What is artistry? the art of being artistic? may be yes. It is a beautiful word. art is a beautiful word. i think it represents some deep beautiful thing within us.
She painted what she saw, she painted her reality. The canvas was covered in splotches of red above multiple shades of gray, slowly two people came to view. It seemed almost as if the canvas was alive and the image was actually happening, the man almost reaching out calling ‘Elenaaa….’ She jumped back spilling the paints on the floor, when she leaned over to clean it up she saw a pair of feet and looked up.
“It’s lovely” he said, an unfamiliar boy.
“What- oh, thank you.” She went back to the painting and he left. When it was finished she stared at it. It was exactly what was in her head, haunting her. The look on his face as he vanished forever… and now it was trappen on a canvas, hopefully where it would stay.
“Amazing, and haunting” she spun around surprised, the boy hadn’t left after all.
“Uh…” she gathered her sketchbook which sat on a stool nearby.
“I’m sorry I just couldn’t help myself, you’re an amazing painter” The boy smiled softly.
“T-thank you” she stumbled and blushed, trying to hide behindher sketchbook. The boy approached cat-like, the same way a predator does approaching prey. She backed away terrified as his smiled changed from soft to malicious.
She bled colors, her feelings spilled out onto the floor. Every look on her face was another stroke, another line of the brush. She was a disasterpiece, the loveliest piece of artistry one ever did see.
“She’s thinking all the time about something or other. Never talks much, mind you, Marylin.” Nancy trilled, taking a delicate sip of her lemonaid.
Her companion nodded, looking tired. “And her mother…?”
“That’s just it! The silly girl’s mother, Annabel Parker, is just a delightful woman. I dropped a few days ago to say hello and she’s all, ‘how are you and do you want some apple pie? It’s fresh from the oven. My grandmother’s recipe.’ I was astounded! Poor woman. She must wonder where she went wrong.”
A small frown soften Marylin’s face, pushing aside and blonde curl she muttered, “Are you sure the girl is that bad? She seemed very polite when she stopped dreaming long enough to see that William had waved to her.”
Nancy snorted and stood. William Pemberly .Marylin’s husband, was another thing that set the old gossip off. Shaking her head she bade goodbye to her young friend told she was was needed elsewhere.
“I said I’d drop by Ida Carring’s today. And I haven’t yet feed my cat.” The woman walked down the street, leaving behind the little cafe.
Marylin sighed and looked at the half empty glass of lemon-aid in front of her. She knew full well that Nancy White had no cats. She’d merely said something the old bat did’t quite agree with.
The young woman thought she might just visit the infamous daydreamer that was Jada Parker.
The way he touched her was like a painter working on a canvas, as he finger brushed against her, she became more. Her color deepened and her soul became visible. His touch was his artistry and she longed to own everything he’d ever created.
i’m assuming this has something to do with art. I hostly don’t know what this word means soooo I’m just going to talk about art. I like art. It’s an amazing outlet. An outlet that is especially helpful to me. However, I recently came to know that my x thinks it unhealthy to expression “strong” emotions to the public. This doesn’t make sense to me. How is art created then if not through some emotion? Personally, I prefer art that forces interpretation that then gives into emotion. If all I do is feel when i see, listen, or speak about this particular item, then I feel fulfilled. Especially if I’m the creator of emotion in others. So when he told me that…after I had written the most intimate poem I’ve ever written for anyone (Subject: our spiritual meeting)…I felt…a lot of things. And so I wrote some more. But said goodbye to him. The the night, anyway.
It was a work of artistry. It was a reaction of the tame beauty of innocence and the fiery passion of life that brought the two of them together. They were a living painting, a small sampling of the cosmos in looks. It was a gift from the gods to view their relationship, it was bliss to simply be in the same room as them .Their joy was contagious and their love permanent. Where did it go?
Artistry before my very eyes this afternoon. Artistry at my little “nook” table. Friend came, beads in hand, to make my new watch as I watched. Artistry in motion. Artistry I wear.
Jessica likes art as long as it doesn’t require her to paint, sculpt, or anything that involves actually putting effort into the making. No, don’t look at Jessica like that, she isn’t a lazy girl, she just appreciates it in a way that doesn’t need her at all.
“Come on,” says Yuri, almost pleading. “It’ll be fun.”
“But I can’t draw.” The girl deadpanned, her eyes never leaving the book. “You know I don’t like doing any kind of those stuffs.”
The girl pouted. “But you dragged me to galleries all the time, please? You promised!”
Jessica sighs, she thinks, maybe this one lump of a tanned person is the art that requires her in every task. “Fine, I’ll go nude for you only once.”
Yuri squeals in delight, she loves being an artist.
There was artistry in his sorrow; a depth and a breadth that were unmatched, a sweet, tangy misery that settled over him. It burned at his flesh until he faced it – until he swallowed down the bitter pill of reality and opened his eyes.
He always found himself staring back at him; eyes wide with uncertain terror – the flecks of gold breaking up the hazel fog.
It was as natural as breathing for her – the artistry of living, of really living. Her roots dug deep in the world around her, centered and steady and constant; she was unbreakable and unyielding and mesmerizing. She tasted like rain, smelled like the forest, and laughed like the sound of thunder. It shook my bones.
Artistry is an amazing thing. It seems unattainable to some, like myself. What makes one an artist? I can draw stick figures. Some famous cartoonists made amazing things from stick drawings. But Why aren’t my pictures good enough? At least, they aren’t good enough for me.
Once a pianist, forever a pianist. At least to me, because the piano is the holiest thing alive.
He keeps me sane – he’s my best friend, my lover and my soul mate for life. He plays my feelings and thoughts like none other. He knows me so well that sometimes even I don’t know that I could be capable of playing that heavenly.
It’s in the little things. The way one groups three candles on the mantle. The way one sets the chairs up by the bistro table on the porch. In the tilt of a hat. In the use of beautiful or snarkily poetic language instead of thoughtless profanity.
I think artistry is a skill. i think it’s a word that means you have very good art skills. My art skills are terrible. Victor has very good art skills.
i have no idea what this word is. im guessing it means something to do with an artist and being artistic but im not really sure. hmmm if i was described as artistry it would most likely mean i was creative, a provicative thinker and have a talent for all arts. . . ?
artistry is wonderful. it is the end all be all for those who are intellectually able to access it. It is crafted by hours of meticulous practice and obsessive love of its creators. It never judges or is fake. it is everything that its artist needs it to be, everything that the world wants it to be and everything that the audience needs to see and hear. it is the humanity of the world.
There are many things about artistry that are really interesting. First, artistry is about making art. I know lots of peeople with great artistry. My friend has great artistry in everything that she does. It is a very interesting thing to see and watch. When I begin to draw, my artistry lacks. However, it improves with the more my thing begins to develop. I just used thing in a sentence.
Is it form or is it reason? Where does it come from? It comes from somewhere within. It sounds cliche, but where else could it come from? It overpowers and overwhelms and inundates relentlessly until you submit.
The artistry of baking a pie was lost on Ricky, but the taste was something he could respect. Still, his wife liked to call the baking process an art. The way the sugar dusted her apron, the smell of cherries in her hair and face, the criss-cross of the crust and the splash of whipped cream. She was Van Gogh, all right.
She was worried about how they would perceive her piece. She wanted so badly to be an artist – but isn’t that what all artists frown on? The idea of wanting it took away from the actuality of it.
But she knew her piece was good. She could feel the artistry in every note, every pause, every second that the music flowed from her fingertips. Those 88 keys were her world, and they reflected it.
To create ones thought through any particular medium. Self expression, mankinds greatest achievement. Artist separate us from animals, when we create we are human.
Art was sort of a form of living for me, I never knew how to make it, or make it well. But I knew how to live it, and I was happy in knowing that. It never mattered what she thought. I was living life.
artistry. The artist. The art is not just art. It is a way of life, of living, of being. Of more than just one body, one spirit, one person. Life. Unity. Being. One. there is more than just pen or paper or paint or canvas or word or notes. There is all. there is being. there is love, there is life.
Artsist are what exemplify artistry. There are artists within all of us. We must learn how to express our inner-creativity! We seem to loose this, if we do not continue to develop it over-time..
my hands move. move. still. my hands they stop. the thick goo layers my prints. everyone looking in, im no one. i looking out, there no one. they dont matter, i dont matter. these hands. my hands. they move. the goo fortells an image. you cry. you laugh. your angry. your frightened. i smile. my job is complete.
Artistry,
what is the artistry of stage managing one may ask
you are always behind the scenes
and the real “art” as some may say is taking place onstage.
but the artistry of stage managing
is in the organization
the ability to
pull together
and to stay calm
the focus
the amount of hard work
Nothing quite like artistry. Nothing like showing off your stuff. Nothing like sticking it to the man and saying hey dude I’m a gonna be me an artist. Why should I care about your bourgeois bylaws?
is when you are very artistic. you are very good at art.
What is artistry? the art of being artistic? may be yes. It is a beautiful word. art is a beautiful word. i think it represents some deep beautiful thing within us.
artistry is a weird word it means you are artictic
She painted what she saw, she painted her reality. The canvas was covered in splotches of red above multiple shades of gray, slowly two people came to view. It seemed almost as if the canvas was alive and the image was actually happening, the man almost reaching out calling ‘Elenaaa….’ She jumped back spilling the paints on the floor, when she leaned over to clean it up she saw a pair of feet and looked up.
“It’s lovely” he said, an unfamiliar boy.
“What- oh, thank you.” She went back to the painting and he left. When it was finished she stared at it. It was exactly what was in her head, haunting her. The look on his face as he vanished forever… and now it was trappen on a canvas, hopefully where it would stay.
“Amazing, and haunting” she spun around surprised, the boy hadn’t left after all.
“Uh…” she gathered her sketchbook which sat on a stool nearby.
“I’m sorry I just couldn’t help myself, you’re an amazing painter” The boy smiled softly.
“T-thank you” she stumbled and blushed, trying to hide behindher sketchbook. The boy approached cat-like, the same way a predator does approaching prey. She backed away terrified as his smiled changed from soft to malicious.
She bled colors, her feelings spilled out onto the floor. Every look on her face was another stroke, another line of the brush. She was a disasterpiece, the loveliest piece of artistry one ever did see.
“She’s thinking all the time about something or other. Never talks much, mind you, Marylin.” Nancy trilled, taking a delicate sip of her lemonaid.
Her companion nodded, looking tired. “And her mother…?”
“That’s just it! The silly girl’s mother, Annabel Parker, is just a delightful woman. I dropped a few days ago to say hello and she’s all, ‘how are you and do you want some apple pie? It’s fresh from the oven. My grandmother’s recipe.’ I was astounded! Poor woman. She must wonder where she went wrong.”
A small frown soften Marylin’s face, pushing aside and blonde curl she muttered, “Are you sure the girl is that bad? She seemed very polite when she stopped dreaming long enough to see that William had waved to her.”
Nancy snorted and stood. William Pemberly .Marylin’s husband, was another thing that set the old gossip off. Shaking her head she bade goodbye to her young friend told she was was needed elsewhere.
“I said I’d drop by Ida Carring’s today. And I haven’t yet feed my cat.” The woman walked down the street, leaving behind the little cafe.
Marylin sighed and looked at the half empty glass of lemon-aid in front of her. She knew full well that Nancy White had no cats. She’d merely said something the old bat did’t quite agree with.
The young woman thought she might just visit the infamous daydreamer that was Jada Parker.
The way he touched her was like a painter working on a canvas, as he finger brushed against her, she became more. Her color deepened and her soul became visible. His touch was his artistry and she longed to own everything he’d ever created.
grave solitude
is the artist’s practice.
Artistry is an occupation–
so occupy your own mind.
artistry i think is like a pro artist and thier cool paintings but that probably isnt right oh well
The thing that makes the world a more beautiful place. It brings people to a higher place, it lifts them up.
i’m assuming this has something to do with art. I hostly don’t know what this word means soooo I’m just going to talk about art. I like art. It’s an amazing outlet. An outlet that is especially helpful to me. However, I recently came to know that my x thinks it unhealthy to expression “strong” emotions to the public. This doesn’t make sense to me. How is art created then if not through some emotion? Personally, I prefer art that forces interpretation that then gives into emotion. If all I do is feel when i see, listen, or speak about this particular item, then I feel fulfilled. Especially if I’m the creator of emotion in others. So when he told me that…after I had written the most intimate poem I’ve ever written for anyone (Subject: our spiritual meeting)…I felt…a lot of things. And so I wrote some more. But said goodbye to him. The the night, anyway.
It was a work of artistry. It was a reaction of the tame beauty of innocence and the fiery passion of life that brought the two of them together. They were a living painting, a small sampling of the cosmos in looks. It was a gift from the gods to view their relationship, it was bliss to simply be in the same room as them .Their joy was contagious and their love permanent. Where did it go?
Artistry before my very eyes this afternoon. Artistry at my little “nook” table. Friend came, beads in hand, to make my new watch as I watched. Artistry in motion. Artistry I wear.
Jessica likes art as long as it doesn’t require her to paint, sculpt, or anything that involves actually putting effort into the making. No, don’t look at Jessica like that, she isn’t a lazy girl, she just appreciates it in a way that doesn’t need her at all.
“Come on,” says Yuri, almost pleading. “It’ll be fun.”
“But I can’t draw.” The girl deadpanned, her eyes never leaving the book. “You know I don’t like doing any kind of those stuffs.”
The girl pouted. “But you dragged me to galleries all the time, please? You promised!”
Jessica sighs, she thinks, maybe this one lump of a tanned person is the art that requires her in every task. “Fine, I’ll go nude for you only once.”
Yuri squeals in delight, she loves being an artist.
There was artistry in his sorrow; a depth and a breadth that were unmatched, a sweet, tangy misery that settled over him. It burned at his flesh until he faced it – until he swallowed down the bitter pill of reality and opened his eyes.
He always found himself staring back at him; eyes wide with uncertain terror – the flecks of gold breaking up the hazel fog.
It was as natural as breathing for her – the artistry of living, of really living. Her roots dug deep in the world around her, centered and steady and constant; she was unbreakable and unyielding and mesmerizing. She tasted like rain, smelled like the forest, and laughed like the sound of thunder. It shook my bones.
Artisery is a cool word.I really dont know what it means but it sounds pretty cool. Artisery!?
Artistry is an amazing thing. It seems unattainable to some, like myself. What makes one an artist? I can draw stick figures. Some famous cartoonists made amazing things from stick drawings. But Why aren’t my pictures good enough? At least, they aren’t good enough for me.
Once a pianist, forever a pianist. At least to me, because the piano is the holiest thing alive.
He keeps me sane – he’s my best friend, my lover and my soul mate for life. He plays my feelings and thoughts like none other. He knows me so well that sometimes even I don’t know that I could be capable of playing that heavenly.
My artistry: Musicianship.
To have art or creative.
I don’t really know what artistry means. I wasn’t really listening when my teacher explained what to it meant. I really hate listening.
It’s the act of being artistic. He did a artistry job of putting machines together.
Artistry
It’s in the little things. The way one groups three candles on the mantle. The way one sets the chairs up by the bistro table on the porch. In the tilt of a hat. In the use of beautiful or snarkily poetic language instead of thoughtless profanity.
I don’t know .
I think artistry is a skill. i think it’s a word that means you have very good art skills. My art skills are terrible. Victor has very good art skills.
i have no idea what this word is. im guessing it means something to do with an artist and being artistic but im not really sure. hmmm if i was described as artistry it would most likely mean i was creative, a provicative thinker and have a talent for all arts. . . ?
artistry is wonderful. it is the end all be all for those who are intellectually able to access it. It is crafted by hours of meticulous practice and obsessive love of its creators. It never judges or is fake. it is everything that its artist needs it to be, everything that the world wants it to be and everything that the audience needs to see and hear. it is the humanity of the world.
There are many things about artistry that are really interesting. First, artistry is about making art. I know lots of peeople with great artistry. My friend has great artistry in everything that she does. It is a very interesting thing to see and watch. When I begin to draw, my artistry lacks. However, it improves with the more my thing begins to develop. I just used thing in a sentence.
Is it form or is it reason? Where does it come from? It comes from somewhere within. It sounds cliche, but where else could it come from? It overpowers and overwhelms and inundates relentlessly until you submit.
The artistry of baking a pie was lost on Ricky, but the taste was something he could respect. Still, his wife liked to call the baking process an art. The way the sugar dusted her apron, the smell of cherries in her hair and face, the criss-cross of the crust and the splash of whipped cream. She was Van Gogh, all right.
She was worried about how they would perceive her piece. She wanted so badly to be an artist – but isn’t that what all artists frown on? The idea of wanting it took away from the actuality of it.
But she knew her piece was good. She could feel the artistry in every note, every pause, every second that the music flowed from her fingertips. Those 88 keys were her world, and they reflected it.
To create ones thought through any particular medium. Self expression, mankinds greatest achievement. Artist separate us from animals, when we create we are human.
Art was sort of a form of living for me, I never knew how to make it, or make it well. But I knew how to live it, and I was happy in knowing that. It never mattered what she thought. I was living life.
artistry. i honestly don’t know how to use that in a sentence. the man had good artistry?? he has a calm sense of artistry?? i don’t know
artistry. The artist. The art is not just art. It is a way of life, of living, of being. Of more than just one body, one spirit, one person. Life. Unity. Being. One. there is more than just pen or paper or paint or canvas or word or notes. There is all. there is being. there is love, there is life.
Artsist are what exemplify artistry. There are artists within all of us. We must learn how to express our inner-creativity! We seem to loose this, if we do not continue to develop it over-time..
my hands move. move. still. my hands they stop. the thick goo layers my prints. everyone looking in, im no one. i looking out, there no one. they dont matter, i dont matter. these hands. my hands. they move. the goo fortells an image. you cry. you laugh. your angry. your frightened. i smile. my job is complete.
Artistry,
what is the artistry of stage managing one may ask
you are always behind the scenes
and the real “art” as some may say is taking place onstage.
but the artistry of stage managing
is in the organization
the ability to
pull together
and to stay calm
the focus
the amount of hard work
Nothing quite like artistry. Nothing like showing off your stuff. Nothing like sticking it to the man and saying hey dude I’m a gonna be me an artist. Why should I care about your bourgeois bylaws?
art
photo
picture book
sculpture
music video
movies
music
statue