#FHE COLORS THE ART THE EVERYTHING?!?!??!?@?@

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

The secret to good school is good funding. One day, I dream of a world where all schools have options for their children. Personally, I think it's pretty important for that sort of thing to start out early. See if you're actually into that think BEFORE you're 100k in debt and hating your life.

My area has some awesome architecture. One time, I wanted to do a project on it, and my teacher said it was too complicated. I cried, like genuinely left that class, found a place to sit down, and just cried. The buildings were pretty, and I wanted to talk about them. I really do love the amount of thought put into those buildings. The people who made them are dead, but their art is still there. A bunch of dudes 100 years ago sat down and designed this theater. Then more came in and built it. And here I am, sitting there.

Architecture is so awesome in the way that it's interactive. It can survive longer than any human.

definitely!! being able to explore interests before you gotta choose one for your career is soso important i rlly wish i got to try out some more shit before i had to settle on smth

also sameee my city has a lot of old architecture (especially my school. some of the buildings are falling apart but they're very old and very pretty) and im like just in awe of it like architecture is an art but it's more than an art because unlike a lot of art it's not just something to look at it's somewhere someone lives or works or goes with friends and makes memories like a lot of art doesnt have a practical function but architecture does and it serves as a setting for so much of people's lives and that's really impactful and so awesome because there's architecture everywhere and it's all so beautiful *dreamy sigh*

also sucks that ur teacher sucked i hate when teachers/profs won't let you do projects on what ur passionate abt like passion is the basis of learning why aren't u supporting that....

[onmymasa22]

Is it normal that when a professor asks u on a test u take at 3am what ur opinion is on an artist who made grotesque works, that u think he's ok, but u wouldn't want a huge sculpture of a naked pantsed man made out of faulty bullets in ur living room cuz it just doesn't go with ur color scheme...

Go travel and photograph the world. I dont want to make people envious of my life. I want people to feel like they are loved.

I came across a video of someone making candles. And a rush of memories went through me. I was in the mountains in California the summer after highschool working at a camp. I was running an activity for candle making. And i fell in love with it. The suitcase i brought home probably had 20 long havdalah candles in it. A lifetime supply, in colors like purple, red, yellow, blue. Today i remembered telling a friend all those years ago that honestly all i wanted in life was to live in tzfat, wear those elephant pants, and make candles all day.

Its the one place where its easy to listen to myself. Like everywhere in life, im self concouse. And the things im most self conscious aboit, others love the most. Amd i cant see the beauty in it. But when i paint, i love my own mistakes. I see beauty in the me, just being me. I see what i feel others must see. Because its just me and the painting. Its a very intimate relationship. And every painting serves a different relationship. I just have a love affair with art.

I dont always listen to myself. And most of the time i prefice what i say with "i think...", instead of "i know". But my relationship with art is special. I can listen to myself. I like the mistakes because they're mine, and they are the proof that i tried.

Some conversations are beneath you. When people want to talk about things that

Tal

I think i might have a love affair woth art. I love many things, but sometimes it feels like painting loves me back. It accepts me fully, however i show up. Its a conversation- me and the canvas. it listens to everything i say abd everything i dont say. In a world that makes me constantly second guess myself or ignore me entirely, art lets me go with my intuition. Thats the feel many feel wirh the blank camvas. That theyll be wrong. And soending more time painting, ive learned to trust myself. Ive become more confident. And its the one place i can let myself just be.

Drugs effect fhe brain. So what i would say is- i dont want my kids to do drugs till 25. Wait till thr brain finishes then decide

We all need that friend who makes us soup when we're sick. That when we call and say our nose is like a fountain, she says "I'm making soup, come over", and you sit in her tiny kitchen, with mismatched everything, and talk out all your stress. The friend who, when u say ur stopping by, she puts up the kettle for coffee and has almond milk in the fridge just for you, because she knows you don't do dairy. The friend who is always willing to lend you her clothes or perfume, she just wants to know how your night goes in return. That you come, lay on the carpet in her room, and give her all the juicy details. The friend who plays happy music in the morning, but also will play rock and dance it out with u on her roof at midnight. The friend who lets you hug her for as long as you need. The friend who ends every phone call and meetup with "I love you". May we know her, may we be her.

I might not know ur name. Because i know ur soul, and thats what is important to me. I know whether u like coffee with real milk or fake. I remember what mug u chose s

Know that the mug u choose, is the mug ill remember

Im the kind of person who doesnt remember names. But ill remember ur dreams. Ill remember what ur siblings are up to and ask about them the next time u mention family. Ill remember whether u have coffee with cows milk or almond milk. Or whether u drink coffee or tea. Ill remember which mug u chose so the next time u come ill take a different one and give u that

Rain books museums tea music poetry acedimia letters art sweaters

start singing zemiros, and shalom aleichem gets stuck in ur head?

I want something about esther

Why

I want to do something witn the beacg. Where people can have headphones on and just speak. Like noone else is there with u. I want to be better with hitbonenut and hitbodedut. Just to be in any of these places and then to just go to the next. Places. Every place is just .

When u watch a clip of a movie and it looks like the sweetest romcom... so u look up what its rated and turns out its actually about cannibalism, and wikipedias explanation of the plot is too gory for u, cuz ur the kinda person who covers ur eyes in half of the disney tarzan movie... ALWAYS look up what movies are about, cuz they made a- silence of the lamb-esc movie look like- when harry met sally

cant get through disneys tarzan with the tiger without covering ur eyes

... and ur scared this is gonna be like the night u didnt sleep cuz u saw a documentary on sociopath psychology.

So entering year 4 of art school. And my parents are having the "so whats next for you" convo with me. Cuz ive been bouncing around with stuff just experiencing life. It's been a long chapter of me just going with my gut, and whatever idea hashem puts in my head. Since i got out of highschool, thats how my life has been. And its been great. Im always exactly where im supposed to be. And the "so whats next" is freaking scary. And i always know that my life has a way of working everything out. This past year, i did something ive done and yet never did before. I like old people, like a lot. But more than that, i like dealing with old people who are sick or have special needs. Its a small niche, i know, but its my niche. This past year, every sunday, i taught a cooking class in hebrew with another woman, to adults, between 20 and 90 with mental health issues. People who are on disability due to something issue with mental health or divergence- schizophrenia, bipolar, ocd, adhd depression, tourettes, mental slowness, dementia. And ive fallen inlove with it. I feel like not only has everything worked out, but hashem made everything stepping stones. My whole life has been stepping stones. And i guess its like- what do thise stepping stones look like. Every one is different.

Theres something special about people who let u just be. Where when u come over, they put the kettle up and ask if u want coffee or tea. Who let u just sit cuz u want a break from the world. Where u know that around them, its a safe space. I try to be that kind of person. And in me being that person, my dog comes into the room and i immediately turn on the airconditioning.

[zhuhongs]

my painting style is so much different from absolutely everyone else in the class and ive been purposely painting normally for the past few assignments so i can only anticipate what his reaction is gonna be when he sees the way i usually paint gkdjdjsj

[bastardmotherfucker]

I had a post apocalyptic dream. Me and two others were out searching for resources and stumbled upon an abandoned art store. We broke in, and I excitedly started grabbing watercolor paper, pens, watercolor sets, brushes, and gouache tubes. The others weren't as interested. I returned two more times after that.

We came across a family in a suburban area outside the city. They expressed that they preferred it out here. Their kid didn't agree though. They were about the age of a young teen. We tried to tell the parents that it was going to much safer in the city, with the rest of the community. We returned later to them to try again. While the other two talked with the parents, I played catch with the kid in the middle of the street. Even though the world had ended, standing in the middle of the street still felt wrong/risky. I kept looking for cars that were never going to come. This fact settled in in a bad way. I felt overcome with grief for the world and life I, or anyone else for that matter, would never know again. When I looked behind me for another car, I noticed a glimmer on the hillside. And then another, as the first disappeared. I tilted my head to the side and saw another glimmer as the other disappeared. It was like there were bits of glitter scattered on the hillside and on the bark of the trees. This was a warning though. I snapped out of my grief filled haze and remembered where, and when, I was. The kid had run to their home, and I ran to the abandoned house me and the other two were using as temporary shelter. When I shut the door I heard them say, "you finally decided to come inside". It was a lot darker outside. I must have looked surprised. "We tried to talk to you but you were unresponsive. You just stared down the street". I had a moment of realizing they left me to die. I wondered what we were really doing here. I realized I had no idea. But we weren't here to help an isolated family.

When I returned to the abandoned art store for fhe third (and last) time, I ran into someone. I shur the door and ran around the corner, putting down everything I'd picked up. When they came out to investigate, the three of us talked. It turned out they'd moved in. They turned to me to negotiate. In exchange for a cheap watercolor paper pad, and some nice colored pencils, I promised not to tell anyone she was there, and left.

Some time had passed. Maybe a few years, maybe several months. It was hard to tell. It was like time passed differently now. Like everything was frozen in this after effect of the world ending. Like everything blended into one, long continuous day. Like it was always that first week of scrambling for resources and trying to get to the hills for safety, only to find out that was actually the most dangerous place to be.

I found myself in another city. A group of people had been working on restoring things and life to the way it used to be. Part of that was getting a train functional again. They wanted to connect the city with a neighboring one. And this was also like a familiar taste that everyone was craving. A sentiment, a feeling that everything was going to return to normal, that everything was going to be alright. I boarded the train. There was a fair amount of skepticism and doubt in this, by a lot of people. About whether this was safe, about the condition of the tracks, and especially regarding the fact that the conductor was not a conductor in his old life, and as far as anyone knows wasn't instructed by one. This was the trains first official departure after being restored and tested. The train crawled forwards into the underground tunnel. It was pitch black, and you could hear the screeching and creaking of the train bouncing off the walls. It exited the tunnel into a cave. Looking out the window, you could see maybe 50-70 people working along side the tracks and walls of the cave. They didn't seem at all surprised by the train, even disregarding it's existence. It was hard to tell what they were doing exactly. Carving the walls into shape? mining coal ? they were gathering something, loading rocks into carts and hauling them away. As we approached the end of the cave the train sped up. I could see daylight approaching. The train kept going faster, and faster. And judging the feelings in the air, I wasn't the only one who felt tense and uneasy as the train shook and rocked slightly under the force of the speed. We came out into daylight suddenly, and kept moving forwards. Then you could hear a crash. And a wave of force rippled through the train and shook us like we were rag dolls. I looked out the window and saw that our car had been separated from the rest of the train, which kept barreling forwards. There was the remains of a semi truck beside the tracks. Further away, the train crashed into another semi truck before derailing. Something didn't feel right, but I couldn't place a finger on it. I gathered an armful of my belongings into a new bag , a collection of sentimental things I'd held onto throughout the years: Various pins, a short roundish bottle with a pink wrapper, polly pockets, a small plastic cat, etc etc -- and things I meant to send to my ex a long, long time ago. MY GBA games and gameboy advance didn't survive. I jumped out of the train, and like many others, began walking down the tracks back the direction we came. When we approached the cave, the 50-70 people were still hard at work. None of them paid any attention to us, despite some people's efforts to question them. It was like we didn't exist. Or, I thought to myself, like they didn't exist. In the cave, you could hear the rumbling of a train approaching, but everytime you turned your head in the direction you thought it was coming from, it changed direction. It was always behind you. Some people began running. When I reached the train station, it was filled with people. Way more people than were known to live in the community here. I saw my ex. I gave her the things I meant to ages ago, and we talked about how weird things were now. She had to go, and we hugged. As we did I started crying. I'd missed her so much. We parted ways.