The sound of a low, sultry laugh caused him to raise his head and glance around in disbelief. It couldn’t be, yet it was. There she stood, her painted face smiling wickedly and she waved, a sinister glint in her glass eyes, “Hello, Danny.”
I know what your thinking. I must have painted the wall with my nipples. No my paint brush is just that flimsy and lost that many hairs. Thats one of the lovely associations of being poor but not giving up, you self improve without the means of doing so.
The sky is a strange canvas. The stars emerge through the dark ink, scratching their way to the surface, their ancient light new and present. Present.
Nicola Pearson
I painted a set for a show at a middle school I student directed. It was little booths for a open air market and they had white borders with pastel interiors. I was terrible at painting and someone else had to go back and fix up my lines.
She closed her eyes and painted the scene.
Her hand flowed down the paper.
Gentle.
With grace.
Every curve of the brush,
The smell of acrylic,
Few moments in life feel this right.
I painted a picture of a large cat’s dick on a warm Sunday afternoon. The sprinklers from my neighbor’s yard where on high that day and the water was getting all over my picture. “Damn it!” I yelled, “Can’t a neighbor paint animal genitals without being disturbed?”
Abby
The plastic easel stood in front of the two four year olds. One dipped the brush into the well and smeared a long line of purple on her crisp what smock. “Mom! Jilly got me!” she bellowed from the playroom.
thought2action
Drip drip drip. She looked at the speckled floor and smiled. Now her room is just the color she’d always wanted. Purple. Now she can be so happy with her purple painted room.
The painted pony raised his head and looked alertly towards me. Deeming me of no interest, he returned to grazing in the lush pasture while my mind transported me back to childhood. How I had painted markings on all the otherwise boring horse toys and dreamed of the day I’d be able to ride my very own paint horse, bareback, through the fields. And now it looked as though that day might be nearly here.
cats like dogs and paint is interesting because people can create such things with paint, I don;t know what to write about anymore cats just came to mind, dunno why the hell they did but it happens man… Sooo what else am I supposed to write on here now? I’m out of ideas times running out! …
alyssa
I painted my creativity onto your blank slate. And instead of embracing it, while guiding me along, you stole my brush and washed my paint away. And now, you want me to paint for you, again? Have you already forgotten?
On the green wall she paints”flow” “fun” “select” “delight” – chooses to change her focus in life. She is ready to attend to her new vision and access joy as she softens into a new way of being.
Valerahahaha
Most of the walls of the house were covered in old wallpaper, either slightly yellowed or peeling in places. But the kitchen was bare. So, Bridget brought a few cans of paint from her attic, and Myles discovered brushes in the basement. We painted the kitchen with all the colors we had; blue, green, white, brown. Then with tiny brushes and black ink we signed our names in the bottom corner. The three of us. Together.
painted lady,she painted a room… the room I’m in is painted lavender and I’m really not all that fond of it. strangely enough, it resembles the color scheme of OneWord… coincidence?
drop
yellow
wall
paint
tint
picasso
magenta
blue
green
canvas
brush
photoshop
illustrator
everything
zero
AnaEstrela
i painted a picture of how beautiful i would be ,if i were a great big old tree
cindy Doughty
I took my time as I eased the paint brush over the paper, I didnt pay any attention as to what was going on around me. The only thing running through my mind was how close I was to completing the masterpiece that I have been working on for so long. The eyes were finally beginning to form as I darkened the eyelashes and colored in the iris to the color of a sapphire.
Allie
I was painted with optimism that shouldn’t have been. Deep down, I knew he wouldn’t be sitting on the hood of his car, waiting for me to come home. I knew I wouldn’t run to him and have his arms embrace my body. We were just best friends. And sadly, just best friends do not do those sorts of things for other just best friends.
There was a place on the fence around his house that we carved out initials in. I loved to run my hand along the wood to try to find it. Even after he left I always knew it was there. The woman who moved in said the house was perfect; except for the fence. She painted over it in thick white paint. Now every time I pass by I search for the little indent in the paint, but it’s much harder to find now. Just like he is.
Ann
With the paintbrush held tightly in my hand I hesitantly stroked on a smooth color of blue on the new crisp canvas. Anxiety struck me. What if I messed up? What would I do then?
Painted.A picture.Something hanging in someones house.Van Gogh. Creative usually. You can paint a room. “I painted my room yesterday”.I can’t think of anything else for this verb.
Everyone I know likes to paint. Mostly creatures not of this world, fantastic beings from a far-off make believe place. It’s wonderful to dream with them.
Kayla
Painting is like seeing. So many different colors; red, blue, yellow. Stupid Mandarin Class. It’s the first thing I think of when I think Primary Colors. Not red, blue, and yellow; according to that dumb packet, black and white are primary colors too. It wasn’t even about colors; it was mostly about food. What’s ironic is that we learned NOTHING in that class. Not even food. I love painting.
Oh purple painted paisley fabrics so scattered about the pure white room, shiny indeed and clean, these frayed edged fabrics were to be used to constructs dresses large hulking heavy dresses of window drapes.
colours on a wall someone painting something making things look nicer, changing its colour making it look different, painted faces are people with make up on, lots of colours, things that are made of wood but are painted white fake different, painting a house is nice but boring especially when the paint goes on your hair when you do the ceilin
betty
She dipped the brush into the water, shaking it with a measured hand. Smacking it against the edge of the glass she moved it to the paints; purple is her color of choice.
Kayla
red. Painted the whole damn town red with the wine. It was pretty expensive. I can’t believe she wasted it all. She didn’t save one drop for me you know? I would have loved to have tasted the burgundy nectar. It would have helped me forget about everything that happened.
TJ
Okay. No. I just wrote about this word. Besides, I hate painting. It’s completely ridiculous, in my opinion.
Malia was a fantastic artist. She painted all sorts of things; Birds, trees, animals, flowers. But unfortunately, she was a horribly boring person to be around. No one liked her, for being a painter was considered boring. Also, she was a mute. This affliction caused her to have no friends, also the fact that she was an artist. Her boreisms were endless. And she died in a boring way.
Hawthorn
I painted my room blue, and its amazing, because it reminds me of the dark ocean, swimming at the beach midnight with my lover. I love it when the sun it setting and everything shines. I painted my room this color to inspire me every time i step into it. It was fun when I painted my room, because I did it with my friends, and we had a paint fight, and got paint everywhere, but it was fun while it lasted. The outcome of my room after I painted it was surprisingly nice. I enjoyed it.
Amber-Arlene Quinn
[painted black. that rolling stones song is the first thing that comes to mind. that’s my favorite song by them, and it’s okay. painted face–>clowns….painted toenails–>the big lebowski. “blow.” “you want a toe dude? i can get you a toe.” painted lies, sounds like a bad movie.
Tyler
Her face was covered in a thick layer of garish make-up. He could the smell the sweat and fear pouring out of her as she shrunk against the wall, trying desperately to pull away from him. He grasped her tightly around the wrist of the hand that she was using to hold the parasol, and with his other hand pulled a long, wicked knife from his belt.
they used to paint together. it was the only thing they could agree on, really. but even that wasn’t true. they would still fight about it. what to paint, what to paint it on, what colors to use, what kind of paint even. but once they started, once they fought about everything and got all of the anger out of their systems, they could sit and paint and just be content and in love. so the painted glass window on the third floor of the house really was their daughter’s most prized possession. until one of the neighborhood kids broke it.
I see a world and I want to paint it black.
No colors in at all I want them to turn black.
Black is neutral, unfeeling, unchanging, absorbing
everything that comes its way indifferently.
Universal, soothing, melamine-producing.
White will smite the eye with blinding light –
representing good in some cultures as
black does in others.
Eternally oppressed, representing evil and fear.
Inherently bad.
History is written by the winners.
My walls were painted but it was not done with color and brushes but with memories. Some parts of the wall were darkened with those moments of despair and depression I have passed through in my life.
Maria Carmen Ribera
Oops. That’s all I could say. I knew as soon as the pan slipped from my fingers that the stain would be there forever. Bright red paint all over the clean white tiles. It would be there forever, no symmetry or rightness or placement– just splash. My accident. Our memory.
Kayla Beth
I painted a cat today. He wasn’t that amused. At all. But he accepted that it was his fate and well, now he’s off showcasing his new look.
I kind of wish I had painted him green though. No reason – I just like the colour green. He looks too awesome as a mutlicoloured ginger persian cat. I’m jealous.
danni malone
i painted a picture of a dying squirrel. It stared blankly at me, with pain in its eyes. Did it see the car? did it see my fear? did it understand death. I look at the squirell and i ponder.
The sound of a low, sultry laugh caused him to raise his head and glance around in disbelief. It couldn’t be, yet it was. There she stood, her painted face smiling wickedly and she waved, a sinister glint in her glass eyes, “Hello, Danny.”
I know what your thinking. I must have painted the wall with my nipples. No my paint brush is just that flimsy and lost that many hairs. Thats one of the lovely associations of being poor but not giving up, you self improve without the means of doing so.
The sky is a strange canvas. The stars emerge through the dark ink, scratching their way to the surface, their ancient light new and present. Present.
I painted a set for a show at a middle school I student directed. It was little booths for a open air market and they had white borders with pastel interiors. I was terrible at painting and someone else had to go back and fix up my lines.
She closed her eyes and painted the scene.
Her hand flowed down the paper.
Gentle.
With grace.
Every curve of the brush,
The smell of acrylic,
Few moments in life feel this right.
I painted a picture of a large cat’s dick on a warm Sunday afternoon. The sprinklers from my neighbor’s yard where on high that day and the water was getting all over my picture. “Damn it!” I yelled, “Can’t a neighbor paint animal genitals without being disturbed?”
The plastic easel stood in front of the two four year olds. One dipped the brush into the well and smeared a long line of purple on her crisp what smock. “Mom! Jilly got me!” she bellowed from the playroom.
Drip drip drip. She looked at the speckled floor and smiled. Now her room is just the color she’d always wanted. Purple. Now she can be so happy with her purple painted room.
The painted pony raised his head and looked alertly towards me. Deeming me of no interest, he returned to grazing in the lush pasture while my mind transported me back to childhood. How I had painted markings on all the otherwise boring horse toys and dreamed of the day I’d be able to ride my very own paint horse, bareback, through the fields. And now it looked as though that day might be nearly here.
cats like dogs and paint is interesting because people can create such things with paint, I don;t know what to write about anymore cats just came to mind, dunno why the hell they did but it happens man… Sooo what else am I supposed to write on here now? I’m out of ideas times running out! …
I painted my creativity onto your blank slate. And instead of embracing it, while guiding me along, you stole my brush and washed my paint away. And now, you want me to paint for you, again? Have you already forgotten?
On the green wall she paints”flow” “fun” “select” “delight” – chooses to change her focus in life. She is ready to attend to her new vision and access joy as she softens into a new way of being.
Most of the walls of the house were covered in old wallpaper, either slightly yellowed or peeling in places. But the kitchen was bare. So, Bridget brought a few cans of paint from her attic, and Myles discovered brushes in the basement. We painted the kitchen with all the colors we had; blue, green, white, brown. Then with tiny brushes and black ink we signed our names in the bottom corner. The three of us. Together.
painted lady,she painted a room… the room I’m in is painted lavender and I’m really not all that fond of it. strangely enough, it resembles the color scheme of OneWord… coincidence?
llkfsl;adkjfsadlfkjsadlfkjsffkjsdlfkjkjdlfjksdlsdlfjksdlfkj
drop
yellow
wall
paint
tint
picasso
magenta
blue
green
canvas
brush
photoshop
illustrator
everything
zero
i painted a picture of how beautiful i would be ,if i were a great big old tree
I took my time as I eased the paint brush over the paper, I didnt pay any attention as to what was going on around me. The only thing running through my mind was how close I was to completing the masterpiece that I have been working on for so long. The eyes were finally beginning to form as I darkened the eyelashes and colored in the iris to the color of a sapphire.
I was painted with optimism that shouldn’t have been. Deep down, I knew he wouldn’t be sitting on the hood of his car, waiting for me to come home. I knew I wouldn’t run to him and have his arms embrace my body. We were just best friends. And sadly, just best friends do not do those sorts of things for other just best friends.
There was a place on the fence around his house that we carved out initials in. I loved to run my hand along the wood to try to find it. Even after he left I always knew it was there. The woman who moved in said the house was perfect; except for the fence. She painted over it in thick white paint. Now every time I pass by I search for the little indent in the paint, but it’s much harder to find now. Just like he is.
With the paintbrush held tightly in my hand I hesitantly stroked on a smooth color of blue on the new crisp canvas. Anxiety struck me. What if I messed up? What would I do then?
Painted.A picture.Something hanging in someones house.Van Gogh. Creative usually. You can paint a room. “I painted my room yesterday”.I can’t think of anything else for this verb.
Everyone I know likes to paint. Mostly creatures not of this world, fantastic beings from a far-off make believe place. It’s wonderful to dream with them.
Painting is like seeing. So many different colors; red, blue, yellow. Stupid Mandarin Class. It’s the first thing I think of when I think Primary Colors. Not red, blue, and yellow; according to that dumb packet, black and white are primary colors too. It wasn’t even about colors; it was mostly about food. What’s ironic is that we learned NOTHING in that class. Not even food. I love painting.
Oh purple painted paisley fabrics so scattered about the pure white room, shiny indeed and clean, these frayed edged fabrics were to be used to constructs dresses large hulking heavy dresses of window drapes.
colours on a wall someone painting something making things look nicer, changing its colour making it look different, painted faces are people with make up on, lots of colours, things that are made of wood but are painted white fake different, painting a house is nice but boring especially when the paint goes on your hair when you do the ceilin
She dipped the brush into the water, shaking it with a measured hand. Smacking it against the edge of the glass she moved it to the paints; purple is her color of choice.
red. Painted the whole damn town red with the wine. It was pretty expensive. I can’t believe she wasted it all. She didn’t save one drop for me you know? I would have loved to have tasted the burgundy nectar. It would have helped me forget about everything that happened.
Okay. No. I just wrote about this word. Besides, I hate painting. It’s completely ridiculous, in my opinion.
Painting is beautiful, brutal, grotesque, emotional, haphazard, meticulous, shocking, comforting, groundbreaking, nostalgic, devestatiing, uplifting, enveloping, wonderful love.
Malia was a fantastic artist. She painted all sorts of things; Birds, trees, animals, flowers. But unfortunately, she was a horribly boring person to be around. No one liked her, for being a painter was considered boring. Also, she was a mute. This affliction caused her to have no friends, also the fact that she was an artist. Her boreisms were endless. And she died in a boring way.
I painted my room blue, and its amazing, because it reminds me of the dark ocean, swimming at the beach midnight with my lover. I love it when the sun it setting and everything shines. I painted my room this color to inspire me every time i step into it. It was fun when I painted my room, because I did it with my friends, and we had a paint fight, and got paint everywhere, but it was fun while it lasted. The outcome of my room after I painted it was surprisingly nice. I enjoyed it.
[painted black. that rolling stones song is the first thing that comes to mind. that’s my favorite song by them, and it’s okay. painted face–>clowns….painted toenails–>the big lebowski. “blow.” “you want a toe dude? i can get you a toe.” painted lies, sounds like a bad movie.
Her face was covered in a thick layer of garish make-up. He could the smell the sweat and fear pouring out of her as she shrunk against the wall, trying desperately to pull away from him. He grasped her tightly around the wrist of the hand that she was using to hold the parasol, and with his other hand pulled a long, wicked knife from his belt.
they used to paint together. it was the only thing they could agree on, really. but even that wasn’t true. they would still fight about it. what to paint, what to paint it on, what colors to use, what kind of paint even. but once they started, once they fought about everything and got all of the anger out of their systems, they could sit and paint and just be content and in love. so the painted glass window on the third floor of the house really was their daughter’s most prized possession. until one of the neighborhood kids broke it.
I see a world and I want to paint it black.
No colors in at all I want them to turn black.
Black is neutral, unfeeling, unchanging, absorbing
everything that comes its way indifferently.
Universal, soothing, melamine-producing.
White will smite the eye with blinding light –
representing good in some cultures as
black does in others.
Eternally oppressed, representing evil and fear.
Inherently bad.
History is written by the winners.
My walls were painted but it was not done with color and brushes but with memories. Some parts of the wall were darkened with those moments of despair and depression I have passed through in my life.
Oops. That’s all I could say. I knew as soon as the pan slipped from my fingers that the stain would be there forever. Bright red paint all over the clean white tiles. It would be there forever, no symmetry or rightness or placement– just splash. My accident. Our memory.
I painted a cat today. He wasn’t that amused. At all. But he accepted that it was his fate and well, now he’s off showcasing his new look.
I kind of wish I had painted him green though. No reason – I just like the colour green. He looks too awesome as a mutlicoloured ginger persian cat. I’m jealous.
i painted a picture of a dying squirrel. It stared blankly at me, with pain in its eyes. Did it see the car? did it see my fear? did it understand death. I look at the squirell and i ponder.