An old painting from one of my GCSE sketchbooks.
It could have done with a primary reference, I’ve realised how restricting painting can be when you only have a photo to look at.
Now that I’m finished with my As exams, I will be uploading much more frequently, I might start reviewing the books I read. If anyone has any suggestions as to what I should write/paint it would be greatly appreciated!
Aesthetic Empire is looking for writers! Preferably students with interests in the arts who would like to share their artwork, literature or would like to review or discuss topics. Pretty much as long as it comes under the arts,media or even music. I would greatly appreciate it so that this blog uploads content more regularly.
If anyone is interested email me at firstname.lastname@example.org or message me on social media. Your work would get credited (obviously) and after a while you’d probably get admin privileges as well (if you want).
The clouds come loiter together again,
a sapphire blue veiled so discreet,
now drained to sustain the coming rain.
Shelter not in front,
only dusk plains ahead.
waves open yawning
with inescapable safety
The horizon then;
tumbling in lachrymose,
or rumbling timidly.
Peaking or falling;
I can’t tell yet.
Jogging against the sunset appears to thrill,
Until you reach the ocean and cant swim
Fast enough. To escape the hollow black hue
Endure the tormenting shivers of sombre Siberian nights
and wallow giddily with the creatures of light.
I often doodle where I write, or write where I doodle. They seem to work off of each other, help me to find direction. Never do I draw too ambitiously when searching for ideas, the things above took little more than ten minutes. However I implore anyone who writes to draw and vice versa, I’m certain you’ll do better for it. If nothing else it focuses your mind and starts to fill the daunting white page.
A thousand revolts stuck in history
know and unknown alike.
Blood spilt to avoid our own injury,
To keep our minds childlike.
I could be a sweet sparrow
traverse the endless blue,
never have I felt the cloud’s arrows,
seen an owl or thanked a horseshoe.
Instead I’ll wander through an endless wood,
in search of past Gods, beasts and men,
feel guilt in not accepting my freedom
only to realise I’m stuck in a corporate den.
Here lies he, eyes so wide,
a bright screen set aside.
Virtual self in decline
but can now touch earth and pine.
Leaping up, on the wind he rides.
In regression, he comes alive.