#[ Painting a Brilliant Canvas - Art Post ]

[timelostobserver]

[ Gonna get to the starter call here soon~ Till then, working a bit on Hades new reference! ]

[seancekitsch]

I got this in that NSFW prompt generator you reblogged and this would be a PERFECT part 2 to that one Lucifer fic you posted!

Setting: Art Gallery/Studio Genre: Fluff  Trope: Friends With Benefits  Prompt: Truth or Dare Kink: Finger-fucking (as preparation, foreplay, accompaniment, or main act)

“You know,” you start, dipping your brush into the water cup to clean it, “Angel does not believe we didn’t fuck in here.”

You’re not exactly sure why you’re bringing this up right now. Maybe to get a rise out of him? Lucifer blushes, mission accomplished; dips his own brush in a brilliant gold paint. He chuckles, shaking his head as he presses brush to canvas.

“I mean we sort of…” He trails off, his free hand gesturing between the two of you. 

You laugh as you dry your brush.

“Not really,” you scrunch up your nose as you pick your next color, “I wouldn’t count it yet.”

Lucifer shrugs, leaning on you as he does and not at all caring if he makes a mess with your brush dangerously close to all of the paints. 

“When you’ve been single for almost a decade and a recluse for almost a century, it counts,” he winks, “Trust me.”

You feel your own cheeks heat up, averting your gaze from his. 

And no matter how much you want to put brush to canvas again you can’t help but think of nothing but the other week. 

Your body pinned against some tarp in the dark corner of the studio, Lucifer above you, stolen kisses while the sun rose. His clothed cock pressed against you, the friction between your bodies divine enough for you to understand how the first women fell to him. All shuddered gasps, fumbling hands, breathy laughs, and clumsy lips. 

“Okay,” you concede, and now press your brush down in an almost shy stroke to the canvas. Lucifer seems satisfied with this, and you paint in easy silence again. Strokes and dots dance from your tools, Lucifer’s hands working just as carefully on his own. You pause to glance at his canvas, now the makings of what you can clearly tell are a duck now starting to take form. For someone much more accustomed to sculpting, he isn’t half bad with your tools. Maybe one day you’ll hang some of his work in here, you think, or even better have it decorate the hotel. 

Your eyes trail from the canvas inevitably to his hands, deft and skilled, up his arms to his face, where you expect to see him handsome and locked in concentration. Only, you find his eyes staring back into your own. 

“Wanna tell me what you were thinking about?” he asks, flirty confidence he doesn’t normally show on full display. 

“Hmmm,” you hum, and then shake your head, “Nope.”

He narrows his eyes at you, glaring playfully. Lucifer isn’t clueless, even if you’d like to play innocent. 

He steps away from his canvas, looking between his and yours for a moment. 

“You sure you don’t wanna tell me?” he asks, eyeing you up as well now. You scrunch your nose as you shake your head. 

Lucifer only laughs. 

“Okay, truth or dare?”

You fucking scoff. 

“Truth or dare? Really?” you laugh, but not at him, not mockingly, “Did Charlie teach you that? Maybe after she made sure we got paired up the other week?”

You couldn’t help the playful jab. The Morningstars suck so hard at lying that it’s endearing.

His cheeks and the tips of his ears go red again. 

“You didn’t say no,” he reminds you, and damn, no you did not. You roll your eyes. 

Fine. 

You cross your arms indignantly. 

“Dare.”

You won’t give him the satisfaction of truth just yet. 

“Kiss me?” he asks, earnest. Your lips break from their smirk to a genuine smile, and then you lean forward until your lips capture his, chaste and warm. Your lips press around his bottom lip, sucking it in until your teeth graze skin, teasing and tantalizing before you pull back again. When you part, you lick your lips, savoring the taste of him, almost reluctant to open your eyes and let the moment fade away. 

When you do finally open your eyes, Lucifer’s gaze takes you in with nothing but affection, nothing but sweetness and joy. Really, how the fuck is a man like this the devil? And if he’s evil incarnate, what the hell is Heaven like? 

“That was an easy one,” you tease him; You’d kiss him all night if only he’d ask. 

“It’s your turn,” he tells you, a smirk gracing his own lips as he lets his hand ghost over your hip. Bold move, Lucifer. 

“Truth or Dare?” you ask immediately, not having a truth or a dare lined up in the barrel or the chamber. 

Lucifer takes the time to take a step forward, fully removing the gap between you. 

“Truth,” he whispers, lips almost ghosting yours. Bold fucking move. 

“You playing me?” you ask, mouth moving faster than your mind, and fuck was that a mistake. Immediately you tear yourself from him in embarrassment, a little too vulnerable for your own comfort. Angel and Husk would mock your moment of weakness in their own hypocrisy, you can’t help but hear their laughter. Why did you say that? What the fuck? 

Lucifer’s hands catch your own before you can fully pull away from him, though, holding you in place. You look anywhere but his face, not unlike a trapped animal.

“No!” he almost shouts, “ No, nothing like that. Hey, Where’d this come from?”

Lucifer sounds genuinely worried, genuinely upset. One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek, holding you close as he pulls you back in. You cannot help but admire the bulbs of your studio lights now, the way they bask everything in a glow that leaves no blemishes in your visions. You refuse to look at Lucifer. You cannot look at him.

“Pick dare!” you tell him, a cheery voice not at all matching your face.

Lucifer’s thumb strokes your cheek.

“I enjoy your company. This isn’t a game,” he reassures you, bringing you back down to his level, “No tricks.”

You release a sigh pent up in your chest, something animalistic and desperate sounding.

“I didn’t mean to say that.”

“But I’m glad you did.”

“Ask again.”

You bite your lip, copper liquid on your teeth. Ask again, you beckon him. Ask again, you. beg. Ask again, you need. Tears unshed well up in your eyes. But no, you will not cry in front of him or any man.

“Truth or dare?” he asks, and immediately you pick dare. Every dare is safer than truth.

“I dare you to pick truth.”

Fucking prick.

“Truth.”

You roll your eyes again, if only to avoid his.

“Do you think I’m playing you?”

“Well there’s a wildly unethical power imbalance and I seem to only see you when you want to make yourself present so I can’t help but think there’s a bit of an uneven exchange,” you offer, not really holding back, but also not sharing how much this situation had you spiraling. Not at all telling Angel or Husk how you felt and just stewing alone. How many nights you’d lost sleep over this. You still refuse to look at Lucifer. You can’t. You won’t.

“Ask me a truth or dare,” he says, and you chuckle, even if you still refuse to look at him.

“Truth or dare?” you ask, not wanting to play anymore, only wanting to get back to your painting and saving face.

“Dare,” Lucifer all but begs, “dare me to prove I’m not playing with you.”

You shrug, almost hopelessly.

“Sure,” you say, “ Why not?”

Lucifer wastes no time pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, nothing too harsh and nothing that progresses into more.

“I like you,” he whispers against your lips.

He then progresses further down, a kiss to your cheek, the underside of your jaw, your neck.

“I like kissing you,” he tells you, lips dragging across your skin.

“Your friendship means a lot to me,” he pulls the strap of your shirt to the side.

“And I’d like it if we enjoyed our temporary time together,” he presses a kiss to your collarbone.

“I mean,” he pulls back, “You could get redeemed tomorrow and forget all about me!”

You’ve been here since 1973, so that’s doubtful. But you don’t miss the edge to his voice when he says that. Like you actually would forget him. As if you could be making out with the devil himself tonight and then getting a manicure with the seraphim tomorrow. 

You finally return his embrace, but not without messing with him a little bit.

“Oh yeah? That much faith in me? Why don’t you give me something to remember in boring old Heaven then?” 

Lucifer needs no other encouragement, his mouth capturing yours again, tongue eager and pushing past the threshold of lips. His hands move wildly, grasping at you, all fingers digging into flesh. He pushes you back wards until the backs of your knees touch your workbench. The act of sitting pulls you apart from him, the change in position now having you look up at him for the spectacle he always is. Lucifer looks at you through half lidded eyes and mussed hair, usually pristine sleeves rolled up to his elbows carelessly; a work of art in his own right. 

Lucifer drops to his knees almost immediately continuing the kiss, passionate as his hands start to pull at clothing. Your arms are around his back in an instant, holding him pressed to you, one hand coming up to play with his so heavenly soft hair. 

The kiss deepens, and Lucifer takes the opportunity to unbuckle your belt, the clanking of heavy metal as he pulls it to the side. He makes equally quick work of the fly of your pants, only taking pause when your soft tongue grazes across his sharp teeth making him groan and only work harder at getting you undressed. 

He works faster then, yanking your pants down to the ops of your boots, barely even breaking the kiss as he maneuvers himself back between your knees. 

The cool air of your studio hits your skin, but you’re not so sure that’s the reason why you’re shivering under his touch. 

You kiss him twice, thrice, and then break away, if only to help him the rest of the way, pulling your underwear away to fall at your ankles with your pants. 

“Touch me, please,” you ask, voice breathy and way more pathetic than you were intending to sound, but you can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed about that right now. 

“You want me?” Lucifer asks, some thing of an edge dripping into his voice, honey with a tint of venom. You nod against him as you place your lips back on his, your hands bunching up the fabric of his crisp dress shirt. He’ll definitely need to get it steamed, but you can’t find yourself caring once his hands start to drift lower. 

Lucifer’s hands go from your hips to your thighs, running his nails across smooth skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He’s toying with you, drawing it out and teasing. Out of practice my ass, you think. You start to kiss harder, hoping it’ll speed him up. One of his hands comes to your knee, forcing it away and spreading your legs further from where you’re already straddling him. The other hand starts to tease upwards, his thumb starting to rub circles into your inner thigh before finally coming to the apex of them. He ghosts his thumb over your slit, and you all but convulse from tension. Fuck, you need him you need him you need him. His hand on your knee tightens its grasp, holding you still. 

Lucifer breaks the kiss to look at you, half lidded eyes and a mischievous smile on his face. This man is going to ruin you, you just know it. 

He presses a singular finger inside you slowly, exploring new territory. You whine under his touch, your forehead falling to rest on his shoulder as he moves glacially, in and out. It feels like torture almost, giving you a taste instead of everything you really want. Your fists ball up the fabric of his shirt even tighter, and you’re glad you’re not a sinner with claws because surely you would have ripped it by now. 

“You feel divine, Honey,” Lucifer sighs, pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of your head. You start to squirm, trying to feel more; fuller, deeper. 

“You want more?” he asks, as if on cue. Attentive and in tune. 

You nod, definitely not desperately, definitely not needy. 

Lucifer obliges immediately, shifting readjusting, reinserting himself now two fingers, plunged deep inside you; sinking in with no resistance. This is it, you think, the fullness you were missing. You cannot help the wanton moan that escapes your lips, mo matter how much you try to muffle it against his shoulder. 

“Thats what you needed, huh?” he coos, teasing you, “Oh yeah, definitely. I can feel you squeezing me already.”

Fuck. He’s bad news. 

You don’t have a reply for that, only a short choked out whine as he keeps moving, in out scissor, in out scissor: a perfect rhythm. He pulls the sound from your throat through your cunt, playing you like a well tuned violin. You feel your core tighten, tension building in your muscles as he works you over, a man who’s had eternity to perfect how you please a woman. 

Lucifer’s thumb finds your clit, and it’s as good as over. Your hands move wildly from their spot o bc his back, to his shoulders, to his biceps. You cling like your life depends on him. Stars form, blotchy spots in the corner of your vision, a tesla coil behind your ribcage. 

And then sparks, and then movement. Your orgasm shatters, quickly and without warning, a pitiful and low drawn out whine between gritted teeth. Lucifer keeps his pace, muttered praise falling deaf upon the ringing in your ears. His free hand rubs your thigh, soothing massaging circles. Kisses to your neck, stability against your shuddering form.

He doesn’t remove his fingers until your body stops its shaking, until your frame stills and you slump against him; Your body boneless and pliant because of him. You take the reprieve to close your eyes, to relax into him. Whatever this thing is with Lucifer, it’s dangerous, you realize that now. It would be safe if you didn’t lean into him, it would be safe if you didn’t feel warm and fuzzy and cared for in your post cum haze. It would feel safe if clarity struck you right now and told you to move out of the hotel. 

But it’s dangerous because you’re absolutely the most comfortable you’ve been since you ended up in hell, it’s dangerous because he’s absolutely not pushing you away. It’s dangerous because he seems sincere. 

It’s dangerous because the sound of him slurping on his fingers, licking them clean, disrupts your anxious train of thought. 

Fuck, thats hot. Your eyes open slowly, staring down at your lap, more specifically where he kneel’s between your thighs, his stomach pressed against the bench to be as close to you as possible. Lucifer kisses the side of your head, an action full of affection, a more serious act than what he had just finished doing to you.

“Truth or dare?” His lips move against the shell of your ear.

“We’re still doing this?” you giggle, pulling him closer. Lucifer squeezes your hip, both of his hands coming back to grab you, his wet fingers cool against the bare skin of the curve of your ass. Any tension you felt melts away with his joke. 

“Fine,” you sigh, “Truth.”

“Hang out with me tonight?” Lucifer asks, voice wobbling with a hint of insecurity.

“You mean like in your room, or with the others in the lounge?” 

Lucifer’s head dips while he goes red again, but his eyes dip down to his fingers again. 

“With everyone… If thats okay?”

Interesting. Would he acknowledge whatever this thing is between you? Grab your drinks for you, maybe share a seat with you? Your mind swirls with what tonight could look like while you absentmindedly run your fingers along the fabric of his shirt. 

You nod. 

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

This is dangerous. 

[rampantram]

I've been saving this but I can't take it anymore... your art is super cool!! I love the drawing style you have, especially the lines and expressions. Also the dynamic poses and interactions between characters, everything looks so cute but at the same time exciting to keep watching!! I would read a whole manga with your art in it :3

Curious question: what size are your drawings normally? I see that you draw in pencil and many times there is more than one drawing on a single canvas/sheet so I am curious to know approximately the size of your drawings

I hope you don’t mind me using your ask to say this, but…you guys have no idea how much your kindness and positivity has affected me since I started posting my CotL stuff.

I’ve had anxiety since I was a kid, and depression for almost a decade now, and most recently been diagnosed with ADHD and OCD. I’ve had the most lows in my life over the past few years, and my consistency and drive to draw has suffered for it; at most, I’ve posted every other week, but mostly once every couple of months, and even longer than that until now. Being on medication has affected my motivation to draw, and I’ve been on short-term disability for over a month now, trying out new medications and feeling mostly miserable from the side effects.

Despite all that, I’ve wanted truly to finally be consistent with art, interact with people, try new things, and it’s helped so much to have so many people loving the things I’ve come up with. I haven’t been as consistent this last week, and spotty some weeks before that, but you’ve all been so patient despite that, which is part of the reason I want to give you some transparency and vulnerability on my part.

So I apologize if things continue to be a little less than organized or consistent, but I’m going to keep trying my best everyday, because I want to keep bringing you things you enjoy and want to interact with, so…thank you. 🥹

But getting to your question before I really start to tear up…this 9x12 sketchbook by Strathmore (specifically the recycled paper) is what I’ve been using for my sketches for a long while:

And it typically depends on how big or small I think each of the drawings should be, but I do try to keep them on one page if I can just for organizations’s sake.

Also if I know I need to post it from my phone, I try to make things easier for myself by putting things within proximity of each other with my phone’s camera in mind (not the whole page because it’ll be blurry, up and down since that’s easier for me to take a shot with, and so on).

If I’m gonna scan it, that makes things a bit easier, but I do try to condense them enough so I can try and avoid doing two scans of the same page and having to stitch them together (this one below just ended up taking the whole page, and since most scanners - my roommate’s included - usually only scan Letter or A4 size areas, those I end up having to scan on multiple parts and edit them together in Clip Studio Paint).

But of course, it all comes down to what feels right or works with your own method the best (as long as you achieve the outcome you wanted, the tools and method to get there don’t necessarily have to be the “best” or “right” way to do it).

I hope this helps, though, and that you have a brilliant day~✨

[scoobhead]

PLEASE tell me some of your favorite sandwiches...i work at a diner and i get one free sandwich per day and i almost always get the exact same thing. gimme something that will deeply bamboozle the kitchen staff

thank you for this ask. i am so sorry for the sandwich tangent that it inspired. this post is in fact so long that i have to put it under a read more tag so it doesn't reach Do You Love The Color Of The Sky notoriety. also this has been written as, like, a general cooking guide instead of Things You Can Order At A Diner, but otherwise feel free to show this post to your kitchen staff and watch their minds crumble

to build a great sandwich - a truly Fucked Up Sandwich - you must first understand that a sandwich is, at its core, just some bread with stuff on it. as a disclaimer, i don't mean to diss the classics. they're around for a reason. i just know that PERSONALLY i am a little bit sick of the same second grade lunchbox sandwich, and PERSONALLY i prefer to push the boundaries of simple food preparation into the realm of the eldritch and unknown.

the sandwiches i make are different every time. you may have heard the old adage "cooking is an art." that is partially true, sometimes, kind of. cooking, for me, is more like a four year old getting access to paint for the first time and losing their whole goddamn mind about it. i want you to let go of every rule you think there is. make things up. go crazy.

the bread of the sandwich matters only insofar as it can support its fillings. i tend to use plain ol whole wheat, but honestly, you can use whatever you'd like. my big piece of advice here is to think about the structural integrity of your design. much like a bread engineer, because that's what you are. if your fillings are wet or gelatinous (hold on, we're getting there) you NEED a crustier bread. sara lee won't cut it. some people like fancy bread with herbs and shit. i see the bread more as a canvas than as part of the painting, but like, there are no rules. go ham.

speaking of ham. this is the section where you expect me to disavow lunch meats. i shan't. pre-sliced meat is a brilliant (and cheap!) way to provide the basis of flavor for your sandwich AND to make sure you get enough protein. if you're vegan or vegetarian, you'll have to skip this step, but that's okay because it's not an integral part of the process. that being said, i think it lays a solid foundation for the whole sandwich's raison d'etre.

pairing with a good cheese is a classic for a reason. i stay away from american - it melts beautifully, which makes it great for grilled cheese, but it also has an artificial quality to it that i don't really vibe with. swiss, provolone, and cheddar are staples, but honest to god, any cheese can be made to work if you build around it. (side note: the best grilled cheese uses american, pepper jack, colby, and a tomato. season the OUTSIDE of the bread with butter, red pepper flakes, garlic, and a dash of oregano. fry up an egg and put it on top and oh baby. ham optional if you want some extra protein.)

ok. you have your basics. now i need you to take a look around your kitchen and GO WILD.

one of my Go To Combinations is turkey, swiss, and a fruit jam (i like apricot). it is EXTREMELY good and easy to make, and the jam gives it just the right touch of sweetness to complement to mellow flavor of the turkey. if you're like, "oh, wow, you put JAM? on a SANDWICH??? ARE YOU OK????" you need to stop reading right now. the shaggy-like combinations that i concoct may be too strong for you, traveler.

if you like sweet foods and want to lean into that, keep exploring Fruit Road. jams and preserves work wonders. fruit butters are also nice for a more savory touch, but can get expensive and/or seasonal. you can also go for Fruits themselves: thinly sliced apple + ham + brie (or swiss, if you can't swing a more expensive cheese) is a godsend. most fruits belong on a sandwich tbh. grapes, tangerines, bananas, pineapple: it's all about the right context.

if you want to go Even Further Beyond, Fruit Road takes you right down to Sweets Avenue. honey works on most sandwiches, and - hear me out - will cut the tangy, eggy flavor of mayonnaise. it's easy for honey to overpower, though, so i'd say to go for a little before tasting and reassessing. plain or vanilla yogurt also complements fruit really well without being overpowering. if you REALLY want to go sweet, i like marshmallow fluff + bananas + peanut butter for protein. i've yet to find good vegan alternates to these, unfortunately - agave nectar would work in place of honey, but play around and see what you can come up with.

if you want to go savory, then Aromatics Boulevard will make sure you get substance and flavor. basil is an underrated addition to sandwiches, as are green onions, garlic (jarlic works great for this, don't @ me), and cabinet spices. you might need to try a little to get the proportions right, but chicken + mozzarella + plain yogurt + curry powder is frankly a godsend. i also lovelovelove a good sauce; nando's perinaise is usually region-specific, but it's creamy and tangy and goes with everything and i'm obsessed with it. get creative with what you have!

ok. this is my secret ingredient. come here. lao gan ma is chili oil, but with chili crisps in it. it is the single best ingredient in my kitchen. it's not expensive, a jar of it lasts forever, and you can find it at almost every asian grocery store. it is the perfect kick of spice to add to a sandwich. plenty of heat but not overpowering, and with a mostly savory finish. god it's so good. i scoop it with a knife to avoid most of the oil and spread just the crisp over the sandwich. crunchy, spicy, savory. mamma mia.

those are the BASICS of what i can give you. if you've read this far and you actually make a Fucked Up Sandwich PLEASE tag me in it, because odds are i'll try it. be bold. make a potato salad + tangerine + tahini monstrosity. (i haven't tried that but maybe it's good???) anything is a sandwich if you're brave enough. if you're still looking for inspiration, i get a lot of ideas from traditional tea sandwiches, which are usually ~3 ingredients and can get absolutely hogwild.

if you want more specific recipes or combinations then reach out and i can send you a list, but i hope that this gave you the tools and confidence to go forth and wreak havoc. have fun stay safe eat sandwiches!

[fangirlies]

Prettiest painting- (x.t)

Pairing: xavier thorpe x fem!reader

Summary: Your boyfriend caught you off guard when he sneakily dragged you inside an unfamiliar building.

Warnings: 18+!! Smut follows. Minors do not interact! Cursing. Unprotected sex (don’t try this at home) p in v. All that comes with sex.. I never know what to put on here. (Please let me know if I should be aware of anything else)

Word count: pls don’t make me count lol

A.N: besties. . first time writing actual smut. I’m shy to even post. probably not too great. Shout out to @zavithorpe ; their writings are actually insane and make me blush while picturing puppy xavier. probably my fav account on here. Anyways, enjoy fangirlies 🧚🏼‍♀️

“Xavier, where are we going?” You asked tightening your grip around his enormous hands.

Your lover scolded you, "Stop asking so many questions and just wait," in a harsh whisper. On a school night, you weren't meant to be leaving your dorm room this late. You managed to sneak into Xavier's room, which was terrible enough, but now he has you sneaking into some random building. Was he trying to suspend the two of you?

Before looking around, the lanky boy retrieved a key from his coat pocket and opened the building's door. Who would be awake at 12:45 a.m on a Tuesday? You had so many concerns, yet you chose to keep them to yourself rather than share them with your carefree boyfriend. As you two walked into the dim room together, the heavy door squeaked. The door closed behind you with a loud slam while it was still completely dark. Xavier managed to find the light switch and you were stunned as to where you two were.

“Does this answer your question?” He asked. He brought you into town to visit the art gallery? at nearly one in the morning? You perplexedly turned to glance around.

“It answers one of the many I have,”

Your obsession with knowing every last detail made him giggle. He loved many things about you, and that was one of them.

“Well, I thought it'd be fun to have the place to ourselves,” he said. "Just you, me, and some art," Xavier walked into the open space extending his arms out.

Truthfully, you’ve never done anything like this before so your heart was racing. Your body started to become tense. “How did you even get the keys?” You questioned crossing your arms while scanning your surroundings out of concern that someone could see you two.

“Remember how Tyler destroyed my mural last year?” The fact that he would ask Tyler - of all people - for a favor made you realize that this might be important for him. “I asked him for a favor — to swipe the keys from the owner.” But the expression on your face stayed the same. You were looking at him as if began to lose his mind.

“Relax, pumpkin. I'll give the keys back in the morning.” He gave you a soft kiss on the nose and chuckled, "Lighten up and do something bad for once." He then started to approach the closest painting. You took a deep breath and once more looked around. It was a lovely place, one you’ve never been to before. You were aware that Xavier would never put you in a position where you’d get in trouble. As you started to move in the direction of your boyfriend, you decided to leave your anxieties behind.

With each artwork, you two took your time inspecting. They were all so distinctive from one another. You would occasionally glance up at your giant boyfriend, and the look in his eyes would make you melt. It matched the way he would stare at you whenever you were going on about your day. He was truly in his element.

As the two of you entered the back room, a large canvas covered in a variety of colors was hanging from the wall. He was explaining the painting to you; he was such a nerd for this sort of thing. You were listening closely when you suddenly felt the urge to touch him. He was constantly teaching you new things and was so brilliant that you couldn't help but find it irresistible.

Without thinking twice, you placed your lips against his. He wasn’t expecting it but kissed you back after adjusting himself. A few seconds later, the kiss became more intense. His hands were exploring your body before firmly landing on your ass and giving it a firm squeeze. You laughed at what he did, but a familiar sensation between your thighs also surfaced. That game allows for two players, you reasoned. Your hand released his face on one side and started moving down toward his clothed dick slowly. He grew larger in your palm as you stroked the area over his sweatpants. You ignored his cries of desperation and kept playing with his bulge.

Your boyfriend seemed hesitant about the thought of getting sexual in an art gallery, you could tell. “do something bad for once” you whispered his exact words back at him before planting your lips on his neck. Sucking at the spot near his ear, you knew made him weak.

Xavier's finger lifted your head and planted his lips on yours again. His tongue caressed yours for a while before he pulled back and began whispering in between breaths.

“Can-can I fuck you? Right now?” He inquired in a barely audible manner, almost as if he wasn’t even sure himself.

You’ve never fucked your boyfriend in public- or anyone for that matter. But you didn't think twice about it because all you wanted was to feel Xavier. You offered him a small smile as you glanced up at him through your eyelashes and untied the knot on his sweatpants. His demeanor changed to one of excitement with a hint of hunger.

He again leaned in and gave you a passionate kiss. Making out with the sole intention of tasting one another. You managed to liberate his red and swollen cock out of the confinement of his sweatpants. To your amazement- he had nothing under. What a slut, you thought. You started stroking his length with the help of his precum to tug at his dick easily. His mouth was spewing gentle groans that were so desperate. Despite the fact that you knew he wanted to feel your warm cunt around him, you decided to quicken the pace around his cock because you simply enjoyed teasing him. He was able to utter a quick "Plea-please." He stopped kissing you due to the pleasure he was receiving from you becoming too overwhelming.

He chose to instead let his eyes close and his head fall back. He was caught off guard when he felt your wet tongue on his tip. He gazed down at you and found you already looking up at him. He reverted to his former stance with his head facing the ceiling and mumbled behind gritted teeth, "Fuck, don't look at me like that unless you want me to bust right now.” You started bobbing your head in the pace you knew your boyfriend enjoyed. He jerked his hips into you and began aiding your already wide mouth in taking in his entire dick before his hands managed to grip the back of you head- holding a fistful of hair. His pelvis was in contact with your nose. The more nosies your mouth made, the louder Xavier became.

He interrupted your fun by demanding, "Get up," yet you did as he ordered. He led you to the closest bench and forced you to sit down. Finding yourself giggling at how quickly he removed your underwear and tossed it to the side. Shivers ran down your spine when the temperature on your lower body adjusted. However, when Xavier's tongue licked the bundle of nerves at your center, you arched your back almost instantly.

You uttered "Wa- wait xavi," feeling embarrassed at how exposed you were in the middle of the art exhibition. He didn’t care. Xavier desired you at this very moment and was going to taste you no matter what. He couldn’t even think clearly as he is so fucking turned on that this is happening in front of the eyes of many paintings. You can tell by the way he begins to lick you—he looked like a man who hasn't eaten in years. He looks up at you and starts flicking his tongue in your fluttering hole. He enjoyed watching you convulse at how he was dragging his tongue over your wet pussy. Knowing only he could get you this way.

“Oh fuck, Xav- fuck," you exhale as one of your hands rushes to grab his hair and lightly tug at it.

“You thought you could tease me like that and I wouldn’t do anything about it?” As he brought two fingers to the opening of your hole, he chucked. While skilfully pounding into your fluttering hole as you grow closer and closer to the brink, he ignores your whimpers and begins sucking on the swollen nub with all of his might. As if your hips weren't already close enough to his mouth, you moved them closer.

You managed to warn him, "I'm- I'm close."

That signaled him to completely lay you down and ram his already-hard cock into you. He hissed at how tight you were. Your back was on the cold, hard bench now and he was hovering over you. By the time his free hand—the one not wrapped around your neck—reaches your leaking pussy, he has complete control over your body and you had no complaints. His thrusts became faster and sloppier, drawing circles around your swollen clit. Your and Xavier's audible groans, together with the sound of skin slapping against skin, filled the room.

A cocky smile would emerge on his face when you no longer could hold his name in, and he would periodically gaze down at you to watch how your cunt swallows his entire dick.

"You're so fucking gorgeous. I love seeing you like this.” The knot in your stomach grew stronger when you heard these words "You're mine, tell me you're mine." You exhaled, "I'm yours, Xavier, I'm all yours," while gazing intensely into his emerald eyes that reminded you of home.

Your encouragement caused him to throw his head back and deliver uncoordinated thrusts. As your partner struggled on top of you, you began to appreciate how incredibly sexy he looked. How he fucked you so passionately yet like you were his own personal whore. Your breathing grows unsteady and your pussy tightens around his cock. You urge Xavier not to stop as you continue to pursue your high. He continues to fuck you slowly through your climax but quickens his pace as soon as you stop shaking as he anticipates busting in a matter of seconds. He is driven insane by the mere sight of watching you unravel under him.

The only warning he could muster was "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm com-" before he stuffed you full of his milky white cum. His juices fill your walls while his lips are slight parted and his brows are furrowed. Silky brown hair strands stuck onto his face by the stream of sweat. Fuck, he was so perfect, you thought.

You found your way into Xavier’s arms as the two of you take a few minutes to regulate your breathing. You laughed at the stupid expression on his face, it was as though he was seeing stars. He looked up and scanned your naked body laying next to him as he came down from his high.

“Ya know, you’re prettier than any art in here,”

Your cheeks began to burn up at his heart-warming words, and you knew then that he was going to be yours forever.

A.N: not me needing to be up in two hours to head to the airport. this idea had to be written out before my tiny little brain forgot so it was worth it. imagine fucking thorpe boy in an art gallery 🥺 crying

As always— requests are always open! Share your thoughts! Talk to me! Get something off your mind! ✨

[violettduchess]

I absolutely love your work! I was wondering if you could do a kiss for Theodorus?? 🙏🏻

A/N: Here you go anon!

Word Count: 493

A slow smile, sharp and bright, a blade made of sunshine. Blue eyes, heavy lidded with intention, framed by dark lashes evoking echoes of the angelic. He is a man who knows how to assess beauty, how to find it in inconspicuous places and bring it out for the world to see. And there is nothing as beautiful to him as the look on your face when he leans in to kiss you. Your lips parted in anticipation, your eyes slowly closing, shutting out the world so you can lose yourself in the feel of his lips, the press of his palms. 

He lowers his head, angles it just right to slot your lips together, warmth spreading through you at how perfect the fit is. Strong hands grasp your waist, pulling you against him. You are pliant clay pressed into a mold, forming yourself around the hard lines of his body. Everywhere he moves his hands feels like an act of creation. He is fanning the air in your lungs, drumming his fingers to the beat of your heart.

One kiss. Two. He captures and releases your lips over and over. Each time you lose the warmth of his mouth a tiny whimper rises within you like a spark from a fire, bright and distinct. The soft sound fuels the hunger inside him, encourages it to blossom and grow like brilliant ivy. It wraps itself around his bones, burns its way into his blood until how much he wants you is all he can think about. Gone is the cool-headed businessman, the art broker, the promoter. Now there is just Theo and there is just you, the person who wrapped her hands around his heart and never let go.

Your hands skim over the soft material of his coat, rounding the curve of his shoulders before plunging up into the soft, tawny thicket of his hair. The feel of it between your fingers never fails to send a torrent of pleasure through you, especially when your fingers curve inward, pulling in a way that has him gasping, his mouth jettisoned away from yours as that hoarse sound escapes him.

His sharply drawn breath opens the way for more words, words that tumble from his lips and are pressed against whatever skin he can find, painting you in his desire. He breathes brushstrokes of praise into the curve of your jaw, the slant of your cheekbones. He kisses petal pink into the line of your neck, the hollow of your throat. His tongue designs filigrees of want and need across the exposed skin of your neckline. His hands draft promises of what will come when he has you out of your clothing and in his bed.

You are his canvas and he is finally allowed to be the artist he once longed to be, safe and secure and most of all, free within the frame of your love for him. 

There is nothing more beautiful to you than this.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @leotoru @kpop-and-otome

[kaitropoli]

"Louise-Marie de Bourbon, dite Mademoiselle de Tours; La fillette aux bulles de savon"

By Pierre Mignard

Oil Painting, 1681.

Château de Versailles.

PORTRAIT SUBJECT

La fillette aux bulles de savon, or the commonly found English title, Girl Blowing Soap Bubbles, is a portrait of innocence during the Franco-Dutch War.

The child shown is Louise-Marie de Bourbon, the daughter of the Sun King, Louis XIV, and his Maîtresse-en-titre, Françoise-Athénaïs de Rochechouart (Madame de Montespan). I'm sorry, I don't know why they popped off with the names like that when they're planning to reuse Marie and Louis fifty times over ptdr. Louise-Marie, affectionately known as Toutou, was an illegitimate birth (1674), later legitimized by her father when she was around two years old. She held the title of Mademoiselle de Tours from then until her untimely death in 1681.

According to sources, Mignard's painting of the six-year-old girl was finished posthumously. But, her innocence is held delicately, frozen in time on canvas.

THEMES OF CHILDHOOD INNOCENCE (TL;DR: YAPANESE)

Mignard's choice to paint Louise-Marie as an actual child was uncommon for the time (even centuries later, believe it or not; maybe not so good examples, but for argument-sake: Louis XV by Hyacinthe Rigaud, Mariana Victoria of Spain by Nicolas de Largillierre, Phillip II, Duke of Orléans, Reagent of France by Largillierre, and Élisabeth Charlotte d'Orléans, "Mademoiselle de Chartres" by Largillierre -- apologies for throwing you strays, man, I'm trying to finish writing this and your children portraits were on the same website next to each other x), as young royalty are painted either as babies (unbreeched/baptize gown) or as tiny adults (fixed in uncomfortable poses and wearing clothes a monarch would), no in between. Here, Louise-Marie is playing with bubbles, her dog jumping towards it, and she looks carefree, still with chubby cheeks of rose. It doesn't help much that children were seen as heirs to the family fortune, especially during a time when parents had multiple kids due to illness (premature death) and bringing in income (need I explain more... *cough cough* coal mines... a bit anachronistic, sorry breaker boys, some other time we'll discuss y'all).

A painting such as this one, showing a realistic human experience from a royal status and that of a child BEING a child, innocence still intact, is quite important, even in today's form. We take childhood for granted, and kids are forced to grow up despite having more rights now than before. It can be a portrait to remind us that innocence is vital (a lack of childhood is detrimental as the experience is needed in order to mature mentally and emotionally when entering the teen and adult stages of life), but also that we as humans weren't so different from back then (sure, you can claim we bathe more than they do despite your husband still not washing his ass, but my heavens, did the thought 'wait, they had bubbles back then' ever occur to you?).

Genuinely, I was going to pull a La Muse Verte (the post where I briefly explained the history of absinthe) and go into the history of bubbles... because you gotta admit, that'd be fun for the both of us. However, delving into the background and theme of this painting became more heartbreaking for me. The bubble idea isn't gone, but it'll be postponed as a full history lesson post (and, yes, Mignard's painting of the immortalized Toutou will be recycled).

FURTHER READING (EXTRA SYMBOLISTIC DETAIL)

Plenty more symbolism is present, but I highly recommend you all check out L'Art en Tête's in-depth article on Mignard's beautiful portrait. I did regurgitate some of the author's points in this because I thought they were brilliant, and you can tell they have an art-history degree, so I'm begging you to go over there for more detail if interested!

[amaesama]

𝑆𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝑏𝑦 𝑆𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝑝𝑡1

𝐻𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑛 𝑂𝑡𝑖𝑠|𝐵𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

This is part one and is mostly fluff, part two is smut so if you want that then I shall post it later :D Also - my requests are open, so if you have any writing ideas please let me know!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

He had been working for four hours now. Four hours of mixing and applying oil paint to the canvas in front of him. Four hours of sitting on that old stool in which didn’t get up even once (he was surely getting leg cramps by now), and four hours of you basking in the beauty that was Helen Otis.

He was sitting parallel to the window of his room, which allowed the sun that shone threw the trees to illuminate his painting, allowing him to work as efficiently as he could without straining his eyes. His eyes, oh his eyes. On the few times you got up to get a closer look at him in action, you would notice the way the rays of sun would light up his brilliant blue eyes, making them glow in contrast with his porcelain skin. He thought it rude to simply ignore you, so he would look up at you and give you a soft smile. He didn’t say anything, but that look alone said enough.

Thank you for being here.

You would go to stand behind him and wrap your arms around his shoulders, careful to avoid his paint stained shirt, and nuzzle your face into the crook of your neck as your form of encouragement. Once again, he would say nothing. You didn’t mind though; any second he directed his concentration on you was a second away from his art, which would prolong the process, and the longer the process was the longer you would have to wait until you had him all to yourself.

All to yourself.

That’s not to say that you wished he wasn’t painting, you loved his work, you loved watching him work. But boy this was getting tiresome. You were sure that you had been gazing and studying him for so long you had memorised every strand of his hair that created the halo of light around his head from the sun catching on his raven hair.

You were currently laying on your front on his bed, your arms crossed under your head as you faced towards him. You had woken from a nap a few minutes ago and we’re dismayed to see him still hard at work, despite the setting sun casting an incandescent amber glow on the walls of his small room. A warning that he would surely have to stop soon. Yet as you return your eyes to him, he seemed to lost in his own world to notice, too transfixed on his own strokes of colour forming a beautiful image to realise the retreating light.

‘Helen.’

No response.

‘Helen,’ a little louder this time.

‘Hm..?’

Finally, a response. He still doesn’t look over to you, but at least you know he’s listening.

‘Helen the light is going,’

‘Huh?’

‘The sun. It’ll set soon. You need to finish up for today soon, you don’t want to hurt your eyes.’

This seems to bring him back to the real world, and he lets out a slight gasp before looking out of his window. He see’s you’re right. He looks at his painting begrudgingly, disappointed that he didn’t get nearly as far as he wanted to. He then looks over to you and feels a pant of guilt wave over him as he truly becomes conscious of your situation. You had been here the entire time, all four hours of the day that he had stolen from you, hardly even sparing a glance at you as you lay there waiting for him to finish.

‘Y/N…’

He slowly gets up to go to your before realising the state he’s in. His shirt is absolutely caked in paint, and so are his hands, his arms, and probably his face.

‘Just… give me a moment, ok?’

You have a curt nod as he rummaged in his chest of drawers for a clean shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He goes into his bathroom and cleans himself up, while you continue to wait on his bed. As you begin to trace the creases in the fabric of his bed sheets, you listen in to the muffled running of water behind that door. You mustn’t blame him for taking so long, this wasn’t the first time this had happened and you had a gut feeling this wouldn’t be the last. You knew how artists were, they were so prone to get lost in the bottom of the tube, and Helen was no different. In fact he was probably worse.

After a few minutes, he emerges devoid of any paint, and not stinking of it either. He doesn’t bother putting away his equipment and just kicks over the spare sheet he was using to protect his floor (oil paint was such a pain to get out, he had learnt the hard way) and made his way over to you. He kneels down so he’s face to face with you and strokes your cheek with his pointer finger. He tilts your head so he’s at the same angle as you and smiles ever so slightly, and if you weren’t already an expert in the smiles of Helen Otis you would have missed it.

‘I’m sorry I made you wait so long.’

You shake your head and smile.

‘It’s ok.’

He puts a knee on his bed and hoists himself over you so that he lands behind you, and he snakes his arms under your armpits and pulls you into his chest. He perches his chin on your shoulder and presses a kiss on your cheek.

‘Thank you for waiting for me.’

You smile and snuggle back into him.

‘Well I couldn’t just leave you, you would probably end up working until you passed out.’

He hums in agreement and lightly squeezes you.

‘I’ll make it up to you.’

You shift in his arms so you face him and look up at him through your eyelashes.

‘I know you will.’

[emilieautumnarchives]

Stark Raving Sane: My Heart

Posted June 25, 2023 Archived from EAOnline

My Heart Is A Weapon Of War: This isn’t meant to be me, but once the cheek heart goes on, it looks oddly suspicious.

Dearest Inmates,

The secret is out. Well, one of them. This will be a year of secrets revealed, and the next year as well, because I’m absolutely brilliant at keeping them it turns out, and they’ve been piling up like logs at a witch burning (that took a turn!).

Oh! The secret! Right. Ahem. New art collections, paintings this time (although sculptural mixed media using medical materials is still my favorite because burning plastic gives off such delicious fumes), and it was only after working on these new bits for absolute ages that I realized I’ve been channeling my childhood love of surrealist/fantasy/magical-realism-ish artists like Maxfield Parrish that I used to escape into, and it’s thrilling the return to innocence (albeit short-lived) that an age-appropriate retirement from social media can inspire. It was only today that I learned that Max was actually mixed-media-ing all over the place! He would often cut out photographs and other images, paste them to his canvas, and paint over them.

To see more of the creature above plus other new pieces, and find out how you can snag a Limited Edition giclée print, tappity here:

MY HEART IS A WEAPON OF WAR - FINE ART GICLEE PRINT

I love you.

P.S. You may find me coming out of Instagram retirement, we’ll see if an Ozzy needs to be pulled, but should that occur, it would be a semi-retirement, as I would only be popping in occasionally to quietly share art/music/movies and such—for anything more titillating, you’ll have to bookmark this blog.

[reasoningdaily]

Jean-Michel Basquiat’s 'Untitled, 1982' – The Devil

Executed in Modena, Italy, in the prime year of Basquiat’s short and brilliant career, Untitled is an epic painting, its monumental size and visceral energy marking it as one of the artist’s seminal works. Jean-Michel Basquiat’s explosive tour de force Untitled, 1982, led Christie’s Evening Sale of Post-War and Contemporary Art on 10 May 2016 in New York.

It was estimated to realise in excess of $40 million and eventually sold for $57,285,000. As well as having been chosen for the cover of the artist’s catalogue raisonné, 

Untitled  has been included in every major Basquiat retrospective. It contains Basquiat’s heroic portrait of himself as a fiery black devil rising amidst an explosion of paint that has been thrown onto the canvas in the manner of Jackson Pollock.

[timelostobserver]

[ Can't sleep. So doodling. Have Hades/Azrael's whole 'Grim reaper' get up. Something he wore in his earlier years after falling when he dragged humans to the afterlife. ]

[grilledsquids]

this post is like a sappy journal entry so i’m hiding it under the keep reading cut.

i’m geeking out over new art supplies but i have no one to tell about it that will understand what i mean. i have to ramble. it’s important, it helps me structure my thoughts and experiences into something informative.

it’s moments like this that i miss having teachers around to bounce ideas off of, to pickup tidbits of knowledge and experience about making art. there was a watercolor artist professor that i met in college, a brilliant and kind old man. i want to ask him questions about his painting style and the type of paper he prefers. he’s the one that taught me how to stretch a canvas, and that prussian blue wasn’t as similar to ultramarine as i assumed. he complimented my painting of a frog, it was a painting a lot of people liked, but only he could tell that it was something i spent countless hours on.

i don’t think this professor would remember me, as i only knew him for a few weeks, but he had a tremendous impact on my love of fine art. he did a landscape painting demo, one of the only real-life demos that i’ve ever witnessed, and i was in awe of his work. i was isolated during covid shortly after this. practicing watercolors on my own, inspired by his skill, granted me more peace of mind than anything else.

[blackacre13]

Can you do a fic where Lou and Debbie are out doing whatever and they see Claude (or someone who looks like Claude assuming this is post canon and he’s already in jail) and Debbie panics and holds on tight to Lou while she goes into protective mode?

The white edges. Messy rows. Line after line of photos. Polaroids. Candids. Silly. Strung up. Simple. Home. Good art.

Paint strokes. Smooth curves. Abstract. You could barely tell it was the curve of a breast and a few beats down a hip. But Debbie knew. And Lou knew. Because Debbie had posed for it. And Lou had painted it. Gold frame. Crisp canvas. Comforting art.

And anything on display at the Met? Fucking brilliant. Because…well, you know.

But that damn gallery. That damn prick. She’d had to physically hold Lou back from trying to throw things at the entirely glass walls and tell her that it wasn’t classy or wise for a fifty year old to egg the windows of a business. Even if it’s owner was in prison.

While Lou would tense up, looking ready to throw hands whenever they came close to the building, Debbie would shrivel as if she could fall inside herself. All it did was bring her pain. Remind her of her mistakes. What she’d lost. Who she’d lost. What she’d had to do to claw her way back into her career and her life and her family.

Lou did her best to steer them away. Take different blocks and streets and avenues. Distract Debbie. But every so often, it slipped through the cracks. No one’s fault. He was everywhere. Haunting her. Reminding her. She couldn’t get rid of him. Not by sending him to prison. Not by breaking up with him. He’d always have a hold on her.

And then one day it happened. Half a block away from the gallery. They wouldn’t have walked this way, but Constance and Nine had told Lou about some hole-in-the-wall restaurant they just had to try. And Lou loved any excuse to take Debbie to a restaurant and then reprimand her for talking with her mouth.

It was happening before Lou could stop it. And Debbie couldn’t even tell what was happening. Didn’t know it was happening. Or happened, rather.

She was sitting on the sidewalk with her head cradled in her knees and Lou fanning her face with a flyer for a DJ night, tears streaming down her face.

“You’re okay, Debs. You’re okay. You with me, honey? It’s not him. I promise it’s not him. Debbie, you’re safe. He can’t hurt you. He can’t hurt us anymore.”

It was coming back in bits and pieces. Her vision blurry. Head fuzzy.

Her knees had buckled. She’d started sweating.

Mumbling. “No, no, no, no, no.”

Crisp collar. Too rigid blazer. Prickly stubble. Too strong cologne. Too much—too close—

“He can’t hurt us,” Debbie repeated. “He can’t hurt me.”

“It wasn’t him,” Lou whispered, kneeling on the concrete. All Debbie could think about was the crease in the leather boots the crouch would make. The gravel against crushed velvet pants. But Lou didn’t notice. Didn’t care. She only had eyes and worry for Debbie. “Let’s get you out of here. Can you stand?”

Debbie stared up at her as blue eyes flashed between Debbie’s own and the Rolex on the blonde’s wrist, Debbie barely registering the two fingertips against her neck, checking her pulse.

“Yeah,” Debbie finally managed, wanting to do anything to wipe the concern from Lou’s face. “Yeah, let’s go home. Take me home, baby.”

[mushfiqur]

Musee D’Orsay Artists

The Musee D’Orsay Artists, nestled in the heart of Paris, is a treasure trove of art that boasts a collection of exquisite works from some of the most celebrated artists in history. In this article, we will delve into the fascinating world of Musee D’Orsay artists and explore the masterpieces that grace its walls. From the Impressionists to the Post-Impressionists, each artist has left an indelible mark on the world of art.

The Impressionists: A Brush with Nature

1. Claude Monet - The Water Lily Enthusiast

Claude Monet, often referred to as the "Father of Impressionism," was a visionary artist known for his enchanting landscapes and serene water lilies. His ability to capture the play of light on water is nothing short of extraordinary.

2. Pierre-Auguste Renoir - Capturing Joy on Canvas

Renoir's masterpieces exude happiness and a love for life. His vivid portrayal of people in everyday settings, often at leisure, brings a sense of joy to the viewer.

3. Edgar Degas - The Dance of Elegance

Degas was fascinated by the world of dance, and his works often feature ballerinas in graceful poses. His meticulous attention to detail is awe-inspiring.

4. Camille Pissarro - The Rural Impressions

Known for his rural landscapes, Camille Pissarro's work transports you to the countryside, where simplicity and beauty coexist harmoniously.

The Post-Impressionists: Beyond Reality

5. Vincent van Gogh - The Starry Night Genius

Van Gogh's turbulent life is reflected in his art. "The Starry Night" is an iconic painting that captures the turmoil and beauty of his mind.

6. Paul Cézanne - The Father of Modern Art

Cézanne's exploration of geometric shapes and multiple perspectives paved the way for modern art. His "Mont Sainte-Victoire" series is a testament to his innovation.

7. Georges Seurat - The Pointillism Pioneer

Seurat's meticulous use of tiny dots of color to create a larger image is a marvel of technique. "A Sunday on La Grande Jette" is a prime example of his work.

Musee D’Orsay: A Home for Masterpieces

8. Gustave Courbet - Realism in Art

Courbet's commitment to depicting real-life situations and people set the stage for realism in art. His "The Artist's Studio" is a notable piece.

9. Henri Rousseau - The Naïve Visionary

Rousseau's paintings often featured exotic landscapes and wild animals, transporting viewers to dreamlike worlds.

Conclusion

The Musee d’Orsay is a haven for art enthusiasts, housing an unparalleled collection of works by these brilliant artists. Each stroke of the brush, each layer of paint, tells a story of creativity, passion, and innovation. Whether you are an art connoisseur or just starting your artistic journey, a visit to Musee D’Orsay will leave you inspired and in awe of these remarkable Musee D’Orsay artists.

[poshditt]

Mastering the Art of Pastel Painting: A Colorful Journey

Intro:

Welcome to the mesmerizing world of pastel painting, where vibrant hues come to life on the canvas. In this blog post, we will delve deep into the art of pastel painting, exploring its advantages, future prospects, scope, and ultimately, its enchanting allure. Whether you're an aspiring artist, an art enthusiast, or simply curious about this captivating medium, join us on this colorful journey.

Advantages of Pastel Painting:

1. Versatility: Pastel painting offers artists a versatile medium to work with. The soft, powdery texture of pastels allows for a wide range of techniques, from delicate blending to bold, expressive strokes. This adaptability makes it suitable for both beginners and seasoned artists.

2. Brilliant Colors: Pastels are known for their intense and brilliant colors. Unlike other mediums, such as watercolors or oils, pastels maintain their vibrancy over time. The pigment-rich nature of pastels ensures that your artwork remains as vivid as the day it was created.

3. Ease of Use: Pastels are user-friendly and require minimal setup. There's no need for brushes, solvents, or extensive drying times. You can start creating beautiful artwork with pastels almost instantly, making it an excellent choice for those new to art.

4. Texture and Depth:** Pastel paintings often possess a unique texture and depth. Artists can layer colors to create rich, textured surfaces that invite viewers to touch and explore. The tactile quality of pastel artwork adds an extra dimension to the experience.

5. Portability: Pastels are incredibly portable, making them an ideal choice for plein air (outdoor) painting. All you need are your pastels, paper, and perhaps a few blending tools. This mobility allows artists to capture the beauty of nature and urban landscapes on the go

Future of Pastel Painting:

The future of pastel painting holds immense promise, driven by several factors:

1. Technological Advancements: With the advent of digital art platforms and tools, pastel painting has embraced technology. Artists can now experiment with digital pastels and tablets, expanding the horizons of this traditional medium.

2. Online Communities: Online platforms and social media have created a global community of pastel artists. This digital connectivity allows artists to learn from one another, share their work, and gain exposure to a worldwide audience.

3. Art Education: Institutions and academies recognize the enduring popularity of pastel painting and continue to offer courses and workshops. Aspiring artists have access to high-quality instruction and resources, both in person and online.

4. Market Demand: Collectors and art enthusiasts are increasingly drawn to pastel paintings for their unique qualities. The demand for original pastel artworks in galleries and online art marketplaces continues to grow.

5. Innovation: Contemporary artists are pushing the boundaries of pastel painting, exploring new techniques, styles, and subject matter. This innovation keeps the medium fresh and relevant in the ever-evolving art world.

Scope of Pastel Painting:

The scope of pastel painting extends far and wide, touching various aspects of the art world:

1. Commercial Success: Pastel paintings can be a lucrative endeavor for artists. Many collectors and art buyers appreciate the skill and beauty of pastel works, making them a valuable commodity in the art market.

2. Teaching and Education: Experienced pastel artists often transition into teaching roles, sharing their knowledge and expertise with aspiring artists. Art schools, workshops, and online tutorials are avenues for artists to pass on their skills.

3. Art Therapy: Pastel painting has found a meaningful place in the realm of art therapy. The soothing and expressive qualities of pastels make them a valuable tool for individuals seeking therapeutic outlets.

4. Community Engagement: Pastel art can foster community engagement through public art projects, workshops, and exhibitions. Collaborative efforts often showcase the power of art to bring people together.

5. Cultural Representation: Pastel painting offers a unique opportunity to capture the cultural essence of various regions and communities. Artists can use pastels to preserve and celebrate cultural heritage through their creations

Conclusion:

In conclusion, pastel painting is a captivating and versatile medium that continues to captivate artists and art enthusiasts alike. Its advantages, including versatility, brilliant colors, and ease of use, make it an accessible choice for artists of all levels. The future of pastel painting is promising, with technological advancements, online communities, and a growing market demand driving its continued popularity. The scope of pastel painting extends beyond the canvas, encompassing commercial success, education, therapy, community engagement, and cultural representation.

As you embark on your journey into the world of pastel painting, remember that the possibilities are limitless. Whether you aspire to create breathtaking landscapes, expressive portraits, or abstract masterpieces, pastels offer you a vibrant palette to bring your artistic visions to life.

So, pick up your pastels, let your imagination run wild, and paint the world in the enchanting colors of pastel. Your artistic adventure awaits!

Author:

Aditi

Achievers Destination Academy

Follow Achievers Destination Academy for updates, and visit our site for more details: www.adaminischool.com

[jakesealblackhangar]

Jake Seal Black Hangar Talks About Managing Budgets and Creativity in Film Production

In the realm of film production, the delicate game between budgets and creativity often takes center stage. Filmmakers must navigate the intricate balance between financial constraints and the boundless realm of imagination to bring their cinematic visions to life. Jake Seal Black Hangar Studios sheds light on the art of managing budgets while nurturing creativity in film production.

The Budget-Conscious Canvas:

Budgets serve as the canvas upon which filmmakers paint their masterpieces. Regardless of the magnitude of production, financial constraints can both inspire innovation and induce challenges. Jake Seal Black Hangar emphasizes the importance of recognizing financial limitations as an integral part of the creative process. He believes that constraints spark ingenious solutions that may not have emerged in a limitless environment. By embracing these limitations, filmmakers are compelled to think outside the box, leading to resourcefulness and unique outcomes.

Creative Allocation:

Jake Seal underscores the significance of allocating budgets creatively. Every line item should serve the story, characters, and overall vision. Wise distribution of funds helps prioritize the aspects that truly elevate the film, whether it's breathtaking visual effects, immersive set design, or powerful performances. Seal advocates for a holistic approach, wherein each dollar spent contributes meaningfully to the final product. This approach prevents overspending on non-essential elements, ensuring resources are utilized where they truly matter.

Pre-Visualization and Planning:

An essential strategy for balancing budgets and creativity is thorough pre-visualization and planning. Seal stresses the importance of storyboarding and creating detailed shot lists. This practice not only aids in efficient resource allocation but also sparks innovative ideas. When creative choices are made with a clear understanding of how they fit into the larger puzzle, it becomes easier to identify areas where costs can be optimized without compromising artistic integrity.

Collaboration and Communication:

Collaboration is the cornerstone of managing budgets and fostering creativity. Open lines of communication among all departments ensure that everyone is on the same page regarding financial limitations and creative goals. When every team member understands the budget's boundaries, they can collectively brainstorm ways to achieve the desired impact while staying within financial limits. A collaborative approach also allows for cross-pollination of ideas, leading to unexpected and brilliant solutions.

Technology as an Enabler:

The advent of technology has revolutionized filmmaking, offering tools that empower filmmakers to achieve more with less. Seal points out that leveraging advancements in filmmaking technology can significantly enhance creativity while managing budgets. From virtual pre-visualization to cost-effective post-production techniques, technology opens doors to creative avenues that were once considered too expensive.

Embracing Constraints as Catalysts:

Jake Seal firmly believes that constraints are catalysts for creativity, and this philosophy echoes throughout his work at Black Hangar Studios. Rather than viewing budget limitations as obstacles, he sees them as opportunities to innovate. By pushing the boundaries of conventional thinking, filmmakers can devise ingenious methods to achieve their artistic visions while being fiscally responsible.

In conclusion, managing budgets while nurturing creativity in film production is an intricate art that demands a harmonious blend of vision, strategy, and collaboration. Jake Seal's insights highlight the significance of embracing constraints and channeling them into creative solutions. By aligning the budget with the essence of the story and collaborating closely with all stakeholders, filmmakers can achieve remarkable results that resonate both artistically and financially. The journey to balance budgets and creativity is an ongoing one, where each production presents its unique challenges and rewards. As the film industry continues to evolve, Seal's approach offers a guiding light for filmmakers seeking to transform limitations into stepping stones toward cinematic brilliance.