Out of curiosity, do you guys prefer art blogs that are only personal art or artist’s “all-in-one” blogs (ei, their art, personal photos, life updates, typical tumblr reblog stuff)?
Because, sometimes I really like an artist’s art and I want to follow that, but then my dash gets bombarded by their fandoms or other things 90% of the time. I guess what I’m also asking is, what reasons do you guys follow this blog?
“Care to make a deal, dearie?”
Mr. Gold of the wonderful TV show, “Once Upon a Time”.
This man is probably the third most beautiful man in the universe. I have a terrible, terrible art crush on him, haha!
In hopes to both get her cutie mark and win Rainbow Dash’s heart, Scootaloo takes extreme measures… WHALE RIDING.
As requested by sparklepeep of deviantART!
San Clemente Beach.
Walked down to the San Clemente Beach, a 20 minute walk from my new house, and saw some really funny graffiti (mostly penises).
This one says, “The surf is good but the crowd isn’t.”
Feels pretty applicable to life.
On the morning of the first of June she awoke to the shattered pieces of pink sunlight reaching between the yellowed plastic strips that covered her window. Giving the cord a violent tug only the groggy unaware mind of the mourning could give, the blinds shuttered upwards, allowing bits of sunlight to reunite with their lovers. As a sign of gratitude, the beams took to the crystal that dangled from her window and returned as pieces of rainbows. They danced across her pale face, the white walls, her dusty sheets, little pieces of fire with motions like falling stars. For perhaps what would be the only time that day, she smiled truly, mingled her fingertips amongst those radiant shooting stars.
As she watched them dance, listened to the clattering of the crystal against her window, she remembered a place three thousand miles away, a face three thousand miles away. The rainbows were her wings, they flew her away, and taught her how to move like the stars. In their colors she saw her home so far away. The red was the first rose of spring time, the orange the fur of the fox; the yellow became the beech tree’s leaves in the fall, and the green the lush beauty of neverending woods; blue no longer existed but was instead the haze of the mountains that came before the indigo of the sunset, that came after the violet of the sunrise.
The rainbows no longer existed but were floating memories and dreams, pictures of everything she loves condensed into bits of fire on her walls. They comforted her, gave her hope. Three thousand miles no longer seemed so distant, in fact she could buy a plane ticket and be there the next day, hop a train and be there in a few, fill her tank and be there by car within a week. Or she could just stare at the lights and be there now. Soon enough she’d be home, there was time to wait and let the longing grow. Soon enough she’d be where the rainbows promised.
