Vangogh قصص

I seriously don't make wattpads, this is actually my first one! I er uhhh,, make these as a joke. RAH

Spoiler warning for all routes Request are open and should be put in the comments Ikemen Vampire belongs to CYBIRD

"Let me get this straight, Kennedy," Van Gogh started with a sneer, "You want me to help you with your gay crisis despite the fact you literally shoved me into my locker just this morning." "Er uh..." How two idiots fall in love. Crossposted to Ao3

{ STARRY NIGHT BOOK 2 - READ BOOK 1 FIRST! } Harry has left Kurtis to slay on his own, leaving Kurtis heartbroken. Until a new love interest arrives in town. His name? Cody Simpson. Will Kurtis move on and fall in love with Cody? Or will he risk everything for Harry, even if he doesn't love him anymore? *DISCLAIMER* This story is just for fun and is not meant to be taken seriously. I mean no ill will to anyone mentioned in the story.

An imagined moment in Van Gogh's life The room was still. In the soft golden hush of afternoon light, the sunflowers stood tall in their vase-bright, burning, and imperfect. Their heads tilted, not toward the window, but inward, as if listening. They had become more than flowers. They were symbols. Markers of time. A silent offering. Vincent painted quickly, but not carelessly. Each brushstroke was a gesture of hope. He had cleaned the small yellow house. Prepared a room. Dreamed of conversation, of shared meals, of painting side by side. He longed for company-not just any company, but his-Gauguin, the friend he believed could help make this little studio in Arles a place of meaning. A refuge. And so he painted sunflowers. Over and over. Not to decorate, but to welcome. They were not art for art's sake. They were letters without words. Bright flares in a quiet room. He knew the flowers would wilt. But that wasn't the point. In painting them, he preserved a feeling: expectation. The moment before arrival. The fragile belief that someone would come, that loneliness was temporary. As the days passed and the room remained quiet, the sunflowers began to fade, their petals curling inward like tired hands. Still, they held their place-hope suspended in stillness. He never stopped believing they meant something more. To the world, they would be sunflowers. To Vincent, they were waiting.

Vincent Willem van Gogh was a Dutch painter who is among the most famous and influential figures in the history of Western art. In just over a decade he created about 2,100 artworks. They include landscapes, still lifes, portraits and self-portraits, and are characterised by bold colours and dramatic. His suicide at 37 followed years of mental illness and poverty. ©written by; sp00kyirene Published at 25/12/2017

Curious about art and don't know where to start? Join me as I learn about the major art movements from A-Z! There are indeed more than one in some letters (looking at you letter P) but sticking to one movement per letter (though I may add a section to include what other movements fall under that letter). Questions are answered on what is it? How did it originate? And I'll list some of the famous artists from around the world. Author's Note: This is actually supposed to be like an art picture book like you see in Art stores with each subject being it's own page with a relevant artwork (I plan to make a physical copy). I'll put a picture in the banner. ***Completed*** Constructive criticism appreciated. And if you know anything about creative commons law/copyright law, i'd love to ask you some questions!

mostly poetry or sometimes even short stories or sonnets by me, an artist. will involve a lot of use of colour and senses, so even if you aren't very imaginative, you'll enjoy this!

Well,this book is gonna be a mess because I am a mess myself so I hope that you'll enjoy,my lovies

Van gogh, crying in a bathroom all alone at a party Ghandi in the other hand, was just tryna use the restroom

Just some short clone high Van Gogh x reader fanfics I decided to write because I love that little gremlin artist. <3

Yellow Rossford's life was nothing peculiar surrounded by azaleas, of sunflowers and every precious thing inside Azalea Heels until she met the Finn Lockhart in a teeming subway, profoundly seeping lyrics to her insides. Of coffees, and rooftops, and records, and teas in the morning, of poetries and art. But what is it all when you've forgotten to remember anyway?

Poem

Script

*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*• ☁️ - 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 🍋 - 𝙻𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗 🔞 - 𝚂𝚖𝚞𝚝 💔 - 𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 *•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*• ☔️ - 𝙰𝚋𝚎 ☀️ - 𝙶𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒 🌩 - 𝙹𝚘𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝙰𝚛𝚌 ⭐️ - 𝙹𝙵𝙺 🔥 - 𝙲𝚕𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚊 🌻 - 𝚅𝚊𝚗 𝙶𝚘𝚐𝚑 🍫 - 𝙿𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙳𝚎 𝙻𝚎𝚘𝚗 *•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

Some things have reasons why they are there.... and somehow so do we.

Inside Vincent Willem Van Gogh's mind.

:---) a story told in letters