Make a Difference #174

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 photographs can be vibrant with colour and life, but also the opposite in a way that is more striking, the effect carried forth to make a great impact overall, especially if the concept is a unique one!



HibertFreeman's Gallery


really gets to the core of the subject, the perspective made abundantly clear to us with the descriptive language used. A lot of the literature is profound in what is portrayed to us, each piece resonating with a poignant significance.

The Significance of Tolling Bells and Tearseach toll of the bell signified another hour gone, wasted
away, dashed from the pages of life—lost within its heady
sands b l o w i n g through the desert winds dampened only by
falling tears—splashes of salted water, nourishment for parched
throats stagnant with the aching illness of pain; overwhelming
sensory glands with acute thuds [pulsing throbs] against flaking
skin, cracking under the scorching sun—beaming rays catching
foolhardy thoughts established in heat-induced mania, time
slowly passing by while trudging steps searched for the way out of
the forest—refusing to admit the only way out was the same thing
that made tears fall, ever closer to the ground…until…eyes close,
fluttering shut with tired strokes—tears leaking for one last time;
desert sands, inescapable heat taking the life of yet another whose
bells have finally stopped tolling; another whose tears fall no more. ~ An extract from The Significance of Tolling Bells and Tears
"skin, cracking under the scorching sun—beaming rays catching

foolhardy thoughts established in heat-induced mania, time

slowly passing by while trudging steps searched for the way out of

the forest—refusing to admit the only way out was the same thing"

Wheelchair Reversalstubbed, chubby fingers suffocate
everything they hold, squeezing onyx ink
onto snow white pages—forcing each
character—b e g the hardest letters to write.
blue lines running horizontal, space slowly
filling with shaky scrawl; aching to tell thousands
of stories—unable to do more than a
single letter [25 others: illegible scribbles].
oxygen mask strapped, siphoning
choking, raspy  breaths into the open air
cast away by another…
feet plastered to squares of metal—black cushions
stark contrast—a single hand resting on the red joystick
whir whir whir—be-ep be-ep be-ep
ringing sounds: sure signs of wheelchair reversal—
—if only there was such a thing as life reversal…
be-ep be-ep be-ep
…what I wouldn't give… ~ An extract from Wheelchair Reversal
"blue lines running horizontal, space slowly
filling with shaky scrawl; aching to tell thousands
of stories—unable to do more than a
single letter [25 others: illegible scribbles]. "  

A Fragile Lifeheady beats flow into his ears, each music note
a dream fluttering to the forefront of his mind—
obliterating the darkness of the world
trying to encroach his every thought.
clunky earphones, the only ones he could afford
sit on his ears, blocking any untoward noises—
like the screams from downstairs
and the sharp thuds from the room next door.
slick rhymes pulse through his mind,
temporary escapes from the maze of
treacherous times—events rather not remembered,
best forgotten within the sands of time.
background vocals implant wells—
depths of azure hope and cerulean freedom
springing from the undiscovered realms of his mind,
watering the seeds that others hope to harvest.
hip-hop flows through his veins;
the life-blood of his mind, of his sanity—
the words, the rhythms, the voices
control his limbs, moving them every which way.
…dancing used to rule his life—
the rule shattered the same as his leg;
mere remnants survived to instill his passion… ~ An extract from A Fragile Life
"clunky earphones, the only ones he could afford
sit on his ears, blocking any untoward noises—
like the screams from downstairs
and the sharp thuds from the room next door."  

LightOverpowers58's Gallery


's art is truly amazing. There is a lovely range of subject matters painted, and in different styles too to capture your interest and to hold it as well.



AnnPars's Gallery


  

Previous three articles: #173, #172, #171

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