching Gabe’s fingers, rather than his eyes. He feels fragile in a way that defies description, but not in a bad way. Like spun glass. Maybe if he held himself up to the light, something good might shine through.

“I ran into one like this, when I left. I didn’t actually plan to join the church. I heard all those stories about people feeling the calling, and I never had that.” He was just trying to outrun his feelings for Sam. “But a guy I hitched a ride with stopped at a tent revival, and…”

Dean shrugs, holding a hand out in front of him. “It was the first time I felt good in a long time.”

And now he feels it again, that lightness in his bones, like he could fly away if he wanted. But he doesn’t want to. Because Gabe is here, and the food is good, and people smile at them when they walk by.

The world would seep back in at some point. He’d have to go back and face Sam. Face a life of death and lies. And he’d have to keep on keeping on.

“I can’t take it back.” What he planned to do. Running. Dean was tired of running. Finally, he raises his eyes until he can meet that whiskey colored gaze. “But I can tell you that it opened my eyes, Gabe. And I think…”

He reaches out, careful of the touch because of the people around them, and settles a hand over Gabe’s knee.

“I think I’m finally ready to face all this. To fight.”

#greatbigbagoftricks #v: giving the devil his due #this got away from me obviously #1400 words later #drabble

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