Tag: culture

Artist

February 23, 2012 July 9, 2014 by

If you spend some time training, anyone can achieve no bad results and draw better than this artist. Who knows how many "deeply buried" in it the talent? Especially as an artist this is not the one who knows how to draw this or that object which is before our eyes, is someone who can represent all and create images. And there are many ways to the image. This can be a picture pencil and other materials can be different colors painting, sculpture, wood carving, marquetry, and more. But for all these kinds of art there is a base-image. Without literate figure you can not not paint a picture or make a sculpture.

For any genre of fine art and sculpture is particularly necessary for the preliminary design. Someone will ask – well why the sculptor picture took the clay and sculpt, but it is here and lie professional subtlety. You can sculpt as much as in clay, plasticine and other materials available, and it takes you a lot of time, before you get something like work of art. in order to not waste time with no useful sculpting, translate material for nothing – the sculptor must make a preliminary picture of the future work. Usually more than one, because the sculpture is dimensional image in space, so the sculptor must understand how its product will look like from different angles. Also any artist should be able to do pencil sketches and short sketches, because creative idea can emerge at any moment, because the artist is someone who does not have to work a specific time.

Poetry Collection Anatolia

February 21, 2012 July 9, 2014 by

JUNE 22, then-daring the sun in the blue and fall asleep for a long time for the field is not scared. Day looked climax in the mouth. World measured blindly wove rope: men have forgotten about the trenches mud hut in the world Take a look through the carved ligature, Niwa good to endure the cost, Baba will give birth to bastard palms, rivers full of water and pure heaven beckons Depth ulterior motive … The girls dance in the evening are, Oposlya for them boys teeth beaten. Chickens in the dark balls wear out, roosters have always ask. In the league Youth was over prom … Just another day and did not come.

I remember the smell of long echo his coat and sword belt of his father. Spring song rang out – so life begins at the end. But for years under the hand of Frozen was at war. Born children and grandsons in uniform and medals. As the shots, the sounds of the march, under the single burst pipes. Minted farce to life without a sudbby thresholds. Memorable May evening and an old gramophone. He did not drink, who dropped out even, I drank even, giving them a nod. Although bright sky shone from Gary was clear horizon – on the nose, pulling the blankets at night we went to the front. Grimace FEAT night as the last tram came to a broom on wet wounded animal, cutting into the earth and back comb horn moon was dancing in the mist.