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.
Mexi G.
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.
katrina
Canvas. Endless possibilities waiting to be formed on the slate that is infinite beauty.
Melanie
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.
Laur
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.
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…
Rae
The world is my canvas, and on it I intend to paint all the colours I can dream of
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.
dbgjsdb
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.
Laurel
you can paint on these, it can be anything you want, with millions of different colors, your creativity can shine bright as you paint on this canvas, it can be a present for anyone at anytime of the year, just a nice little side gift. for anything on any occasion.
Mandy Klinger
The brush swept across the canvas, stroking it gently as it painted a picture. A picture of beauty, honesty, of everything that shines pure in the world. Her hand swept the brush alon, creating her work of art.
Rose
The canvas smooth like a baby’s bottom is empty, soon to become a work of art. A new creation being born as the painter strokes the tip of their brush.
Alex
Painting a picture of a sunset on the shoreline of the sky-blue Mediterranean Ocean. Digging toes into the sand like you swoop your paint brush in the melting colors of golden yellow and deep blue, fading together at the end of an endless horizon.
Sam
here’s lookin’ at you kid…
jack maye
The canvas I find most beautiful to create my works of art upon are those that are blank, and those that are of diverse size. The type of canvas, and size of canvas dictate the kind of art I will present upon it. I enjoy using acrylics, though oils are lovely. I almost never use water colours because it takes so much skill to never once make a mistake, and to never cover it up.
Friedrich
He stared at the blank canvas for hours. There was nothing coming to him, and he had to finish the painting within the allotted time. With a frown, the auburn haired man started to put strokes of color onto the canvas. Greens, blues, and even reds started to make out a beautiful sunset over the ocean waves.
That was the summer that I met the Asian girl who painted my hair – all red. She was overweight and that definitely detracted from my yellow-fever – so rampant at the time. There was the other artist. Asian too. We would find ourselves back and forth over the ensuing years. Surprise visits in college etc. And my friend was startled to hear this weekend that I am considered a ginger.
The word canvas brings to my paints and colors and artists. But I am my own kid of artist. The empty page is my canvas. And I fill it with a masterpiece one letter at a time. The words are my brushstrokes. I have my own style. Just like an artist who works with paints and pastels.
A paint brush will never say what I want it to. Try as I might, the wording on the canvas will always be muddled, so I’ve replaced the brush with a pen and the canvas for the page. And if a picture really says a thousand words, then I’ll just have to keep writing.
The burlap was rough against her skin, but she stayed still, contorted on the leather sofa against all instinct, listening to the scratching of the wet brush against the dry canvas.
A mere cephalopod
He watched as the painter dragged the wet paintbrush across the canvas, marking a long streak of the blue. At first it appeared he ruined the painting, striking it across the already painted face of a beautiful woman. But the painter quickly began to work the colour in and it miracoulously worked perfectly.
“This really is a spectacular piece.” He finally said. The painter turned his head slightly back in response, but didn’t look back.
“Thanks.” He said, continuing on his work.
“How long have you been doing this for?”
“Oh, all my life pretty much.”
He moved around the painter to get a better and closer look at his work.
“You ever think about selling your work?” He asked.
“No, not really. Besides, I can’t tell if they worked out or not…”
“What are you talking about, it’s-” He gasped and took a short step back when he looked at the painter.
The painter was blind.
WAIT A SECOND
I already got this word. TWICE IN A ROW
Gogol
a blank canvas, tale of poets dream. once was forgotten, given now, life to me. with paint of blood, you find the canvas comes alive, with the longing of heart given, the canvas can thrive.
JJMR
As he sat there, staring at the blank white canvas in front of him, millions of possibilities flashed before his eyes. He could do so many things, so many different combinations to turn this canvas from simply a blank slate into something beautiful, something important.
The colors are pouring the canvas is vibrant with collors and it flows through out the room. My eyes are fixates and this image that sparks life in me.
Canvasses. I plan to use canvasses for my pictures. Someday I want people to buy my photos. Photos I’ve stretched across that canvas. I want them to know my name. I want them to want to buy my canvas photos. Canvas photos are a sign of progress.
this is the empty head ready to be filled with ideas; it is the blue of the sea waiting to be discovered; it is a black hole that says there was something there but needs to be drawn out; its the darkness and the light , its everything and nothing
Georgy
Canvas are very famous piece of art . They help you to make beautiful decorations for your house or for your office . Everyone would like to learn how to make this beautiful decoration but unfortunately , It’s pretty expensive !
Yosra
my skin is like that of an artists canvas. all ide3as and dreams are depicted through my skin. its a work of art and as a work of art in my eyes it is a masterpiece yet in the eyes of others it seems pointless. i am the artist i am the painter i am the creator of the art seen on my body my mind is my predecessor to these works of art. my canvas is filled with honorable and memorable works of art and will never be tarnished and made toxic to rubbish and trash. only creativity and relevant moments
I want to paint wiht a canvas and use paintbrushes and drw a beautiful sunset! c dfgdejhvtdrfcthsvrfhdsyf dcnhgnhm6tbcwer78v twerwkxcgrjrh ef6chkt nrv54ju6798v gtfb cnmgvhjtguytr7 im done!
stop! i dontl like this! uggghhh !!!! aAAAH! pooop pooop poop
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.
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.
Canvas. Endless possibilities waiting to be formed on the slate that is infinite beauty.
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.
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.
Where expressions and ideas collide to create an infinite abyss.
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…
The world is my canvas, and on it I intend to paint all the colours I can dream of
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.
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.
you can paint on these, it can be anything you want, with millions of different colors, your creativity can shine bright as you paint on this canvas, it can be a present for anyone at anytime of the year, just a nice little side gift. for anything on any occasion.
The brush swept across the canvas, stroking it gently as it painted a picture. A picture of beauty, honesty, of everything that shines pure in the world. Her hand swept the brush alon, creating her work of art.
The canvas smooth like a baby’s bottom is empty, soon to become a work of art. A new creation being born as the painter strokes the tip of their brush.
Painting a picture of a sunset on the shoreline of the sky-blue Mediterranean Ocean. Digging toes into the sand like you swoop your paint brush in the melting colors of golden yellow and deep blue, fading together at the end of an endless horizon.
here’s lookin’ at you kid…
The canvas I find most beautiful to create my works of art upon are those that are blank, and those that are of diverse size. The type of canvas, and size of canvas dictate the kind of art I will present upon it. I enjoy using acrylics, though oils are lovely. I almost never use water colours because it takes so much skill to never once make a mistake, and to never cover it up.
He stared at the blank canvas for hours. There was nothing coming to him, and he had to finish the painting within the allotted time. With a frown, the auburn haired man started to put strokes of color onto the canvas. Greens, blues, and even reds started to make out a beautiful sunset over the ocean waves.
That was the summer that I met the Asian girl who painted my hair – all red. She was overweight and that definitely detracted from my yellow-fever – so rampant at the time. There was the other artist. Asian too. We would find ourselves back and forth over the ensuing years. Surprise visits in college etc. And my friend was startled to hear this weekend that I am considered a ginger.
The word canvas brings to my paints and colors and artists. But I am my own kid of artist. The empty page is my canvas. And I fill it with a masterpiece one letter at a time. The words are my brushstrokes. I have my own style. Just like an artist who works with paints and pastels.
A paint brush will never say what I want it to. Try as I might, the wording on the canvas will always be muddled, so I’ve replaced the brush with a pen and the canvas for the page. And if a picture really says a thousand words, then I’ll just have to keep writing.
The burlap was rough against her skin, but she stayed still, contorted on the leather sofa against all instinct, listening to the scratching of the wet brush against the dry canvas.
He watched as the painter dragged the wet paintbrush across the canvas, marking a long streak of the blue. At first it appeared he ruined the painting, striking it across the already painted face of a beautiful woman. But the painter quickly began to work the colour in and it miracoulously worked perfectly.
“This really is a spectacular piece.” He finally said. The painter turned his head slightly back in response, but didn’t look back.
“Thanks.” He said, continuing on his work.
“How long have you been doing this for?”
“Oh, all my life pretty much.”
He moved around the painter to get a better and closer look at his work.
“You ever think about selling your work?” He asked.
“No, not really. Besides, I can’t tell if they worked out or not…”
“What are you talking about, it’s-” He gasped and took a short step back when he looked at the painter.
The painter was blind.
WAIT A SECOND
I already got this word. TWICE IN A ROW
a blank canvas, tale of poets dream. once was forgotten, given now, life to me. with paint of blood, you find the canvas comes alive, with the longing of heart given, the canvas can thrive.
As he sat there, staring at the blank white canvas in front of him, millions of possibilities flashed before his eyes. He could do so many things, so many different combinations to turn this canvas from simply a blank slate into something beautiful, something important.
The colors are pouring the canvas is vibrant with collors and it flows through out the room. My eyes are fixates and this image that sparks life in me.
Canvasses. I plan to use canvasses for my pictures. Someday I want people to buy my photos. Photos I’ve stretched across that canvas. I want them to know my name. I want them to want to buy my canvas photos. Canvas photos are a sign of progress.
this is the empty head ready to be filled with ideas; it is the blue of the sea waiting to be discovered; it is a black hole that says there was something there but needs to be drawn out; its the darkness and the light , its everything and nothing
Canvas are very famous piece of art . They help you to make beautiful decorations for your house or for your office . Everyone would like to learn how to make this beautiful decoration but unfortunately , It’s pretty expensive !
my skin is like that of an artists canvas. all ide3as and dreams are depicted through my skin. its a work of art and as a work of art in my eyes it is a masterpiece yet in the eyes of others it seems pointless. i am the artist i am the painter i am the creator of the art seen on my body my mind is my predecessor to these works of art. my canvas is filled with honorable and memorable works of art and will never be tarnished and made toxic to rubbish and trash. only creativity and relevant moments
I want to paint wiht a canvas and use paintbrushes and drw a beautiful sunset! c dfgdejhvtdrfcthsvrfhdsyf dcnhgnhm6tbcwer78v twerwkxcgrjrh ef6chkt nrv54ju6798v gtfb cnmgvhjtguytr7 im done!
stop! i dontl like this! uggghhh !!!! aAAAH! pooop pooop poop