Misfortunes 

34 creative works found

• André’s creation: eclectic pleasures
  by Maxwell Edward

  Black and white keys, saxophone, guitar, everywhere. The music has much more magnificence than can be tried to be explained through words…

  Black and white keys, saxophone, guitar, everywhere. The music has much more magnificence than can be tried to be explained through words. This jazzy rendezvous has always been André’s favourite ear-food. He just loves the way its beauty, splendour, radiance is ‘unleashed’. André stares at the canvas for over a dozen times. Here he is staring at the blank space which is future marvel…or was it to be past marvel? Had he missed his chance, missed the boat which would have sailed to sentimental stardom? He refuses to collaborate more than a sentence for any one idea. Any idea that deserves a sentence must deserve no doubt. Any canvas is only worth the greatest ideas. Two André’s exist; though only one at any one time. The withdrawn analytical front, designed for most occasions. On rare occasions the other character may appear, the intensive, massively determined André who acts on impulses. Impulsive André must be begged out. A Pandora’s Box of surprises, his job will at least never cease to astonish. “Dearest André, Through years have you befriended my son Louis, so therefore I am offering an opportunity to benefit both of our interests (with intent towards your gain). Litton inc., my company has stepped up towards mainstream success. We require visual arts for our newly bought edifice. I understand you have been painting for the eight years since high school. To your discretion I would like to require a painting; just one will suffice. I would like something vibrant and colourful, yet deep and meaningful; Contemporise to your own vision. Much thanks, Dr. Raymond Fonck.” The commissioned paper lies stuck on the wall. André has read it. Now it is time for the future. It has been too long sitting around (or rather bouncing around); too get too much productivity from anything. Someone once said to him that anything is good experience. True perhaps, although he prefers productivity, especially in a time of intensity such as this; three days left until confrontation. His vigilant eyes stroll around the room, searching for advice. He is not bored, nor has he painters block, for such a term does not exist and will not ever for him. His eyes strike the clock. The clock glares 5:48 pm back. What a disgusting fierce look it has. Not 5:45, nor 6:00 and only one uncomfortable minute in-between. For at this time these uncomforting three digits add to the frustration in the actual time. “Aw!” André suddenly realizes the importance of the time. It is the one factor which never seems to be on his side but actually encourages his total progress. It is an epiphany like that of a mother to the newborn. André decides to let his hands take / control. They are the secret key, (sometimes the gatekeepers of unleashing impulsive André) His dominant left one picks up the brush (over time it has made up for its fault of statistically losing him seven years). His right hand decides to lose cognition. It dips itself into a little puddle of Sangria oil paint muck. Than it flies onto the near-centre of the canvas, smeared diagonally. His left hand takes initiative once again, waving lines of smudge to and fro. Right hand brings more paint to its destination. Myrtle, Indigo, Olive, Magnolia…and no, not that…Yes, yes, even black! (Well seal brown to be precise). All of these contextually beautiful colours unleashed! There are no thoughts in André’s mind now. This is impulsive André now; organised thought is of little importance! That colour is important here. This colour is unimportant there. A few lines of any colour are important right here or there, but perhaps a darker colour is better. More negative space up and down the edges. Shape is forming. Lines are bolding. Complete non-representational form is diminishing. Visualizations; the visualized images in mind are being…unloaded bit by bit. It is coming about. What is it though? No one knows. If anybody could guess it definitely would not be André. André knows he has the power to bring out the reality in it though. In a seemingly paradox situation he must not connect to reality at the moment though. Now, after these hours of painting, André is in the painting. He would not know it has been hours besides the constant glare of the illuminating digital clock staring from across the room; it unconsciously processes its recognition into André. The phone screams out, ‘br-ring, br-ring!’ Like the other external matter it creeps into André, until finally its screams become too annoying to ignore. It’s too late now…impulsive André has vanished; his conventional counterpart has replaced him. The phone persists though. André decides to take it (typical for his returned mannerism). He dives across the room horizontally attacking the corner where that nuisance phone lies. ‘Aw, aw, aw, aw!’ A tube of paint has squirt from underneath his stomach. Agonising that his material friend can be so painful at times (like any of his life long friends). He picks up the phone; only the tone. He has missed whatever, whoever it was. Once again, missing the boat… Now thought and all that comes with it has returned. Why now out of all times possible? There is only sadness, misery, all this escalated from these small miniscule misfortunes; all has turned to turmoil! What can one do, when feeling like crawling into a hole? His secret minor disorders such as his claustrophobia would prevent him from crawling into that hole, even if he had one. At the moment everything feels like one big hole. Not surprisingly André’s eyes begin doing the only thing they know to do in times of unrest; wander. It is impossible to ignore what is there; it has been there all along, yet has never been seen. It is beautiful! It is splendour! It is radiance!! It is interrupted by another scream of ‘br-ring br-ring’. André picks up the damn phone. Without contemplation he whispers, “Sir, madam, I’m very terribly busy, could you perhaps call back sometime?” A deep sophisticated voice replies, “Raymond Fonck, André. Listen, I need to know about the progress of the painting. How is it going; ready to sell on Friday?” Many emotions garner at the speed of light inside André allows these emotions to clash inside of him. The painting; it is beautiful, splendour, radiance! How could he give it away now, after an indescribable series of emotional contributions? It is something that has not been attempted before; yet it is new but the expression of old. It is everything, at the moment, hopefully containing more interpretive inoculations for the future. It is a subject, of just some time, yet it contains a collaboration of detail separated from time. It is…once again interrupted by screams, this time of another sort; the infuriating talking of man. “André. Are you there?” Feelings of great rebellion sweep André off his feet. He knows how he will revolutionize his life, because after all; this painting has revolutionized his thought already. “Mister Fonck. I am so sorry. Some things have come over me…a type of sickness…although I am sure you are not aware of this mad syndrome I am suffering due to it. Well to the point, I must say I will not be supplying you with your wanted artwork. Thank you for your understanding. Hopefully we can collaborate something in future.” André hangs the phone up without replies, without a stated understanding from the mister Fonck. Without even the knowledge of acceptance or approval from the mister Fonck…it does not matter. All that matters is this new painting, this contemporised vision. It is everything. Most importantly of all, it is…unleashed!

• Pamplona
  by Graham Houghton

  ‘It’s OK to trample a man if you’re running for your life, but it’d be the mark of a truly civilised human being if he could say sorry wh…

  ‘It’s OK to trample a man if you’re running for your life, but it’d be the mark of a truly civilised human being if he could say sorry while he was about it.’ Liam (two navels) O’Meara, lightly gored during the 2001 Bull Run, of his brother Padraig, who wasn’t gored at all.

• Any guy will do
  by anaisnais

  NSFW

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  The Accident
  by Steve Outram

  Broken Zebra Mug

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  Misfortune Lurks Round Corners
  by Lloyd Harvey

  This piece was conceived entirely digitally in 2008. Original Does Not Exist Contact me at lloydharvey[at]shrunkenheaddesign.co.uk / www.shrunkenheaddesign.co.uk

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  The Misfortune of Bird Debri
  by peyote

  The misfortune of bird debri lol xXx / Say no more!.But i love the green down the side of his face :) / /

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  Clumsy misfortune.
  by Tracy Wallace

  / / / / /

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  Male Mantis Misfortune
  by Rookie

  Just another little character that popped into my head whilst laying on my lounge floor drawing. (yes like a 5 year old. For some reason I find ideas flow easier and more frequent when im laying on the carpet.) Maybe coz I did it so much as a kid…..

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  Male Mantis Misfortune: Dark
  by Rookie

  This is the same design as my other one but for those who may want it on a darker tee.

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  Male Mantis Misfortune
  by Rookie

  Just another little quirky character from the animal kingdom that popped into my head whilst laying on my loungeroom floor drawing. (yes like a 5 year old. For some reason I find ideas flow easier and more frequent when im laying on the carpet.) Maybe coz I did it so much as a kid…..

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  Homeless
  by suesight

  A haunting scene as a Beggar hugs two Dogs for warmth and bows his Head in thanks as Money is put into his cap as the Sun rises for a new day on a rarely deserted Charles Bridge in Prague.

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  Misfortune
  by shelleywalden

  Its all in the luck of the draw. This 36” x 24” Mixed Media Painting consists of tissue paper and buttons in the background with an overlay of acrylic paints. The edges of this canvas are staple-free and painted so it is ready to hang.

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  What Else?!
  by shanmclean

  :)

• Nasty November Ninth
  by Hayley Cafarella

  Teardrops may teeter / But misfortune showers / Oblivious to / My wishful powers

  Just holding on….

• I think I'm back!!
  by anaisnais

  To all you talented people, those I’m aware of and those I’m yet to find, I’m glad to say I think I finally got back online over the week…

  To all you talented people, those I’m aware of and those I’m yet to find, I’m glad to say I think I finally got back online over the weekend and now need start the catch up process of admiring work done by your goodselves so please I once more ask for your patience while I do so…. I can’t wait to get chatting, and writing again. I have a couple of writes I need get on and when I can photographs too. I’m also going to be busy finishing editing my work for my patiently waiting publishing agency, who have been absolutely marvelous in sticking with me throughout these trials and with any luck there won’t be too many edits and then we can get things moving forwards. I’ve gone to great lengths in trying to pluck out the pieces people have commented as prefering for the book, and yet putting in a mixture of poetic type therefore taking the reader on a journey of discovery as I have myself over the past 12 months or so… A word of encouragement to try to write yourself, when I started out not long ago, I’d not written poetry since in school some 20 odd years ago, having had few lessons then and never knowing there were so many different forms. Many are not as complex as they first seem and with a little practice first with technique the ideas for context follow until the two marry beautifully! Might ( also take this oportunity of thanking all my readers from past, present and future; who without your kind words and helping hands so ready and welcoming, I could not and would not have ever dreamed of being in such a position, and for that you’ve made such a difference in my life by giving me another purpose and will to move onwards and upwards. For now I will leave you with my thoughts and prayers, looking forward to seeing you around soon…Kindest wishes, Anna-Marie.

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  The Misfortune of Leaving
  by Paul Vanzella

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  Misfortune Cookie
  by Daniel Green

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  Blue Misfortune
  by Lita Medinger

  Samantha.

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  The Briefest End
  by Maria Medeiros

  A big thank you to my friend Lori Dennis for the Vintage stock. / Texture made by me. :) / / Antonty & Cleopatra / by Shakespeare / “No more, but e’en a woman, and commanded / By such poor passion as the maid that milks / And does the meanest chares. It were for me / To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods; / To tell them that this world did equal theirs / Till they had stol’n our jewel. All’s but naught; / Patience is scottish, and impatience does / Become a dog that’s mad: then is it sin / To rush into the secret house of death, / Ere death dare come to us? How do you, women? / What, what! good cheer! Why, how now, Charmian! / My noble girls! Ah, women, women, look, / Our lamp is spent, it’s out! Good sirs, take heart: / We’ll bury him; and then, what’s brave, what’s noble, Let’s do it after the high Roman fashion, / And make death proud to take us. Come, away: / This case of that huge spirit now is cold: / Ah, women, women! come; we have no friend / But resolution, and the briefest end. “ [Exeunt; those above bearing off MARK ANTONY’s body]

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  The Wheel of Misfortune
  by Garry Quince

  I saw this contraption in a farmers field as I was driving near Portarlington, Victoria. I had to climb a barbed wire fence and trek for about 300 meters but I enjoyed the beautiful spring morning and thought life just couldn’t get any better.

• Those Who Live By Night
  by Matt Roberts

  The Gathering of Those Who Live By Night Has Begun / As The Darkness shadows the fast fading sun

  Apocalyptic poem. 30.08.07

• Oh What A Night
  by Robin Brown

  Oh boy is it a mad world, what a day I’ve had. I fell out of bed this morning; banged my head off the sideboard which wasn’t actually th…

  Oh boy is it a mad world, what a day I’ve had. I fell out of bed this morning; banged my head off the sideboard which wasn’t actually there because we don’t have a sideboard!! / Dazed & confused I climbed into the shower; oh boy did that lady get a terrible fright!! / I can see the funny side now but to be honest the side I saw at the time wasn’t pretty!! / The problems all started with the power cut & the house builder has got to take some of the blame too. / I mean who in their right mind would fit identical door locks to two houses right next door to each other!! / Well when the power went off it was so bloody dark & being blind drunk due to a mix up with the Polish barman who didn’t know coke on the rocks doesn’t have any alcohol in it!! Well to say I was some what confused is an understatement. / Why do builders build so many indentical houses right next to each other? / Anyway in my confused state & in total darkness I’d found my way into the house next door. / Trying to avoid disturbing Mrs ‘B’ I quietly slipped into bed & fell fast asleep. / Our new neighbours only moved in three days ago & until this morning we’d never met formally or informally for that matter!! / Well once everyone had calmed down & the events of the morning after the night before had been explained I was released from the local Police Station. / By the time I got home our neighbours had new door locks fitted as had Mrs ‘B’. / Its a bit cramped in the shed but its only for a few days until Mrs ‘B’ calms down. / Mrs Mc Clumfit, our new neighbour was less than impressed when I asked where she’d had her tattoo done, she didn’t answer my question; she just closed the door quickly & double locked it before she put the lights out. / That reminds, I really need to clear out some of the rubbish in here!! /

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  The Angels of Our Misfortunes
  by Roland Millington

  Wear sunglasses while viewing.

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  A Monument To Misfortune
  by John Dicandia

  “We seem to gain wisdom more readily through our failures than through our successes. We always think of failure as the antithesis of success, but it isn’t. Success often lies just the other side of failure.” - / Albert Einstein 250×320 In Ink/Acrylic featured in Core [C.O.R.E]