Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → Thoadthetoad's general art thread.

I disappeared from this place for an incredible amount of time. That's ok, though. At least I think it is. I figured it might be a good idea to return to my foruming roots, as lately I've been having a generally rough time in life.

Anyway, I'll probably be sprucing this thing up for a while. I've been on a writing high lately due to emotions and all that, so maybe you'll all get a little bit of something something, along with some regular drawings of cool things.

Things I'm looking for:
-Opinions and interpretations, especially of artwork and writing that seem to have a meaning behind them.
-Critique on syntax, grammar, awkward sentences, imagery, imagery placement, and plot.
-Readers.
-Discussion relating to themes of artwork.

I find it in poor taste to start off an art thread with a double post (one being a "hey this is what the thread is about" and the other being what it is actually about), so I'll give you all a little 720 word short I wrote. It's based off a dream, but I'd greatly love it if you can tell the symbolism that I injected as well as give me critique on the general imagery of the piece.

The air is arid in the desert. It is arid, and disturbed. Ghostly red-brown wisps glide and leap from shrub to shrub. A lizard, happy with the warmth itâd absorbed from our yellow sun, skittered underneath its clay red rock in satisfaction. A snake slipped, and fell off an unnoticeable cliff face.
Mesas; they always meant a lot to him. The very airâs dust made his suit dirty. An old man, slightly darker and unshaven, sat on the ground next to him. The suited man inhaled the air. Raspy particles fled down his nostrils and the dryness of the air caused the innards of his nostrils to turn into sandpaper.

They both reveled in the mesa as the sun crept from the center of the sky downward. They kept themselves silent, and listened to the air around them. Solemn, calm, warm with the dry death of a New Mexican reservation. A snake chattered in the distance, and a jackrabbit choked its final yelp upon the Mesaâs surface. The old man tried his best to relax. Dirt managed to find its way into his cut, old, dirty jeans.

A tree above them swayed with the calm winds. An apricot fell between the both of them, and a chickadee flew away. A grave was on the old manâs side, past the suited man. The wood, crumbling and decaying, lost any semblance of a name, though both men knew it well. Heaped rocks kept the wooden cross in place as the sun crept slowly onward to the horizon.

The silence of the Mesa beat upon their ears. A bird flew overhead and onward to the sinking horizon. As the sun began to set, the old man inhaled the arid, dry air. He shut his eyes and contorted his face. Like breaking dams, liquid began to break from his lids. He reached for his silver container of liquid happiness, before looking back at the suited man.

They both took a deep breath. The smell of corn husks accompanied the dirt, and both of them remembered their days at this place, under the apricot tree. Another apricot fell, more rotten than the last. At one point, it was so ripe. It was lush with life- be it of a fruit or a bird, there was life in the tree. Dead, small leaves flitted downward onto the Mesaâs blood-brown plateau floor.

The old man stared down at his flask, and his hand trembled. In scared, panicked fury, he threw it off the Mesa. Brown liquid flew out in a spiraling motion, glistening in red-orange sunset. The container clambered its way down the mountainside in as clumsy a manner as it possibly could have. A rabbit dashed outside of the bushes, frightened. Another apricot fell, and the old man felt worse than before he thought of drinking again.

âYou made me.â

The sunâs descent grew slower with every second. An apricot, half rotten, fell to the floor.

âYou made me into this, and for that, I am grateful.â

They both held their composure and held back tears. The suited man sat down, letting the dirt and the ants touch his tailored black suit. He loosened his tie, and sighed. Another apricot fell.

âI love you.â

Dead leaves fell from the tree overhead, and landed on both of the manâs shoulders. Wind carried it forward and off the mountain. The old man bit his lip, and for the first time in his life, he wished that he had his mother with him.
âBut I never want to see you again.â

The sunâs final rays washed over the ground, and the air around them became cold. Chilling silence crept into the old manâs bones. A symphony of crickets chirped into the night, and the withering old man couldn't bother to move his limbs when the ants crawled onto him. Coyotes howled into the bright waxing moonâs sky, and went forth to hunt through the dead shrubs. Cacti chattered with burrows of scorpions. Owls cooed forth into the night.
When the sun rose there was only a withered, old, apricot tree. Just to the side of it was a tattered wooden cross, held aloft with heaps of stones. A hawk flew overhead in the arid air of the desert.