#literature and art

[mysterieuxclairdelune]

“There's plenty of artists who don't have exhibitions. There's plenty of art that's never seen. And I think I'm intrigued by that. Making work that does not have a destination has it's loneliness and it's sadness about it. Many artists endure that for their entire lives, and it's heroic. The novel that never gets published, should it never have been written? Of course it should be. It's making a fantastic contribution to the culture of the moment because that individual has that huge urge to do that without any other qualifying pressures. Those are my sort of private thoughts that I think there's a lot about the art world and the way we experience art that's fantastic, but I think there's a lot, that's not entirely spoken about or recognized, which is the unseen and the unknown and the creative act as a deeply private experience.”

-Phyllida Barlow, via art21 on Instagram (x)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Vincent Van Gogh

* * * *

“All I wanted was to plant poetry in broken places, and watch flowers grow.” ~Jenim Dibie

[Literature and Art]

[solunecito]

My interpretation of Demian (1919) characters in my style!

Scenes from some of the chapters that stuck the most with me, this took me longer than I thought (it's hard to get the pose on point)

[eccentricsworld]

"I love you more than my own skin and even though you don't love me the same way, you love me anyways, don't you? And if you don't, I'll always have the hope that you do, and i'm satisfied with that. Love me a little. I adore you."

Frida Kahlo

[crystaletters]

I wish you a kinder sea.

Emily Dickinson

[bodyalive]

Hans Ole Brasen

* * * *

People start to heal the moment they feel heard. - Cheryl Richardson

[Literature and Art]

[edwardian-girl-next-door]

July, from The Procession of Months (c.1889). All the poems were written by fifteen-year-old Beatrice Crane and illustrated by her acclaimed artist father, Walter Crane.

info via publicdomainreview.org

art via pinterest

text id under cut-off

[text ID: "By the reedy riverside

Where swans do take their rest,

July, with languid steps,

Comes forth so richly drest.

For all the sumer tints

Are woven in her dress;

A girdle spun with gold

Her dainty waist doth press.

Her hair, of auburn gold,

Is braided up with flowers,

Her eyes so clear and blue

Do speak of happy house.

She brings with her tall lilies,

Both orange & pure white;

And many other flowers

To give our hearts delight.

But while the water lilies

Are opening bright & fair,

She slowly, softly goes

In the still summer air"]

[slayerofthevampire]

October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy drafts that bit at exposed hands and faces.

—J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Will you forgive me these November days?

—Anna Akhmatova, Rosary

November at its best - with a sort of delightful menace in the air.

—Anne Bosworth Greene

[eileen-rein-poetry]

I can't think for my mind is already full of thoughts, and yet I can't grasp any of them for they are all out of reach.

- The sensation of insanity

[poeticruin]

“there's something a bit poetic about having to live right above the earth we'll rot in. having to walk around like drunk fools who never knew sobriety, with each step bringing us closer to death. one breath, one blink of an eye, one lie twisting around our tongues, one hope burning the insides of our throats every day. it's a tragedy, if you think about it. we have to spend our lives trying to forget the promise of our graves. the promise of every atom carrying our ghosts in their infinity”

— excerpts from a book i'll (never) write

[mysterieuxclairdelune]

What broke your heart so bad, that you had to close every door, that you say you have a dark soul & can't utter the word 'love' anymore?

-Sanhita Baruah

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

In spite of everything I shall rise again: I will take up my pencil, which I have forsaken in my great discouragement, and I will go on with my drawing. - Vincent Van Gogh  [Literature and Art]

[sxthee]

PERSONIFICATION OF NATURE

For she isn't anything but a devout for life;

Even if the thorns draw out their knife,

Although never leaving unscathed,

She still stood there and bathed

In her glade of failure and imperfections.

No, despite the whittled misconceptions,

She is not flawless as what many may deem,

She's a failed artist who persists to dream

To paint around her element

With her blood so redolent

Of hope blossoming amidst winter.

(rambles/though process below if interested :>)

Behold~!

I call the artwork "The Crowned Artist Who Failed"

(doesn't have a good ring to it, might rename it in the future qwq)

Me and my friend @pulchramorationem had a discourse whether nature is perfect or not intrinsically. Over that, I've decided that Nature is a failed artist who eventually succeeded after years (and they still continue to grow).

Majority of us find solace in nature and label it as "perfect" due to the peace it is able to bring us. But with all the natural disasters that crack, flood and dishevel the fauna and flora, I thought that Nature is never perfect, and what if it exists to serve as a reminder that we can simultaneously exist disastrously and beautifully? A reminder that the perfections are the cause of flaws, and the flaws create perfections?

Although perhaps never truly achieving to be completely perfect, but because of thei ability to balance their inner turmoil and passion with the excellent endurance, they are able to be a master to them and create the best of both worlds - giving birth to the nature that we know of today?

Now that's something to ponder upon KWKWKWKWK OKAY! Moving on to the thought process of the design ig

I don't have a good reason as to why I drew Nature as a woman, but perhaps it's because I've projected a part of myself to her and was a ble to see a fragment of myself within her - both are trying artists who are still surging through this creative word despite the challenges. Another thing to it (kind of a last/additional though) women typically symbolize delicacy, kind of like how nature is delicate as well. Like, we must maintain the balance, like the food chain, to keep everything at peace. Basically, if one part is gone within the cycle, it may or may not create major consequences.

As for the outfit, green is self-explanatory. It symbolizes the nature, the life against the winter-barren background. I gave her a laurel wreath as (to my favor) symbolizes victory! And she is victorious in her own ways and masterpieces.

For her eyes, I wanted to symbolize the water somehow, so I guess using her eyes, she was able to symbolize the "water" part of nature. Of course the "land" part is her dress (you could count her hair as well, but to be honest that was not my initial intent, and rather, jsut found the color pretty and matched up well with the palette). The air?? To be honest I hadn't thought of it, but I guess you could count the swirly whites circling around her as the air???? And "WHAT ABOUT THE PLASMA-" UMMMM IDK—

I've only thought of this until now. I GUESS THE YELLOW PART ON HER DRESS OR THAT GLOWY BRUSH?? IT LOOKS ELECTRIC!!?

Think what you will, but the brush actually symbolizes that she indeed is an artist, and if she were to paint, each strokes she would create would result into life.

The scars and bloody bandage? Self-explanatory: evidences of her hardships and triumphs!

Anyway that's all!! qwq I had so much fun doing this prompt (interpretation of nature). Thanks to mah friendo for riding along with this lil challenge I began. WHKAEFHDBG I had so much fun doing this challenge with ya!!! >:3

(also forgive the cromchy artwork quality, idk what happened—)

[eccentricsworld]

You are flowers growing in my body

Blooming through my ribs

Choking my veins

Vines crawling up my throat and around my bones

Devouring me from the inside out

"Flowers" By Calla Magnolia Willis

[crystaletters]

"I have nature and art and poetry, and if that is not enough, what is enough?"

Vincent Van Gogh