The New Art Thread

You are obsessed and you sound like a crazy person.

That said, I feel the exact same way about squidskull.

which one do you have, pete ? i thought about getting one too, but them again i don´t photoshop that much.

This is the exact one I have. I bought a factory refurbished Wacom PTK440 Black Intuos4.

http://www.amazon.com/Wacom-PTK440-Intuos4-Factory-Refurbished/dp/B003IZ...

It works really great. I just need to practice with it more because it does take some getting used to.

ui, 45% discount ! hmm, i´m tempted.

I wouldn't have bought such a nice one if I didn't find that refurbish deal. They sell them on their official website refurbished too, if I remember right.

These are really cool.

Haley and i went to an art show last weekend for ink work and we bought this really neat Judy Garland piece and an original drawing for myself. I'll post pics if you didn't see it on Facebook. Her dad is renting out some space in this nice gallery downtown for her paintings. Haley never knew she could get so much for her paintings, she always just gave them away. Now she's been asking for them back, which is kind of funny.

I fall within myself
The godhead gives chase
Further down where still of pitch
Lends false to Covet's taste

Even more the riddle plays
Innate we overture
Though pride is all but nature's gift
We've both fall to Allure

So is it I that speaks through you
Or you who speaks through me
Solipsistic means for an unselfish gain
Ode Paragon's reek to symmetry

As I logged in just now, while the page was loading, I noticed I typed Pepper, capitol P, not lowercase, and thought I would have to re do the whole thing with the "did you forget your password?" question. But here I am, logged in. hhmmmm.

Anyway, that is alright Rums. I rather like it, it is a bit pretentious, without any more common worded lines in between the well worded lines that it is. But nice, over all.

I was thinking i might post some of my own old weird poetry soon, maybe.

Okay, your turn.

This is my first attempt at digital painting. Not very good, but it was kind of fun.

'merica

Well, that's a pretty damn good start.

Wait you did that all by yourself or you colored something in?

Either way, I love it.

I used another picture for reference, but drew it from scratch. I've been trying to get the hand of this bamboo drawing tablet that I borrowed from a friend.

That's awesome. Props.

yeah, definitely a good job for your first time. I have no idea how to use any of that stuff

You can just submit stuff? Really. Well I might have to, I should probably fix it up and color it, then everyone can swear a shirt.

http://beta.threadless.com/make/submit/

Here are a few scribbles I've done at work when it's slow.

I never finish anything or take drawing seriously because a customer always eventually shows up.

I love the first one.

You should sell them.

yeah those are slightly more than scribbles, is the first one Jessica Lange? Looks awesome. I like the Bride of Frankenstein one a lot too

Those are amazing. Scribbles, are you kidding me?

They're all on the receipt paper, paper plates, etc. But thank youuu. And yeah, that's Jessica Lange.

At that art show we went to, this one lady had drawings on Post-it Notes and they were framed and $30 a piece. If we had more money, we would have bought one because they were really good. There was a painting on a ripped piece of cardboard that was really cool and this other lady had drawings on index cards that were very nicely done. They were selling too.

sit in silence

If you can sit in silence
as distant footfalls
climb crooked stairs
and leave their feet
to tread old paths,
as sunlight warms
the frigid hall
and melts the frost
from aching bones,
as a slight draught
creaks an open door
and an hour passes
in the space of a breath,
you may find
that I envy you,
for my hour passed
in the space of two.

Who's your favorite poet, Fano?

The sad thing is, I don't read a lot of poetry, so I can't say I have a favorite. I should really really read more, it'll help a lot. I think the two I like most are Pablo Neruda and William Carlos Williams. They've got this way of expressing so much emotion in so few words. I also like Frost, because, well, Frost.

Cool. I don't really like either of those guys much but I like what you write so you're officially better than them.

You should read more poetry! I never understand the writers that don't like to read novels. I like poetry but I don't (often) get into non-contemporary stuff (although Frost is Frost). I bought everything by Kim Addonizio after having to read "What Do Women Want?" in some class. Even though I don't write poetry, I read the book she co-wrote on how to write poetry (The Poet's Companion) and I found it pretty inspiring. It also has a lot of not-so-well-know-but-fucking-amazing poems in there used to illustrate certain concepts when they're done well.

Blah blah blah. You're a good poet right now but you should read more poetry and get amazing.

Aw, thanks, Jess!! That really means a shitton. :3 And yes, I should read more, and I either have The Poet's Companion downloaded, or I have it bookmarked for Scrib'd , but either way I'll read it at some point. And I'll check out some of her work.

yep.

it all turns to cats

Haha, my first thought was a dog.

It's his cat! he said he had a cat named Spooky I thought?

I am imagining it must be a white cat because that would be the spookiest thing, in the dark, in the yard late at night, like a specter.

Or I'm making things up because I am dreaming.

Tuff has a cat? I have no clue.

Skydoll, I like the Jessica Lange drawing. What type colored pens or pencils did you use for the coloring? I like the colors in it.

I have threatened a couple of times to post some of my old poetry here, um. Making good on that threat.

These are all from before I joined here, and I really cannot say if they are good or crap or angsty or anything. Just the weird things in my head at that point in my life. they are what they are.

As We Hurry

There's a Crow
in the gutter
bobbing his head
with the leaves
and the litter
and he's bobbing his head
as he hops
through the cracked gutter
from dry paths
over oil tinged streams
to the grate in the gutter
at the side of the street
his feathers charcoal sleek
and his beak opening
with a tongue
in cheek, eye gleaming
and he's cawing
and bobbing his head
our exhaust gently humming, warming
his gutter as we hurry
and he's bobbing
his head
as we hurry

..................

A Scribes Demise, Misery

On the panicked edge, I sat
with my hands in my heart
pleading, the letters displaced
words disagreed with me
fought me
my struggle to retort
escaped
in an attempted recant
as I wrote down nothing

My words just laughed,
dancing perfect circles around me,
mocking gleefully
this dilemma to grasp
what seems exactly beyond reach

And I stomped my metaphoric feet!
Frustrated,
craving just to softly speak,
my breath came instead
in silent fitful screams
Listen, listen, this I ask
of you to do for me
is only that which you do to me

Just sing for me, come sweetly my poetry. Fractured thoughts torment, censor painfully, as my yearning heart begs release, in fretful language cursing me.

Come to me sweetly
with patient caress, free me

.................

Contents and Subject Matter

You said to me
you thought I might be playing with fire again
With that worried look in your eyes

I thought
what a funny thing for boy like him to say
Yet I said nothing meant to refute it

If I had spoken

You perplex me
I know some things about you
You carry pockets full of firecrackers,
cigarettes and other smoking devices
or vices

And here is a secret you've always known about me

I've pockets full of matches;
boxes and boxes of them, strike anywhere contraptions

I've always had a strange sense of humor;
I think my fingers have healed up fine,
I consider the callous as wisdom,
and I never meant to light you on fire like that

...............

Where is my Sledgehammer?

I've built this asylum of sweet oblivion
covering copious cerebral contusions
screening out photographic dimensions
of a world too filled with sweeter delusions

I’m paranoid; Picasso had it right
when I see the patterns sparkling
throughout a monochrome 2D
air and light still
I zoom into whirled directions

Apparitions, I smile
when I say I will explain it to you,
I mean it and it is simple,
listen, I talk in circles
no cylinders
whispered rhomboids whistling
wistful wonderment and reasoning
radiant ruminants
ridiculous
It is clear to me how it works, properly with logic
not this ludicrous nostalgia
of propagated pollination
implicating situations
synergetic
hush now, I know what I am on about
I’ve nearly synthesized these ramparts…

It is just the hydrogen diffusing
the molecular confusing
an atmospheric kaploosy

…as my evidence goes kaput
before I’ve finished with its presentation
I’ll worry, when I’m the only one who noticed
and agonize when I’m not;
It is so terribly worse to realize
none of this is of your imagination

One item I have observed,
as I laid my saccharine bricks around,
truth be preserved
where stupor of consciousness is found:
when truth be the lies that obliterate
thoughts of coherence
too utterly great

..................

I Once was a Poet

over me a springtime shower
of reigning verse
emotion whetting word flow
with my thought waves
refracting, bursting forth
beneath a quilled prism
Unwoven
in flowering spectrum's
till dusty visions danced
my hearts will elated
upon lights parchment

Those are lovely, Amber. I love the last one.

Oh Amber... Where is my Sledgehammer? is my favourite.

Thank you both.

Chris, I thought you would like that one best.

Irina, Where is my Sledgehammer is one I rarely show to anyone, ever. My anger.

here are a couple more in the same vein (also just as old):

Comedy

Charisma and eccentricity
a disposition justly read
skim my surface sitcom, I offer Jovially
a sousing binge on cream
What a tragic comedy
To be only blindly seen
absorbed by others selfish greed
I'll give my charm requested
Amused equivocally in play of those
so readily pleased

To be clearly unambiguous
I feel life must simply be
Not one note short or shy
of a comic tragedy
for even I can plainly see
besmirched grandiose in such irony
factoring laughter into the reality
a watery cynicism at best
I wonder how few others
understand perfectly
one gains nothing when
subscribing complacently
to slavish superficiality

In all actuality I offer freely
only that which I seek
Some worthy depth of meaning
And when I state explicitly
How Bitter is Too Much?
How Empty is Enough?
It is not rhetorical
in the least
Remaining to be seen
how much this joke
has always been
on me

.............
(listening to Marilyn Manson)

you made this trinket

I coddle my lipstick obsessions
in spaces [of mind] sickened, to delight
wallow, my nights, in plastic confession
pretty mask, high
[that aching velvet closing in]
can you see it? like a pinprick
within the recess of my eyes?

Regression [regression]
flimsy as snagged nylon, built
fleeing, manic, futile
monsters of memory
[you can't run from yourself]
swallow me whole

Color me a perfection
of slightly tilted selection
[you can't hide from me]
laughter devours, in the fever
I am in this [w]hole
scattered in the sound of
my own steps
kissing languidly
my lovely reflection
complexions, twisted sighs

[you cannot deny me]

my innermost seams unraveling
As I've sewn up my disguise, in fervor

..................

(this is probably the most structured poem I have ever written, I am not sure if I like it at all, to me it seems to lack feeling)

Prayer for my Inner Child

Oh child of mine, blessed purity hold
of thy soul, in innocence be free
gently dance thy days, in melodies of light
Bright as the crystalline stars in thine eyes
wondrous beauty around thee
I fold, with warmth of a kiss
unto thy delicate brow
Lush fields underfoot, grass and heather
behold, sweetest winds ripple by
as nectar

Oh child of mine, mourning sorrow I hold
in my soul, in starkness I am bound
Harshly chained are my days, wailing hymns of night
shadowed as fluid dew in my eyes
woeful world I have found
tis tightly bound, frost of knowledge
unto my weary brow
cold rocks underfoot, ashen and soot
I have beheld, bitterest winds curse by
of wanting

Oh child of mine, I keep thee concealed
in mine heart, deep hallows this place
cannot scald
forever, my babe, to roam
within the fresh dawn
of innocent freedom
as now eternally
I am grown

.................

Anyway. I'm not going to post anymore of them. But I probably have enough to fill a short book.

I do like your poetry.
It's not hackeyed.
Just sincere. But, still completely artful. Thanks for sharing these, Amber!

I really enjoyed your poems Amber. I too liked Where is My Sledgehammer. Also, I like You Made This Trinket. I enjoyed all of them, but I really liked those two especially. And yes, Thank you for sharing.

you guys.

I am not so good at flowery love poem stuff? Am I now? to an extent, it could almost be called something other than poetry, more meticulously disjointed thoughts crafted willfully together in the hope of a poetic style, but not quite poetry.

the majority of my "poems" are saturated in satire, though I suppose it may not always show. perhaps that is the point.

now that I have began, I want to keep posting, but I shall refrain.

Awwwww, come on Amber, don't stop now. You're just teasing us poetry readers now, posting those and then stopping. But yeah, if you do want to not refrain, I will enjoy the reads. I love to read poetry and I do write a little myself. I don't know about you, but I do like reading other people's more than my own. But I do like others views on my poems, like how it makes them feel, the thoughts it gives them, or how they interpret it. That's one I really like to hear, their interpretation of it.
Anyhow, you definitely have talent in the poetry department in my opinion and I would be happy to read more whenever you post them.

I like these ones too, Amber. Probably because I click with what you express.

I'm not sure what this is, exactly, but the first draft puked out of my brain, and then I needed to fix the puke.

Before my eyes
cut liquid flame,
the cracked, unsteady knife

of gods now drunk
on human lust,
yon fleeing from this life.

Yon is incorrect in that position. "Fleeing yon" would work.
I also think the "this" is unnecessary and thins the imagery.

Something like

Before my eyes
cut liquid flame,
the cracked unsteady knife
of gods now drunk
on human lust,
fleeing yon from life.

It's obviously a fragment of something larger, but a good fragment. See what it works up into.

Awesome, thanks a ton for the suggestions!

It is nice Fano. Tuff's advice is good, too.