Splashes of colour on paper. Little girl fingers. Little girl hands. Little girl eyes. Glinting with promise – one day I can be famous for this. Or I will be a famous actor. Or humanitarian. Or doctor. And she carries on painting her future.
I painted my sister’s room the other day. It used to be a really bright purple, so we decided to tone it down a couple tones and painted it a medium brown. It’s very relaxing now. I like it a lot. My room will be painted next. My walls will go from an obnoxiously bright lime green to a very calm beige.
She painted a pretty picture. Sitting on the green grass with her legs neatly folded to the side. Her neck slightly angled towards something which lies neatly on the bright green.
I sat on the scaffolding in the blaring summer sun, can of paint in hand. I was sweating profusely, the white paint reflecting the sun so it hurt my eyes. My music was blaring and my arms hurt, but I was content. It was summer.
He painted the walls a different color than he had ever done before. His wife loved it and she marveled at his grand decision to do this. They were a very happy couple for the rest of their days. They had three children that were wonderful painters. Keeping in mind you must decide how you feel about his fable of a man who made his wife happy in doing the simplest of chores. The children of course loved it!
The little boy’s face was painted like a tiger. He loudly “Rawred” at me, and I laughed at him cheerfully. I scooped him up in my arms and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Sebastian!” I sang to him. “I love you too, mommy!” he giggled. This kind of simple happiness is my dream.
…the town red? paint it black… paint like…there’s no tomorrow? i think of covering things up. a light coat of paint over nails, something sparkly and shiny and not at all like the grim and residue that collect underneath.
I did it. I tried and actually did it. All of my insecurities vanished after the second day. The result, after a week was paralyzing to my eyes. Yup, it was me. I succeeded. And my work was noticed. More?
And then it stopped. She turned around for a second, a moment, and she lost her footing, and she was in love before her feet could take her away from it, pounding away from the danger that was infiltrating her heart.
Painted into a corner, I panted until I found a way out. Hopped across on cardboard but knocked over the paint can in the process. The red semi-gloss spread over the floor like molasses out of a spilled jar and I was once again trapped. Not in the corner this time, however, but next to a window. I jiggled it open and called out to the dog walker out on the street. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a ladder would you?” They yanked the multiple leashes and herded their dogs around the corner and out of sight. I could just stand here until it dries. Or walk across in my bare feet and try to scrape of the paint later. So that’s what I did. When my boyfriend walked in, he dropped his bag and ran over to me. “Did you call 911???” He thought I was bleeding. Didn’t quite get the same sympathy when he realized what really happened.
He painted the fence a red glow that shone in the sun. When his mother asked how he got the fence to glow so vividly he replied, “*** YOU!” then killed her and began going on a wild rampage tthroughout town, killing everyone in sight.
I would rather stand by the painted walls and stare at them day long. To retire at the end of the day to my cheap hotel room in the stench of near by slum on a paltry summer night. And look out of the ventilator at the small portion of yellowish sky.
The walls were painted a dark red color. This intimidated Lily a bit, but she was sure his parents were kind and gentle as he’d described… after all, the color of someone’s wall certainly wasn’t a judge of their personality. She thought of her own eggshell-cream walls at home…
We often reserve the term ‘painted’ for an artist who imprinted upon a canvas a work of art. Imagine this; an author with his inky paintbrush painting dancing figures that stretched across barren lands and empty crevices in order to ultimately sculpt a masterpiece.
The desert looks like a lounging woman in the sunset. Colors rush into one another and explode, creating new universes of light and dark. I can’t catch my breath or your heart and even on my best days I can barely capture the sunset on my canvas.
I have never really been a good painter, but I guess I wish I could. I would like to paint the images I always have in my mind because I would like to see them in reality. It would be pretty cool if I could accurately depict what I think in my head on a canvas. Everything always changes though. It’s a shame.
i like to do this. it is so cool omg omg omg. i love to paint. like in my art class. it is so fun and the best. i love it. i like making stuff look how it is supposed to tho. i dont like yellow or blue or red buildings. they are gray. i wish my art teacher would understand that. creativity is for loners. ew. ew. ew. okay im done. i cant think anymore. my head hurts.
Sometimes I feel like things are painted in a way that they aren’t like in reality.
I’m fairly sure that they’re usually painted by an artist with a passion for adding rose tinting to everything he sees.
I see yellow and blue. Houses and signs painted for summer. Everyone is excited and everyone is heading to the beach. At the beach the sky is a vibrant blue and I lay on my hot pink towel staring up at the big orange sun. I know the warmth on my skin means it is making me glow and soon I will be a rich carmel color. I love the smell of the sea salt and sunblock. I love all the colors of the summer.
She painted with gay abandon — the colors she choose were bright and bold. They reflected the happiness in her life. Then for no reason she could fathom, her brush was drawn to brown, black, taupe. She followed her instincts and when she was done, she realized that she had painted a reflection of her life, which was not always bright and happy, but sometimes accented by drab or even dark colors — but the final outcome was amazing!
i always try to paint pictures. i see the image that i want to paint in my head perfectly, and at the beginning i think that i can paint it, perfectly. then i start to paint, and i never do what i think i will. my body, and hand-eye-coordination holds me back. i never live up to my expectations.
Hasn’t anyone told you it’s rude to stare? I’m sure you know this, yet you don’t care. For it is there on the ground, your beady black eyes gaze. You do not speak; I think you have been there for days. And painted on your face is the time of day, when you no longer had air flowing through your airways.
I had painted you a beautiful portrait of a life I’d dreamed of. I had painted you out to be a hero rescuing a distressed damsel. But is that the reality of us? Have I made our lives together seem so perfect that I can no longer recognize the severity of its flaws? I’m so lost in confusion, trying to decide what is reality and what have I just tried to make “fit” on my own.
painted things are all about colors, and how they all seem to run together just the right way. like my house or even a cabin, those are sometimes painted. painted things are also annoying because sometimes when you’re painting the paint gets all over the place or you’ll accidentally get red where you’re supposed to get blue and it just gets all weird and crazy and messy. and sometimes that’s annoying if you want everything to be perfect.
I was in a painting class. It was terrible. I painted things thinking they would turn out so beautifully and they were never what I wanted them to be. They always turned out ugly. I wish I could paint something beautiful. I’m better with words than with a paint brush. I guess that’s okay, though. Art is difficult and literature is never ending.
I painted a wall with my imagination, now its my wall, i paint anything and everything i will, its my creation and mine alone, so paint your own destiny and ill paint mine, its how life works, i just choose to paint with dark colors. My path is one of sorrow and hard ship, as yours is beautiful and wise. But mine is all but wonderful and creative just like the depths of my mind , and soul. Painted faces on the wall, keep my secrets from them all.
The days passing, she grew more and more anxious and excited. She found an old, framed mirror at a second-hand shop and began her next do-it-yourself project: a chalkboard. She found some paint at her local hardware store and the chalk at a convenience store. After three layers, she had painted the cutest chalkboard to announce to her guests that this was where her wedding was. It was going out by the road for everyone to see, and it would read, “Shelly and Daniel’s Wedding!!!” in overlapping brown and blue—her colors. It seemed so perfect—flawless, really. Little did she know, it would rain on her wedding day.
The descriptive paragraph painted a picture in the readers mind. Too bad I don’t know any descriptive words. Instead of typed the oneword paragraph was painted.
The way he painted surprised her. It was not what you would expect from someone like him. It was not what you would expect from any high school boy. It was… Beautiful. That was the only way she could describe it. The beauty captured feelings, images, and people in a way she had not seen before. She learned that day the window to his soul, the way through his facade was easily seen with the handle of a paintbrush.
once i painted a picture of a tree and it was soooo pretty. the leaves were different colors of green and it was 3D i thought it was rather cool. hahahhahahah. the best part, i made it out of chalk on my driveway my
Their hamds painted the sky- telling the stories and sharing the secrets of being Deaf and isolated.
Splashes of colour on paper. Little girl fingers. Little girl hands. Little girl eyes. Glinting with promise – one day I can be famous for this. Or I will be a famous actor. Or humanitarian. Or doctor. And she carries on painting her future.
I painted my sister’s room the other day. It used to be a really bright purple, so we decided to tone it down a couple tones and painted it a medium brown. It’s very relaxing now. I like it a lot. My room will be painted next. My walls will go from an obnoxiously bright lime green to a very calm beige.
She painted a pretty picture. Sitting on the green grass with her legs neatly folded to the side. Her neck slightly angled towards something which lies neatly on the bright green.
I sat on the scaffolding in the blaring summer sun, can of paint in hand. I was sweating profusely, the white paint reflecting the sun so it hurt my eyes. My music was blaring and my arms hurt, but I was content. It was summer.
He painted the walls a different color than he had ever done before. His wife loved it and she marveled at his grand decision to do this. They were a very happy couple for the rest of their days. They had three children that were wonderful painters. Keeping in mind you must decide how you feel about his fable of a man who made his wife happy in doing the simplest of chores. The children of course loved it!
The little boy’s face was painted like a tiger. He loudly “Rawred” at me, and I laughed at him cheerfully. I scooped him up in my arms and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Sebastian!” I sang to him. “I love you too, mommy!” he giggled. This kind of simple happiness is my dream.
…the town red? paint it black… paint like…there’s no tomorrow? i think of covering things up. a light coat of paint over nails, something sparkly and shiny and not at all like the grim and residue that collect underneath.
I did it. I tried and actually did it. All of my insecurities vanished after the second day. The result, after a week was paralyzing to my eyes. Yup, it was me. I succeeded. And my work was noticed. More?
I painted his name in coca cola font today. I’m in love with him. He is not my boyfriend. I don’t love my boyfriend and I live with him. Help!
She painted it blue.
And then it stopped. She turned around for a second, a moment, and she lost her footing, and she was in love before her feet could take her away from it, pounding away from the danger that was infiltrating her heart.
Painted into a corner, I panted until I found a way out. Hopped across on cardboard but knocked over the paint can in the process. The red semi-gloss spread over the floor like molasses out of a spilled jar and I was once again trapped. Not in the corner this time, however, but next to a window. I jiggled it open and called out to the dog walker out on the street. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a ladder would you?” They yanked the multiple leashes and herded their dogs around the corner and out of sight. I could just stand here until it dries. Or walk across in my bare feet and try to scrape of the paint later. So that’s what I did. When my boyfriend walked in, he dropped his bag and ran over to me. “Did you call 911???” He thought I was bleeding. Didn’t quite get the same sympathy when he realized what really happened.
He twirled his brush through the blank white landscape and painted a seaside paradise of summertime blues and rolling greens.
He painted the fence a red glow that shone in the sun. When his mother asked how he got the fence to glow so vividly he replied, “*** YOU!” then killed her and began going on a wild rampage tthroughout town, killing everyone in sight.
I would rather stand by the painted walls and stare at them day long. To retire at the end of the day to my cheap hotel room in the stench of near by slum on a paltry summer night. And look out of the ventilator at the small portion of yellowish sky.
walls with blue on them, stencils of art and of bold colors. Paint that dripped everywhere paint seeping from the brushes and spung
The walls were painted a dark red color. This intimidated Lily a bit, but she was sure his parents were kind and gentle as he’d described… after all, the color of someone’s wall certainly wasn’t a judge of their personality. She thought of her own eggshell-cream walls at home…
We often reserve the term ‘painted’ for an artist who imprinted upon a canvas a work of art. Imagine this; an author with his inky paintbrush painting dancing figures that stretched across barren lands and empty crevices in order to ultimately sculpt a masterpiece.
The desert looks like a lounging woman in the sunset. Colors rush into one another and explode, creating new universes of light and dark. I can’t catch my breath or your heart and even on my best days I can barely capture the sunset on my canvas.
pencil, paint, art, the kindergarden wonderfull life is back. Don’t ask me why or when… but your innerchild will jump and kiss you after this.
I have never really been a good painter, but I guess I wish I could. I would like to paint the images I always have in my mind because I would like to see them in reality. It would be pretty cool if I could accurately depict what I think in my head on a canvas. Everything always changes though. It’s a shame.
i like to do this. it is so cool omg omg omg. i love to paint. like in my art class. it is so fun and the best. i love it. i like making stuff look how it is supposed to tho. i dont like yellow or blue or red buildings. they are gray. i wish my art teacher would understand that. creativity is for loners. ew. ew. ew. okay im done. i cant think anymore. my head hurts.
Sometimes I feel like things are painted in a way that they aren’t like in reality.
I’m fairly sure that they’re usually painted by an artist with a passion for adding rose tinting to everything he sees.
I see yellow and blue. Houses and signs painted for summer. Everyone is excited and everyone is heading to the beach. At the beach the sky is a vibrant blue and I lay on my hot pink towel staring up at the big orange sun. I know the warmth on my skin means it is making me glow and soon I will be a rich carmel color. I love the smell of the sea salt and sunblock. I love all the colors of the summer.
There are no such thing as heroes, only people who painted themselves into a corner and figured the best way out.
She painted with gay abandon — the colors she choose were bright and bold. They reflected the happiness in her life. Then for no reason she could fathom, her brush was drawn to brown, black, taupe. She followed her instincts and when she was done, she realized that she had painted a reflection of her life, which was not always bright and happy, but sometimes accented by drab or even dark colors — but the final outcome was amazing!
the picture could only be painted one way of bogdan was going to become a pilot …there could no marriage, because bogdan would no longer be human.
i always try to paint pictures. i see the image that i want to paint in my head perfectly, and at the beginning i think that i can paint it, perfectly. then i start to paint, and i never do what i think i will. my body, and hand-eye-coordination holds me back. i never live up to my expectations.
Hasn’t anyone told you it’s rude to stare? I’m sure you know this, yet you don’t care. For it is there on the ground, your beady black eyes gaze. You do not speak; I think you have been there for days. And painted on your face is the time of day, when you no longer had air flowing through your airways.
I had painted you a beautiful portrait of a life I’d dreamed of. I had painted you out to be a hero rescuing a distressed damsel. But is that the reality of us? Have I made our lives together seem so perfect that I can no longer recognize the severity of its flaws? I’m so lost in confusion, trying to decide what is reality and what have I just tried to make “fit” on my own.
painted things are all about colors, and how they all seem to run together just the right way. like my house or even a cabin, those are sometimes painted. painted things are also annoying because sometimes when you’re painting the paint gets all over the place or you’ll accidentally get red where you’re supposed to get blue and it just gets all weird and crazy and messy. and sometimes that’s annoying if you want everything to be perfect.
I was in a painting class. It was terrible. I painted things thinking they would turn out so beautifully and they were never what I wanted them to be. They always turned out ugly. I wish I could paint something beautiful. I’m better with words than with a paint brush. I guess that’s okay, though. Art is difficult and literature is never ending.
I painted a wall with my imagination, now its my wall, i paint anything and everything i will, its my creation and mine alone, so paint your own destiny and ill paint mine, its how life works, i just choose to paint with dark colors. My path is one of sorrow and hard ship, as yours is beautiful and wise. But mine is all but wonderful and creative just like the depths of my mind , and soul. Painted faces on the wall, keep my secrets from them all.
The days passing, she grew more and more anxious and excited. She found an old, framed mirror at a second-hand shop and began her next do-it-yourself project: a chalkboard. She found some paint at her local hardware store and the chalk at a convenience store. After three layers, she had painted the cutest chalkboard to announce to her guests that this was where her wedding was. It was going out by the road for everyone to see, and it would read, “Shelly and Daniel’s Wedding!!!” in overlapping brown and blue—her colors. It seemed so perfect—flawless, really. Little did she know, it would rain on her wedding day.
The descriptive paragraph painted a picture in the readers mind. Too bad I don’t know any descriptive words. Instead of typed the oneword paragraph was painted.
The painted ponies bamboozled Joni Mitchell. Despite this, she ended up with a hit, and we ended up with Circle Game.
they painted the town red last night
good–bad??????????????? undecided for them or for the town itself
but the town did get painted beyond your imagination and mine too
The way he painted surprised her. It was not what you would expect from someone like him. It was not what you would expect from any high school boy. It was… Beautiful. That was the only way she could describe it. The beauty captured feelings, images, and people in a way she had not seen before. She learned that day the window to his soul, the way through his facade was easily seen with the handle of a paintbrush.
once i painted a picture of a tree and it was soooo pretty. the leaves were different colors of green and it was 3D i thought it was rather cool. hahahhahahah. the best part, i made it out of chalk on my driveway my
The lily was painted in tones of pink – with dark red dots and white streaks setting off saffron anthers -.