#the writers the poets the artists the painters

[ellearts]

Once you realise spreading love and positivity is the only thing that matters in life <3

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

I don’t think we as artists — be it painters, illustrators, drawers, writers, poets, photographers, song writers, singers, etc — realize how immortal our art is. not to sound cringe, but like… your art lives forever, or at least the art you put into this world will most likely live for a very long time after you die. I logged into my old writing platform account that I haven’t used in years today and found out people still read and comment on my old works.

there’s something beautiful about the thoughts of the art you created and put into this world being people’s source of comfort and/or inspiration even after you die.

there’s something very poetic about people enjoying and appreciating a piece of art, even if the artist is no longer around.

[make-death-proud-to-takeus]

just asked two artists if i could tattoo a piece inspired by their work. are they big? no. would they ever find out if i didn't tell them? also no. would it change much? no. but it made them so visibly happy and flattered that i asked first. respecting copyright and respecting artists is so sexy. please do that more often.

[floralpoeticss]

"Of all flowers: you"

Kim Addonizio

[lydiaplain]

It's my 10 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

It has been a beautiful journey where I met some very special people from all over the world.. 🥰

Here's to the next 10..! 🙌

Photo no. 7: beautiful painting by @peintre-stephane 💝

[the-ellia-west]

HEY! YOU!

Please take a moment to Read This

Artist or Writer, Rich or Poor, Man or Woman, feeling loved or lonely,

You are a creation of God whom he loves and does not regret. You are an amazing person no matter where you are or what you've done, and I love you.

There is someone out there who wants to see your projects and see you. You've got this. You are Natural and you are wonderful.

Your product won't come easy to you, nothing beautiful ever really does. And you are not an Ai, you are real, you are human, you are a person, and being human is to struggle, and to work hard.

And remember. Your work will take time. It will take blood, sweat, and tears. But remember to take rests. No matter how beautiful and wonderful your work will be, you are the thing that matters more. You are the source of your story, and you are the Wonder, the triumph in your creation that matters so much more.

You are loved and you can do this, if not now then one day. I'm cheering for you!

GO GET 'EM YOU MASTERPIECE!

[ily-beyond-measure-carstairs]

Paintings by Holly Warburton

"What is lost in life, we find in art" - Claude Monet

[averagemediocrepie]

"The poet and the painter" (Mini comic?)

Historians will call them close friends ♡

That moment when you befriend the poet by literally just looking at him

Damn I can draw backgrounds???

WH OC Trivia: Luddy (the purple looking grape dude) has social anxiety, which he's trying to overcome. His anxiety is quite severe it causes him to go completely mute in public/around those who aren't close to him (which makes it hard for him to communicate). However, as mentioned earlier, he is working on overcoming it, and he's slowly but surely making progress with the help and support from his beloved neighbors....but especially from a certain little peanut.

《☆》

[palatinewolfsblog]

"Blessed are the weird people:

Poets, misfits, writers

mystics, painters, troubadours

for they teach us to see the world through different eyes."

Jacob Nordby.

[elestirenadam]

Tablo: Edvard Munch, Henrik Ibsen Grand Café'de, tuval üzerine yağlı boya, 189.

Henrik Ibsen, ömrünün son yıllarında her gün sabah 9'da yazmaya başlarmış. Saat 11.30'da, cümlenin ortasında olsa bile kalemini bırakır ve Oslo'nun merkezindeki Grand Café'ye doğru yürüyüşe çıkarmış. Grand Café, en parlak döneminde, Avrupa'nın kuzeydeki sosyal ve sanatsal merkezlerinden biriymiş. Henrik Ibsen, varınca kendisine ayrılmış her zamanki yerine oturur, bir bardak birasını içer ve sandviçini yermiş. Yazarın Edvard Munch ile ilişkisi de ilginç. Munch, borçları yüzünden sık sık zorluklar yaşarmış. Uzun süre yaşadığı zorluklar, Ibsen ile tartışmasına yol açmış. 1897'de sanatçı, Litografi ustalarıyla kafede bir toplantı yapmış ve bu toplantıda bol miktarda içki tüketilmiş. ��deme zamanı gelince Munch, Ibsen'i işaret ederek kendisine kefil olacağını ima etmiş. Ibsen ilgisiz davranmış ve Munch'un masasına yürüyerek "Benim yaptığımı yapmalısın, ben her zaman kendim öderim!" demiş ve onu utandırmış. Ancak bu olay ilişkilerinin kesmemiş ve iki adam birbirlerine her zaman saygı duymuşlar. Ibsen'in bazı dramalarındaki karakterler Munch ile özdeşiyormuş. Munch ise eserlerinin çoğunda Ibsen'in karakterlerinden esinlenmiş. Munch, karşılaşmalarından bir yıl sonra, bu büyük yazarın Grand Café'deki her zaman oturduğu yerde bir portresini yapmış.

[princesslovinharmony]

Oh, to be loved by a painter

Oh, to be loved by a painter’s hand,

Who turns my life into living art,

Whose every stroke whispers feelings so grand,

Every canvas a piece of their heart.

They see beauty in more than just face,

In how my hair falls, how my eyes gleam,

In the quiet moments, in my awkward grace,

In the way I move through life’s daydream.

Each brushstroke tells a story untold,

Of me and them, our world intertwined,

Colors swirling, emotions bold,

Capturing the love they’ve quietly defined.

They paint me in moments others miss,

In the way I glance, or how I stand still,

Transforming the simplest things into bliss,

With each hue, they paint how they feel.

Oh, to be loved by a painter’s eye,

Is to be seen in ways no one else can view—

To become the art that will never die,

In their masterpieces, I live on, anew.

By princesslovinharmony on tumblr

Part of the collection: Oh, to be loved by an artist

Other parts:

Oh, to be loved by a writer

Oh, to be loved by a musician

[what-you-like-about-the-moon]

you know when sometimes you make something and you’re like “this is my magnum opus. i will literally never create anything this divine again. this is not just a hobby, it was the result of a command from god that i make the most spectacular piece of art the world has ever seen” and then some other times you make something and go “well this is a dumpster fire” because that was me yesterday

[starryvomit]

“I love to paint,” - The Notebook, 2004.

[jc-martin-og]

"The Godspeed Messenger"

The sky stretched out before me in a deep blue expanse. As I flew, my eyes do no more than scanning the ground below, looking for messages to deliver as I hope not to fall like the others.

Even if my wings ache from my endless flight, I constantly look for safety, but the sky is filled with nothing but danger. I dutifully carry their messages through the turbulence of war.

In every beat of my puny heart, meant that something was reaching those who needed it desperately. A task I was forced to carry, even if the danger was ever-present.

-

All I remember is that I was deprived from my freedom and sent vulnerable to face in a struggle of men by myself.  Always as a carrier of secrets and words, a messenger of peace from one hand, but a messenger of death sometimes.

I’ve been swept away and asked to bring news of loss and death countless times, that I wish for a gentle hand to free me from this immaterial cage I fly every time.

-

But alas, I cannot escape from this tragedy of chaos and despair. My wings yearn for freedom, a dance in the air, and a return home I’m not so sure I could even fulfil.

Across the desolate, darkened skies, over hell itself that men kind has brought upon these lands. Bodies lay strewn, nameless and forgotten. Their eyes now forever closed, gone is their hope for peace. Left in its wake only for sorrow and despair.

I turn away and fly, my heart heavy stays with grief. But I mustn't falter from my current mission, for I must allow to one more broken soul to live on.

-

The sky full of carnage is, and so is the grown below, from the symphonic clash of bombs and guns. I flap my wings, watching with admiration as the destruction of nature consumed the world below me.

I never imagined that for my eyes, destruction could be so frightfully beautiful sometimes. But man’s war had shrouded the land in darkness, so I flew on, for my guidance from the heavens above has allowed me to live another day, in this hellish ground.

-

I hunch in my cage once the message is done, alone and afraid for my next affair to be here soon. I know the endless struggle will tomorrow call for my fate.

Through the bars I can see sky again, but I know I must eventually return afraid. My wings are a reminder of a life of freedom no longer mine, instead a symbol of mastery in war that I have delivered for endless miles.

I dream of taking a Godspeed flight, out of dread once again, as far away from this life as I can get. But I worry that my wings one day to turn broken and featherless, to never ever feel the sun in a soar of freedom, high in the air.

-

But despite the gnawing fear, there is a glimmer of hope in my heart, that one day they’ll let me untied to their insanity and I’ll fly far away.

That one day men will feel my freedom again, and the world that vanished in disgrace, will be safely discovered once more in full bloom peace.

Original date of publication: 31/03/2023 Made using MediBang

[letsberealgenz]

how to find inspiration ᐟᐟ☆

writers, artists, creators, musicians, painters, singers & all creative soul

[thejourneyofthelostoyster]

he looked at me deep in the eyes and said nothing, and i felt loved

now he looks at me in the eyes deeply and i feel nothing