I reccently became an art major at my school. I think it’s wonderful that I’m finally embracing what I’ve always wanted to do, despite the implications of it. I’ve never felt so free to do what I wanted with my life. Even if I don’t make a whole lot with it, it’s amazing because I know I’ll be so much happier than others.
It painted the sky with his crafty hands.
He smiled photographs at every red light.
“I found a way to make misery into something beautiful”
he would always say
he drew crayola into buildings
and grass of marker joy
oil crayons of mountains
and magic into dreams
artistry can be found in anything. it isn’t like art, where to fit the bill you have to be purposefully made to be beautiful in some one’s eyes. Artistry can be found in the curve of a collar bone, or the majesty of a sunrise. It is in the petals of a flower and the vastness of the desert. artistry is a part of somethings soul, it just is, with out effort or purpose.
art.is.try.
self expression? wrapped up in a fancy word.
im liking self expression better… the way you are.. why you are that way… live it… do it… create.
confusion and then i look at the piece of paper and it all spills out.
releasing it, is much better then keeping everything locked up inside.
the best makeup company there is. part of quixtar business which is now amway global. which is stupid because so many people still have a bad tie to amway. whatever… i’m not a part of it anymore. as much as i would want it to work for me, i’m not the right personality for it.
One day a girl, Lucy, woke up. She had a vision. No one could stop her. She started painting. An hour later, she had a masterpice. Everyone who saw it said, “That is amazing.” Lucy just nodded. She was humble, but this one she thought was special. Lucy decided to say something to a local art show. She showed them. They loved it. She entered it in a national contest. By now, she thought no one could beat her.
being an artist isnt hard, everyone has some sort of artistry in them. we are all artists. you and me and them. we should make more art. art goes down in history. we should make our mark.
The highest form of artistry is music, well, pushing the boundaries of music. Although, you could argue that music now has reached a plateau. Artistry is also many other things, but since I’m listening to music, that is what comes to mind first. Chords and harmonies become akin to carvings and brushstrokes.
So good it approaches artistry. Fickle, rude, self absorbed and immature. Displayed consistently and continually. You’d think it would get sick of itself. No, it’s passion for misery is consuming.
Stacy is a illustrator of great artistry. I am very much looking forward to attending her graduation from The Art Academy of San Francisco this coming June. I am so proud of all her achievements.
for some reason this word reminds me of the combination of “art” and “history”. a combination of my muse and what i consider to be the devils subject. however both are created from the viewers perspective. alike and different in so many ways…
They watched with amusement as she played with flower petals, pearls and pretzels; bending and twisting them into fantastic and beautiful shapes. So delighted by her artistry, they threw bills of all denominations into her cardboard box.
Sometimes art has meaning. Sometimes people make art for the sake of creating something, to leave their mark on this world. There is no specific kind of artistry that one can produce. Art is something unique to everyone; like a fingerprint, each human has their own specific style. And that – that sense of individualism, of expression, of creative creation – is true artistry.
Everything is all about artistry, isn’t it? You may be able to do something well, but if you don’t package it up and make it look nice and fancy, it really doesn’t mean shit. Humans are aesthetic beings: we care about looks and that’s it.
Personally though, I’d take an ugly duckling over a swan princess any day.
Focus on the artistry that is in the simplest of objects. Ever little thing that is in your life is beautiful and the artistry is stunning if you just take a moment to look at it. The details are so finite but that is what makes observation exciting. Try to imagine how the object was made—try to put yourself in the artist’s shoes.
Here I sit, admiring everyone’s individual artistry. Everyone seemed to have these amazing gifts; from piano to physics, I envied their skills. But then I must remember that I, too, have my own skills, my own artistry. But in what? I am not really sure. How is it that we’re able to pinpoint other’s skills, but our own seem so inadequate to us. I know I have my own skills, but the fact that I couldn’t list them to you shows that either they are so much a part of me that I’ve simply stopped noticing them, or that I have yet to discover them or recognize them for the gifts they are. Lord, make these gifts known to me, so that I can use them for You.
honestly i love art. its beautiful. all forms are amazing. you have visual and performing arts and even then different factions of each. no matter what form it’s in, all art is perfect. beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right? its especially true about art.
There are many forms of art, from paints and canvas to the swirl of music in the ears. But words took a special form of artistry. It took skill to immerse her in another world with simply the power of ink on paper.
Not just art – good art. The implication of skill. Talent. A standard. But of what, exactly? Technique? Originality? Realism? Emotivism? I may have just made that last word up. I digress… sometimes my favorite works of art are the ones that come out nothing like how I wanted them to. I suppose that means I am an amateur. Good.
Artistry, the way her fingers glide over the air like they are feeling soft silk. The way each and individual part of her has a separate task that it performs eloquently. She moves and breaths as only a dancer can.
what the hell is that? something to do with art of sorts? not really sure so let’s wing it! some form or picture that is filled with artful images, or is very artful.
It’s hard to be an artist.
Always trying to think of something new, original, breath taking
While trying not to think about it.
Art comes from the heart, not the gear turning mind.
Sometimes they work together, but it’s the blood that makes the greatest ink.
I could have been an artist
then I realized I had no choice
the art of artistry is an art in itself
Everyday we create
paths,energy,memories,trash, passion, relationships.
what is beauty? Is it called artistry. The only thing I could relate it to is the Amway artistry make-up collection. I am an art lover. My favourite painting style is Van Gogh’s impressionism style.
peace, happiness, anger, emotions arise as fingers click aggressively on the key board. a tune is carried through the window of the old ivory keys. fingers fly through the air, feet tap the floor.
The critic’s eyes stared intensely at the artistry of the sculpture; it must have taken ages to carve it. Beautiful curvature, color, movement… it was the new “David.” It was certainly one of a kind and the artist gained tremendous respect.
A man sits at hi desk, head in his hands. The curtains are drawn, but light pushes through. There is a cigarette still burning in his ashtray, and a cup of tea beside it.
What would my life be like without art? Dismal. Boring. Colourless. Art is a part of me, a flame that cannot be extinguished. Art is the flow of the words from my head through my fingers, it is the stokes of my pencil across the page. Art is in the songs I write, the words and music seem to form without any conscious effort. Graffiti, the coulours and designs, the expression, the ventures in the middle of the night are so invigorating. Art is who I am.
lavender canvases dotted a tumultuous horizon while the boy dug rich, dark earth. lightning. cross-legged, nine billion onlookers gazed intently unintentionally. screaming deafened each and every soul present–not one heard the others’ turmoils. these cries died before they were shouted, bouncing off skull walls. paper corn stalks, stretching, reaching out to the cool air, spoke in muted chicks and shhhhhhhs and soothed. alone, one stratus cloud streaked a bright white sigh across glory. witnessing tightrope walkers’ balance, monks’ trances, crops’ maturing, money stacks’ blowing away in the wind and an antique cymbal-clapping monkey toy frowning, all felt satisfied and left the boy to dig.
he has the artistry to paint a perfect heart and tear the paper
-artistry
I reccently became an art major at my school. I think it’s wonderful that I’m finally embracing what I’ve always wanted to do, despite the implications of it. I’ve never felt so free to do what I wanted with my life. Even if I don’t make a whole lot with it, it’s amazing because I know I’ll be so much happier than others.
It painted the sky with his crafty hands.
He smiled photographs at every red light.
“I found a way to make misery into something beautiful”
he would always say
he drew crayola into buildings
and grass of marker joy
oil crayons of mountains
and magic into dreams
artistry can be found in anything. it isn’t like art, where to fit the bill you have to be purposefully made to be beautiful in some one’s eyes. Artistry can be found in the curve of a collar bone, or the majesty of a sunrise. It is in the petals of a flower and the vastness of the desert. artistry is a part of somethings soul, it just is, with out effort or purpose.
art.is.try.
self expression? wrapped up in a fancy word.
im liking self expression better… the way you are.. why you are that way… live it… do it… create.
confusion and then i look at the piece of paper and it all spills out.
releasing it, is much better then keeping everything locked up inside.
TRY…
you’ll like it.
the best makeup company there is. part of quixtar business which is now amway global. which is stupid because so many people still have a bad tie to amway. whatever… i’m not a part of it anymore. as much as i would want it to work for me, i’m not the right personality for it.
One day a girl, Lucy, woke up. She had a vision. No one could stop her. She started painting. An hour later, she had a masterpice. Everyone who saw it said, “That is amazing.” Lucy just nodded. She was humble, but this one she thought was special. Lucy decided to say something to a local art show. She showed them. They loved it. She entered it in a national contest. By now, she thought no one could beat her.
being an artist. having a superb talent for making something beautiful. using your hands to make something. gifted.
being an artist isnt hard, everyone has some sort of artistry in them. we are all artists. you and me and them. we should make more art. art goes down in history. we should make our mark.
The highest form of artistry is music, well, pushing the boundaries of music. Although, you could argue that music now has reached a plateau. Artistry is also many other things, but since I’m listening to music, that is what comes to mind first. Chords and harmonies become akin to carvings and brushstrokes.
So good it approaches artistry. Fickle, rude, self absorbed and immature. Displayed consistently and continually. You’d think it would get sick of itself. No, it’s passion for misery is consuming.
Stacy is a illustrator of great artistry. I am very much looking forward to attending her graduation from The Art Academy of San Francisco this coming June. I am so proud of all her achievements.
a skill, ability
showing a mastery of a subject.
for some reason this word reminds me of the combination of “art” and “history”. a combination of my muse and what i consider to be the devils subject. however both are created from the viewers perspective. alike and different in so many ways…
They watched with amusement as she played with flower petals, pearls and pretzels; bending and twisting them into fantastic and beautiful shapes. So delighted by her artistry, they threw bills of all denominations into her cardboard box.
the process. the methodology. the how. execution. not necessarily perfection. pure expression. it just feels right.
Sometimes art has meaning. Sometimes people make art for the sake of creating something, to leave their mark on this world. There is no specific kind of artistry that one can produce. Art is something unique to everyone; like a fingerprint, each human has their own specific style. And that – that sense of individualism, of expression, of creative creation – is true artistry.
Everything is all about artistry, isn’t it? You may be able to do something well, but if you don’t package it up and make it look nice and fancy, it really doesn’t mean shit. Humans are aesthetic beings: we care about looks and that’s it.
Personally though, I’d take an ugly duckling over a swan princess any day.
Focus on the artistry that is in the simplest of objects. Ever little thing that is in your life is beautiful and the artistry is stunning if you just take a moment to look at it. The details are so finite but that is what makes observation exciting. Try to imagine how the object was made—try to put yourself in the artist’s shoes.
Here I sit, admiring everyone’s individual artistry. Everyone seemed to have these amazing gifts; from piano to physics, I envied their skills. But then I must remember that I, too, have my own skills, my own artistry. But in what? I am not really sure. How is it that we’re able to pinpoint other’s skills, but our own seem so inadequate to us. I know I have my own skills, but the fact that I couldn’t list them to you shows that either they are so much a part of me that I’ve simply stopped noticing them, or that I have yet to discover them or recognize them for the gifts they are. Lord, make these gifts known to me, so that I can use them for You.
To create a feeling or state of mind in another wordlessly
or wordily
Similar to dentistry but without the teeth
Art is like a new born baby to me. i mean it new and innocent. it can be anything it wants to be. Art is a child in new light.
honestly i love art. its beautiful. all forms are amazing. you have visual and performing arts and even then different factions of each. no matter what form it’s in, all art is perfect. beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right? its especially true about art.
There are many forms of art, from paints and canvas to the swirl of music in the ears. But words took a special form of artistry. It took skill to immerse her in another world with simply the power of ink on paper.
Not just art – good art. The implication of skill. Talent. A standard. But of what, exactly? Technique? Originality? Realism? Emotivism? I may have just made that last word up. I digress… sometimes my favorite works of art are the ones that come out nothing like how I wanted them to. I suppose that means I am an amateur. Good.
a peacock’s feather
a spider’s web
a brolga’s dance
a whale’s breach
that’s artistry.
It’s about art and how someone is being good at art so they are artistry
Artistry, the way her fingers glide over the air like they are feeling soft silk. The way each and individual part of her has a separate task that it performs eloquently. She moves and breaths as only a dancer can.
And she is beautiful.
The pure artistry of the home’s interior put to rest any unease it’s macabre exterior stirred within me.
The art of artists? The science of art. The way humans capture emotions in tangible objects.
Craft me some lies that cut so deep that I can’t remember what I should be living for.
what the hell is that? something to do with art of sorts? not really sure so let’s wing it! some form or picture that is filled with artful images, or is very artful.
It’s hard to be an artist.
Always trying to think of something new, original, breath taking
While trying not to think about it.
Art comes from the heart, not the gear turning mind.
Sometimes they work together, but it’s the blood that makes the greatest ink.
I could have been an artist
then I realized I had no choice
the art of artistry is an art in itself
Everyday we create
paths,energy,memories,trash, passion, relationships.
We don’t have a say
what is beauty? Is it called artistry. The only thing I could relate it to is the Amway artistry make-up collection. I am an art lover. My favourite painting style is Van Gogh’s impressionism style.
peace, happiness, anger, emotions arise as fingers click aggressively on the key board. a tune is carried through the window of the old ivory keys. fingers fly through the air, feet tap the floor.
The critic’s eyes stared intensely at the artistry of the sculpture; it must have taken ages to carve it. Beautiful curvature, color, movement… it was the new “David.” It was certainly one of a kind and the artist gained tremendous respect.
artistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryartistryIHAVENOartistry
A man sits at hi desk, head in his hands. The curtains are drawn, but light pushes through. There is a cigarette still burning in his ashtray, and a cup of tea beside it.
What would my life be like without art? Dismal. Boring. Colourless. Art is a part of me, a flame that cannot be extinguished. Art is the flow of the words from my head through my fingers, it is the stokes of my pencil across the page. Art is in the songs I write, the words and music seem to form without any conscious effort. Graffiti, the coulours and designs, the expression, the ventures in the middle of the night are so invigorating. Art is who I am.
lavender canvases dotted a tumultuous horizon while the boy dug rich, dark earth. lightning. cross-legged, nine billion onlookers gazed intently unintentionally. screaming deafened each and every soul present–not one heard the others’ turmoils. these cries died before they were shouted, bouncing off skull walls. paper corn stalks, stretching, reaching out to the cool air, spoke in muted chicks and shhhhhhhs and soothed. alone, one stratus cloud streaked a bright white sigh across glory. witnessing tightrope walkers’ balance, monks’ trances, crops’ maturing, money stacks’ blowing away in the wind and an antique cymbal-clapping monkey toy frowning, all felt satisfied and left the boy to dig.