Colorful urban
576 creative works found
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I usually walk along the south bank riverside in London.. and l passed by this place maybe a thousand times ! This time for some reason l was walking very slowly.. once I got here l just thought this could be the moment to take a nice picture.. I am happy with the result ! / / - /
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Pen and ink color enhanced on photoshop.
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There is a type of quiet peaceful solitude that one can only experience in a park Oil on Stretched Canvas – No Airbrushing 36 X 56 inches / 92 X 143 cm Original : / Sold / contact my Agents at Gallery 112 / .......................................................................................
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The unprovoked attack by the knife-wielding monkey required the monk to defend himself with the only means that would save his life – Monkey-style Kung fu!
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A surreal New York City street scene photograph depicting a mysterious woman with an umbrella on a rainy Summer night. This print has beautiful pastel colors and nice contrast.
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Webb Bridge located at Docklands, Melbourne. Panorama created with 4 images stitched tegether with PS CS3 / / Camera – Canon 350D / Lens – 10-22mm USM / Focal length – 10mm / Exposure – Manual / Aperture – f/5.6 / Shutter – 4 seconds / ISO – 100 / Tripod and cable release / / © Andrew Brown Cards / Urban and Architecture / Panorama / Landscape / Portraiture / Macro / / /
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Pen and ink pastel drawing of Mr. Pickle.
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Minimalist abstract study of speeding cyclists, focusing more on the dynamics of the speed and motion of their movements / Oil on Stretched Canvas – No Airbrushing 37 X 59 inches / 94 X 150 cm Original : / $2500 AU – excluding p&p from Melbourne, Australia / contact my Agents at Gallery 112 / .....................................................................................
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Pencil to pen and ink drawing of many moments in my life.
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Pen and ink drawing of a guy I knew once he was the most fasionable transient I ever knew. So the guy he was homeless right and he layered his suit pants and his suit shirts and all he needed was some shoes and a coat. So I bought him a suit jacket and shoes and he got a job. In Missoula Montana there are a lot of homeless people. I have been fortunate enough to make friends with many. I try to do what I can for people! God knows my heart is full and my pockets are empty…. / God bless and One Love, / Kimberly Hoffard
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Centerpiece building in this image is the New York City Office of the Chief Medical Examiner (OCME) DNA Forensics Biology Laboratory, New York, New York / Won New York Construction Best of 2006, Award of Merit: Public Works and Facilities, for architects Perkins Eastman / MCN: CD9A5-050AB-C8EFE
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Recently we did a test shoot for two really funny and crazy guys who also happen to make music together, Jase and Tom after their manager aeris saw my stuff on RedBubble and decided I am shit hot at what I do. (I’m working on the modesty bit, I swear.) Anyway they really really didn’t want to do a photo shoot in a smelly, public, and damp mens’ toilet so naturally I nagged at them until they relented. Then the first thing their manager said upon viewing this image was “That one’s for RedBubble!” So here it is.
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Can’t beat a good icon
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Shot through the front window of the Lexington Avenue Bus, NYC, looking at the Hunter College Bridge at 68th Street and Lexington Ave. that connects its east and west buildings. Hunter College is the largest college in the City University of New York (CUNY) system with 21,000 students; founded in 1870, it’s also one of the oldest public colleges in the country. / MCN: CD859-B00B5-3BFEC
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Pastel colored pencil drawing of a Man with a Apple. This is a freestyle drawing I didn’t know what I would get.
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All of the money from this T-shirt will be donated to Dogs Deserve Better… Please consider today how you can help the dogs in your neighborhood. If you see a chained dog or a penned dog daily, it is time to take action. Please join Dogs Deserve Better today in taking a stand against this mistreatment of dogs. / Just click on the banner to donate yourself or visit the site… / /
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vector drawing in Corel
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Catholic Church “Herz Jesu” – Munich – Germany / Architect: Allmann Sattler Wappner
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Cartagena de India, Colombia ! / / .
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Webb Bridge – Docklands Melbourne Created from 3 images using PS CS3 HDR Camera – Canon 350D / Lens – 24-85mm USM / Focal length – 28mm / Exposure – Aperture Priority / Aperture – f/5 / Shutter – (0) 1.6 seconds, (-1) 0.8 seconds, (+1) 3.2 seconds / ISO – 100 / Tripod and cable release Photoshop – HDR merge, levels and curves adjustment + two additional curve layers to darken edges of image / / © Andrew Brown Cards / Urban and Architecture / Panorama / Landscape / Portraiture / Macro / / /
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Pastel drawing of Flying Eyes. From Anatomy Eye Series.
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Adobe Photoshop (digital) manipulation of photographic imagery. FORGIVE ARCADIA You asked me to write something today / And all I could sense was a blank. / Something on fiction and truth, was what you needed – / But my truth is a brick wall / And buildings that should be shattered / Like crabs’ claws. / Still, this morning I woke up at five / And wondered what would happen / If the earth froze numb at that secret hour – / If I could lift my hand, and make the horizon still. / Then there’d be no one except me, / And the birds. As the moon went out I should / Dance and fly through emptied streets / Away from the city’s cramped horizon / To where the great clouds raced. / Within their wefts, or so I’d like to think, / A sugar veil of crystals / A flurry of icy motes, waiting to catch the sun, / For now still dark with night – / A gust of frozen sparks, perhaps, / Dormant, and charged with the power / Of undiscovered things: unformed, unknown. / And then, having been born again, / I’d creep back to bed, and the smell of cotton. Last night I met a girl, from far-off lands. / She was charming – Finnish, so she said, / And she smiled a numinous smile / On a clear face with peachy skin: / Slender, and lit with an inner glow, / Peaceful and seraphic, / As lucid in form as porcelain, / Or a pink sweetshop mouse. I want to meet her again. But I’d made her up, / In a dream it seems I’d had; all complete, / All fully formed, with a purpose, and a past / Of her own, although she’d never been alive. / And now she’s gone with the dew. / And now I miss her. She was, a think, a succubus of strange benevolence: / Beating inside, her eager heart / That galvanised my moment of epiphany, / And found a path to earth through sleeping limbs. / These ghosts of memory, haunting my waking hours: / Why do you give me time, why do you lend me / Your good aim? Phantasms that could not be, / Specious potentialities, all unborn / You night creatures, far removed / From what the daylight people do, or are; / Those sunshine ones, who own the clear air, / And spread themselves in it; whose clamour makes / A transient misfortune, then they’re gone… / Yet why must you, instead, / Tend me as if I were an orchid of the gloom – / Which, plainly, I am not? I tried to think what heaven might be like / For us, we creatures of blind purpose / Fumbling (as we do) at light. Oblivion would be / Much of it: forgetting for the hundredth time / What we had done before, and comatose with hope, / We should ourselves break free – like birds, or / A flutter of petals, simply because we could. / Nothing to fail us, nothing to expiate, nothing to / Disappoint. Above all, freedom from shame. / Blank-eyed, we’d cup our hands, and find them / Crammed with sweets. Infantilism would be the / Recommended option, that or promiscuity. / We’d flounce like butterflies, or nose our way / As small insectivores do, sniffing for flesh to nip / Without remorse. Inspiring our laborious intent: / The gaze of a cow, chewing on infinity. All animal / Kingdoms would be ours to claim, lacking only people. There’d be no art, no divine discontent: / No knowing laughter, and no more endeavour – / Only the yawning promenade / Of a world stripped of Self. Upon preened wings, / We’d soar through canyons bright as mirrors, / Where everything was fixed and known. Down / We’d dive: to perch, and later, stroll an eternal pleasure / Pier, bounded on each side by the extinction / Of individuals. Our jelly baby guards / (Blameless as halfwits, or as sociopaths) / Their looks too liquid to sustain reproach, / Would urge us safely home, and in a tract of flowers / We’d be immured, and there we’d stick: an endless, timeless / Moment wherein consciousness lay hanged. Paradise, although fortuitous, is where nothing goes unplanned. / It is predestination without fear, without account. / Meanwhile, with brains intact, you’ll promise to let me / Face the glare of what is commonplace. / And, in return, I’ll try to be more even-handed / In indifference. Stephen Jackson June 2002 / For Jan
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