History

The Diverse Styles of Graffiti Art: From Tags to Murals. AI-Generated.
Street art may seem like a typical spray-painted wall. Nevertheless, it is actually a colourful expression of rebellion created by urban youth and infused with culture, self-identity, and social message. Originally founded in the underground punk rock scene of New York City in the 1970's, this urban medium has grown to become a worldwide art movement used to decorate the barren landscape of concrete. Graffiti has also developed through a variety of artistic styles. Different styles of graffiti reflect the artist's own individual expression, level of skill, and purpose of the message, having influenced fashion, advertising, and fine art. This article will examine the global evolution of graffiti and highlight the variety of graffiti artistic styles that continue to change the face of the urban environment, testing all views of art in general.
By xJRLNxabout 12 hours ago in Art
The Dancer
Canvas blocks softened by delicate satin make rhythmic drumming notes in the hallow gallery through the open door to the left. A girl I don’t remember, maybe she’s new, is standing in shame and exhaustion as the master scolds her on technique and timing. We have a job to impress, to bring in money, for the opera and for our families, if you still have anyone left to feed. If you dance well, one of the wealthy men in the audience might like you. If you perform well after the show, they might come back to see you.
By Mar Kara day ago in Art
Actor Andreas Szakacs on AI Cinema as Szakacs Films Prepares Echoes of Tomorrow for May 2026
Szakacs Films is stepping further onto the international stage with the announcement of several new global projects, led by the upcoming feature film Echoes of Tomorrow, currently targeting a May 2026 release. The announcement reflects a broader creative shift for the company, signaling a deliberate move toward future-focused storytelling that engages with emerging technologies and contemporary cultural questions.
By Andreas Szakacs2 days ago in Art
The Scream by Edvard Munch is one of my favourite paintings
The Scream by Edvard Munch is another one of my favourite paintings that is alongside of that of Nighthawks. I have a shirt with The Scream 😱 by Edvard Munch. This painting is absolutely brilliant and amazing. It is a contradiction in a way warm colours but dark and deep subject matter.
By Revista Miko3 days ago in Art
Nighthawks Urban isolation
Nighthawks by Edward Hopper in 1942 is truly one of my favourite paintings of all time. My interpretation of this iconic painting is accurate. Another interpretation of my own is that these people are lost souls and Nighthawks an seemingly unassuming diner is actually purgatory. This painting gives me chills because it’s about isolation in an urban area or rural area you can be isolated anywhere. This artistic triumph holds relevance in today’s world due to our cell phones and social media. Nighthawks is a work of fine art and there is no question about that and Edward Hopper created a masterpiece.
By Revista Miko3 days ago in Art
The Dance of the Tastuanes: When the Past Demands a Step
Everything in Suchitlán smelled of the past. The air thick with humidity and damp earth, the sweet, penetrating aroma of pinole and atole floating from kitchens, and above all, the insistent, monotonous sound of the drum. For Luis, seventeen years old with a spotty 4G connection, that beat was the pulse of a town refusing to wake from its dream. It was the prelude to the Dance of the Tastuanes, the big festival, and he was fed up.
By diego michel4 days ago in Art
Metternich: The Architect of Stability
Klemens von Metternich stood almost alone in defending an unfashionable idea: stability. While others chased glory, ideology, or national destiny, Metternich pursued something far less dramatic but far more difficult—peace that lasts. He was not a conqueror, nor a visionary prophet. He was an architect, quietly designing a political structure strong enough to restrain chaos.
By Fred Bradford6 days ago in Art
Essence, Embodiment, and Relational Reality
The Failure of Reduction and the Need for Synthesis There is a persistent failure in many modern attempts to explain what a human being is. Some frameworks reduce the person entirely to matter, insisting that identity, consciousness, morality, and meaning are nothing more than emergent properties of physical processes. Other frameworks move in the opposite direction, detaching spirit from reason and grounding belief in intuition alone, often at the cost of coherence or accountability. Both approaches fail because both misunderstand essence. One denies that essence exists at all. The other treats it as something vague and undefinable.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast7 days ago in Art
Essence Explained
This article is a plain-language companion to “Essence, Embodiment, and Relational Reality: Toward a Coherent Account of Personhood, Consciousness, and Being.”
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast7 days ago in Art
Two Truths and a Love
--- God is. God was. God always will be. God speaks. God creates. God is not silent. The Father is not an idea. The Son is not a metaphor.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast7 days ago in Art
Czech metal - more than just glass.
The Czech Republic is famous for its innovation in glass production - see article here: https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/innovative-czech-glass-guy-j-me-lynn
By Guy lynn7 days ago in Art
Climbing the Rainbow Stairs: Inside an Ancient Cave Temple Among the Limestone Hills of Ipoh, Malaysia. AI-Generated.
Before I even took the first step at Gua Naga Mas in Ipoh, Malaysia, the mountain demanded my attention in a way that felt calm yet undeniable, not through grandeur or intimidation but through a quiet presence that made rushing feel inappropriate, almost disrespectful, and as I stood there I realized how deeply Ipoh is shaped by limestone hills, dozens of them rising steadily from the land, scattered across neighborhoods, markets, temples, and old streets, with Gua Naga Mas being only one among many yet somehow feeling complete on its own, as if this particular mountain carried a story it had been patiently waiting to tell. The rainbow-colored staircase curved upward against pale limestone that had existed long before color, belief, or language, vivid bands of red, blue, yellow, and green clinging gently to ancient rock, and as I began to climb the air cooled almost immediately, filled with the scent of damp stone mixed with faint incense drifting down from shrines hidden above, while city sounds faded into the background, replaced by wind brushing through leaves, the echo of distant bells, and the steady rhythm of my own breathing. Each step required effort but never felt hostile, instead encouraging awareness, asking me to notice the texture of the railing smoothed by countless hands, the sound of footsteps echoing softly against rock, and the way the mountain seemed to slow everyone down, from elderly visitors resting quietly with hands folded in prayer to children climbing ahead with unfiltered curiosity, laughter bouncing gently off the stone walls, and monks passing silently as if they had always belonged there. As the path wound higher, the mountain revealed its deeper identity not only as a spiritual site but as a keeper of ancient time, with caves carved naturally into limestone walls that were cool to the touch and dim with shadow, spaces formed over thousands of years long before humans arrived to climb, worship, or seek meaning, and local history speaks of ancient tiger remains once discovered within these caves, a reminder that this land was once ruled entirely by nature, by creatures that lived, hunted, and disappeared long before human memory, and standing there I felt a quiet sense of awe, not fear, but perspective, an understanding that the mountain had witnessed climates shift, forests rise and fall, and life transform repeatedly while human presence remained only the most recent layer. Inside the caves, life still moved gently and respectfully, birds darting swiftly through openings above with wings cutting through shafts of sunlight, bats clinging silently to the ceilings deeper within, stirring softly at the presence of sound yet remaining largely unseen, and in that moment it became clear that this mountain is not owned by humans but shared, a living space where devotion, wildlife, and time coexist without conflict. Turning back during the climb, the view expanded dramatically as limestone hills stretched endlessly in every direction, some bare and dramatic, others softened by greenery, temples and caves tucked discreetly among them, each with its own rhythm and quiet purpose, while the city of Ipoh lay below calm and distant, wrapped gently by stone and sky, and as the wind brushed across my face carrying the clean scent of rock and forest I felt a rare stillness settle in, a sense that effort and peace had finally met. Descending the mountain felt like returning from another era, my legs tired and palms rough from gripping the railing yet my thoughts unusually quiet, and in Ipoh experiences rarely end abruptly, flowing naturally into the next chapter, which often leads toward food, grounding the body after time spent among stone, wind, and history, and not far from the mountain a simple plate of local chicken rice arrived with crisp bean sprouts that snapped lightly with each bite, clean comforting flavors made richer by effort and hunger, followed later by silky flat rice noodles that warmed both body and spirit, their texture lingering long after the bowl was empty, and as the day continued the city offered more, slow-cooked clay-baked chicken unwrapped carefully, salt-baked chicken revealing tender meat beneath its crust, roasted pork served generously over warm rice, all speaking of patience, tradition, and care. I ended the day in an old coffee shop, sipping strong local tea and enjoying freshly steamed dim sum as conversations drifted softly through the air, cups clinked, and life moved without urgency, while outside the limestone hills stood quietly in fading light, unchanged and unmoved, and inside human warmth filled the space, revealing Ipoh’s true character as a place where nature is not conquered but respected, where caves are not attractions but reminders of deep time, where mountains do not demand attention but reward those willing to slow down, observe, and listen. Gua Naga Mas may be only one hill among many, yet it holds spirituality, history, wildlife, and human devotion in delicate balance, and climbing the rainbow stairs is not about reaching a summit but about understanding how small we are, how brief our presence is, and how important it is to walk gently through places that have endured for thousands of years, and when I finally left the mountain and returned to the city below, I did not feel that I had completed a journey but that I had been quietly welcomed into one, gently reminded to love nature, respect its age and power, and carry that sense of reverence wherever the path leads next.
By Dicson Ho9 days ago in Art