art
Be it Old Masters or local craftsmen, where there's art, there's travel.
Travel on the map
I often think of it as if it were a dream that happened in early summer. There are many things like a soft overture and a feeling of wanting to talk and rest. The frozen days dissolve with time, and there is a feeling of being alive and fragrant.
By Knight.drainage.456063 years ago in Wander
First date sailing challenge
It all began with an invitation to do a road trip along the east coast of the United States. When we finally met in person we didn’t expect our existing work friendship to spark an automatic connection. He poured me a glass of Obscura Merlot while we talked about life and a challenge begin... getting on the road in search of the perfect sailboat to purchase and sail along the East coast of the United States
By Gia Santos3 years ago in Wander
Tribal art is a heritage that must be preserved and promoted.
Tribal art is a heritage that must be preserved and promoted. The concept of tribal art is one of the most controversial issues in art circles. Another name that passes through primitive art: it evokes myths from colonial superiority, the supremacy of Western culture and looking at the works of art from other cultures as intrinsically lower, it should only be observed as curiosity, a product of an undeveloped society. In spite of that, the influence called Tribal Art has had in Western artists in the twentieth and 21st century, has been so great, has given birth to a large number of new movements and forms of expression, which possibly cannot pass Overl, nor is it seen as inferior.
By Lindsay Eichorn3 years ago in Wander
Book Of Unity
Modern Day Italy (Local News Reporting), The winning numbers are 7,14,23,19, and 4. "Oh My God Oh My God, that's me, that's me!" Jay Says. "I just won 20,000 Euros; oh we Up!" " I'm about to be on!" Jay passionately says. Clears Thorat." You want to be rich now or rich forever?" Asks the Old Man." Jay looks. "Alright, old man, don't start lecturing me; it's a glorious day; I just won the lotto, and as far as I'm concerned, we're already rich forever!" Jay Says. " Have you ever heard of the book of Unity ?" The old man Asks. " The Book of Unity sounds like fiction to me," Jay says. "Old Man Grunts." Fiction? Oh, it's the thing that brings fantasy to a standstill; it ultimately holds power that shift's the tide between those of power and wealth and those without; I mean, it can..." " Alright, alright, don't have a stroke, old man; what's your name anyway?" Jay interrupts and says." Roberto." Roberto says. "Ok, Roberto, I just hit the lotto; I'll buy the Book; where is it?" Jay Asks. Roberto Eyes buck like a dear in headlights." It's in Vatican City! " Roberto Says. " Vatican City, Vatican City, that's like half a day by sea and another by land, how much is this book worth?" Jay asks. "The Worth is priceless; it can't be measured by money." Roberto says. Jay Smirks. "Let's say I'm a collector, and you had to sell it; how much would it be?" Jay Asks. "like...I...Said... it's" Jay Interrupts. "Ahhh Ahh Ah, I need a Price." Jay Says. Old Man Exhales. "Anywhere between Thirty And Forty." Roberto Says. Jay Chokes. "30 to 40 what?" Jay Asks. "Million!" Roberto says. "Count me in, I'll see you bright and early; we can meet here in the morning and go from there!" Jay Says. "Alright." Roberto says. "Great, See Ya, old man." Jay says with laughter.
By Ricky R Monroe II3 years ago in Wander
A Finer Shade
An open double-hung window of an 11th story New York apartment was the doorway to a sailing wind from the deep blue gulf of night sky. Bronislau Kaper’s “Invitation” turned slowly with a flutter that made the lines jump like waves. Some of fear and some the sound of birds in spring crashed in war in him often.
By Miguel Maldonado3 years ago in Wander
Lucy Finding her Missing Pieces
As Lucy sat under her favorite tree a Green Ash in her favorite park she often daydreamed about what her life would have been like if she hadn’t been adopted. She often wondered this because she had always felt very alone ever since she was three and a half years old and was put up for adoption. Lucy felt as if there was a huge piece of herself missing but she could never figure out what it was. She never truly felt like she was fully a member of her adopted family. Lucy often thought of herself as the black sheep of the family and that was okay with her because she still loved her adopted family with all her heart. As Lucy sat there thinking about all these things and enjoying her lunch she saw in the corner of her eye, a dog jump up on a bench and start to rummage through the trash can that was right next to the bench. She could tell the dog was famished so she got up quickly but quietly and went to the bench. She didn’t want to startle the dog so she slowly put a big piece of chicken from her salad on a napkin and put it at the edge of the bench. Then she took the lid of a container and filled it with water and put it down right next to the bench. She quietly walked back to her favorite spot under the tree and watched the dog enjoy the piece of chicken and water. Lucy had never seen this dog before, let alone in this park, but yet felt so connected to the dog as if she knew it. The dog wouldn’t come over to her like she had hoped so Lucy told herself heck I’ll just have to come back to my favorite park tomorrow and sit under my favorite tree and wait patiently for the dog to come back and try again. She really wanted to see the dog up close and pet the dog. She hoped that if she bonded with the dog, just maybe the dog would let her take it home with her so they could care for each other. That way the dog wouldn’t be alone and hungry anymore. As Lucy watched the dog run off to the other side of the park she tried to hurry and gather her things so she could follow the dog to see where it was going. But by the time she packed up all of her belongings the dog was nowhere to be seen. Lucy was sad but wasn’t discouraged for she had a plan.
By Lupe Hernandez3 years ago in Wander
A Tragedy Treasured
The high-pitched chime of the thrift store's entryway sensor marked the start of my typical Saturday morning. Row after row of beautiful clothing stretched before me, donated by LA's upper class after being worn just once or twice. Typical of Pavlov conditioning, I felt a surge of dopamine as I entered one of the few places in LA that didn’t require me to create a façade. Ironic, since the treasures I found here played a major role in my ability to maintain said façade. None of my daddy's-money peers at Los Angeles' Escuela de Arte had figured out that I was a scholarship-dependent kid from poverty-stricken Mendota. Spending $10 here each weekend had allowed me to maintain the desired persona of a vintage-loving wall flower: looking the part while not interacting with anyone enough to let my secret slip. I was careful to keep most conversations focused on critiquing my oil paintings, redirecting anytime personal details began surfacing. The last thing I wanted was for someone to find out about my sob story- a druggie dad who walked out when I was 10 and left my mother and I to scrape by in our 1-bedroom condo resembling Rio de Genaro shanties. Artists had to reach a certain level of fame before tragic back stories were considered interesting.
By Amber Terrell3 years ago in Wander