History

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 Rikki La Rouge 6 months ago in Art
Colors of Her Silence
Meher was never loud. Not in voice, not in presence. As a child, while others ran and laughed, she sat with a pencil and paper, tracing the world around her—the curve of a leaf, the shadow on a wall, the way light fell through the window at different times of day. Words never came easily, but lines did. Colors, too.
By meerjanan6 months ago in Art
The Accidental Artist
Vikram Sharma had never considered himself creative. Not really. Sure, he once tried making samosas from scratch and nearly set off the smoke alarm, but that was more chaos than artistry. At forty, he worked at a bank, wore the same shade of blue shirt every Monday, and found excitement in perfectly aligned sticky notes.
By meerjanan6 months ago in Art
Ca$imuz art gallery
another dream of mine that I made come true, i created my own art gallery that being the Casimuz art gallery. I am proud of all of my illustrations and my works and let’s see some of my favorite illustrations of my favorite singers are of Chirino, Selena, Prince, Boy George, and to me all of my illustrations that I ever did became gallery illustrations another artistic pictures that I had done through the years and that I had that I felt would be good to be a part of my art gallery that you now see here. I am I put my heart and soul and everything I do and this art gallery because I know one of my children.
By Ca$imuz6 months ago in Art
The Power and Significance of Art in Human Culture
Art has always been a quiet yet powerful companion to humanity. Long before written language, our ancestors left marks on cave walls—handprints, animals, symbols—sharing glimpses of their lives, fears, and dreams. These early expressions weren’t just decoration; they were meaning made visible. That same impulse lives on today, whether in a child’s scribbled drawing, a street musician’s melody, or a carefully crafted novel.
By meerjanan6 months ago in Art
The Painter of Forgotten Faces
In a narrow alley where the cobblestones were worn smooth by time and silence, there lived a woman named Imaan. Her home was a crumbling stone building with ivy curling around its windows like old thoughts clinging to the mind. She kept to herself, speaking only when spoken to, and even then, her words were few and soft, like the brush of a feather on paper.
By meerjanan6 months ago in Art
The Brush Between Worlds
Tucked between a subway entrance and a glass-fronted café in the heart of the city stood a small, unassuming studio with peeling blue paint and a hand-lettered sign: Zehra’s Corner – Paint. Breathe. Be.
By meerjanan6 months ago in Art
“The Color He Never Used”
In a quiet corner of the city, where the hum of traffic never quite faded and laundry lines strung between buildings like tangled flags, there lived a man named Kamran. Once, his name was spoken with reverence in galleries and studios—“Kamran, the painter who captures silence,” they’d say. His work had a way of holding breath, of making people pause, stare, and remember something long forgotten.
By meerjanan7 months ago in Art
“The Last Canvas”
On the edge of a quiet coastal village, where the sea whispered against the rocks and the air always carried a hint of salt and jasmine, lived an old man named Rahim. Once, his name had been spoken with reverence—“Rahim the Painter,” they called him, the man who could make waves dance on canvas and sunsets breathe.
By meerjanan7 months ago in Art
*The Colors She Left Behind*
The studio stood like a secret the city had forgotten. Tucked between a shuttered tailor shop and a noisy laundromat, its windows were clouded with dust, its wooden sign—once proudly carved with the name Studio Lumière—now barely legible. Rain had warped the letters, time had faded the paint, and ivy crept up one side like a slow apology.
By meerjanan7 months ago in Art
*The Color She Couldn’t Name*
In a narrow lane where the scent of warm bread curled through the morning air and the tailor’s sewing machine clicked like a steady heartbeat, there stood a quiet little studio with peeling paint and a rusted door handle. Its sign, once bold in cursive—Meher Art Studio—had faded into near silence, as if the building itself had learned to whisper.
By meerjanan7 months ago in Art
"From Awkward to Articulate"
Some people are born with the gift of gab. They speak with charm, confidence, and clarity. Then there are those who stumble on their words, feel their heart race when called on, and wish they could disappear during every group presentation. Zara was definitely the latter.
By Najeeb Scholer7 months ago in Art