#spilled art | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stevejgarza · 5 months

Text

and don’t you forget it!✨🌙🐛

178 notes · View notes

fairydrowning · 2 years

Text

HEART SHAPED PASTA.

870 notes · View notes

saintfrancesworld · 6 days

Text

GOD IS A GUN

by Frances L.

Mid-day tears of soy-sauce sweat

slinking down

my forehead. The fidgeting wisp of a

baby pink

birthday dress—

It is summer. I don’t know what to do with my hands.

I never know what to do

with my hands. Except maybe

devour.

They exclaim, “Happy 23rd!” the day after

the day after.

And my laugh, bitter as nightshade.

And my head,

still a haunted house! Even in these brights!

But I come alive now

and I don’t ever

stop. It’s a county fair occasion.

Remember: No goldfish this time ‘round! No winning.

I sigh. I look down.

I sigh again. I look around.

I have schemes and no friends. Not really.

But I? I would like to be the westward expanse;

the ugly foreign beauty tilting off the edge of the known world.

And I could be swimming somewhere,

an emancipated fair fish, a slash of defiant orange.

But I’m not.

I’m not.

I’ll watch the others glide past instead

and swell.

How do I look? they ask.

I think: The depression is always back and I’m beginning to fear it’s all I’m good at.

I think: God is a gun pressed to the back of my neck.

You look fantastic, by the way.

(Only dead fish go with the flow.)

I glared with hag stones held up to my eyes. Nothing.

My mouth stings, by the way.

(Only dead fish go with the flow.)

But this? This

isn’t a squirt-gun game anymore. It’s

Russian roulette now, carving out

the hollowness.

I like it! My fingers already

sticky.

All right, I hate hypotheticals. Pull the trigger.

14 notes · View notes

sincerelygarden · 7 months

Text

It’s a skimming through old journals kind of day !

33 notes · View notes

the-concrete-sage · 24 days

Text

Heading Starboard…

You don’t have to fix me

I was way broken before we ever met

I’m not something that needs protecting

I never asked you to be my safety net

You can’t have all the answers

Most of them don’t even exist yet

I am not your next big question

I wasn’t wired to be to right bet

You have nothing to do with this

I can’t fuck up on my very own

I may be a ship that lost at sea

But you’re no port, you were never my home

You don’t have to look out for me

I’m sure I’ll be fine on my own

We come into this would sole

And we will leave it all alone

I guess it’s true…

This was never about you

8 notes · View notes

kalavathiraj · 7 months

Text

Autumn season - Russet red foliage in watercolor

#water colour #watercolour art #painting #red leaves #autumn #i love trees #treescape #tree painting #artistsupport #original art #my art #artwork #spilled art #kalavathiraj

14 notes · View notes

wordsbyt · 11 months

Text

When I see the names I wrote in the concrete 25 years ago…..

Sure, we all get older.

Time is no joke.

But I think time spent is more important than time itself. Time spent. A good minute is worth more than a bad year. A good day cancels out a bad month.

Memories do not age.

Time is irrelevant.

When it’s spent with someone you want to be with, a moment means everything. Why spend it with anyone else? Wasting time with someone you want to be with, isn’t really wasting time at all. And an important moment that is full of dread, well quite frankly, is.

The most important thing to remember, is it’s your time. Can’t get it back.

If you spend it right, you don’t need to.

Time.

A decade is enough.

A minute is enough.

What’s not enough, is a lack of love.

A lack of understanding, is not enough.

Not enough, is not enough.

Time is irrelevant, when it’s not right.

But, it’s also irrelevant when it is.

Make a memory today.

28 notes · View notes

saintkeaton · 7 months

Text

FOUR EYES FOR NOTHING

(2023)

8 notes · View notes

jimuelosity · 30 days

Text

Did another digital art using Procreate on my iPad Air 5.

The puppy is my friend’s Dachshund. Her name is Truffle.

I’m still struggling how to shade and highlight but I see improvement. Let me know what you guys think!

2 notes · View notes

graeaenotgrey · 1 year

Text

My lover says I don’t how to be loved

I disagree with him vehemently

He says I can only love when I’m broken

He says I never feel loved unless I’m broken

I laugh in his face, call him delusional

But sometimes I sit and wonder if he’s right.

©️Graeae

20 notes · View notes

alexander147797 · 2 months

Text

Tragedy Dressed As Art

You say I’m the best you’ve ever had, but neither of us care to admit I’m the best you’ll never be able to keep. With us passion is boarding on madness and romanticism boarding on obsession. Take the specs of honey from my brown eyes, the warmth of my skin in the movement of my hips, and hold them closer when you pull me, for I do not know what it means to feel without you. To feel, to love, to touch, to be touched, without giving all of myself, is a foreign concept I do not wish to take part in. And the truth to take from it all, is I am as full of destruction as I am affection. You crave the sensation of me being on top of you yet you do not wish to understand me. Do not be fooled by the kindness of my eyes or the softness of my skin, I’m a multidimensional tragedy dressed as art.

2 notes · View notes

nijaded · 2 years

Text

The Love Letter // A Congenial Task // The Tired Dancer

Chloris, A Summer Rose // Golden Hours // Violets, Sweet Violets

In Realms of Fancy // A Grecian Girl // Heart on her Lips and Soul Within her Eyes

57 notes · View notes

harringtons-cupid · 2 years

Text

Don’t forget to create art from the things that you love, write that poetry, learn that language. Write that book, sing that song, dance your heart out silly.

Laugh loudly, drink tea. Paint that mural. Cook that recipe.

Get that degree, see that museum. Protect the humanities department by studying history, archaeology…

Dont forget to endlessly create things just as you recreate yourself

We are not here to work ourselves to death, we are here to live.

Do not let capitalism make you loose the spark in your soul.

We can beat it down by loving things, loving ourselves.

By quiet quitting, saving the environment and not letting the arts die!!

18 notes · View notes

sincerelygarden · 7 months

Text

Im withering up in the seconds passing by, I’m passing by strangers at bus stops and friends in the cafe. There withering away and we know it and avoid it and admire fragments when the thought exists in our brains, when the fragility announces itself like screeching brakes and green lights and cake.. and I feel greedy sometimes for my continuous longing for more, are we greedy sometimes, for our continuous longing for more? Maybe it’s just me or a collective home sickness, maybe the real beauty here lives in the unknown. In the unavoidable questions that move us toward self discovery. If there is a god, perhaps that would be the loudest love to live. Perhaps that’s just a thought, but it means something..

It means something to me.

-garden