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Post by Morgaine Hetfield on Apr 15, 2006 5:12:27 GMT -5
Morgaine was standing right in front of her easel, eyes to slithers and the back of her pencil in her mouth, chewing on it. She was fixing her canvas with a concentration unnatural to most, probably it was because in her head a complex picture, lines, colors, shadows and all the details she was aiming to put on paper was being formed. She had a little absent expression and her eyes were glazed, she didn't even notice Ms. Pomme passing behind her with her slow, swaying pace and glaring at her empty canvas over her shoulder to then disappear between a few younger students who were whispering and not thinking at all about putting something on paper, Ms. didn't reproach them. Morgaine cocked her head,looking at her canvas from the side and then ducking to look up at it. The picture was already i front of her on the sheet, projected by her inner eye on the coarse oil paint paper, she was trying to imagine how it would look like from different angles. She finally took with her left hand the pencil she'd put an instant ago on her left ear and held it towards the paper like a sword, hesitating a second, finally changing the way she was clasping it so she could draw and tracing the first line. Soon enough the contours of a woman, deformed by something that a few lines hinted was a hourglass, could be seen on the canvas. Morgaine stopped to raise her easel an inch or two, then looked up to the sketch again. ' Tempus Fugit' she started adding at the hourglasses feet, time flies. Her hand gracefully flied over the paper as she wrote with the same cursive letters a short poem right trough the drawing, it would faintly appear in the background, behind the woman, slightly shine through her and you would be able decipher the elegantly formed letters of the poetry.
Looking back in time at faces from the past We see whom we used to be is all that really lasts We are poems of our choices with echoes from the past We will never be eternal But our memory, that will last
these were the words traced with thin lines through the picture which, once the drawing was finished, would be of ochre shades melting into the background. Ms Pomme again passed behind her and gave a small, sober nod of approval as she stopped to contemplate her canvas for a few seconds but you could see from the flickering of her eyes behind her thick glasses that she loved the drawing already, even if it was still just a sketch. Since Morgaine had come here she'd become the protege of Ms. Pomme, she seemed to have her same taste in art or at least to approve greatly Morgaine's artistic style. She'd always been very good at art, she'd actually always been very good at school, as long as it wasn't a scientific subject or something like maths. Morgaine watched Ms Pomme leave to go frown over a younger student who was throwing small paper balls at the girl beside him, then she returned to her canvas, starting to add chinise and greek style patterns and curled complex lines coming out of her own fantasy to fill the surroundings of the hourglass
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Post by Dylan Leahway on Apr 15, 2006 16:15:40 GMT -5
Stood at her canvas looking at the blankness the emptyness about it. She tied her hair back as she dipped her brush into some color. Her hand moved across teh canvas at a fast speed short and choopy strokes emergered on the canvas. As the colors slowly moved with each other. So many thigns whirled through her mind her eyes afixated on the canvas not leaving it. she was ina trance no one could take her out of. she was in her own world her own deepest fears... her own memories and feelings.. she was inside her mind. She laid a brush down picked up anotehr another color more blending, more choppy strokes. More emotions being spilled on canvas. more ideas more feelings that no one would understandd. She hid her tormented soul her harsh life but she let it lsoe through her artwork. she laid the brush down and took a stepp back and sighed. she was done as she ran the back of her hand across her forhead. It was a dark room black and greay and a girl in the corner full of color the otehr half pale colors... the eyes were deep and you could sense the emotion in them... you could feel the mood of the paintin... but no one got what it ment but Dylan..
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Post by Morgaine Hetfield on Apr 16, 2006 7:06:00 GMT -5
Morgaine was lost in her thoughts about the choice of the color for the semi transparent veils of the woman in the hour glass, unsure if the should choose soft tones of pink or pale sand shades when her concentration was broken by a sudden movement in front of her. Dylan, who for the last ten minutes had been motionlessly standing in front of her canvas had, as she just noticed, tied her hair back and picked up a paintbrush dipping it into collor and, the movement which had made her raise her eyes from her own drawing, ariptly raised her hand and started to quickly, nearly violently, leaving short strokes on the canvas which in a matter of a few minutes, Morgaine remained there contemplating mesmerized, already showed the clear shapes of a loomy room and a little colourful girl in its corner. Morgaine looked back on the her own painting again and picked up the largest pantbrush she had, she would use oil colors so she had to first start drawing the backgrund. She used a simple light grey shade and went over the whole painting with light, gentle and quick strokes, then laid the brush down and took an other one, a bit smaller, but still not a detail brush. The pencil lines were still clearly visible under the ground coat, she now started to roughly fill them out with the fake colours, they came before the real ones, it was part of the oil paint tecnique. Dark blue for azure, crimson for red, ocher for beige. Those would then eventually form the shadows by passing thicker or thinner layers of the original colour over the ground one. Mogaine looked up again to see Dylan standing in front of a finished painting. The dark room and the girl, like she'd seen before, in Monet style, rough lines which seemed to move due to the lively heavy strokes, the eyes of the girl of a mesmerizing expressivity. She leaned forwards, trying not to touch the fresh paint on her canvas with her shirt and whispered to Dylan Good work, very expressive leaning then back again before having the chance to fall on her work like she knew she probably would have, such things tened to happen to her.
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Post by Dylan Leahway on Apr 16, 2006 15:36:53 GMT -5
Dylan gave out a sigh as she finished. the eyes were her main poaint and what she wanted to express the most. even tho no one would really get the true meaning... but Dylan did that all that mattered. She heard Morgaine and turned around "thanks" she said with a grim as Morgaine hit her painting. "oh are you alright, is it okay" she said walking over to the paiting of the moan in the hour glass the veil was smeared a bit with some of teh background. "no wrries it can be easily fixed at least the canvas wasnt ripped..." she said tryign to look at the brigh side of the situation. "but i love the painting how it is, life's imperfections are truly lifes perfections ya know. well at least what Rodin always said"
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Post by Morgaine Hetfield on Apr 16, 2006 15:56:43 GMT -5
((i actually didnt't fall onto the canvas if you check the last sentence,lol))
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Post by Dylan Leahway on Apr 16, 2006 16:04:35 GMT -5
((crap well ignore it and such i guess))
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Post by Morgaine Hetfield on Apr 16, 2006 16:33:41 GMT -5
No problem she said It really is good, I'm just stating the obvious She watched her painting again as Dylan walked over to see it Well thanks she said and smiled at her compliment and nodded about her sentence about perfection and imperfection. Robin? she then muttered confused strangely thinking of robim hood for a moment and smirkin at the thought, strange aquaintance it would be
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Post by Dylan Leahway on Apr 16, 2006 16:48:59 GMT -5
"Rodin, sorry i somtimes mumble bad habbit never get into it" she laughed. "I love the messsage on the hour glass. and your use of color on the veil" she said lookign at it with wonder. "it has a deep message... i like it" she said wipping off her brushes.
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Post by Morgaine Hetfield on Apr 17, 2006 6:27:49 GMT -5
Morgaine nodded and thanked. She looke back at her own painting and then at that of Dylan obsrving it with a thoughtful expression. She was trying to igure out what the hiden meaning behind it was, beacause she was sure there was one, it was the kind of picture that would hide some significant message. Also, from what she'd got to know about Dylan the few times she'd spoken to her, she wss pretty sure she would be the kind of person to always give her art a personal meaning no one else would be able to figure out, but never the less she would let it transpair through her drawings to give them a veil of mistery and capture the observer's attention. And yours has some hidden meanin which I don't seem to be able to figure out, but I'm sure it has, I feel it she said ti Dylan, forcing herself to take her eyes of the mesmerizing picture to focus on the artists beside her. She gave her a mild smile while placing the pencil in her left over her ear where she would probably forget it, half of the time Morgaine could be found waling around with a pen or pencil over her left ear, often also accompanied by a glazed, absent look
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Post by Dylan Leahway on Apr 20, 2006 16:44:12 GMT -5
Yeah, my work always has meanings no one understands and will enver understand. Its my soul on a canvas or piece of paper. No one elses... i release anger, frustration, depression, or happiness about my life past and present." Dylan never talked of her past or back home she always found a way around it in conversation. "i guess you can say im a personal artitst who bares the soul" she said with a grin
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Post by Morgaine Hetfield on Apr 21, 2006 4:44:56 GMT -5
Morgaine grinned back I like that. she said and placed the brush on its holder not worrying abut the paint on it or the painting getting dry, oil paint took ages to anyway. It makes every painting unique and special, no matter how similar it may be to an other. The point the canvas if focused on isn't anymore the eye and fantasy of the painter, it's the mind and emotions.
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Post by Dylan Leahway on Apr 23, 2006 9:47:08 GMT -5
"i leave me self out there naked, and open like a book for those who cans ee the meaning behind it all... the ones whoc ant im just the same old dylan? how about you?"
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Post by Morgaine Hetfield on May 9, 2006 12:13:58 GMT -5
Nice idea...she muttered while Dylan talked, in that way she showed everything and nothing. Everything was there, before your eyes, it depended on you if you were able to read or not, she ave you the possiblity but still hid enough to feel secure. I tend to expres the main ideas that pass through my mind at the moment, just as I'm doing now she pointed at the painting When i was coming to scool i sawe the sun rising, the sky was all red, it was beautiful. I had to take something out of my bag so i looked away, when I looked up again it was all gone, the magic had disappeared, the sun shone pale over the top of the trees, no red lights, no gold reflections. Time had passed and I'd barely noticed it, but everything around me had, it had followed times path and changed. she gave an ohter glance at her panting That is why I painted this. The poem under it simbolizes the circle of time. The sunrise is gone, but in my memory I can still clearly see it and it will continue living in it untul the new day will come. she smiled faintly, her eyes seemed to glaze a bit as her thoughts started to roam again but she blinked to not lookse concentration, she often tended to drift off into her own world
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Post by Dylan Leahway on May 9, 2006 15:02:48 GMT -5
Nodded her head. "I get what you mean. all seems well for the moment but in a split second all can be lost. I know this feelign all to well." She shrugged as she started to streach anotehr canvas. "us artist have waked up midns i tell you, so much creativity you wish you could bottle" she laughed as she placed the blank canvas on a easil.
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Post by Morgaine Hetfield on May 13, 2006 8:59:48 GMT -5
Indeed Morgaine said observing Dylan and rising an eyebrow, she was again starting a painting. But Morgaine wasn't surprised, her 'high production rate' only reflected her lively, rebelious character. She smirked while evaluting the sketch and then nodded, more to herself than to Dylan I'll continue my work then, otherwise my insiparion while grow wings she grinned and walked back to her canvas, from here she could still see Dylans picture and the progres she was making.
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