As the title suggests, this news article’s goal is to spread the dA love into everyone’s heart! You will find here a little bit of everything, from awesome interviews with talented artists, art features, group promotion to random deviants' features. This time we'll have a double interview. I hope you will find this informative and entertaining!
Interviewed artists: Hamish-Frost
Tell us what defines you as a person.Hamish-Frost
: That's a bit of a hard one, i really have no idea. znmystery
: I'm an artist. I paint in oils and watercolor, also I make needle felted dolls which shown on the dA. So I can say that my art defines me. How did you find out about deviantART and why did you join the community?Hamish-Frost
: I don't remember how i found it, i guess i was clicking link after link watching beautiful art, and i think the reason i joined was "Hey, i could upload my photos here!"znmystery
: I was looking for inspiration and find dA. Then I thought: "Hey, it’s a good way to show my works online!" When and how did you discover your passion for art?Hamish-Frost
: Passion for making it, 16 or 17. Maybe a bit later.znmystery
: That was since childhood. I can’t remember a time when i didn’t love drawing or making something strange from all that were found near. What inspires you the most and when do you think your creativity is at its maximum?Hamish-Frost
: Everything, i mean literally everything, there's no specifications.znmystery
: Mostly it’s nature. But when it’s not enough, books and films help me get the inspiration. What do you think you'd be doing if you hadn't chosen this path?Hamish-Frost
: Professional asshole.znmystery
: I don’t know, really. I can’t imagine my days without art. What do you think it's your most meaningful deviation and what makes it special? Does it have a story behind it?Hamish-Frost
: Rarely there are stories behind my work, and i don't think i have a special one.znmystery
: Sad brown bear
i think. It was my first finished work in the needle felting technique. What about story... I made it until was waiting my friend from a long work trip. So all my emotions are reflected in it. Do you have any insecurities regarding your art?Hamish-Frost
: None at all.znmystery
: Of course. I often feel i need to do better, but i think it’s normal for every artist. Did art ever helped you to deal with your life problems?Hamish-Frost
: Well, yes. Both by being audiane and making it.znmystery
: All the time. I put all my emotions into my crafts. What is the one thing you always wanted to do but never got a chance to?Hamish-Frost
: Can't think of any right now.znmystery
: To have more time. Maybe to devote one year of my live to travel, art and making crafts. A few words for our fellow artists?Hamish-Frost
: I really have nothing to say, i'm not good with words (i'm sure you figured out that much by now!).znmystery
: Don’t be lazy. If you want to grow, become a professional you need to work hard.
thinking about calling out
of work tomorrow if this continues.
you haven't texted back,
i guess they're keeping you
i am lying in bed, where we have
loved and made love -
where we have cried and play-fought.
there are so many intangible pieces
of you tangled in my sheets and
staining my mattress, millions of
atoms and dust mites and cells,
so many so that for once i wish
they would all come together
and form a tangible you.
(but only so i could whisper
into your neck and hold you
in the dark universe of my room.)
for now, i have your shirt.
the one i've had for months.
it doesn't smell like your skin anymore,
but it smells like your deodorant and
belonging. it smells like comfort
and coming down from the heights
of orgasm, like love and hurt and
years to be.
i miss you -
- please spend the night with me.
.I tattooed your name
across my heart but
I told the artist
don't go too deep,
these things don't
last forever, you know.
WhispersI am smeared...
...across your lips and mouth.
Slandered by a snake with scales like flesh.
Your eyes blister...
...they ignite and extinguish my fire.
Cursed by a cat with a tongue-like tail.
My blood burns...
...as you thread your talons through it.
Kissed by a corpse with fangs named Fear.
AsthmaHis apartment is an aquarium
but he needs a birdcage;
his lungs are shivering,
breath stuck like cold molasses
in his lungs. Sheets ragged as his
breathing tangle around the bed,
white waves surging, cresting,
His inhaler is in a shoebox
with the other mementos of 1976;
a bicentennial quarter, a flatcap
from his paperboy days, and a letter
from Sally Keepers, whose kiss
left him so breathless
he mistook it for an attack.
He’s in that Chevrolet
again, knees knocking the backseat,
fighting to breathe, inhaler lost
somewhere on the floorboard
and she’s kissing him, drowning
him, and he can’t get enough air
but he can’t get enough of her either,
blonde locks lashing with electric
current like a defibrillator
trying to get his heartbeat back to normal.
He rummages around the shoebox
until he finds the inhaler
and presses the trigger,
sighing to himself. It never
could have worked; she tasted like
All of Youacrylic paint crusts over
on the frostbitten razors
of your Armageddon days.
a storm is born every few
seconds in my saltwater lungs
and my mind is caught in
a torrent of just you and
our atoms collide, but
you slip through the
patchworks of my veins
and you're glad that we didn't immerse,
glad that you have the delirious surface world to your disposal.
congratulations, i guess.
you pick a crescent tide
from the mourning aqua
and then tell me i'm out
of my mind.
i think i might be out of
my mind, but this braking
music refuses to let me
slip from its dripping trebles.
i sink under the waves
but find that i can breathe
better than i could in air.
i draw you in with me too.
what use is the ocean if i can't drown?
cease to belight creases the skin of
memories left on my floor
passing hours on oil-slicked cat feet
and at best i have destroyed
the turn of the century, watching
as it moves about face and
saunters down the drive, layered
in inches of dust and snow
i bring families together
the way death does, and push
mine apart with mental illness that
has left lesions on my brain
deeper than the rivers of my childhood,
deeper than my new-found stretch marks
and in the years i spent, perfecting
my addiction to sorrow and melancholia,
i tucked pieces of my sadness into
the envelopes of letters i never sent -
the lipstick and nightly memories
branded into my mind
is the place for you whether you like to write poetry or just read it! This is a group that focuses on poetry and all forms are accepted no matter the language, message, style, or genre!
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