#charcaol

[musetomuse]

Reference is floating around here somewhere.

Graphite & Charcoal. 4" x 6" Sketchbook

[mayankdharohararoma]

Charcoal Free Incense Sticks for Good Health

Our Charcoal Free Incense Sticks are made with natural, organic ingredients and are hand-crafted in India. The unique blend of herbs, flowers, resins, and essential oils creates an aromatic experience that is both calming and invigorating. Our Charcoal Free incense sticks are perfect for meditation, yoga, and spiritual practice.

[weirdlookindog]

Gottfried Bretscher (1888–1986?) - Gespenster (Ghosts), 1910

pencil or charcaol on paper

[perlen-gold]

Sensuous Writing prompts

I've searched for some inspiring writing prompts apart from the typical ones today and haven't found any good lists so far - though I'm sure there are superb ones out there! - so I'm creating my own.

Feel free to add your own ideas! 💜

Colors

coral

amber

scarlet

emerald

iris

lavender

ash

amethyst

mahagony

raven

grape

violet

indigo

azure

cobalt

cerulean

lapis

ebony

arctic

ocean

ivory

gold

argent

bronze

chartreuse

orche

saffron

jade

alabaster

burnt umber

tangerine

fire

basil

charcaol

chili

ruby

caramel

plum

porcelain

frost

lime

moss

mulberry

coal

silver

azure

jungle

raven

Scents

fresh

fruity

earthy

aromatic

redolent

dusty

fragrant

pungent

stale

faint

sharp

whispy

piquant

misty

heady

crisp

airy

redolent

smoky

acid

acrid

savory

tangy

cloying

biting

thick

heavy

rosy

woody

springy

incense-like

Taste

spicy

bitter

sweet

zesty

sugary

flavory

savory

fruity

spicey

juicy

salty

bland

rich

burnt

sour

tart

buttery

peppery

smokey

mild

tangy

tender

creamy

crunchy

fizzy

chewy

stale

tangy

minty

herbal

ripe

Touch

smooth

silky

soft

light

supple

tender

gentle

prickly

hard

thick

heavy

sticky

rough

spiky

bumpy

abrasive

rugged

crisp

grainy

icy

scorching

numb

stiff

sharp

pointy

feathery

foamy

fluffy

metallic

knobbed

lacy

malleable

sandy

thorny

glacial

Sound

resonant

melodious

husky

velvety

raucous

vociferous

hoarse

dissonant

raspy

discordant

mellifluous

screechy

uproarious

speechless

tuneful

harmonious

explosive

thunderous

penetrating

tumultuous

creaky

tranquil

muted

piercing

pleasing

silent

Light & Dark

bright

radiant

lucid

clear

pale

fulgent

vivid

sparkling

glowing

lucent

vibrant

blazing

brilliant

incandescent

fair

dark

opaque

sombre

caliginous

dim

deep

obscure

dun

bleak

somber

dusky

murky

tenebrous

gloomy

shaded

cloudy

darksome

sunless

[potogawaryuiki]

Out of the IMPASTO brush set, which are the ones you typically use?

Sorry for my veeery late response! I use these out of the IMPASTO frequently. But I use other brushes other than this brush set.

'DRAW - charcaol flat scratch'

'DRAW - charcoal flat side rough'

brush that costomized a bit of 'DRAW - charcoal flat side fade'

[cibyl]

charcoal charcoal charcaol

navy

(⸝⸝๑ ̫ ๑⸝⸝⸝)

woofwwoofwoofofwooffowoofowooffwooff!!!!!!!!!

[jeannahas]

I slung myself from the saddle of my weary horse as we reached our destination, far out into the Irdelan Wastes, and stared up at the structures that marked my destinations. I had trudged through the barren landscape, the layered cloth and leather that covered most of my face blocking out the oppressive glare of the sun reflecting from the pale sands, as dust billowed around me, but also in a futile effort to protect against the sickness. No one knew exactly what it was, but the stories remained- and still affected people, in some places.

This place... none of us knew what to make of it. Massive spires of black stone - a strange composite that according to legends, the ancestors had been able to produce on a whim, with their knowledge of the laws of the world, jutted out of the ground like thorns bursting from caked earth following a quenching rain. They crossed and wove with each other, and we had learned through use of our sailing kites, that the structure was easily a mile across. Row upon row of needle spires, dark and imposing, and older than any of us. All that had been left were the stories. Ruins of a great war, or a site to summon great power. We had descovered them more or less by accident as we had explored following our latest war with the Kepu tribe. We had better guns - longer barrels, reinforced with some actual metal we had been able to mine from the old sites - but still fired the same ceramic slugs as any one else. Still relied on the sulfur that we had to carry down from the hot-pools and from the poisonous vents. Relied on the salt-peter harvested from the dung of our striped horses.

We had all felt it though - the fear, deep - primal - something that some old part of us understood.

But none of us knew why.

I was one of very few who wanted to. For upon each one of these spires, was written the same set of symbols -well, the same set of MANY symbols. Writing in more languages than any of our scholars knew, and all of them predating our own current script, and likely our own worlds. I was our tribe's speaker- the one who kept the old books, the scrolls, plates, and tomes of laquered wood that held our stories from the old days - and my apprentice was quite ready to take over my other more menial duties- sending and wirting missives to the other neighboring tribes, negotiating and writing costs of trade for various goods and livestock. I was free to indulge myself, free to come here.

I walked to my horse, brushing it's short mane, and the skittish animal glanced around wildly in fear for a moment. My saddlebags draped over it's rump, and I clicked at it reassuringly as I tried to sooth it.

"Lun'iale, my friend - good feelings only here - we must hold to them, or this place is sure to strip them from us."

I opened the flap I sought, and produced my notes transcribed from my previous rubbing of the spires. It appeared that seventeen languages had been used to convey this message - and at a scale that was fairly easy to register and copy, varying from vaguely squarish glyphs that I had no hope of identifying, to pictographs that were likley even older, given their position higher on the spire, but the bottom four were written with the same lettering, and had clearly come from the same root as our own language, as I could actually Identify many of the shapes of the letters, even if the words themselves were foreign to me.

It was exhilarating though, to think that If I could crack even one of these paragraphs... the branches of study, the legends I could trade for and encounter, would be massively widened.

So, on my last visit, I had brought a roll of what we called paper, and a charcaol stick the inkmaster had produced for me, and had taken a rubbing of those last few languages, to bring home to my tent, to my scrolls and books, to try to find a comparison.

I could get a few things - "this place" , "repulsive" "your time" "Ours".

But I had smudged that rubbing.

I had taken the notes I could, and here I was again, my rifle slung over my shoulder, a combination of carefully carved wood and meticulously shaped ceramics and forged metals, my defense in case any members of our enemies had seen me and my horse making our way here.

I pulled the cloth that sheilded my head from the harsh light of the sun, and the mask that sheilded me from the opressive cold that was setting in steadily, and began to work, Comparing my notes, matching my assumptions to the words in my oldest scrolls and plates that matched this. One language used our script - our jagged letters and harsh lines - but the words .... I beleived the words were the same.

And so I puzzled it out. The first full line.

"this is not a place of honor."

I trembled. I was certain I had found the answer. The letters matched - mostly, the sounds did at least - to a similar passage in the Book of Cruel Ashes that some scholar had etched into remarkably soft metal plates that had somehow survived the thousand years since the fall of the old ones, since their war that had leveled the world and destroyed their cities. That scholar had been a generation or two removed from the event, and had written "this time is not one of honor," but the words .... the words were the same.

Frantically, I pieced together the rest - transcribing the unlocked sounds into the script I was more famliiar with, comparing the words to my own tongue, as the dark spires loomed, like a warning from a malevolant god.

I stared at the page, and, free of scholarly elation, read the entire passage.

"This place is a message - a part of a series of messages - pay attention to it.

We considered ourselves to be a powerful culture, capable of commanding the earth itself.

This is not a place of honor- no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here, nothing valued or valuable is here.

What lies here is dangerous and is repulsive to us. The message is a warning about that danger.

The Danger is here - the danger is greatest towards the center. The danger is buried below us.

The danger is a form of energy. It can Kill. It WILL kill."

Already chilled by the warning, it was the last line that froze me in my place, cross-legged upon the ground, ashen faced as my horse complained beside me.

"The danger is as great in YOUR time, as it was in ours. This danger is a threat if this place is disturbed physically, this place is best left SHUNNED and UNINHABITED."

I stared at the words. Old words. Words from a people who could make stone, who according to the stories could speak like gods, with anyone anywhere in the entire world, who had stepped upon the worlds of the stars, who had created the Great Scar on the Moon. Who had held secrets of lightning, of the sun, and all other things. Those people had feared this place. I had expected a warning - a notice to weaker cultures. I had not expected fear. Not from the old-ones.

I stood. I said nothing more as I saddled Nemen, my horse, with his black and brown stirpes, and rode away from that place, skin burning and bones aching, my mask afixed tighter to my face. The danger was an energy? Enemy tribes you could fight - disease you could treat - energy... energy was like the sun -

You cannot fight the sun.

I told my people of this warning, read them the words, and transcribed the finding of the place, and a detailed copy of the strange drawings into our books and records in hopes that a wiser scholar in the future would understand them even as I hoped to one day interpret their meanings.

We went out with metal tools, then. Myself and seventy three clansmen, with determination in our face, and with the best protective masks and spells our wise men could make, and we went to all spires that faced our tribe's homeland, on the border of that massive ring of horrible spires, and we wrote that message again. In our tongue. With one addition.

"The Great ones who traveled the stars feared this place - they could not contain the evil they buried here. It lives still."

"This is T'Ibik Khró Nu'luniva - This is the Place Without Honor, graveyard of the gods."

And we did not return.

You just finished translating an ancient message found near an unknown structure that roughly means “…this is not a place of honour…”

[janicefinnerin]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Pekkle Boys Toddler Size 4T Elastic Waist Red Cars 4 Pack Shorts NWT.

[the-widow-sisters]

"I could do this all day."

[shirecorn]

They’ve burned this place

[mayankdharohararoma]

Keshavam Organic Incense Sticks for Good Health

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[artofdamz]

Some drawings of Chloe. #lifedrawing #figuredrawing at Centre42 #pen #charcaol #pencil https://www.instagram.com/p/B6PaQZAFKbc/?igshid=142y4ejugk999

[drawthefigure]

[jeremymoncheaux]

[ajmccoolguy]

These are some fun exercises we tried in my figure drawing class.

[kalabhumi]

Expose your Creativity

@kalabhumiarts

(Diploma in Fine Art Courses) 

Admission open 2022-23

Color Pencil work done by Kalabhumi  Student @renu_cool_artist78 

Lets Decide about the future scope with us! 

Contact for the Registration : 9868214044