Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up. ~Pablo Picasso

All true artists, whether they know it or not, create from a place of no-mind, from inner stillness.
~ Ernst Ludwig Kirchner

The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means and hold it fixed so that a hundred years later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life. ~William Faulkner


There are so many talented and wonderful artists not just here, on deviantart, but in the whole world. However, not all of them receive enough attention and they continue to remain in the shadows of others. This is why I want to show you 70 beautiful works with under 70 favorites.    

This is the third feature of the project 100 Under 100 Favorites.   

The project includes:
100 Under 100 Favorites news.deviantart.com/article/70…
90 Under 90 Favorites news.deviantart.com/article/71…
80 Under 80 Favorites news.deviantart.com/article/73…
70 Under 70 Favorites
60 Under 60 Favorites
50 Under 50 Favorites

XxXLipsOfAnAngelXxX helped me with this feature and here are the chosen deviations.  

This feature is structured as followed:
Photography
Photomanipulation
Digital Art
Traditional Art (Drawings, Paintings, Anthro)
Literature

Enjoy ~3

Photography

:thumb111552105: :thumb112214544: :thumb107826052: :thumb118649189: :thumb116664278: :thumb116426541: :thumb116224952: :thumb86706344:
:thumb118980035: :thumb117385376:

Photomanipulation



Digital Art

:thumb115334047: :thumb118744908: :thumb113108531: :thumb118169644: :thumb119049611: :thumb118813501:

Traditional Art

:thumb115003991:

Literature

:thumb106596376: I MissI miss the touch of your skin
And the rush we use to get   
I miss the taste of your kiss
The one I'll never forget
I miss dancing in the middle of the street
When no one was around
I miss the way your eyes met mine
As the rain came pouring down
I miss the way your voice
Whispered so gently in my ear      
I miss the way you held me
Those memories are very dear
I miss the scent of your skin
That sent chills up and down my spine
You always seemed to know what to do
To make me float on cloud nine
I miss the way you treated me
You always made me smile
And whenever I needed a friend
All I’d have to do is pick up a phone and dial
I miss the little moments
The ones that were never planned
I miss the way you’d joke me
Then smile and hold my hand
I miss the way the world felt right
When I was in your arms
You held me close and never let go
At that moment I fell for your charms
I miss the way you wiped my tears away
And told me everything w :thumb118932208: OxygenI take pleasure
in disecting you,
studying
your pulsing veins
as they slowly stop
their infernal beating.
I love to see you
wither like a dying rose
upon my tabletop;
Trapped in glass
and deprived of oxygen,
you are so beautiful.
When you die,
I will stand above you,
running my fingers
over your porcelain face;
So startling in contrast
to the crimson on your neck.
I warned you;
“Don’t try to run”.
You are mine
and nobody elses.
I keep you in a snowglobe
by my bedside,
and every so often
watch you disappear
in the flurry of vermiculite.
I love to see you drown
in this ornament’s tempest.
Deprived of oxygen,
you are so beautiful. Four Tiny LettersIt is a word of
four tiny letters -
two vowels,
two constanants,
and an innocuous “L”
to begin with.
How does this word
instill such fear
in our souls?
We tremble
at the notion of
its utterance.
I am not afraid
of this syllable,
for it delineates perfectly
our complex relationship.
It is what we
are built upon,
yet as long as we
dance around it,
we can avoid the truth.
By placing it
so openly here,
I could lose you.
You may run
and I will never
catch up with
your lengthy strides.
I do not want to.
That word,
my darling,
is “lies”,
and it is all
that you and I
know. EricFirst instalment      November 12th 2008
I, Leila Cromwell, understand if you want to turn the page the moment you read the next line, and laugh because you almost settled into the flow of a story about something you are completely uninterested in, after all, fantasy fiction isn’t your thing. No, give you a nice big autobiography about the struggles of a homosexual TV host, or a nice slim pocket sized tale of two soldiers who go looking for a third soldier, risking life and limb for honour and friendship. Hell, give you one of those pages in the newspaper, completely dedicated to eulogies.
If you are such a person, I implore of you, turn the page.
Now, Eric Winters was a werewolf. He was also the nicest boy you could ever meet. Previously a member of the fine community at Lansdale High school, Eric Winters helped my mother with chores, helped his neighbours gut their drains, and helped his mother with absolutely everything. Eric Winters

Show them some love

Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up. ~Pablo Picasso

All true artists, whether they know it or not, create from a place of no-mind, from inner stillness.
~ Ernst Ludwig Kirchner

The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means and hold it fixed so that a hundred years later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life. ~William Faulkner


  There are so many talented and wonderful artists not just here, on deviantart, but in the whole world. However, not all of them receive enough attention and they continue to remain in the shadows of others. This is why I want to show you 80 beautiful works with under 80 favorites.

This is the third feature of the project 100 Under 100 Favorites.

The project includes:
100 Under 100 Favorites news.deviantart.com/article/70…
90 Under 90 Favorites news.deviantart.com/article/71…
80 Under 80 Favorites
70 Under 70 Favorites
60 Under 60 Favorites
50 Under 50 Favorites

XxXLipsOfAnAngelXxX  helped me with this feature and here are the chosen deviations.

This feature is structured as followed:
Photography
Photomanipulations
Digital Art
Traditional Art (Drawings, Paintings, Anthro)
Literature

Enjoy ~3

Photography

:thumb113745015:
:thumb106298781: :thumb113228774:
:thumb72331332: :thumb114236962: :thumb109763494:
:thumb112513316: :thumb98411922:

Photomanipulation   

:thumb111237462: :thumb114086188:

Digital Art

:thumb114656334: :thumb109162874: :thumb113801834: :thumb114796097:

Traditional Art

:thumb83465327: :thumb114361055: :thumb111506405:

Literature

Crystalline TearsThrough this dark moonless night, I wonder
If my sorrows shall end, then how so?
Acceptance of such a detested soul,
such dreams bring only these crystalline tears.
Though heart fades and shattered gone,
soul and body continue to live on.
I see that hatred in your eyes, and
they only bring me more crystalline tears.
Pitch-black shadows of doubt, deceit, dispair
engulfing one's heart; innocence is the fare
bringing hate into my own eyes, blood-red
pain and torment followed with crystalline tears.
Shadow beyond doubt, meaningless existance
of a one without heart, sadness seeping into the soul
hatred ripping away at my precious light;
the light that holds at bay these crystalline tears. Mask
No one has ever seen me, seen me as I really am. Its all an act.
For those with the name of friend, family, those that are called loved ones
All I do is act. Never removing these masks I wear, lying to them, all of them, and myself.
My trust in people is shattered like a mirror, and from its pieces I can only ever see shards of myself all over the floor.
I reach out to pick them up, but they only cut deep into my hands.  
I just leave them lying there. All I see is a broken picture of who I really am.
I can't tell anymore, I've left them broken for so long I can hardly remember how to put them back together.
I run away from the world, hiding like a scared fox, curled up whimpering in some  dark corner, begging for mercy. I've built up so many walls, so many illusions of myself I can hardly see the real world. I can't let anyone in because I don't even know the way.
I hide in the dark places, those dark moonless nights bring to me such comfort. Most fear the dark, th :thumb111350299: Impervious OpticsI touch you, and feel nothing,
Only your sweet perfection,
It Pulses through me like nothing else,
True texture, lies in your eyes,
The only reason I feel,
I feel what I don't have,
And it makes a part of me, sigh.
I'm with you and smell nothing,
Only your sweet perfection,
It Pulses through me like nothing else,
True fragrance lies in your eyes
The only reason I smell,
I smell what I don't have,
And it makes a part of me, shy.
I listen to you, and hear nothing,
Only your sweet perfection,
It Pulses through me like nothing else,
True words lie in your eyes
The only reason I hear,
I hear what I don't have,
And it makes a part of me, cry.
I look at you and see nothing,
Only your sweet perfection,
It Pulses through me like nothing else,
True beauty lies in your eyes
The only reason I See,
I see what I don't have,
And it makes a part of me, die. Dreaming NightmaresTake me into your treacherous nightmare,
the one beginning with so much strife.
I had been bitten by a vampire,
pillaged of every ounce of my on-going life.
A world beyond all of my wildest dreams,
one with fantasies of endless things,
one with love, phantom of the seams,
one with tangled sheets, passionate clings.
Let the blood flow to your lips
as you bit deeper into flesh.
With my hands upon your hips
my grip could only parish.
Just a taste of your venomous kiss
let the poison run through my veins.
It brought me to the edge of the abyss
and bled my soul dry of its stains.
Took me down that hellish alleyway
to enjoy your torturous pleasure.
When everything has turned to gray
we will continue our walk in leisure.
Let the blood flow to your lips
as you bit deeper into flesh.
With my hands upon your hips
my grip could only parish.
Your mind was completed by darkness,
with no hope of any shining light.
I recognized your unholiness,
yet I had no undying will to fight.
With your voice care MistressAnd there she was in the garden alone
A shimmering dream where phantoms glow
Her eyes afire for only one moment in time
Her parted lips breathe an excuse for life
She feigns the veil to breed malcontent
Whispers words of disarray
Sows seeds of doubt in the righteous trust
And greets the night without a smile
She croons her sleepless ballad of rebuke
Sings songs that promise the world
Has time enough for every man
But not the pity to spare
She's queen of all her hand can touch
Master of the hopeless few
Beckons for a desperate love
To spurn when the time is right

Give them some love

Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up. ~Pablo Picasso

All true artists, whether they know it or not, create from a place of no-mind, from inner stillness.
~ Ernst Ludwig Kirchner

The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means and hold it fixed so that a hundred years later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life. ~William Faulkner


There are so many talented and wonderful artists not just here, on deviantart, but in the whole world. However, not all of them receive enough attention and they continue to remain in the shadows of others. This is why I want to show you 90 beautiful works with under 90 favorites.

This is the second feature of the project 100 Under 100 Favorites .

The project includes:
100 Under 100 Favorites news.deviantart.com/article/70…
90 Under 90 Favorites
80 Under 80 Favorites
70 Under 70 Favorites
60 Under 60 Favorites
50 Under 50 Favorites

XxXLipsOfAnAngelXxX helped me with this feature and here are the chosen deviations.

This feature is structured as followed:
Photography
Photomanipulations
Digital Art
Traditional Art (Drawings, Paintings, Anthro)
Literature

Enjoy ~3

Photography

:thumb110458474: :thumb112243201: :thumb99232525: :thumb100915644: :thumb96443493: :thumb113654062: :thumb111906196: :thumb112760747: :thumb110994231: :thumb85373920: :thumb98764453:

:thumb105374959: :thumb113057200: :thumb88649455: :thumb112863054: :thumb112973430: :thumb108581498:

:thumb110952546: :thumb113260397: :thumb105937993: :thumb106022699: :thumb113242668: :thumb105527089:


Photomanipulations

:thumb104395066: :thumb112532587: :thumb112860646:

Digital Art

:thumb81815560: :thumb111454636: :thumb96706527:

Traditional Art

:thumb111099687: :thumb112365585:

Literature

Mature Content

They Are Not You DosI sat with you on the grass.  Sun peaking through the clouds above, nonsense spews as the beauty of our love is compromised.  Delicate and impartial, may the lord have mercy.  You speak, falling quickly instep with words that never should have been said. Another lover, another night; I hope you get it right.  My love is quickly shaken for I once dreamed of a lover, and he came to life, but I dreamed of a new beginning, yet it only occurred when I allowed it to.
Lips touching lips, exchanging promises through saliva, you look at me like you own the world.  And then you smile and I realize something about you I have never noticed before.  You are not a fool in love; no, you know what you are doing and you know what you want.  The look does not last for long.  Maybe a second or two but it makes me realize you wouldn’t be happier locking lips with anyone else.  With this, this mere acknowledgemen Ode to Night - 1     As I stare upwards into its splendor I can not help but think to myself how enchanting a mistress the night is. It is her, not a creature of flesh and bone, which I court, for it is she who is adorned with all the diamonds of the sky. It is to her that a pearl of unimaginable beauty has been given for safekeeping on her neck. It is only her which our creator adorns at times with a thin veil of the wispiest cotton of our world. Her purity and feral nature are what drew me to her in the first place and it is these things which keep me solidly hers. I see now why so many seek her courtship.
     The night has a way of winding her ivory fingers into your heart and soul, and once there, a method of churning your character about until all that remains of it is the most base of your desires, personality, and fear. She makes manifest all that which imaginations calls into being, and it is through her seductive arts that man becomes a creat Zenel's Book - part 1I run. The daylight had been gone long ago. I'm so exhausted, but I mustn't stop. The patter in the leaves behind me is still the only noise I hear, now even closer. I can't look back from the fear of what I might see there. I just keep on going avoiding the branches that go way down from above and the roots that are lifted above the grounds surface. I can't see the end of the forest. I can see a light somewhere in the distance, but I know I won't get that far. Now I can even feel the breath of my chasers. They're close.
I heard a noise on my right side in the bushes and in the next moment a shadow jumped out from behind them. It jumped right at me. I bowed in a desperate attempt to avoid those powerful jaws. They barely passed me by. But I lost my balance from that movement and fell to my side on the cold wet ground. I tried to get myself up, but as I leaned on my hands, I felt the ice cold canines plunged into my leg. I screamed even though I knew that nobody was going to hear me. I Bottlecap CollectionI am one of those people who collects bruises like old bottlecaps.
I count them from time to time, but I can never remember where
I got them.
Waiting for bread to toast, I slapped a knife against my thigh,
marveling in the way it rang like a tuning fork.  When the toast
popped up, I looked at my leg and saw there was a huge red welt
just starting to bruise.
They only hurt once I've discovered them.
You poked the knife-bruise and asked, "Who beat you up?" but didn't
wait long enough for me to summon the laughter to say that I'd done
it to myself.  You moved on to the next one, dragging your finger like
you were following some yellow brick road, playing Candyland and
winning.
A Pleiades's above my ankle, a crescent shape below my knee.
There was one small circle in the middle of my toe that you wondered
about, and neither of us could imagine how I'd done it, so you just
laughed at me and tickled my feet like some old husband.
Soon you get bored with the bruises and yo My Account of September 11My Account of the Terrorist Attack
September 11, 2001
Today started off like any other normal school day would. I woke up at 6:30 AM and sluggishly got ready for school. At 7:05 AM, I headed to the bus stop and waited for the bus to come. As usual, it came around 7:10 AM. When I got to school, I went to my locker, the usual thing any high schooler would do before first class. After that, I headed to my first class, Intermediate Band. The class went as accustomed.
Then came the dreaded homeroom after band. Today, we were going to write an essay about the summer reading we did. We were given the papers needed, told to start, and that we had until 10 AM. We did as we were told, knowing little about what was to happen soon in New York City and Washington, DC.
I don't know what time it was, but it was probably half way through the essay when our homeroom teacher interrupted the essay writing to tell us some shocking news. By that time, I was really involved in my essay writing, so I listene

Give them some love!