Make a Difference #159

Artists join deviantART to share their art and appreciate others. Due to the many artists out there, it’s easy to get towed under and generally obscured from the public.

Make a Difference aims to do exactly that. This series of articles will hopefully make a difference to you as well as the artists featured weekly. Just by giving one minute of your time to write constructive comments, favourites and even watches will make a difference to these artists.


's colourful photography contains a brilliant contrast of what is focused and what isn't. The lighting is usually great and the pieces themselves present a new perspective of things in life.

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raindropsMelody's Gallery


's flash fiction is not only evocative, but very profound with the issues raised. Even though her pieces are in prose form, there is a brilliant lyricism and flow with it all that engages us that bit more.

Meaningless ColoursI saw a man wearing red today; a red sweatshirt with a fat white logo running in block letters down his sleeve. It matched his baggy sweatpants, but not his white and blue sneakers that sprung him forward as he jogged by.
My eyes followed him as he ran, forgetting about the half eaten bowl of oatmeal I had sitting on my lap. I watched the ripple of the wind whip his hair back, the hard determined flush of his cheeks and the smooth yet loose gait of a man who was used to running.
Brave, was my first thought. He must be to wear such a bold branding colour. But then I remembered, as I always do. Things were different now; the war was over, the enemy was gone and the younger generation had reinvented the meaning of the colour red.
Red didn't used to be the colour of blood, or passion, or whatever young people today think. Red used to be an insult; a cutting jab at your loyalty, ideals and self.
"What you mean this war is pointless?" They would say. "Are you a Red or something? Are you one ~ An extract from Meaningless Colours
"Brave, was my first thought. He must be to wear such a bold branding colour. But then I remembered, as I always do. Things were different now; the war was over, the enemy was gone and the younger generation had reinvented the meaning of the colour red."

Just Like We Were a Thousand Years AgoWe’re dying.
More than two thirds of the population, coughing, writhing and swelling. Black knobs squeeze bloody under chin, arm and thigh. Foam bubbles at mouth. Most aren’t found until their eyes pop from the pressure and ants pick pieces of blue white skin. Where whole towns succumb, they are never found at all.
It’s the bubonic plague. Black Death. Come again. Just like it did a thousand years ago.
But it’s different now, indestructible, and white coats produce a new needle every week. Tommy got jabbed but did him no good. After that we kept ourselves back from the white coats and their followers. Cause they can’t find the cure.
Just like they couldn’t a thousand years ago.
Instead we walk. Outrun the wave. Never speak to anyone we don’t know. Keep our faces covered and avoid all towns, cities, villages, homes. But not alone. Others march. Leave a place at the first whisper of death. Never look back. Don’t let anyone near. Out ~ An extract from Just Like We Were a Thousand Years Ago
"Instead we walk. Outrun the wave. Never speak to anyone we don’t know. Keep our faces covered and avoid all towns, cities, villages, homes. But not alone. Others march. Leave a place at the first whisper of death. Never look back. Don’t let anyone near. Outrun the tide. The sweep of old Reaper’s blade."  

All About MeI think it's time I told you.
Because I think it's time you knew.
I'm a slightly talented human being,
and proud of it too.
I can fly. I've flown to the other side of the world. I've flown home. Over the Pacific, time treats you differently. The sun does not set; it either melts slowly into the clouds, till they are coloured gold and red, or it snaps out of existence. It's a beautiful thing though; the sun over the Pacific.
I can turn invisible. People talk when I'm invisible. They talk about girl's secretly swelling bellies, men's privately petty lusts and everyone's unadmitted fascination with themselves. When I'm invisible I hear rudimentary tales. I tell them again, better. I'm a compulsive liar.
I can use mind control. A week. A want. A taste. An alien sister of love. Or is it love? Another taste; sweat, leather and toothpaste. Lips are not sweet, but they are best shared. A suggested goal and another kiss to make it so. It's a curious thing; I can use mind control on myself.
I ca ~ An extract from All About Me
"I can fly. I've flown to the other side of the world. I've flown home. Over the Pacific, time treats you differently. The sun does not set; it either melts slowly into the clouds, till they are coloured gold and red, or it snaps out of existence. It's a beautiful thing though; the sun over the Pacific."  

EvilpixieA's Gallery


has some awesome creatures portrayed in digital art formm. There is a lovely variety of pieces in his gallery, pieces that contain a heck of a lot of detail for our eyes to feast over!

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bzartt's Gallery


  

Previous three articles: #158, #157, #156

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