HERE'S YOUR MAGIC PLACE
°READ AND RESPECT THE RULES°
Welcome to MAJESTIC DA!
General information about this group:
Here you can dream with your Art...We'll accompany you on your inspiration! Share your own manipulated masterpieces, or works
Anyone can join and be a member. Try to submit your best works.
To be accepted into the gallery your deviation needs :
*MODEL SHEET* are not accepted .
*JOURNALS WILL EXHIBIT ONLY COMPLETELY COLORED ART*
*ALL FOLDERS RECEIVE PHOTO MANIPULATION, DRAWING PAINTING AND AIRBRUSHING*
*SUBSCRIBE TO UNLOCK* are not accepted
The * OTHER ART AND ONLY PENCIL* Folder will not be featured in the Journals
Only the submissions of the current month and year will be exhibited in Journals.
Contributions must be of High Quality.
We do not accept artwork of poor quality, Work in Projects ( WIPs ) or Before/Afters.
Closed deviations will be removed.
Please choose the correct folder.
Each Job must be qualified to which genre it belongs with a hashtag.
Porn scenes and Adult , Mature contents are* not accepted*
To be a Photomanipulation , all stocks must be credited with a link .
The drawings must be colored ;(Black & White will be
The submissions limits are 3 x week.
It's important to place your art into the correct folder.
All submissions must have High Definition.
If your artwork has been declined, please do not resubmit it.
1920 X 1080 = FHD
2560 X 1440 = 2K - QHD
3840 X 2160 = 4K - UHD
5120 X 2880 = 5K - UHDP
6634 X 3200 = 6K - UHDP
5760 X 3240 = 6K
7680 X 4320 = 8K - UHD
7868 X 4000 = 8K - UHD
If you have any questions, you send me a message.
Thank you for being a part of the group.
Have a lovely time on MAJESTIC DA!
*MAJESTIC-DA YOUR MAGIC PLACE*
*Every day is a chance to get better , don't waste it*
SAMHAIN BY ANNIE FINCH
(The Celtic Halloween)
In the season leaves should love,
since it gives them leave to move
through the wind, towards the ground
they were watching while they hung,
…Now when dying grasses veil
earth from the sky in one last pale
wave, as autumn dies to bring
winter back, and then the spring,
we who die ourselves can peel
back another kind of veil
that hangs among us like thick smoke.
Tonight at last I feel it shake.
I feel the nights stretching away
thousands long behind the days
till they reach the darkness where
all of me is ancestor.
I move my hand and feel a touch
move with me, and who I brush
my own mind across another,
I am with my mother’s mother.
Sure as footsteps in my waiting
self, I find her, and she brings
arms that carry answers for,
intimate, a waiting bounty,
“Carry me.” She leaves this trail
through a shudder of the veil,
and leaves, like amber where she stays,
a gift for her perpetual gaze.
BY JOHN KEATS
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.