old artist

“Maybe my soul is old
looking for a love that no longer exists
maybe my heart is old
born to endure so much pain.”
-Rania Naim

🎨Credit: Unknown

(…) It was also definitely his style of writing, it reminded Harry of the couple of times that Louis had shown him how to make his own tag and had made him do practice runs of just text murals to practice shadows and contouring of letters.

It took him so long to actually register the sudden change in style, that he hadn’t even fully let the words sink in of the mural itself.

Made in the A.M, it read.

TheTommoGraffiti: All my favourite conversations.


Starry, Starry Night by xxSterre
( @goodmorningtoyouuniverse )
Chaptered || Artist AU || Read on AO3 

You were born mad and besotted with the burdens of Atlas
Not punished, but strangely liberated, your tiny arms reaching and

anticipating the world’s dooms.

That’s because you were born on purpose to carry your
        parents—
Those fallen heroes who gloat and gleam. Your mother
        gloats

Gloating could be said to be her passion, she couldn’t fathom

the Gods or Fates—their taunting, black and blue and burnt—
that cursed your father to ruins. You’d watch him in the Parthenon;

he’d check his Achilles’ heel before he rushed to the office.

Meanwhile she’d drape a statue and raise you for war;
meanwhile she’d polish his endless trophies and help you with your
        times tables.

He was as cursed as you were, he could hardly love;

She was a goddess but Briseis too,
Tempting death and misfortune with a nine to five job and
        pride.

And then, as if it wouldn’t enrage the Mighty Twelve

Quarreling in between work hours
And snip a golden thread in the faces of fallen city-states

And drive your spear into essays and send the war to schoolyards,

She was battling in the back lot with a broken scythe in her palm
Ready to strike his Achilles’ heel

She looked for all the world like another Hector in final glory

She was singing something like a lullaby.
She was crying traitor by blood.

He was somewhere else. He was fighting, working, moving,

Dying; he was crying in a meeting about job cuts.
He was visiting the River Styx or passing out in a cubicle

Or sleeping next to the body of someone named Darling

While you readjusted the burden
And wrote and rewrote the principles of division.

—  The Burdens of Atlas by Tahera Zarrin (mirror poem of Women’s Lib by Adrian Blevins)
3

pretty sure that’s a fire hazard, Jesse.

happy valentine’s day!! <3 <3

A 17-year old Frida Kahlo poses for a family photo wearing a traditional gentleman’s 3-piece suit, 1924

Photographer Charles Clyde Ebbets, 1930s.

Finally decided to do a Character Design Challenge. This months theme is Hippie. Her name is Eleanor and her cat is called Rigby. She has been woke since the 60s. Greatly inspired by recent events

also on my Instagram @ annawardart

You can purchase a print on my society6 storehttps://society6.com/product/still-protesting-womans-march_print#s6-6700603p4a1v45