P.S. If you've been featured, please take a moment to look through the other amazing artists. Thanks!
Enough about me, let's talk about you.
You know those 10-person feature journals? The ones where they ask you to post a feature in your journals as well? Forget about those- I'm featuring every deviant who leaves a comment, free of external requirements.
One of the sweetest people I've ever had the chance to meet, Jaimie always has a kind word and a little encouragement to throw in even on your worst days. She's an amazing writer who occasionally dabbles in photography with a penchant for butterflies.
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A sweetheart who's been with me from the very beginning, CelestialMemories always has a nice word for everyone. A major in psychology, her love of people shows vividly in her poetic works of art.
paper planesif i could
fold you up,
so you could
ears in the
shape of a
conch to hear
the sea of
eyes to your
feet, so that
the world above
is big and endless.
i will put
it on your
release you to
and let you
An aspiring writer who, whether writing her magnificent poetry or dabbling in the occasional prose, always has a special style that will hook you from the first word.
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Varying from describing the most common of feelings to giving a new view on the world, he's bound to make you wonder. Often philosophical, ohio-writer stands true to his name.
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Metaphorical and philosophical, and always making you think- loveislightblue is fitting to her name.
EventideReminiscing on the Sun's journey,
eventide consumes slivers of light.
Sleeping stars come out and play,
to the jovial Moon's delight.
I once stumbled upon this enchanted time,
night's personal masquerade,
powder stars dot indigo skies,
ethereal as virgo's birth day.
A million years I've been frozen in time,
craving just to feel,
evening enfold me,
making old wounds heal.
I take a handful of stardust,
and slowly awaken,
allowing moonlight to brush my face,
and my unsteady heart to open.
IrrationalizingA chemical reaction,
pertaining to my emotions,
A jolt, a puncture to the heart,
pushing, pulling, tearing you apart.
You're in too deep my good fellow,
yet drowning in that which is shallow.
more initials impressed,
upon a pumping organ,
ever so reluctant.
between all the neurons,
even more amusing.
A strong affection,
a personal attachment.
Philia, agape, eros,
how do I really know?
A magnet, your attraction,
just another silly emotion.
It's that burning fire,
that's probably just desire.
could it be more fallacies?
A game of charades,
the acting always fades.
feelings of elation,
ostentatious, unbeknownst of what to do,
that feeling when you want to say "I love you."
A poet mixed with a gift at illustrating, AryaMay is an amazing artist who certainly is worthy of winning this contest: thepoetryofda.deviantart.com/j…
Thus we came to rebehold the stars
And the other globes of the celestial skies,
Lady Luna with her blunted horns renewed-
The darkness haunting us left somewhere behind.
Or maybe not quite, so the Heavens do taunt-
While the Sisters Fate laugh as the devils cry;
And the mechanics of the world turn counter clockwise,
They pushed on by the mortals who plot God's demise
But you, my dear Ophelia, what do you see?
Do you envision your ghosts with those sightless eyes?
Or do you see anger, bitter desperation, hate?
The river as my arms that you refused to take?
My faithless lover, to the world a queen
A queen that it lost, like the others it had seen-
And your lips (now cold), how many lies did they speak?
Your hands (now damp), how many others did they seek?
None, and that's why you're a treacherous fool:
You denied yourself yours and now you're so cold
And dead, my Persephone, forever running away-
Like all women, our world's primary cause of pain;
A Portrait of a Sunset
A Portrait of a Sunset
The sky, showered with crimson tides-
Dusking edges bearing violet wings
Marking the last of day, departing birds cry
Echoing in the spanse of the Heavens between.
And to the breaths of dyed white that stains
The phenomenal canvas of bright tinged hues,
Passes the clouded arch, towards the horizon cranes
The gaze of the migrating golden eye to que
Its resting altar on the other side of our earth
To bid ready for the landing of Helios' flame-
So sinks the sun, awaiting rebirth
Waiting to rise when the next morning came
In her own words, "I'm the girl that's made up of
silly mistakes, broken words & memories." Her poetry has a resounding voice that tends to echo even after you've finished reading.
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Although using a different art, Myobi conveys a lot of emotion through simple dolls- occasionally, even more believable than living people.
One of the most beautiful yet unseen poets on this site, she has a habit of speaking a truth even you haven't yet realized.
She WalksShe walked with grace
Innocence, purity, naivety
Clad in a white linen gown
Walking through where the faries play
Leaping and dancing with a euphoria and innocence of childhood
Laying in the long grass as the wind caressed her rosy cheeks
Her long golden curls tumbling down her back in a dissary of soft locks
Blown around by the wind as she danced
Not a care in the world
A cherub like smile on her fair porcelain face.
She walked with innocence.
She walks with demurity.
Darkness, austerity, the weight of her newly gained knowledge dragging her down.
She stopped checking for monsters under her bed
"They're not under my bed. The monsters are inside me."
Clad in an aubergine velvet gown.
Walking through the forest to the cliff
Past the brown grass to the raging waters
She has seen the world
More than she had hoped to see
Her naivety dissolving into the wind that once caressed her rosy cheeks, now demure and hollow
Her torchwood locks straight down to a blunt edge just above her chin
PyromaniacI was throwing away my memories.
Erasing my past to make room for a new future.
When I came across a piece of paper, folded a million times.
I unfolded it and opened it up, fold by tiny fold.
I scanned the words on the page.
"Love. Hope. Care. Cry. Depression. Suicide. Life. Over. Sorry. Heart. Crush. Break. Alone."
I couldn't believe it.
I thought I had already gotten rid of them all.
Cut them up, balled up in my hand, thrown into the trash.
It was one of my old letters to you.
I sat down and read it through.
My heart enveloping my mind.
My memories taking over my emotions.
I knew I was going to cry.
I was expecting the tears to rush out of my eyes any minute.
I knew my heart would be wishing for you back.
I sat and waited for the tears.
But they never came.
I didn't cry. You know what I did?
I got a box of matches.
I ran outside into the pouring rain. Letter in one hand, matches in the other.
And I stood outside, lit the match, and touched the flame to the letter.
I threw it on the g
A Wiccan (and proud!) who doubles a rising artist with a love of poetry. A specialty is his Seven Sins Series, which explores every sin and its persons of use.
Invidia (Second in Seven Sins Series)Only you matter,
The world revolves around you.
If you cant be happy,
No one else should either.
You say he is yours?
You think he is your right?
Time to wake up,
To the real world,
Deadly LotteryTwo names
From the fires
Fueled by fear
And every innocent.
Compared to the
In our hearts!
A teenage girl deemed "Not So Average," spotnick is an intruiging photographer who manages to catch everything just right. She calls support to animals everywhere with spotnick97.deviantart.com/art/…
A gifted illustrative artist with a penchant for hydras and dragons, she's bound to sweep you off your feet with one of her realistic drawings!
Night Flames - PreviewProloge/First Chapter
A dry breeze ruffled the hair of a lone man overlooking a large desert. In the far distance, purple mountains reflected the setting sun. He stood silently on a balcony several stories high on the shady east side of castle. The railings, on which he leaned, had many patterns carved into it. To his left, a gargoyle like statue perched on the rail.
The whole thing was covered with intricately carved scales. Large bat wings were folded close to its body. Its long, thin head was tucked in even closer. It was supported by two scrawny hind legs, which ended with sharp and merciless claws. A long whip-like tail rested on the floor of the balcony.
The man looked almost a statue himself. He stood motionless, and all that moved was his hair, which was reddish in color, when a gust of desert wind tried to pull at it. His face was thin with small eyes and hooked nose. Under it grew a finely trimmed mustache and short beard. He was garbed in high ranked clothes.
A photographer with an evident love of nature and god (although I'm not very religious myself.) She focuses on providing a different angle and view from the norm, sometimes astonishing you with how vivid her choice of pictures are.
A car enthusiast who designs her own t-shirts but is yet still a Christian, she admits she's "not exactly your normal sort of girl." Sister to Spotnick, she sells t-shirts here: www.togodbetheglorytshirts.com…
"A little bit crazy, but all the best people are." Intriguing, deep, imaginative, unique, and of course a little bit crazy- she brings light to the most unseen and the most relatable of subjects.
Innocent Purgefingers not full grown
still manage to pull free
and a mother's fear
says the mom who has too many
worries and wrinkles for
her daughter of nine
tears spring forth
from wells not seen
since her own pitiful choices
"you're already beautiful,
and there are so many better ways
please, please, please
don't make my same mistakes"
tiny fingers just long enough
to grasp at insecurities
and struggle with feelings
I want to be pretty
drain her empty
in the filthiest of cleansings
the mind of a child can't comprehend irony,
and that is her only solution
"but mommy" she chirps
stained with promises of perfection
from a girl too young
to know the consequences
(or the reasons)
she smiles a broken smile
because she's almost there
and she's unaware
she lost part of herself she'll never get back
"please, don't do what I did.
please, don't be like me."
"but mommy," she says
"I already am"
and the cycle repeat
Dreams of an AngelI.
"what do angels dream about?" Lindsay asked
I thought for a minute
"they dream to live like us."
"then why did Rachel want to die?"
"goodnight" I said, and turned out the light
Rachel used to sing to the birds
she said sometimes they just wanted someone to show they cared
and she serenaded them
until she was sure they felt important
in the car, Lindsay broke down
the black veil she wore seemed to be more
than an article of mourning
"why do they make child-size coffins?"
"did you see her?
even dead, her spindly fingers reached out
I couldn't grab her
I held her hand
because it was the only thing I knew how to do
Rachel used to write notes
she tucked them in branches,
under rocks, between her pillows
she said they were her secrets.
she always wanted someone to find them.
Lindsay shut down
the walls grew darker, the ceiling grew heavy
did you know silence chokes you?
She had a recurring dream
she always woke screamin
She is SinShe walks to the beat of our fearful feet
The air grows stale with the scent of her skin
Her lies are her only feature that's sweet
She longs for our weaknesses, what a treat
She gnaws on the hearts and souls of fallen
She walks to the beat of our fearful feet
It's my job to warn anyone she meets
Entranced by her, I tell them "She is sin.
Her lies are her only feature that's sweet."
I continue: "Patterns always repeat.
You must be careful, with her you can't win.
She walks to the beat of our fearful feet."
They deny it, then at last claim their defeat
What they still don't know would make their heads spin
(Her lies are her only feature that's sweet)
They ask, "How is your knowledge so complete?"
(I don't tell them it's me.) "She's my close kin."
I walk to the beat of your fearful feet.
My lies are my only feature that's sweet.
An amazing photographer who is yet to be seen, she certainly hasn't received the attention she deserves. Yet, her photos of the common (and the rare) are just as magnificent as always.
Strung by MomentsCan anyone pinpoint the moment where a feeling becomes more than just a feeling? Where words are no longer enough, the moment where nothing really seems enough. Except you. It's as though these moments have only built upon themselves for that moment. The moment everything changed.
An experimental writer and photographer, hiddenpath tends to drift between reality and unnatural and as such her poetry is beautiful. I recommend you read her (as I've deemed it) Poetic Philosophical Essay here: fav.me/d58mglh
A Cursed AngelWe walked on the sand. Her hands tucked gently behind her back as she danced on the surface, almost floating as I sometimes did. Just as her hands were tucked back, so was he hair. The black, tumbling curls cascaded down the back of her shoulders. Her hands only left their home behind her back to sweep the hair from her face so she could look at me. Her green eyes bore deeply into me, asking the millions of questions she always asked but never spoke. Instead of letting the dread of what was to come seep in, I simply allowed myself to lose my sanity in her eyes. I peered deeply into them, looking for the small window that led to her soul. Yet I already knew what her soul looked like, I craved another look before it was too late. She blushed and looked away, looking down at her bare toes in the sand as she walked until the blood in her cheeks disseminated. I walked with her, also
A Dream is a Wish Your Heart MakesI lay there beside him looking at the stars. We were silent, only listening to each other's breathing. I could feel his eyes watching me but I pretended to be enthralled by the constellations sprawled across the black sky. I was well aware of how close he was to me, yet we felt so far apart. Even though I could feel the heat coming off his body, I felt so use to him being hundreds of miles away that it almost felt strange. I was scared to look at him, wondering how I would react to really seeing him. I already knew what he looked like, I had spent hours watching him smile as we talked but for some reason this felt more intimidating.
"Nora?" He asked his voice like autumn leaves, crisp and soft. Familiar
yet so surprising I could never get bored listening to it. The sound of his voice saying my name made my heart quicken. Yet it soothed me, giving me the courage to finall
A painter who certainly doesn't live up to his name, wasteofaman is a somewhat rising artist. Occasionally dabbling in photography, his work is always unique and leaves you thinking.
A lovely French painter, devianteflap always has something new and improved to present. With a love of nature and her occasional habit of photography, you're sure to find something inspiring in her gallery!
One of the first deviants I met, uggnuzia is a Lithuanian artist with an ever-growing talent in illustrating! Her characters have a story all their own, always leaving you wanting to know more.
An amazing group of artists who specialize in a different sort of art- smithing. They make an excellent selection of epic keys that are all unique and for sale here: www.keyperscove.com/Front.html
"Just your average geek" with a talent with fractals and a love of beautiful art. His art tends to speak for itself, with a wide variety of meanings for each piece.
A writer I happened upon in his early days of Deviantart and who has now evolved into an amazing photographer as well. He currently has a intriguing multi-chaptered story going, which I encourage you all to read.
The Campfire Stories - ProloguePrologue~
The Universe is a complicated place, filled with countless abnormalities that no one can be prepared for. To live one's life trying to avoid death is pure folly, because in the end they never live. Life is about companionship, experiences both good and bad, and the continuation of generations.
Across this great planet there are many wondrous sights to behold both simple and grand. On the Urevagen Peninsula, there is a convergence of many species that have populated the world. You see, the Peninsula wasn't always a peninsula; it was an island. I lived upon it for many years, until it formed with the mainland, providing entry to all the world. For now, I just want to tell you a little about some of those species.
The Humes, a complex race that populate certain regions of the planet, also follow the simple, yet overarching role of life. However, compared to other primitive beings, Humes tend to get more out of life, despite their rough surroundings. They stay toget
A beautiful illustrator who fits to his name, labyrinther creates mazes of color created almost entirely on a whim. His "illustrations of thought" are sure to mystify you!
A French illustrator, januairie has a talent with visual (and occasionally traditional) art! She experiments from everything from photography to crafts, and her gallery always has something new and interesting to show!
An amazing anime artist, sally manages to draw people perfectly in her half-and-half realistic and anime style. Occasionally, she also makes cute lil' chibis.
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A truly unique artist (as you can guess by her name!) Her work is enchantingly whimsy and beautiful. Alongside with her regular illustrative works, she also hosts a wide variety of webcomics.
A digital artist with a different sort of style, vayloe always has something intriguingly abstract for you to explore!
An amazing writer who also has some illustrative skills, whisperedinsanity has a talent with writing the most poetic of prose.
The Beginning of a Girl She grew up in tides, and each new wave put her in a daze. She peered out through untamed green glass eyes (she hadn't broken them in yet). Seeing through a child's eyes. She enveloped herself in madness, in chilling realities and smooth, sparkling daydreams. She made the world her home, with messy paintings and abstract art.
As she grew, she craved it more. She felt her magic slipping and clung, drawing in breaths that (still) reeked of starlight. She poured generous teacups of stardust (normality fills stomachs, but not souls). She prayed to the moon and painted her dreams, but then, the world she saw was dark. It was lost. And home, once cozy and stuffed with lazy smiles, was fading to an empty room. She made this her studio, pulling long, curling locks into an elastic (even such binds couldn't hold her from her dreams).
As always, she breathed in light and breathed out magic. The world, she th
A Misguided Love SongI believe that beauty is everywhere.
In broken silhouette stances and
Littered with salt deposits from
Long dried tears that
Were never cleaned up.
Tears make eyes sparkle
And it catches the eye
Because goodness is breakable.
And good is in the tears
That fall from innocent souls
And land in the gutter of
A broken heart,
That stings and
Cries for strength because
It doesn't know how to sing anymore.
Because the salt was too much and it broke
And maybe I know how that is
But I'm still whole
And I don't think broken is shameful
Because I've lived in its haunted castles
And I've breathed the breath of its ghosts
And I owned it. I swear I did.
But now my songs
Can't sing me like they used to
And I thought I was broken but
Broken isn't heal-able
And I've always been
Because everything broke my heart.
But everything put it together, too,
And I always just needed a
To keep it with me,
With their magical arms
And their sparkling,
A magnificent poet and a "violent bookworm," contradictory always provides a newfound view on an old subject, or a story about an idea you haven't even thought up yet.
Hummingbird AddictionMy heart is beating as fast
As a hummingbird's wings.
The fluttering in my stomach
Is the tickling feathers
As it flits about.
Blood rushes to my head
Making my cheeks as red
As a hummingbird's breast.
All these symptoms happen
Only around you.
And I'm addicted to hummingbirds.
Trapped MomentsI've trapped a moment in glass
And wear in on my sleeve.
It's a special, secret moment
That only I can recall.
You've probably forgotten all about that
One, single, insignificant moment
But to me
It's the world.
It's the foundation of my life.
I've trapped a moment in glass
And wear in around my neck.
It's a special, secret moment
That you and I have shared.
If you haven't forgotten,
I'd be oh so happy.
If you have, that's alright too.
Because it's something we've shared.
I've trapped a moment in glass
And kept it in my heart.
All three moments
All three glass balls in which I've trapped them
All display a single scene:
The one where I fell in love
PatchworkShe's a broken girl, a patchwork doll
Mended to look whole.
Torn to tatters
Her story now is this:
A broken boy, our mended miss
Though together, still amiss
Open her up, what's one more scar
On skin so patched, nothing left to mar.
Find what's inside
Still something to hide?
Tear 'em apart
There is no heart.
Broken boy's still just a toy
This mended miss still missing some joy.
But once what's missing's found
Perhaps some laughter will abound.
She's a broken girl, a patchwork doll.
He's a shattered boy, a patched-up figure.
Will they be
Whole once more?
Illustrations at its best with a talent for hair (or spaghetti hair, as she calls it), joana always has improvements and new delicacies for you to be in awe at.
An interesting photographer with a new take on the common things, phycopixie shows us what we're missing through her wide variety of photos.
Definitely a man who puts a lot of thought into his work, sharkman always has upcoming pictures that are even more beautiful than the last.
Lost loves, found hope and an early mother- though she's been through much, river's poems certainly don't suffer.
Confused at the wrong time?Happiness at the end of the tunnel
Or sorrow at the beginning of it?
Jump for joy
Or fall through the cracks?
Still in love
But left behind.
Found a friend
Have a crush.
Can't cause pain i feel
But want to.
Still love him
But can't pretend its there.
Move on very carefully
Can't hurt like i do.
Haven't laughed in so long
Or felt truly at peace.
Spend a few nights
In a friends company.
Learnt things about my 'love'
Able to let go of a piece.
Is this the wrong time?
Who I Am and What You SeeYou see an innocent red head,
A child in your eyes,
Careful what your thoughts are,
I'm lying through MY eyes.
I am slightly evil,
Dangerous and mad,
I enjoy the torment,
That makes all others sad.
I believe in magic,
Black and white alike,
Not afraid to speak my mind,
In darkness nor the light.
Sweet smile and innocent eyes,
A lady you would think,
I'll let you in on my secret,
There's poison in your drink.
This is who you see,
But this is who I am,
A free spirit for all eternity,
..and poisoning your land.
Too LateIf you wake up and the rain still falls,
Then your heart will fall,
And the storm will call.
If you wake up and the wind still blows,
Then your tears will flow,
And your heart can't grow.
If you wake up and the clouds are grey,
Then your pain will stay,
And you'll fade away.
When you wake up and the end feels near,
Then your heart feels fear,
And your minds not clear.
These are the signs that you lie in death,
Without your breath,
What does a jeweller, an awesome illustrator and a photographer make combined? Nymonyrys, of course!
Two Swiss artists, both with amazing and alike illustrative talents. The Swiss gods of traditional illustrative arts.
A man with a love of folding paper, shakeel has talent and a very vivid imagination for his creations.
One of the most creative persons I've met, independentmind is absolutely crazy...but in a good way. Nicknamed "Miss Shortie," she has some abstract illustrative talents along with a habit for photography.
A soft sort of photographer, aforna always manages to capture those tender little moments.
Gifted with the talent of turning random photos into beautiful works of art, dragomir is an amazing photomanipulist.
Sworn into providing feedback on all photomanipulations while being an amazing photomanipulator as well, starlitnox is bound to amaze.
One of the most beautiful fractal and the occasional digital artist, and always with a new design. Valpigle is abstract in his entire creativity.
Always managing to include her unique, abstract style in all her photography and illustrations, tamaralance always has something to make you think.
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Multi-talented, a lover of quotes and Edgar Allen Poe. A philosophical poet who dabbles in some photography and the occasional traditional drawing.
Saudade"Could I tell you two things?" I ask, as the frozen bits of rain tumble down around us. A wind from the East comes and scatters the flakes of ice, wrecking their simple pattern. I shiver at the chaos, how closely it resembles the state of my thoughts. I take my stiff fingers, lace them through your warm ones, you shift closer to me, your eyes looking straight out into the storm.
"Sure," you say without hesitation. I wonder silently what you are thinking, but I do not question. My thumb strokes the palm of your hand, the pad sliding over each individual callous as if it were a mountain.
Before I continue speaking, I take a moment to notice how your breath freezes as it touches the air, creating a cloud before you as if you were smoking. Part of me wishes you were inhaling that bitter smoke, it may make the things I must say easier, but then again, maybe it wouldn't. Strictly sober and numbed to the marrow of my bones, I take a deep breath, exhale, and watch as it does not form a cloud.
Urban photography at its best- jester always has a knack with catching the angle on buildings just right. Experimenting with other modes of photography and the occasional written piece, she always has something inspiring to show.
The Snake's Secret ShameI've got this secret; it lurks in the creases of my smile, like a snake lying in latent wait within the overgrown weeds of my mother's gardenwaiting for Eve to wander over in nothing but the tangled shift of her hair, watching her bend over with the reverberating undulations of a bass drum quivering in its heart while the curves of her back capture the light as film would, except her flesh is soft like milk. Sitting at the chipped bar of the diner, drinking a cup of black coffee and picking at my toast with a monk's aesthetic disregard for life, I could feel the secret sizzle and spit just as if I'd been branded on my forehead with some obscene men's room scrawl. I took a sip of my coffee, tasting its mortar and brick flavor with that pleasure I get whenever that inevitable disappointment falls into placelike the clink of a nickel in a jukebox filled with eighties hits, it washes over me with a bubble gum anesthetic and I realize when it's over I've come that much closer to
Beautiful poetry without a soul to read it- she lies, unseen.
To Be a TreeSometimes I practice becoming a tree.
If a storm comes my roots will be so coiled
around rocks deep in the earth that
the gales and gusts won't make the
heartleaves and soulflies flee
from my lovely branches.
LabyrinthClose your eyes.
Breathe it all in and then
Run the labyrinth.
Fly as if you are carried by the drumbeats.
The way is lit by flaming lamps.
Let the phantom music
of a different time guide your
Burning the bridges behind you, but
Remember not to melt your wings when you fly into the sun.
One step. Another step.
Red eyed masked Warrior,
anointed yourself and
arouse the dragon, let it rise.
Let me hear your war cries.
"Let it all go.
Let it go.
Let it go."
RaphaelSprawled beneath the twigs of your hands,
I slumber and dream, lulled by soft gentle whisperings of
verdant veins of leaves on the breeze.
A swell of water laden ivy tickles my hair,
reminding me that there will always be enough.
I watch the world go by without being frightened.
For once. Do trees know fear?
So much that they uproot and run?
You know your place in the grand scheme of things.
Nourished by the knowing that your roots provide all they need to flourish.
Their toes so deep in and familiar with the soil beneath.
I lean against the trunk that braces itself against all.
And, I wish that I could be a tree too.
Artistry with the talent of portraying the deepest of feelings with only the simplest of pictures, "just an 0bserver" knows far more than he tells.
A girl with a penchant for all things fantasy and Gothic, she depicts her inspiration through her gorgeous traditional arts.
A German photographer who always seems to catch pictures in just the right moment, with a penchant for vibrancy and colors.
A photographer who's taken on an interesting art projects- gathering quotes from various people (and you're welcome to suggest your own as well!), and writing them on various objects.
A true artist in the professional sense, carnegriff has an amazing talent with making traditional arts look surreal and painted. He has a penchant for the human body and excels in capturing a fleeting story.
An experimenting photographer from Romania with new ideas that are always a breath of fresh air to see.
"Stains make art!" artstain proclaims, with his brilliant collection of traditional illustrations. With a penchant for fantasy of sorts, there's always something mythical about his works.
Abstracted beauty always seems to be caught in tallis' paintings, beautiful in how surreal they seem.
Another amazing painter who focuses on color and vibrancy, showing a distinct sort of style and wonder in her works.
A graphic designer of sorts who specializes in a whole ton of art- from typography to digital art to sculpting. She currently doesn't have enough money for the college education she certainly deserves, and asks for you to make commissions of any cost.
A digital artist who's drawings seem to come to life, and a photographer whos photos seem as serene as a painting.
An artist who manages to capture emotion so well in her wide variety of styles, each a little different than the last.
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Always a little inventive, a little bit off edge- but that's the makings of an amazing artist.
Traditional drawing at its best with a perfect grasp of human features, miss-misery is at her best when capturing the life of a living thing down on paper.
Both a traditional and digital artist of sort, skeedaddler has a small gallery but a lot of potential- her character seem to jump off the page, a story just waiting to be told. Go commission her to help her out! skedaddler.deviantart.com/jour…
Led by a strange little girl who's shamelessly promoting her own group, this collection of artists focuses on every type of art- from photography to writers, and from illustrators to poets. Come check us out- art made from said members below.
Well, this boy that I met,
He's just too far away.
He can't understand
All the words that I say,
And this boy that I met,
He doesn't understand
What I meant when I asked
Him to hold my hand.
Everything's such a battle
With this boy that I love,
Because I doubt that he'll see
That it's him that I dream of.
This boy that I love,
He's naive to the fact
That he's hindering my words
From turning into acts.
This boy that I pine for,
This boy I don't know
Will never see the way
That my words flow
Onto the page and towards
The heart of this boy.
Sadly, his memories are something
That I'll never destroy.
No matter how many verses I speak
Or poems I let fly,
This heart within me will never let
The love for this strange boy die.
, Vampirebookworm137 FinalLegacy1
A simplistic yet amazing writer who experiments around with visual art as well, she has a talent for describing all those dreams that disappear before you wake.
We were young. .We were both young when we met. Me, with my messy pigtails that just barely stayed in the elastics and missing front teeth. You, with the dinosaur bandaids over your cheeks from a rough play date and your dirty sports tee shirt. Everyone knew us as the inseparable friends. You lived on Oak, and I lived on Mills. Every time my daddy would drive me to your house, I squirmed in my car seat. I couldn't wait to see my best friend. You'd always be in your front yard, your action figure in the process of saving his princess from a sand monster. After the foe was vanquished, our van caught your eye when it rolled into your drive way. When the back car door would open, you'd scream my name and bolt over to my side. And it stayed like that for years.
When I got a little older, I didn't need my parents to get to your house. My legs had gotten longer, so I could use my scooter to get to point B. We'd both changed, my hair had gotten longer and lighter. You had freckles that you never had before, a
Random RomanticsThe wind blew threw my hair, tousling it with every step. I didn't have long to go until I reached my destination but it felt like miles the more I thought about it. The lights from the city lit my way into his arms. The arms that hadn't wrapped themselves around me for quite some time. I sighed, just wanting to sprint to him and his love. I knew I couldn't, but it was a nice thought. I looked at my surroundings-- a few homes, a quiet cafe, and the park. It was the park where we met. It was mid-October three years ago, the crisp autumn air made my thoughts swirl. Apparently, they swirled too much because I slipped. He was enough of a gentleman to help me up, and things bloomed beautifully from there. He had these eyes, oh those eyes. They were what anchored me to this world. Sometimes I wondered why it was me and not someone else. But then I shrug off the thought and be happy it was me. Then I saw him-- he had his arms out-streached and he was grinning. I couldn't contain myself, I ran
Providing a unique style through all her gorgeous pictures and occasional, enlightening drawings- rify is a true artist.
Visual art at its best, kirinoru has a talent with capturing people perfectly.
Truly unique with the most immersing of styles, always playing with and improving her art, piece by piece.
Hypnotizing sorts of style with a different philosophical type of views in her drawings- always giving you a unique viewpoint. Is equal to
A person who draws extraordinary things with simply a pencil, irish-warrior just follows his instinct and draws what he knows.We're in this together now
by Irish-Warrior Oliver
by Irish-Warrior Lighthouse
Simple yet vibrant art, always visual but made by a lover of books.Oh mist, what are you hiding?
by AnonymousPinkRose Read Between
by AnonymousPinkRose So Bright
A natural artist who seems to have talent when it comes to any sort of art, sheridan always astonishes you piece by piece.
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A place for persons with a passion for writing, achallengetowrite always has a intriguing prompt that's sure to inspire you. Their current one is here, a-challenge-to-write.deviantar…The Sunset at Morning
A beginning visual artist with a lot of potential, but is yet reluctant to upload works. Amazing pieces nonetheless
Artisan arts as her specialty with a penchant for detailed hats, midnightcrafts has a habit of creating your imagination when it comes to everything fantasy.Furfur
by Midnight-Crafts Mini Top Hat
by Midnight-Crafts steampunk REV-6
Intruiging poetry with the occasional prose, lots of feelings and endings left untied.
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An OC artist with a large gallery of characters whose stories have yet to be told- each one more amazing than the last. Every one seems to be feelings/events personified, giving them a living sort of feeling.
:thumb283066421: 8 Winged Angel
by Mysticaya274 Dark Heaven
A professional photographer with a love of waterfalls and everything nature with a simply beautiful gallery. A Vermont Stroll
by esphotoz Venus+Jupiter+Storms II
by esphotoz Before The End
A man who loves hikes and strolls up mountains and through valleys, taking amazing pictures in his wake.In the quiet of the mountains
by Glacierman54 Perseverance Lake
by Glacierman54 Daybreak bear
A writer experimenting with illustrating or vice versa, deadlyjustice has an interesting, developing style thats sure to keep you hooked.What the Dolls Know
by deadlyjusticelove Miracles-WIP 2
by deadlyjusticelove The Priest and the Witch
Amazingly abstract art that always makes you wonder- based off of mythology, folklore, or just off the top of her head- twaraven is sure to impress.The Wheel of Hrothvitnir's Whelps
by TwaRavenMotifs The Thorny Warp
by TwaRavenMotifs Butterflies and Blood Cells
A photographer who manages to catch all the meaningful things while being able to recreate them perfectly in his paintings, narthanael is one truly amazing artist.
:thumb321461045: Autumn sunset
by nARThanael river
An interesting poet who gives you a glance through the keyhole for a single look at reality. Beautiful words, woven just right.I Am Not Food
by maxusphinneas Child of Spite
by maxusphinneas Entrenchment Eyes
Dreams caught on camera. A soft sort of feeling that seems so surreal- somebodyelse is one of the best photographers.Coquelicot
by Somebody--else .Snail
by Somebody--else Under the Tree
Meaningful and beautiful woven words, inspirational poetry at its best.Lonely Gods
by DearPoetry Tigress
by DearPoetry Closed mouthed,
An interesting songwriter and poet, nikikt is a tomboy with a way with words.Let's Dance Around the World
by nikikt Asking for Sevens
by nikikt Because I'm Lost I'm Trapped (ContestEntry)
A carefree Canadian painter who jokingly says, "Crazy? I like crazy- I'm just crazy enough to keep creating." She focuses on amazing mixes of colors and the occasional creature.Ghost Net
by San-T Transformation
by San-T Coffee
A painter who creates haunting images of places you've never been, but yet seem so familiar. Abandoned...
by BioBiopsy Brief moment...
by BioBiopsy In the deep...
An amazing artist who, shockingly, is actually studying law as a major instead. As with anyone who's been around art since they were little, her art shows great depth and beauty.Paint Me Wild
by Artisticallicous And the Phoenix Rises from the Flames
by Artisticallicous A Tribal Child
A talented photographer from Estonia who has a gift for capturing moments in time where everything is completely perfect.A lady
by StormChazzy Don't trust anyone
by StormChazzy Ich Tu Dir Weh
A skateboarder, a new college student, and a very gifted photographer- flyingcontraption creates beautiful images without even trying.Sunshine
by FlyingContraption Leaves
by FlyingContraption Fenced In
A writer who builds up words as beautifully as her occasional pictures, and a girl with a name as unique as herself.Stay Dreaming
by flummo Shy
by flummo Ocean Pup
An anime-loving writer who makes the best fanfiction, agramuglia always has a new and interesting viewpoint to propose.
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Writing that grabs you by the first word and holds till the very end- a trap for all lovers of reading. She says to be the remnant that's left behind after a cut-out heart.A Thousand Needles
by TheEmptyChest The Sky is Falling Tonight
by TheEmptyChest Backseat Babe
Comic-book-style drawings with a penchant for post-apocalyptic scenes, rustyarm has a unique style thats sure to keep you wondering. More of his work, here: zwid.tumblr.com/The forbidden zone
by RustyArm The last one
by RustyArm Eyes in wood
An interesting photographer who always notices the small yet beautiful things, never seen without her camera.Seeds
by Ellethwyn Eye
by Ellethwyn My Here and Now
Poetry with a powerful voice, even when it speaks of the softest of things. Truly a brilliant writer who only speaks of the meaningful things. Little Gray pot
by InsatiableStarvation Telescope.
by InsatiableStarvation Spectral.
An odd sort of artist who specializes in photography art with eyes- each one is truly inspiring and really makes you wonder at pixiecold's vast imagination. Gamer
by PixieCold stroke me
by PixieCold After hunt
A young student and an experimenting poet from London who loves philosophy, which certainly shows easily in his works.The Prophet!
by JaySpeirs Russell Square
by JaySpeirs Sonnet I
A writer who used to be the ReapersBride, but is yet still an amazing writer. She's also the admin of several groups, such as Literatureforall
and writingmadefunBrave New World
by rose-from-the-ashes City Night Lights
by rose-from-the-ashes Cursed
My very first watcher when I joined this site, dadagirl is a sweet illustrator with a real talent for animals (especially owls.) I'm..What?!
by DadaGirl87 Duck on water
by DadaGirl87 Feelin Foxy
A young photography student who has a love of everything country. Although her gallery is amazing already, she's currently looking for a mentor or someone to routinely critique her photography.Peacock Feathers
by HarleyQuinn2012 Rare Star Hibiscus Bulb
by HarleyQuinn2012 Sunset on the Field
And, last but not least, a writer of which had once quit dA but has now returned- antithesis! He's currently resubmitting some of his old poems, and a few new ones- his gallery will be up to its old glory in no time.
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