Comments on: canvas

By: Mexi G.

Mexi G. — Mon, 08 Aug 2011 18:16:24 +0000

The canvas was blank. Tracy stared at it with all her might. “What the hell do you think i”m going to do with this?” she asks Tom, “I’m an assassin, not an artist.” Tom rolls his eyes. “I want you to send it to a friend of mine. It’s art. Suppose to be painted white or something? He wants you to send it to him,” Tom replies. “But I’m an assassin, not a messenger, Tom, stop making me do stuff like this,” Tracy tells him. “You just need to do one more thing like this, okay? I promise, this is the last job like this,” Tom remarks. Tracy sighs. She hates these kiddie jobs Tom’s making her pull these days. Seriously. An assassin delivering a blank canvas? What is this? She sighs again as Tom looks at her expectantly. “Fine, but no more kiddie jobs, all right?” she says. “Scout’s honor,” says Tom. She narrows her eyes. “You were never a scout,” says Tracy.

By: katrina

katrina — Mon, 08 Aug 2011 18:04:36 +0000

i have a blank canvas before me. i love color. especially autumn colors, for my favorite time of year. i begin thinking about how abstract i want to go with this one. i think i’ll keep it in my living room this time, and let family and friends enjoy a special piece during the holidays this year.

By: Melanie

Melanie — Mon, 08 Aug 2011 18:04:14 +0000

Canvas. Endless possibilities waiting to be formed on the slate that is infinite beauty.

By: Laur

Laur — Mon, 08 Aug 2011 18:02:23 +0000

The entire effort was a waste. The art was ugly and pointless. Pointlessness made is unbearable to look upon. Embarrassing. Sadly, Art History is a dead-end major nowadays.

By: Carolynn

Carolynn — Mon, 08 Aug 2011 17:54:42 +0000

It was a blank canvas, and it ripped through my soul, like I was the canvas and it was a razor blade. I stared and stared until my eyes tingled with dry pain, but still there was nothing that I felt was worthy of its pure surface. Perhaps that’s what I am, empty, alone, waiting for someone willing enough to cast their shadow on my soul. A blank canvas, yearning to be touched by an artist.

By: Zergi

Zergi — Mon, 08 Aug 2011 17:51:47 +0000

Where expressions and ideas collide to create an infinite abyss.

By: Rae

Rae — Mon, 08 Aug 2011 17:51:46 +0000

I’d like to be clever and think of this blank place to write as a canvas, but my mind literally went as blank as a canvas when I saw the word ‘canvas.’ Not a bad metaphor… or simile? Whatever…

By: leah

leah — Mon, 08 Aug 2011 17:39:53 +0000

The world is my canvas, and on it I intend to paint all the colours I can dream of

By: dbgjsdb

dbgjsdb — Mon, 08 Aug 2011 17:39:09 +0000

i dont know what that means at all. i think its noun but i dont know what it is for real so i cant write about it. i dont have any information.

By: Laurel

Laurel — Mon, 08 Aug 2011 17:33:28 +0000

blank empty ready prepared potential possibility whole worlds lay inside this great vast ocean of beige brown taupe is taupe soothing really? I’m not so sure. Rowing out to meet the canvas where it stands, armed with brushes, words, imagination, thought, mind inspiration. Ready to spill everything upon it, no thought of cleaning it up, just brimming with intention and pretention and possibility. Theatricality, throwing it all out upon the surface. Excitement. Beauty. Let it all out. Clean it up later. Like now, one word. Canvas, glowing, trembling, like my fingers. Excitement and preparation. Antiicipation. Shivering with readiness and color.