A continuance. To practice reality and what comes to mind.
“Veteran three” 18. des 2014
“Eternity two” 18. des 2014
The empty gaze of understanding. In a frictionate pose. The immortalist venture. I assume evidently. Later on the sane appology of theft. An introvert costume of pride in the latter morning sun. To a probable occasion.
The manner of talk in which we say. The polite distance to a fowl. An informality of such. The break of dawn.
Dignity comes with old age. The prior to none. An insipid adoration of pride. To accustom time.
This within rational reason. An instant void. The insolent one.
Senses of things. To come at large. The informality of shadow.
Embed the questions. Upon a leniant stair the fractionist portrait of eyes.
The fashion police. Invisionate. To an happy process.
Disgrace. The fallen emissary. To dainty nights.
Donate now and get a good conscience!
Retainable. The shortened mother luck. I see now where I began.
Portrait of a friend.
Greetings all! This portrait is open for debate. As are the others. Finding the man within the spider.
Also visit http://www.news.legalized-dreams.org/ for posting art links.
The eviction of reality. Send me a photo @ email@example.com and for the lump sum of some dollars or euros or pounds or kroner I shall introspect you. As well the graphics here are for sale. You may right click download and donate whatever you find suitable @ portfolio or about.
Though my patience is a virtue. The sinister attempt to inform me of such fails. I advice you to donate a slick sum of money on portfolio or about. As this site will soon kiss the sky.
This is what I brought together today. It’s already a classic in my book. The all but too late symmetrics I so happily started to make. My mind is set on drawboards now. Something tells me I should get more deliberate in what I do. It does however ammuse me that someone on facebook had gotten into the same nichè. I used photography on this.
As you make connotations of this vile distress. The punctuated proper. It would not lie. These eyes appeared out of a cat’s face. Me and my neighbours cat are perfect strangers. She steals my tunafish.
In the void immaterial supposition of arisen questions of doubt. The don’t point your finger at me baby I’m lost. What does it all add up to? Shame? Guilt? Conscience? You find none more honest than a drunk.