This is what I love about Winter. You wake up in the middle of the night, maybe just to pee or get water or something, look out the window and see this. It’s so beautiful. And it’s silent; you have no idea that it’s happening until you just look. It almost seems fake. And it makes your bed seem way more comfortable, for whatever reason.

This is what I love about Winter. You wake up in the middle of the night, maybe just to pee or get water or something, look out the window and see this. It’s so beautiful. And it’s silent; you have no idea that it’s happening until you just look. It almost seems fake. And it makes your bed seem way more comfortable, for whatever reason.

(via fitandfearless-forever)

When Van Gogh was a young man in his early twenties, he was in London studying to be a clergyman. He had no thought of being an artist at all. he sat in his cheap little room writing a letter to his younger brother in Holland, whom he loved very much. He looked out his window at a watery twilight, a thin lamppost, a star, and he said in his letter something like this: “it is so beautiful I must show you how it looks.” And then on his cheap ruled note paper, he made the most beautiful, tender, little drawing of it.

When I read this letter of Van Gogh’s it comforted me very much and seemed to throw a clear light on the whole road of Art. Before, I thought that to produce a work of painting or literature, you scowled and thought long and ponderously and weighed everything solemnly and learned everything that all artists had ever done aforetime, and what their influences and schools were, and you were extremely careful about *design* and *balance* and getting *interesting planes* into your painting, and avoided, with the most astringent severity, showing the faintest *academical* tendency, and were strictly modern. And so on and so on.

But the moment I read Van Gogh’s letter I knew what art was, and the creative impulse. It is a feeling of love and enthusiasm for something, and in a direct, simple, passionate and true way, you try to show this beauty in things to others, by drawing it.

And Van Gogh’s little drawing on the cheap note paper was a work of art because he loved the sky and the frail lamppost against it so seriously that he made the drawing with the most exquisite conscientiousness and care.

Brenda UelandIf You Want to Write: A Book about Art, Independence and Spirit (via raggedybearcat)

(via zombres)

rodrigorguimaraes:

O ilustrado americano Keith P. Rein imaginou grandes estrelas do cinema, TV e da música em poses sensuais e com uma carga de violência explícita.

O trabalho foi nomeado de Slaughterhouse Starlets, e as ilustrações, você vê logo acima…

(via feitall)

God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of His own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any of the other players, to being involved in an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won’t tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time.

Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (via zuigiberred)

(via ostensiblyarticulate)