#Painters Crows Nest

[technicolorpainting]

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[honestpainting]

Expert Painters in Crows Nest

[classicperfectionpainting]

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[santoschristos]

The femme fatale is a myth, a projection, a construction.

"Elle" - Gustav-Adolf Mossa (1905) One of the sides of the Symbolism style at the end of the 19th century is to represent the femme fatale. The icon of this kind of representations is The idol of perversity by Jean Delville (1891), but Elle by Adolf Mossa (1905) is not so far from it.

As always, we should analyze the elements of the painting, including all the details to try to find an interpretation. The main figure is a female nude lied down over a mountain and with brown hair and big eyes.

Let’s start from the top. There are two crows at both sides of the head as if the hair is a nest, a bird of bad omen, that are protecting three little skulls oriented in three different directions, which could be an allegory of time: past, present and future, the same that the popular Titian painting, but there were heads and here are skulls. Is it the end of times? Probably.

Another interesting and contradictory detail is a golden aura surrounding the head of Elle. But, could be Elle a saint? Not at all, probably this is a blasphemous element.

The pale face, the earrings and the necklace indicate that the woman could belong to aristocracy, maybe Victorian, contemporary with the painter.

The nude body: proportions and gesture reveal that the technique of Mossa is not perfect, he is not painting a proportioned nude body.

We arrive to the bottom, where there is the clue of the interpretation of the painting: the peak is a mountain made by human cadavers, probably male. Respect to the human bodies, Elle is a a giant, she is no doubt the incarnation of an evil monster.

I suggest several possible interpretations: first, Elle is Babylon, the Whore city of Asyria: the maximum incarnation of lust in the Earth. Another interpretation is that Elle is the Beast of Apocalypse, again related with the Christian question. The last suggestion is that Elle is the incarnation of all the evil for men, the woman that devours all men, the Praying Mantis, the supreme femme fatale.

Just the fantasies of fin de siècle drove the artists to think that the new women, the feminist, was breaking the traditional rules and she was a menace for men. I´m fascinated by this age but I will never understand its misogyny. --Heresy and Beauty

[chaoticjoke]

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓.

𝖒𝖚𝖘𝖎𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖓𝖘.

⛧ sid vicious ⛧ johnny rotten ⛧ iggy pop

𝖇𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖘 / 𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖘.

⛧ slipknot ⛧ korn ⛧ the prodigy ⛧ NIN ⛧ marilyn manson ⛧ system of a down ⛧ radiohead ⛧ muse ⛧ scissor sisters ⛧ lady gaga ⛧ the cure ⛧ tom waits ⛧ and the painter francis bacon

𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖒𝖘 / 𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖜𝖘

⛧ the dark knight ⛧ the crow ⛧ the clockwork orange ⛧ se7en ⛧ heat ⛧ the man who laughs ⛧ the silence of the lambs ⛧ dr. mabuse the gambler ⛧ IT ⛧ beetlejuice ⛧ one flew over the cuckoo’s nest ⛧ dog day afternoon ⛧ various silent movies starring buster keaton and charlie chaplin

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘.

⛧ alexander delarge (clockwork orange) ⛧ gwynplaine (the man who laughs) ⛧ doctor mabuse (dr. mabuse the gambler) ⛧ eric draven (the crow) ⛧ tyler durden (the fight club) ⛧ freddy krueger (nightmare on elm street) ⛧ the green goblin (marvel) ⛧ hannibal lecter (the silence of the lambs) ⛧ anton chigurh (no country for old men) ⛧ john doe (se7en) ⛧ v (v for vendetta) ⛧ sweeney todd (sweeney todd: the demon barber of fleet street) ⛧ james moriarty (sherlock holmes) ⛧ hermes (greek mythology) ⛧ gelos (greek mythology)

𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖊 𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖒𝖊.

⛧ charles manson ⛧ john wayne gacy

tagged by: @freakarus (oh you <3)

tagging: @clwnprncss @commabarbara @berylcluster (broose) @sheldoney @halfdent @hexsreality @alootus @gothamsaved @araneorum (seychelle) @bvtchcr @fragmcntdstars (harley) @silveriic @onlyheartaches (crane)

[glassrowboat]

If I bleed for you, drain myself dry for a drop of your affection, will you see me then, my love?

-

I believe I've always had a different view of death than many, or at least, those I've met. You see, future me, I have been told the end of it all is scary, that the moment our strings of fate are cut all that's left is the abyss to swallow us whole, but is that truly so bad?

Not to mention, that's not how I picture death at all, anyway.

You see, I don't imagine a skeleton with a scythe, but a woman far more beautiful than life could ever be. Golden hair, eyes brighter than the sun, and a smile that any painter would wish to capture. She would lead those who have passed into the beyond and wish them safe travels as their visage wonders into the distance.

This is what I imagined death as for years, even as I craved her touch, her embrace, but today, I think I might have seen death differently.

Today, death was blue, white, and stunk of antiseptic.

-

The middle of winter was supposed to be the coldest time of all, especially as Snezhaya's winds whipped around the small carriage in were in, rocking with every lull of the anemo Archon call. Back and forth in a steady motion, almost like a crib with a father's hand keeping it ever in motion.

But right now was the hottest you've ever been, even as your eyes fell on the partially open curtain to see through the window. Taught fabric in hand from you trying to find anything you could clutch onto for dear life revealing flurries of snow. For her breath was warm, her hands scorching, her tongue like molten lava as it traced your core.

You couldn't even hear the sound of snow crunching under the carriage wheels as you cried her name.

Arlecchino.

All you were greeted with in response was the feeling of her nails digging into the fat of your thighs.

Casual.

That's what she was telling you, warning you, even as you felt like a meal set before the gods. Graced by their touch as their forks stabbed into you and rose your boneless corpse to their lips. Tasting you as your very essence is swallowed down their throats.

-

The first thing he noticed as Kazuha woke up was a green ribbon, a soft little thing that was funnily enough the same color as his vision, now wrapped around his bandaged wrist. So carefully tied onto him that it seemed if the thing even got one tug it would fall off of him in an instant. No wonder Kazuha didn't notice it being tied to him in the middle of the night. That, or he's just gotten a little numb to the usual chaos and ruckus the others of the crew would kick up right around when he usually fell asleep that his half awake mind wrote it off with ease. His fault then.

But what was truly interesting was that as Kazuha raised his arm, the little tag strung through the ribbon. A note attached? That's what the messy handwriting he had to squint to make out was telling him anyway.

Someone's in a mood then as he just barely made out through the messy scrawl. ‘Find the other four for a kiss! Xoxo!’

Well, that's manageable. At least Kazuha thought to himself as a breathy laugh fell past his lips that was quick to remind him he needed to go brush his teeth. “If you say so, my dear.”

With that, Kazuha kicked the scratchy blankets off of him, letting them slide down and off his feet as the boards his hammock was attached to by metal hooks creaked in protest from Kazuha’s sudden movements.

The first ribbon was easy to find, the color standing out amongst the wooden railing and crimson red sails that have become so accustomed to Kazuha as he climbs to the crows nest every day at some point or another to feel the breeze ruffling through his hair. The wind that would pull and tug at the pages of his notebooks full of limericks, haikus, and flowing words that would more often than not scrawl out descriptions of a certain someone's cheeks as they flush from nights of booze and idle chatter by each others sides. You would always have to find some way to get Kazuha back to his room if you didn't decide to simply give up and let him claim your lap as a pillow.

The absolute gall.

Still, the turquoise color nearly blended with the shining blue sky as the sun's rays beamed down. Today would surely be a beautiful day, he mused as another ribbon was added to the growing collection around Kazuha's wrist.

Three more to go.

It seems this entire scavenger hunt would be easy, despite what was probably your best attempts. It's hard to find spots to hide something when there's a bustling crew with curious eyes and items getting moved around every passing second. That was only further proved as a brown head popped into Kazuha’s vision, long hair trailing after the woman. At least this time, she didn't tug him into a hug that would be too tight to escape from as Beidou cheered to the seas that guided them on their journey from one port to the next.

[7r0773r]

Mayflies by Richard Wilbur

A Barred Owl

The warping night air having brought the boom Of an owl's voice into her darkened room, We tell the wakened child that all she heard Was an odd question from a forest bird, Asking of us, if rightly listened to, "Who cooks for you?" and then "Who cooks for you?"

Words, which can make our terrors bravely clear, Can also thus domesticate a fear, And send a small child back to sleep at night Not listening for the sound of stealthy flight Or dreaming of some small thing in a claw Borne up to some dark branch and eaten raw.

***

Crow's Nests

That lofty stand of trees beyond the field, Which in the storms of summer stood revealed

As a great fleet of galleons bound our way Across a moiled expanse of tossing hay,

Full-rigged and swift, and to the topmost sail Taking their fill and pleasure of the gale,

Now, in this leafless time, are ships no more, Though it would not be hard to take them for

A roadstead full of naked mast and spar In which we see now where the crow's nests are.

***

This Pleasing Anxious Being

1 In no time you are back where safety was, Spying upon the lambent table where Good family faces drink the candlelight As in a manger scene by de La Tour. Father has finished carving at the sideboard And Mother's hand has touched a little bell, So that, beside her chair, Roberta looms With serving bowls of yams and succotash. When will they speak, or stir? They wait for you To recollect that, while it lived, the past Was a rushed present, fretful and unsure. The muffled clash of silverware begins, With ghosts of gesture, with a laugh retrieved, And the warm, edgy voices you would hear: Rest for a moment in that resonance. But see your small feet kicking under the table, Fiercely impatient to be off and play.

2 The shadow of whoever took the picture Reaches like Azrael's across the sand Toward grown-ups blithe in black and white, encamped Where surf behind them floods a rocky cove. They turn with wincing smiles, shielding their eyes Against the sunlight and the future's glare, Which notes their bathing caps, their quaint maillots, The wicker picnic hamper then in style, And will convict them of mortality. Two boys, however, do not plead with time, Distracted as they are by what?—perhaps A whacking flash of gull-wings overhead— While off to one side, with his back to us, A painter, perched before his easel, seeing The marbled surges come to various ruin, Seeks out of all those waves to build a wave That shall in blue summation break forever.

3 Wild, lashing snow, which thumps against the windshield Like earth tossed down upon a coffin-lid, Half clogs the wipers, and our Buick yaws On the black roads of 1928. Father is driving; Mother, leaning out, Tracks with her flashlight beam the pavement's edge, And we must weather hours more of storm To be in Baltimore for Christmastime. Of the two children in the back seat, safe Beneath a lap-robe, soothed by jingling chains And by their parents' pluck and gaiety, One is asleep. The other's half-closed eyes Make out at times the dark hood of the car Ploughing the eddied flakes, and might foresee The steady chugging of a landing craft Through morning mist to the bombarded shore, Or a deft prow that dances through the rocks In the white water of the Allagash, Or, in good time, the bedstead at whose foot The world will swim and flicker and be gone.

[wingsandwolves]

Wings

Sora was born with the ability to see people's wings. She sees beautiful, strong wings; She sees clipped, broken wings. She knows that what kind of wings people have can tell you a lot about them.

She sees people with such perfectly preened wings. Healthy, strong wings that will certainly soar over great distances. Groups with nearly identical wings, but with slight differences that set the individual apart. Politicians have wings that stretch far behind them, perfectly shaped to fly high above people, to silently strike from above. Artists have beautiful, awe-inspiring wings, with so many varieties and vibrancies - watercolor wings, golden wings, pitch black wings. Painters have wings the size of the canvases they so adore; Poets have gentle, soft wings, like the delicate prose they weave. Her personal favorites are wings that belong to songbirds, for people born to craft melodies heard worldwide.

Sora sees huge wings - wings that could surely carry their owner to spectacular heights - clipped. Mangled wings, broken over and over before they even fully formed. Some clipped wings will heal and grow with time - some wings will never fully recover, too scarred to ever lift someone up again.

She sees a homeless woman on the side of the road, with rough, dirty wings - lark wings. She sees the boy next to her in class with large, prismatic, clipped wings, struggle with math and english, pressured into being something "smart". She wishes everyone could see his beautiful wings and realize what he was meant to do.

Most commonly, she sees wings weak from dormancy. People that don't realize they even have wings, much less how to properly use them. Some inadvertently care for their wings alongside themselves; Some completely neglect them. Some hover unconsciously, with ease; Most never leave the ground at all.

The worst cases she sees are plucked wings. Someone who's wings were deplumed by others so much it became a habit they upheld. They refuse to let themselves heal, terrified of trying. They've learned to fear heights, fear the fall. She sees so many of them try so hard to let their feathers grow back, just to grab fistfuls of downy plumage and yank it out again.

When Sora looks at herself, she sees... nothing. No warbler wings, no crow wings, no falcon wings, no wings. She has no base to attach metal wings to, she has no speckled canvas to reflect the colors of her soul. Nothing to let her rise above the others, to let her soar and make a nest among the trees. She would take anything, she begs. Hummingbird wings, penguin wings, just something to give her a hint as to who she is. She sees nothing.

[australiajobstoday]

Painter

Cannon Trailers are currently looking to recruit an experienced and qualified Painter to join our their team in Crows Nest QLD.   The successful candidate will need to undertake and possess: – Surface preparation of steel for pain… Apply Now

[aitoolswhitehattoolbox]

Painter

Cannon Trailers are currently looking to recruit an experienced and qualified Painter to join our their team in Crows Nest QLD.   The successful candidate will need to undertake and possess: – Surface preparation of steel for pain… Apply Now

[finishinglinepress]

FLP BOOK OF THE DAY: Night Music by B. J. Buckley

On SALE now! Pre-order Price Guarantee: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/night-music-by-b-j-buckley/

Night Music’s beautiful #poems explore the intimate, intricate connections of #humans with each other and with the #natural #world. In first-person voices which mediate upon, reflect, and inhabit the works of 18th century Japanese woodcut artist Hiroshige; 19th century Polish composer Friedrich Chopin; and 20th century Chilean poet Pablo Neruda, these poems traverse landscapes both internal and external, physical and emotional. All the sights, sounds, fragrances, tastes, and textures of our fragile world, all the vulnerable nuances of our hearts and spirits, are here.

Montana poet and writer B. J. Buckley has taught in Arts-in-Schools and Communities programs throughout the West and Midwest for nearly five decades. Her work appears widely in print and online journals, and has been nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. She lives in rural central Montana with her sweetheart, two dogs, and too many cats.

PRAISE FOR Night Music by B. J. Buckley:

For at least two decades, I have been a fan of B. J. Buckley’s poems. This ambitious collection of poems addresses the work of three geniuses: Hiroshige, Japanese master painter who heavily influenced the work of Paul Gaugin, Monet, and the French impressionists; Chopin and his piano Nocturnes; and Pablo Neruda’s love poems. B. J.’s deft use of sound and image, her deep passion and intelligence, inform us while they resound in such lines as “How is it that you have melted like early snow?/I would sew up my heart with a thread/of crows, I would mend the worn shoes/of my despair…” This is a magnificent collection, each poem a constellation of loss, longing, and love written in a delightful spareness and sumptuous abundance. Informed by her exquisite understanding of the wild world, B. J.’s metaphors run the gamut from sensual to mystical to spiritual, her poetry at once containing and bursting with longing. “Fragile voles throbbing in the grass, twitch/of tiny whisker,/soft churr of nested birds/who’ve mistaken the moon/for morning.” I am utterly charmed by metaphors that turn line after line to surprise and enlightenment. There are few poets who write with such fulsome genius.

B. J. Buckley’s Night Music is an indispensable collection. Buy it. Read it aloud to someone you love.

–Pamela Uschuk, Editor-In-Chief, Cutthroat, a Journal of the Arts, American Book Award, Author of REFUGEE, Red Hen Press, 2022.

In Night Music, B. J. Buckley dips deeply into the sensuous world where bodies, trees, horses, red bulls, moons, light, and darkness interact, intersect, coalesce, and collide in ways that constantly surprise and delight us. Buckley’s attention to sensory detail – to the sights, the textures, the smells and tastes of this world – is present in all her work, but in Night Music this attention has been honed to an astonishing point. Whether she writing in the voice of Hiroshige’s mistress, in the first section of the book, or Chopin’s Nocturnes, or the love poems (after Neruda) in the last section of the book, she moves through diverse physical and emotional landscapes. This travel never feels forced but pulls the reader along as if on a river. She asks in one poem, “How is it that nothing holds us?”, and the question contains both the emptiness of “nothing” and the transformation of “nothing” into something that is holding us, as if we see/hear the line with two different lenses. B. J. Buckley recreates the world, over and over in this remarkable book.

–Jane E Wohl, Ph.D, author of Beasts in Snow, Triage, Learning from Old Masters, and Bound Feet

B. J. Buckley’s Night Music joins the languages of 18th century Japanese painter Hiroshige, 19th century Polish composer Chopin, and 20th century Chilean poet Neruda with her own “melancholy inquiries” into “this awkward uneven pleading / of desire” and “that luminous / emptiness.” It would be hard to find another poet who could bring together the great ukiyo-e master, the composer of twenty-one Nocturnes, and the author of Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. Such is the “bright script” of B. J. Buckley “on the threshold between disturbance and seasons.” Her “songs of shadow,” “broken on the altar of unbearable / sweetness,” are as sensual among human lovers as they are intimate with the natural world, especially of course, the animals of the night: “the owls’ / assertive questioning”; “voles throbbing in the grass”; “bats harvest the fields of air.” B. J. Buckley’s sonic litanies, devotional ekphrases, and luminous personae, their “fiery signatures”, court darkness like “lanterns in the fog.” Dear Reader, these verses offer you a “fire not yet gone cold.” Come, their “melodies burning”!

–Jami Macarty, author of The Minuses and The Landscape of the Wait

Sensuous and wildly imaginative, B. J. Buckley’s collection, Night Music,takes readers on a journey that is alternately meditative and erotic, exhilarating and sorrowful, carnal and ethereal. Buckley’s poetic skill and natural-world knowledge combine to express the craving, delight, and grief induced by seismic love. Inspired by Hiroshige’s art, Chopin’s music, and Neruda’s poetry, these poems create a world of emotion, immersing readers in an alternate universe where “… the great owls / have nested—uneven clutch of eggs, / hard throbbing planets […] little earthquakes / of down and talon, / tremors, aftershocks of / whatever shock the wild bloody love / of owls must be.” While consistently intelligent and masterful, these poems remain accessible. Regardless of familiarity with Chopin’s Nocturne’s, readers will recognize their own fingers as the “fragile deer running / through the forests of soft hair, / that glance over a shoulder. […] And we’re always leaping, / the sonata half-memorized, / our fingers, old or young, so clumsy / with desire—grass, pear, belly, / pine, / we’re too small to hold it.”

–Mary Beth Hines, author of Winter at a Summer House

Please share/please repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #poetrybook #read #poems #relationships #world

[bistaxx]

I'm gonna ramble about it a bit before I have to get ready for work: It would basically just be the movie Coraline (I've read the book I'm just more familiar with the movie) with characters swapped with qsmp characters- so far in my mind I have

Tallulah, Missa, and Phil would be Coraline, the dad, and the mom naturally- and the other mother being EK!Phil specifically with a crow and nest theming instead of a spider and web one- and other!Missa would play guitar instead of piano- and maybe he'd be a painter instead of a gardener. initially I thought about having Chay in Wybie's role but it doesn't really make sense esp. with the role Wybie's family plays in the overall story so for now in my mind he's still here just away at an some sort of event or camp or visiting friends, shown in a photo the same way Coraline's friends in the movie are- I want to include him more but that's just where I have landed him for now.

Deciding Wybie was harder cuz I wasn't sure which egg best suited that role and even though it doesn't fit super well I went with Em since Talsy and Em had a relationship that started off rocky but got better over time- Also, and my main reason for picking her, is that having Bagi and Cellbit as Wybie's grandmother and her dead twin sister just worked too well to pass up on- Sorry Cellbit you are long dead in this au king but at least you get to be a cool ghost! I’d prolly also keep Bagi as being Em’s mom as opposed to grandmother. This one also could change too though tbh I’m going back and forth between if I want the ghost kids to be dead eggs or not- if so I might have the dead sister be either like Flippa or Tilin and Wybie as Pepito or Sunny but I like having Em in the role for now. Though I am also considering Richas since he fits Wybie’s personality better. My main issue with having the dead twin be an egg instead is that I don’t know how to make it make sense with the timeline of Coraline + characterwise at the moment.

The other ghost kids would be Maxo and Jaiden- I wanted to go with dead members for them-particularly the ones who were fucked over by the feds in some way. As I said above though I might change then to be the dead eggs instead. Which tbh would make more sense the more I think on it, but I’d feel weird having the ghosts be two dead eggs and kid Cell lol

Roier as Mr. B is what inspired this au to begin with because I thought about how cool it'd be to the Rat scene with Doied (who'd be the Other!Roier) and Mr. B and Roier have a similar sort of chaotic energetic vibe to them so I think it works well!

I kept on going back and forth on who'd be the cat- at one point I even conisdered Quackity but as a duck lol- but I think rn I'm between having it be straight up crow Brian with his robotic ttv voice and all or Rose in the form of some sort of animal.

Ms. Spink and Miss. Forcible are the ones I'm most stuck on atm- I can't go with Spiderbit cuz I don't want to change Roier from being Bobinsky and Cellbit's busy being dead in this au- Can't go with Bagina cuz Bagi already has a role in this- Fitpac doesn't really match their vibes- Rn it's kinda an oddball pick but I'm considering having them be Bags and Quack lol- Mostly cuz they have a similar motif with ducks- AND both of them have a 'twin' of sorts. Bags with her dead experiment 'twin' and Q with Elq which could work well with the Other seleves. They don't have the closest dynamic on qsmp but when they do interact it's a treat- I think they could match the Spink and Foricble bickering energy- but idk I might change them into other characters.

Anyway I have less then 10 minutes to get ready for my job now BYEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

I have so many qsmp au's in my mind just rattling about- most of them are just really small beat-by-beat retelling of stories I like with qsmp characters but like... maybe someday I'll post about them- rn I'm particularly into the idea of a Death Family Coraline au with Talsy as Coraline and EK!Phil as the other mother (would you believe me if I said this idea came from me imaginig Doied as the Other!Mr. B because well... I MEAN IT'S JUST TOO PERFECT- THE RATS!)

[honestpainting]

Bringing Color to Life: Professional Painters in Crows Nest

[yarrayora]

[old art repost]

in 1905, Gustav-Adolf Mossa, a symbolist painter, finished his work titled Elle, a painting of a nude giantess sitting on a pile of corpses of men, with her hair being used as literal crow's nest and her crotch hidden by the small black cat sleeping on her lap. this is his depiction of New Woman, a feminist ideal that emerged in the late 19th Century, condemned by men who didn't want society to change.

in 2011, Tanaka Strike, a BL mangaka, created their first non-BL original work that plays with the expectation of cliches and tropes seen in most works geared towards shounen audience by letting the characters actually have emotional growth.

in 2022, tumblr user yarrayora went buckwild seeing the anti-feminist painting and decided it should be parodied as anime boys instead. Like hey, wouldn't it be fucked up and sexy if Mahiru who insists on creating peace between the mages and vampires end up depicted as a harbringer leading the mage society to ruins? Anyway this is my C3 propaganda piece <3

[writing-funsies]

OP characters with artist s/o

p.1 | p.2 | p.3 | p.4 | p.5 | p.6

pairings: Luffy x reader, Zoro x reader, Sanji x reader

warnings: none

Luffy

he thinks your art is amazing

you were exactly what the crew needed

a master artist

he definitely asks you to draw the weirdest things

like a fish with seagull legs wearing a top hat

or a seagull with fish legs wearing a coat

wait - fish don't have legs

either way, he's so excited to see you drawing

no matter what type of art you do

every project you finish

is the best piece you've ever made

that's what he says

he likes to watch you work

at least for the first five minutes

 then he gets bored and tries to convince you to go play with him, Usopp, and Chopper

sometimes you relent

but you like to work on your compositions while you still have inspiration

art block would be both incredibly difficult to explain to him

and easy to get through

if you don't know what to draw

he has a thousand recommendations all lined up to go

though, they're probably the same two to three things combined in different ways

he'll also ask the other crew members what you should draw

and then only tell you the things that he thinks are interesting

he also decides you're the official jolly roger painter of the Straw Hat Pirates

no one else is allowed to paint the new flags unless you say so

all in all

he loves you and your talent

Zoro

he finds your skills rather useless

unless you can sew

cause then you would be able to mend the crew's clothes

but if you can't

he doesn't care

he still finds your art to be incredible

Zoro admires the way you can slap some paint on a canvas 

and all of a sudden you have a picture of the sun setting on the sea

he likes napping near you when you're working

you always mumble the strangest things when you're focused

plus Brook usually plays his violin while you paint or draw or sketch 

he finds the entire scene to be calming

sometimes you wake him up to show him your newly finished piece

and he wants to be upset that his nap was interrupted

but the bright smile on your face

and the way your eyes light up

he just melts inside

he may not completely understand your art

how is it supposed to help you grow stronger?

will it help you defeat enemies? 

but he fully supports it

though, he does get a little mad whenever you decide to make that perverted cook the center of your next painting

so you might want to stick to drawing Zoro

or Chopper

he also likes when you go with him to the crow's nest

you sit on the bench looking out at the sea

and he trains

he likes to say you're helping him

you're not sure how

but you go along with it anyway

as long as he's happy

Sanji

this cook is buying every art supply that enters his line of sight

his y/n will have the nicest materials to work with

will prepare you the most refreshing smoothie you've ever had

and the best snacks

you need your energy to be able to focus

he will be right behind you

admiring the way you create such vivid imagery out of a few lines 

he tries to be quiet

but this man can't help but to fawn over you

you're so amazing

not just anyone could make the things you do

if he's too distracting and you kick him out of your studio

he'll be so sad

heartbroken

absolutely devastated

but he understands that you need to be able to focus

so he would work on another snack

or make your favorite food

so that when you finished

you'd have a nice treat waiting for you

best believe he is guarding that treat with his life

he would throw Luffy overboard if that's what it takes to protect your food

okay, maybe not

but he would threaten to

he just wants his s/o to be happy

[artists-plight]

What's the worst date you've ever been on?

Carmina's friends once dared her to go on a blind date with another painter she hadn't met before. There was no harm done, but it was excessively awkward, especially since this was in the midst of the crows following her around more frequently. The poor girl's hair was ripe to be a bird's nest. Holding back laughter as she tried to shoo the flock away proved challenging. Her family sure did know how to spice up a tense conversation.

"Ah! What're these blackbirds doing here? They're making a mess out of everything!"

Carmina chuckled, "They're crows, silly."

"And how do you know that?"

"They told me," She answered bluntly.

The conversation, and date entirely, swiftly ended with a deathly concerned glare.