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Dawn of Lighten Oct 2015
Invocation flowed by divination on the splat of paints,
As the hand move eradically, painting blurr dramatically!
Compelled by the vocal expression, with reinforced connotation.
Singing with such provocative verbalism with moving utterance!
With drop of paint splash of articulation, with inner confession!
Fingers post, flow with curves like storm erupting with Passion!
He can't stop, he will not stop, as ye move relentlessly like erratic feline.
Go forth with his art like a roar of thunder shaking root and foundation!
As he gasps and collapses, to his final demise with the finale!
Inspired by French portrait artist in French performance called "Le Plus Grand Cabaret Du Monde!"   Very inspirational visual painting art performance! if any French speakers know the translation, please do explain! This was in the draft for awhile to come to a certain point to express what the man was doing, but rather than putting it off as long as I did, I thought it must be shared among the public and Jean Pierre Blanchard should be echoed among the artist!
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=UGsYBtrNgOw
Sheikh Muizz Sep 2015
your hair is chestnut brown
your feet,    soft
pointed upon the other
oblivious to the other sixteen pairs
sat   flat upon the ground.

your eyes are wide
through habit of being surprised,
or showing an interest,    where
sixteen foreheads  crease and look down.

your pen dances  across the ruled lines of your page.
though time passes  in this taxing classroom
you don’t age.

  
dumb words
try jealously to tie down that which
extends beyond their square brackets.
when communication is as  broken  as it has ever been,
how can I hope to express to you what I  see?

so I know that these words are in vain.
I know that I have failed
to frame your fire in a portrait
that honestly reflects you.
and so I apologise,  for this ode aborted
but, anything else  would be untrue.
Arfah Afaqi Zia Sep 2015
If I ever had the chance to sketch a portrait,
I'd sketch a portrait of you,
Your beady grey eyes,
Your jawline,
So definite,
Your smile,
Your hair,
So surreal and breath taking.
You are perfection,
And the  best piece of art I could ever draw.
If you detect any mistake please tell me right away.
Brent Kincaid Jun 2015
He’s a social chameleon.
He is whoever you want
Whenever you want it
And he’s glad to flaunt it.
He serves me Doctor Pepper
In a crystal champagne flute
And whistles heavy metal
In a double-knit pantsuit
Since he dresses from yard sales
In cheap period clothes
Everybody seems to know him
Wherever he goes.

But, they don’t know his name
Only his audacious style
That either runs people off
Or makes them smile.
He only cares for opinions
That make him happy inside
And assumes any criticism
Is because somebody lied.
He dances like a club kid
But is well into middle age.
He knows all the song lyrics
That are the current rage.

He makes his money painting
HIs canvases of chaos
Covered with a thousand splashes
Of house paint in gloss.
He says they are like music
Each color has a separate tone
And if you can’t enjoy his art
Then leave him the hell alone.
He’s skinny, but delicate
With the bone structure of gods
You’ll not have seen his type before
I will lay you bookable odds.

His one solid weakness
And everybody knows
Is that he sings all the time
And everywhere he goes.
That would be quite lovely
But he can’t carry a tune.
So he looks like an old photo
And makes noises like a loon.
I really knew this guy, but he was not African American. He was pale pasty Caucasian. But, this guy looks so much like him and the way he dressed, I had to use this photo.
Ella Gwen May 2015
Green tea equations and cigarettes and
a distinct lack of food and
dark night lovely lonely walks and
maybe tomorrow
she will wake in a life
where she can love all parts of herself.

Can you feel that?
What a wondrous sensation.
She takes cold hands and
questions and buries them
in that empty stomach that
sings loudest when she fails
at sleeping. This girl with worn patches
and an overwhelming sense of
irony; there's too much to her
but still she is not enough.
You are so sweet
and so much nice
Too beautiful inside
that open my eyes


And when you speak
I love to listen
Stay a while
for a moment longer


Even though your just a portrait
Yet, sometimes your words remind
That guides me when I'm lost
and lift me up when I'm down.
written in May 1, 2015 @ Tagbibinta Falls
Blind Aesthetic Apr 2015
If I drew myself
If I drew a self-portrait
I’d use watercolor pencils
They’re easier to work with
And it’s just as easy to blend
They give more defined lines
A great choice I would think
I’d begin with an outline
Drawn in a mistaken
Grey or oops blue
Working my way bottom to
Top and right to left to maximize the unwanted
Smudges that will later become the mistakes which weren’t my own
I would move onto my face.  Switching to a false green color to start on
My eyes. Coloring the right iris, heavy handed the tip breaks. I sharpen it
Color in more as it goes from fake green to saddened black I stab through
The canvas bringing in some light from behind. Moving onto the left now
I go from green to useless brown. I’d dip the tip in water and just let the
Pencil sit, stuck to the canvas the color drips down the cheek pooling at
The jawline before stopping as if not wanting to let go. Snap goes the lead
Throwing away the pencil so it doesn’t bleed onto the other colors I move
Onto the lips this time. I’d go with pale promise to compliment the right eye
I would add hints of passive anger red and narcissism orange as highlights
For the skin I’d color it in disappointment, several shades, to show definition
I would then take a brush and dip it in water. I’d blend all the colors so it looks
Natural. Blending disappointment with anger, narcissism with uselessness
Fake with disappointment and the mistakes with everything that they touch
Once the painting dries I’d look onto the creation with the same look that a
Famous painter would give their child when they're told their painting *****
I would reluctantly sign my name, take a step back, and crumble the painting
Into a ball and throw it away saying to myself “I know you can do better”
Mike Essig Apr 2015
your hair
reminds me
of a storm
in Ireland

you face
reminds me
of Botticelli's
Venus

Your eyes
remind me
of unsolved
mysteries

Your lips
remind me
of stolen
kisses

Your smile
reminds me
I am still
alive

~mce
CJ Hattingh Apr 2015
I painted a picture today
using only red and white
The wall covered behind me
such a pretty sight

With a flick of my finger
I made the portrait appear
Now that I've lost my mind
I have nothing left to fear
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