As the title suggests, this news article series aim to promote wonderful aspects of the deviantART community, from showcasing beautiful works of art, to informing you of great groups, and to interviewing inspirational deviants. I feel so happy being part of such a wonderful community and I hope to make it better, even if it's only a little bit, by making these articles. My goal is to bring to light everything that impassions me and, hopefully, inspire you!
A showcase of art that has simply left me speechless from all genres, from digital/traditional, artisan, emoticons, fractals, etc.
A showcase of photographs that have left me in awe from all genres, from nature, macro, fashion, conceptual, abstract, etc.
A showcase of literature that has motivated & moved me from all genres, from prose, poetry, flash fiction, short stores, etc.
women in scornwe bought a fire pit and put your bones in it
(end to the days in which we wore
your limbs on our eyes,
on our hearts,
heavy with contempt)
and we burned you;
wrapped the wreaths around our heads
and undressed bare to dance
in exaltation of
(a king is dead tonight
and a queen
La Petite MortI’ve tried to find that place
in the coastal-plains forest
where he took it,
that first time
when I shivered
in the Southern summer
and couldn’t meet his eyes,
but it was always secret
and now it’s lost
down the twists and turns
of narrow roads.
I only remember scratching bites
for weeks, little red reminders
of what I’d lost in the pine straw.
Later, it was never
rolling waves of hot pleasure
or toe-curling, mind-melting anything,
so I started to think I was broken,
that he’d broken me.
I stopped caring –
Men were built like mountains
and trees and draft horses
and I liked the smell of them.
They would curse and bless and pray
into my shoulder,
intoning my name like a prayer
to some primeval goddess.
Later, we would laugh at steeples
poking the dark sky
with their stern white mimicry.
I always felt tall sitting naked
in their dark-haired arms
with a glass of red in my hand
and the words fluid in my mouth.
Nothing much ever came of it,
but I always l
sunshine streamingwaking up begins with
i. counting the freckles
along your shoulders
like an astronomer maps
constellations; then get
ii. make love between the
sheets and perhaps
roll off the bed and land
on the cold floor laughing
with sparkling teeth,
iii. brush them in the
bathroom sink and
exchange small smirks in
the mirror because your
tousled bedhead is just so
iv. gorgeous, you whisper as you
close the clasp of my
diamond necklace and touch
my bare, unfreckled shoulders.
the heat of your eyes may
just undo the zipper of my
v. dress pooling on the floor, we
just can't contain ourselves.
don't make me late for work.
Boylan BooksI first see Neal across the open sparkle mall floor, paused in serious contemplation thought speaking solely to self, whispers not for ears or voices only thoughts, shining thoughts, open thoughts thinking marvelous wonders of books and dust and corporate-but-not bookstores. His hair is green not really but blue and green pirate green, red bandanna is he a pirate? asks the little girl with pigtails and chocolate snot embarrassed mother shoo be nice that's rude tugging hand with look of so sorry, she's five, not smart enough yet, please forgive and Neal with open half-grin smiling not really there but almost, not speaking but almost, not accepting or forgiving or out-loud speaking but just shelving, shelving, shelving.
And when I stretch across open sparkle-sparkle tile mall floor (checked with gum and scuffed tile and not-allowed skateboards) Neal looks up, somewhat barely, face open innocent quiet not-there. I ask applications? Are you hiring? because I need a job but
Will-o'-the-wispShe wears a necklace made
ossified phalanges gripping
like a rasping phantom.
Her heart is hard
full of dust and debts
Her corset is laced
her ribs are being crushed
and internal pressures crawling
up her throat,
where the necklace chokes them all
They never found her
guillotined under train wheels when
over rails hidden from the pool
cast by the cast-iron lantern.
men said it was a tragedy.
he was pushed.
her by the arm, back to her porch swing
The hushed glow of distant
beckons; her petticoats rustle
as she rises
from the patio chair
her fingers along the windchimes
like strung femurs.
They saw the floating light
incline where he fell and one
made the same mistake twice, but
shone just so when he stumbled
righted himself and nearly waved
but the light was alr
Acid WashEven if it were true
That to savor each and every second of our time on earth
Would be as foolish an attempt as counting all the
Specks of sand spread across the shores
Of the east coast waters,
If by doing so would mean that I could
Undo time and distance's doing and
Have you by my side once more
Then trust me, babe, I will start counting
From this moment on, diligently so-
With burning eyes and drowning senses,
Till my fingernails turn to specks themselves
And my hair reminiscent of sea foam
There will never be an obsession like mine- over your soul
The lack and longing from my core leaves me salivating,
Leaves me a special kind of sick and a raving kind of mad
You're a combustible burning ball of gas- a star, babe
Each and every time I recall
My fingernails clutching
The back of your leather jacket as we shared our final
Embrace and French kiss,
I fail to realize that all my longing is fruitless-
You've died long ago, without my consent, and
That death is cause and reason for
Origami Stars--C.I've kept every one of the origami stars you made in an empty glass Coke bottle, filling it to the brim over seven months of brief letters elegantly scribbled on delicate strips. My tiny paper galaxy sits between the empty velvet-lined box and the shattered picture frame, on top of my heavily-used thesaurus (you know how difficult it was to find words at times).
The weatherman called for rain the day we met. You were static and sour limes and I almost couldn't swallow the lies you were spewing, but when you called me beautiful, I smelled cherries. And no, no, no, I'm not looking for love or even romance from you. I just want to feel human.
Yet you taunt me, pheromone tendrils yanking
on my conscience; those slips of paper were
love letters, but were they meant for me?
There's a star overhead
and it looks
like the twinkle in your eye
when you're nervous,
so be honest,
the letters I found
stuffed in a sock
at the back of your drawer
weren't written for me.
"You girls need a ride?"
October looked up, letting her eyes stray from the gravel beneath her feet. She had been walking along the highway for so long she had started counting her steps to pass the time, hoping that when she finally looked up she would see civilization. Abigail ran to the truck driver's passenger door, haphazardly pushing past October as if she had never ridden in a vehicle before.
October glared at the driver's soiled clothes, greasy hair, and crooked teeth. She imagined his smell which made her gag uncontrollably. It was as if his unkemptness was setting off red flags in her head: "Never talk to strangers. And never accept rides from hillbilly truck drivers in the middle of nowhere."
"Where are you headed?" Abigail questioned playfully. Even though she was a few years older than October, it seemed to make her more reckless than wise. Before the driver had the chance to wheeze whatever location in Kansas he was headed to, October yanked the sultry temptress to
I've for long known that beauty is not a sum, where units of measurements could consist of physical attributes, or of anything that could be perceived by bodily senses. The vivid, lush green of a finally quenched apprehension is just as graceful and lovely as the wrinkled and sunburnt blues of a distant memory's wall flowers. Beauty is a spectrum of vigour, the fluctuations of ideas, concepts, actions and thoughts, which become their own purposeless musical colours and flavours. No consensus creates allure, only a great, breathless leap into the disarray of affective venture may lead the consecrated energy to emerge.
I have seen the light about you, silken sheets on your glowing skin, glistering pools of gold in your eyes, and beams of radiant bliss, flowing ethereal from your core. No particular shade of mind made you unpleasant in my eye; I am so accustomed to your façade, I tend to let the trivial slip. I waited long nights in blindness, clouds of desire still dorman
The DoppelgangerThe first time I saw the other girl, I was standing on one side of the high street. Because it was the end of September, and we were in Britain, it was raining, but the main bulk of water had passed before lunch, so all that was left was the kind of rain that's annoying in its intermittency.:thumb287195436:
I watched her look in both directions and then cross the road, stepping carefully through the pool of mingled rainwater and rainbow engine oil in the bus bay. She was unusual, not just because she wasn't carrying a handbag, or wearing a coat, but because she was dressed in a chain mail and leather dress, and leggings. The second strange thing was that no one else, and this was a busy street, even in the rain, gave her a second glance. Their gazes slid benevolently over her, like she was an endearing, but not unfamiliar, child. Her booted feet crunched over some shattered glass as she approached, and then the third strange thing happened.
As she got to within a few feet of me, she winked out of exis
The Eyes of the Painted HeiressOnce upon a time, in a country that was prosperous, and settled many miles away from the sea, an heiress to the throne was born. She was blessed in having soft hair of a deep brown colouring; tiny beauty marks that rarified her skin at intervals; and eyes the exact blue of the night sky, which had been bequeathed to her from her dear father, the King. She was both impressive and endearing, in the ways she moved and spoke as she grew older, so that the Queen esteemed her the prettiest rose of all the ages, no matter that she was still a long while away from blooming.
Years passed since her birth and the rejoicing that it caused, each following the one before it in rapid succession, until the Heiress had grown into a beautiful young lady of seventeen, and time seemed to slow down once more. The King and Queen were both unspeakably in love with their daughter, so that they wanted her life to be filled with only gifts and things to be grateful for, and the latter, one day noticing that she
the reasons we should not divorcei.
we have a breakfast of egg whites and turkey sausage (mine); coffee and tomato soup (yours); and discomfort (shared). you are unthinkingly deferential and a touch antipathetic, speaking over your bottom lip to the cherrywood table. i bought this table last week, after you asked me why we didn't have a table. i said it was because we ate at the granite island. you said you would prefer a table, and we are sitting at the table now because it's the small things that make our lives normal, but the table does not make a difference when you will not look at me. you say, "we need to talk."
i say, "about what?"
you say, "about retirement. you're bored. and you miss him."
"viggo, why would i be bored? this is what we wanted."
"this is what i wanted." you are looking at your nails instead, and when you finally look at me, you look at the wall behind me. you ask, "what was he like?"
and i answer, "not you."
i owned this house before i met you; i owned this house before i knew
silverthe silver face of the moon has cracked a smile
and rained down shadows onto your eyelids.
your black lace dress swirls around your hips
as you spin, fingers outstretched, reaching for notes
that hum just out of reach like butterflies,
as if you could swallow them from the air.
I almost think you could;
I taste them on my tongue,
lingering like burnt toast at 3am
when we stumble home, a web of guilt
spun in the gap between our bodies.
I can feel it, rough against my skin, wrapping around
my bones like a chinese burn.
your shoulder is soft against my lips
as we fall into a sultry haze
ReincarnationFrom this third-story window,
all that is visible is the sky,
vast and beryl beyond
giant oaks that s t r e t c h
for stars just out of reach.
Browned leaves float on
as though suspended by wires;
free-flying, they know
as weak as gravity.
Shortly I will return
to the discarded tissues and
still open textbooks on the floor,
and when at last I sleep,
I should like to be reborn
as a scarlet autumn leaf.
Here I will inform you of cool groups I have come across or have been recommended to that I feel need some more exposure.
#NewsPortal is a very new group with the goal of collecting news articles submitted on deviantART It's also branched out on Facebook and Twitter!Group submissions have recently been opened, so please come join or watch the group!
A selection of DDs I have suggested this month and any that have been accepted.
Here I will interview an inspirational deviant I have picked or one suggested to me.
People call me Roze
I just randomly came up with it when I was around 11 I wanted to change it to the name I use everywhere else, but it was already taken
I don't really remember how I first found it, that's too long ago
I actually forgot about my account until I randomly came back just before dA's 11th birthday. Then I won myself about two years worth of subscription so I stuck around
I specialize in emoticons But I plan on trying out other art forms. I really want to start making miniatures (I wish. I'm way too impatient for it ) and pixel dolls
`LeoLeonardo because his works were what got me interested in emotes
^SparklyDest because her contests were the ones that got me into making emotes
`Quolia (that's you ) Because she's the one that helped me join the community once more
`Mirz123 Because she's a great artists in several mediums. She often has hardships, but she just keeps bouncing back up to make even more amazing art
...and many more If I kept going, the news article would have to be split into 5 parts
I like the chats and the community the best The friends I've made over the chats have supported me and kept me going with my art When I first started my account, I had not one friend, and I think that's why I didn't really stick around
From everything Food, TV, friends, random thoughts, food....
I'm not very good at striving But I frequently go around and revisit my favourite artists' deviations and drool over them I find that that gives me the motivation to make art that someday they can drool over too
Practice, then practice some more
But also, don't forget to have fun with your work
Thank you for taking the time to read this article!
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If you have any art/groups you would like me to showcase or a deviant you would like to be interviewed, please note me. Or, leave a comment with your suggestions in this journal, Suggestions for Interviews & Spotlight Artist. Thank you!