a playlist for misunderstood artists
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- Опубликовано: 26 сен 2024
- youtube put ads for copyright claim, so click → 48:49 ← to SKIP ALL THE ADS, then replay
SPOTIFY PLAYLIST ─ spoti.fi/3mzJ2Jb
TIMESTAMPS ─ in the comments section, i decided to put them there since, for some reason, there is less possibility that the video will be blocked, let's see if it works
COPYRIGHT ─ all rights to the original owners, i don't own any music or images used in this video
ADS ─ if you see ads in the video, it's because youtube places them automatically, i have no control of the ads, you can solve that problem by adding an adblocker in your browser or skipping the video to the end and then press replay
TAGS ─ #artists #darkacademia #classicalmusic #aesthetic #aestheticmusic
timestamps / (composer) [performer/s]
click > 48:49 < and press replay to skip all the ads
00:00 string quartet no. 3 "mishima" - november 25. ichigaya (philip glass) [carducci string quartet]
01:34 nocturne, op. 72 no. 1 (chopin) [brigitte engerer]
05:31 lieder ohne worte op. 30 nº 6 (mendelssohn) [frank van de laar]
08:12 oblivion - arr. for orchestra (piazzolla) [metamorphose string orchestra]
11:48 romance (liszt) [jenő jandó]
14:23 preghiera (rachmaninoff/arr. fritz kreisler) [karol lipiński-brańka/barbara karaśkiewicz]
20:11 violin sonata, op. 10b no. 2 in g major: II. adagio (von weber) [nino gvetadze]
23:16 sur le fil (yann tiersen) [jeroen van veen]
27:38 the poet acts (philip glass)
31:21 serenade (schubert/arr. liszt) [rousseau]
37:33 etude op. 25 no.7 (chopin/arr. alexander glazunov) [sol gabetta/polina leschenko]
42:37 adagio (albinoni) [hauser]
aw rip, i just noticed on yof your videos is gone, i enjoyed listening to it, i hope you can bring that video back up
Nobody,
I love you. ❤️
She was my muse, my final declaration. her blood is merely paint and my knife the brush; she helped me with my piece quite a lot, you see. She once told me that art should inspire, should make it hard for you to tear your eyes from. She laughed when I replied that she must be the embodiment of art itself in that case. I do say I miss her laugh, her voice more so perhaps, it did make the most wonderful of sounds, though it truly is upsetting to know that no one else found art in her screams as much as I did. She was a blank canvas, you can't blame me for doing what I know best, art is in my blood, my hands, my being, and now its in hers too.
damn
💀 this.
god damn
Damn
👀
"Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable".
I think this quote best applies to this wonderful playlist ❤️🖤❤️🖤
Art is in the eye of the beholder.
With a video title like that, I was expecting a German March the entire time
Austrian Painter playlist
Stop, that's so funny 💀
Woah there let's keep that to yourself there
💀💀💀💀💀
Me too
As an autistic artist who often doesn’t feel human compared to my peers, this is nice.
Sometimes I don’t even know if anyone even understands me, or if they are just nodding with what I say, only agreeing to get out of the conversation.
I just want a stable friendship, a friendship that I will not be left out of again
I'll be your friend
I really hope that you can find at least one real friend. Not feeling human made me afraid of myself and harm myself…
Nothing wrong with us, buddy. I mean it. But to understand this and to adapt this is really hard and takes enough time (learning it for 3 years now).
By the way, why I felt not human is because I have lots of problems with feeling my emotions, accepting them etc. Sometimes I can be insane (like harming my self really bad) and minutes after that I can be in a normal mood, like nothing happened. My mood can change so quick after something horrible. Even in my previous relationship, this was very hard…
Keep up your good work, it’s worth it. Even if it doesn’t looks like most of the time 🫠
You are my friend . You create your own art and ignore the rest. You cannot call them your friends
@@mikeprice2517 Thank you for writing this Mike. Do not harm yourself anymore, precious human life.
Tell yourself it’s ok if you’re different. It’s cool that you’re different. Artists get f***ed in the head if they’re around mundane types. “Normal” people can make creative people anxious or even feel like there’s something wrong with them. Stick to other creative people, the odds of feeling understood are much higher around other artists. We talk all neurotic and etc 😂 and we love talking about concepts and abstract. Don’t let dull, mundane minds affect you. Avoid them. It’s a plus to feel like an outsider, it’s like a compliment or validation. Most artists probable feel out of step and in general it is a lonely thing partly because we usually need to be alone to work.
You used to love art more than anything else in the world, but lately the love had grown cold. You used to sit on the bench in the park, sketching the various scenes of life around you. The stagecoaches and gentlemen as they passed through the cobbled streets, on their way to important parties, the young children at play, kicking a can with no cares in the world, delicate upper class ladies as they strolled through the park, shaded under their dainty umbrellas... Yet it wasn't the same anymore. What were once passion filled strokes now felt like dull smears. The faces you had once drawn with such variety now always held the same frown.
You'd felt this way before, it had lasted for weeks before you met him. But he'd made it better... Your mind floats to your first meeting. He'd asked your permission to sit by you, then complimented your disheveled look, charcoal smudged face and all, in a joking but charming manner. For the first time in what had felt like forever, he'd made you smile. Warmed your heart and reignited the passion for art you had once held. As you grew closer, he had marveled at your drawings, said you were "the most talented young lady" he knew. He became your muse.
Your mind then flutters back to a month ago, on a cool autumn evening. He had been strolling through the park with you, enthralled as you leafed through your latest drawings and shared them with him. The breeze was slightly ruffling the rough paper in your hands as you both came to a stop in front of the bench where you'd first met. He quietly pulled off his top hat and bowed slightly. "My darling... your beauty has captured my heart, I desire nothing but your hand in marriage, if it might be permitted by you?" Tears of joy had come to both of you as you had embraced him with a whispered but fervent "yes".
Then the sickness came. It had weakened him. He still smiled and showed the same warm love and respect, but it was always tinged with pain. You could always see the slight wince as he tried to be strong for you. The doctors had tried, but nothing could be done. The night before your wedding he left this world, parting as you softly kissed his cold cheek, wet with tears. Since then the sorrow had returned, the dull feeling in your heart. The feeling nothing could resolve.
Your art had grown cold again, but this time more so than before. Your broken heart could no longer produce the loving artwork it had before, all it knew now was pain. Now you sit on the cold bench as snow swirls around you, the biting cold freezing the tears in your eyes. No stagecoaches clatter by now, not in this weather. The children are all inside, the delicate ladies chatting in some distant parlor by a roaring fire. And here you are, alone in a park as the winter sky darkens. You look down at the drawings you've forced yourself to create. The wet snow has smudged some of the lines, but you don't really care.
You set aside your pencil and pieces of paper, watching as some begin to flutter away in the breeze. Slowly, you take off your knitted shawl and thin coat, letting the cold bite into the flesh your elbow-long sleeves don't cover. The world begins to grow quiet as the cold takes over. You embrace the numbness, closing your snowflake dusted eyelids as the world grows dark. As the last glimmer of light fades, you see him there, sitting by you on the bench again. His face smiles as he reaches for you. The last thing you feel are his cold arms holding yours.
*Partially inspired by Nezrin Hasanly's POV story, which I read under this video before writing my own.
I love this!! A whole beautiful story. I could feel the paper in my hands and at the end the snowy cold embracing me.
Beautiful
I’m writing this down and putting it on my wall, if that is okay and I will be putting credits to you on it of course
@@kiernanwatson5432 As long as you credit me and don't alter the story, I suppose that's fine. Thank you. :)
Absolutely beautiful. This made me cry. I'd love to read more of your work if you have if available somewhere
~Tis A Form Of Art~
The sky was my muse
The flowers my paint
The moonlight guided me
Even throughout the day
The hoot of an owl
The rustle of the leaves
The running water
The autumn breeze
All of these could be brushed off
As just sound to be heard and not dealt
But if you stop for a moment
And stand very still
The music begins
Try not to sin
Poem I made based on the playlist :))
It's lovely
some word to describe it: pretty, cute, calm, lovely, deep but not, naturely, like petrichor (the smell after it rains) , etc
I love it
The saddest thing is when the person who gave you the best memories becomes a memory
This playlist is very comforting because I have schizotypal personality disorder ( a rare disorder ) and I rarely find people I truly resonate with, I paint odd things and communicate with my spirit guides and angels sometimes. I’m very lonely! But I love it… this playlist is perfect 🙊
You have the right name Lovelyhuman. I wish you well.
@@spmoran4703 Thanks! You as well
@@lovelyhuman1327 And also you are never without company with Angel's around .
That sounds cool ngl man I'm jealous
Sometimes, asking to be understood as an artist, is asking for too much. Thank you for posting such a beautiful collection of music.
I am going to be very honest. You are a dark physician, sir. I am like an opiate numbed patient, who, once having heard your prescription, fell immediately into addiction.
I have long been a wanderer, having been thrust into the wilderness of life as a child by parents who didn't understand the new world. I fell easily for the charms of ruffians, for that is love as I wanted it, let us not be fooled. I do not put blame where it does not lay, I knew my choices and made my bed, so to speak.
But ruffians or not, I understood their hearts and needs, and I soon found true love. Being a wanderer however, it was my poor lover's sad fate to love me, for in casting him away, his mind grew in madness. One dark night I came upon him as he was muttering strange curses and he seemed not to see me. I cried out to him and he ran, like a blind man. I lost him, only to find out later that he took the life of a man with his brute fists.
This residue I bear upon my soul as I wander, wander, wander through the darkness of eternal love gone mad.
Long are the hours, dark are the windows unto my mind - filled with an insanity brimming with visions of half said's and half done's, what it's and imagined meetings. Oh! the long hours alone with my mind until your music came - the balm for my melancholia. So this is why I say it must be some occult knowledge which you must work with, for how do you know me so well, sir? You call yourself Nobody. There is another who goes by many names, and is an accomplished musician, a violinist I have heard,of some considerable talent, but I harken to tread further upon this discourse, for he has autonomy over the world now, and I do my utmost to avoid his charms, such as they are. Such as your's seem to be...And yet, I am captive to you, Nobody. For as I said at the beginning, you have prescribed me the drug which satiated that most delicate of sadnesses - the wanderer's broken heart. I cannot love, I cannot be loved for I will always wander into the dark, melancholic corners. So I am addicted, Sir. Prescribe me more.
Until I am undone.
You've touched me, how you wrote the bitterness of love whisked in full hatred of a place called 'paradise melancholy'. So destructive, so divine, so painfully beautiful. The words of this paragraphs were half empty bottles of truths behind the masked lies of this brazenly cold, dark world. This world that shifted into madness and eternal ecstasy of the wanderer's blinded grief onto a path nearing their own ruins, a temple dedicated by the burning wrath of their forgotten lover's selfish desires.
@@dracoregina8788 thank you. you write very eloquently, and what you say speaks to the essence of my piece.
What do they want from me,
for I am merely Nobody.
They want me to end their pain, to listen to their sorrows, to understand, to stop the rain.
They ask of me what I cannot do.
This is what they want from me, a mere Nobody.
the utter madness of the stars
only makes sense
when i think of you
under them too
When you fall in love with music instead of people ...
I have fell in love with both .
The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim. The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.
The highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode of autobiography. Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.
Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope. They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only beauty.
There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.
The nineteenth century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.
The nineteenth century dislike of romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass. The moral life of man forms part of the subject-matter of the artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium. No artist desires to prove anything. Even things that are true can be proved. No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style. No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything. Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art. Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art. From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is the art of the musician. From the point of view of feeling, the actor's craft is the type. All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital. When critics disagree, the artist is in accord with himself. We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.
-The picture of Dorian Gray: Preface
My fellow country man Oscar Wilde . Was a great writer and philosopher . He created much humour and wit in his writing , yet suffered so much because he was himself. I cried tears , so many when reading the ballad of Reading jail. My dear friend it seems that you are a interesting person . And it was great to read your comment .
Do you know how it feels when peoples cages your art but set you free, they did the same to me... now I'm empty, empty of everything, now I do not write about those leafless lives or tickling crystal water of Rhine, now I do not touch those charcoal what once kissed my fingertips and embraced my side of pain by mixing into the pages, now I just stand by the walls and wish to melt into them... I hear the screaming of piano keys every night behind the rust bars, they chained her feets specially, I heard they burnt her Notes alive in front of her eyes, she used to be my best friend... And now, I'm deeply in love with this emptiness, I love you now....
I wish you all the best, stay strong
(If I ever write more I will update)
chapter one, the beginning.
The winter season is finally here, the barren tree's and tall lifeless building's make my town just off the main roads a wasteland. My parents cottage and it's white and green exterior mock the bland world around it. My room is dim, painted a dark forest green, with only a shy yellow chandelier in the center of all of the dark stained wood beams that consumed my ceiling and most of the light the delicate chandelier shinned. I look over to the shrill stairs right next to my large oak desk that sat in front of the one and only window in my room, the stairs lead to the attic, the only thing to be found up there was my sister's cradle and some of her favorite toys, all boxed and hidden away after she died at the age of 4 of pneumonia. It was my favorite room of the house when I was a child, it was once painted a beautiful salmon color with large dresses filled with my favorite toys and bookshelves with porcelain dolls straight from the the market still in there boxes there was every tropical plant we could fit up there, the plants thrived with the bright windows that my parents installed when I was born. It was painted a dark shade of purple which made every toy and even my young sister look sickly the color of the walls tried to drive me crazy so I knew I had to paint over it,I painted them grey but the paint was to thin to cover the purple so my parents covered the walls with whatever wood they could find. I never dared to go up there anymore, it was not my place to be.
Can you please write another chapter. I am intrigued. What happened after your sister died? Why it no longer your place to be? And why have you returned to your family home? It seems like such a rich, deeply emotional story that needs telling and wants hearing. Please, chapter two...
More please .
In a world that overlooked her, Eliana, a 15-year-old orphan, carried a burden that consumed her. From dawn till dusk, she toiled under a mountain of schoolwork, her artistic brilliance hidden in the shadows. Teachers dismissed her sketches, shattering her dreams. Yet, through it all, she clung to hope, determined to prove her worth. Her art, a silent plea for recognition, refused to be silenced. And so, she pressed on, unwilling to let her dreams succumb to a world that didn't understand. Hopefully my story will find it's happy end, and I hope the same for the stories of everyone else here. ❤
Now I feel like painting a portrait of someone I fell in love with who must never know my true feelings, while poring all my heart and soul into the painting making it enchanted so that it will get old instead of the person that it represents allowing him to commit the worst sins without loosing the innocence in his face, and when I confront him about it he kills me… or something
Lol I was reading this thinking “hey this sounds familiar…WAIT A MINUT-“
Picture of Dorian Grey ?
this music touch my lonely soul ✨
Wonderful playlist, as always. You really manage to make a connection between the music you choose and the emotions you want to evoke. The states of the soul you want to shape...very beautiful 💙🥀
You have a loving way . With your art . It shows in your eyes .
The pencils were old and a little bitten at the top . From years of overthinking and the studio was in a state , like if a bomb had hit it. Paints , pastels , papers , canvas all over the place . Unfinished work covered the wall giving the wall a unique wall paper. He lived most of his life there after the trauma it was his place to express himself , what he could not say out loud , he could say in a painting . He identified mostly with Van Gough and read about him often while relaxing with a cigarette and a cup of coffee .
They say that the eye reflects the soul , his certainly did. His soul contained anguish, torment , sometimes anger , often the longing to be accepted and be loved . But on his terms , he had sadness in his life and his scars were obvious. He cried many times , so he thought he would show the world how to cry .
What he did not know was that some one was watching . And that person cared .
I'm so glad you re-uploaded it, it's my favourite dark academia playlist ❤️ I looked so much for it and when I couldn't find it I honestly thought I imagined it 😂
This literally helps me draw better
Hello loves, here’s a story of mine I think suits this playlist:
🅿︎🅾︎🆅: After a terrible head injury that almost killed you, your life drastically changed.
You were never one to express yourself creatively through art. But after you were revived from a lifesaving operation, you became a genius artist overnight.
But there’s a catch. You couldn’t just beautifully draw any subject, you could only draw those that have passed away. And this was only possible when you heard their spirit.
Some call it psychic visions. Others call it a developing mental illness. But you didn’t care. You only wanted to stop the incessant whispering and that could only be done once you painted the specific talking spirit on a blank canvas.
One night, you were forced out of your bed when you heard a womans voice enter inside your head. You went straight to your easel that already held a blank canvas to begin a new sketch.
You scribbled and drew until your hands ached and your fingertips blistered. All the oil paints became a fuzzy blur as you hastily applied them, only concerned about the end result.
It was only when you stepped back away from the complete painting, and let it’s details come into focus, you realized you were staring at the eyes of your lover.
And that was when you could comprehend her voice. The same one that bid you farewell as she left for a business trip on the other side of the world.
“Goodbye, love.”
At this point, you couldn’t tell if her spirit was speaking or if you were just recollecting a memory. This was the last thing she had said to you three months ago. Hearing it back then, the phrase didn’t feel that concerning. But hearing it now, it felt like a final goodbye heavy enough to crush you heart.
A letter would later arrive to your place, regretfully informing you of your lovers death. It briefly explained how the ship she was on for her trip had sunk during a perilous storm.
But you didn’t need anyone to tell you what had happened or give you any details. You already knew what was necessary and had made a choice.
Your lifeless body was soon discovered next to your final painting, a masterpiece and an elegy.
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐸𝑛𝑑
I liked the melancholic ending you made, it kind of inspired the POV I wrote here after reading yours. :)
I loved your story, Nezrin. I am a fledgling writer, and I see this POV on your's as well as other writer's stories. Would you mind telling me what it means? Also, are you stories anywhere else that I might read them? I'd like to very much. Thank you.
this is good
beautiful.
this so beautiful had me tearinngggg uppp byeee
the best thing artist can do i think they can describe their pain with art.. at least that what i do and find cool
yep this i why I fall inlove with art too
perfect playlist for a certain someone trying to get into art school
Thanks to you & the other instrumental playlist accounts for making these videos. I know youtube takes them down a lot and I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate your effort!! I always listen to these on youtube, for homework or reading or staring off into space…
I dont know why You Tube takes them down. There is nothing wrong with them. In fact they are excellent ..
Awesome! You did it and I'm ready to be amazed. Thank you, you are the most special nobody I have ever had the pleasure of not knowing.
Listening to this while painting
so glad it's back up!! fell in love with this playlist the first time i listened to it💕✨✨✨
Art is something different, various. It has not one form, but many. Maybe that is why I am so drawn to it, to its embodiment. You could use it to lie. You could use it to speak the truth. It personifies a muse, and yet it can be a muse itself. It's vulgar, talented, and ever changing. It all depends on who lands their eyes on the art itself. No one's a fool when it comes to art. If you think the blue in the eyes is a symbol for sorrow, then it is. If you think it's a symbol for joy, then it is. No one's wrong. So when I fill the paper with a stroke of my wrist and brush, I'm not allowing anyone to see the piece except me. Because as selfish as it may seem, I want to be right. I want only my opinion to be right, no one else's. I don't want someone to stand by me and point out their thoughts when it's not nearly as close to mines. I only want my eyes to land on it. So that the art will stay on the form I want, just for me.
'a misunderstood artist' am I the only one who thought about Vincent Van Gogh?
Well , many people thought of a certain leader who was rejected as a art student in Vienna Austria. Strange how the mind works🤣🤣
me, a moderately understood artist: "wow this is so me"
J'adooooooore! Gratitude pour vos compilations qui m'apparaissent comme autant de cadeaux de la Vie. J'y prends un réel plaisir. Merci infiniment. 💚 xx
สวัสดี
(POV for any shadow and bone lovers) You're watching and madly in love with the Darkling, but his eyes are on Alina.
"We we're never meant to be." He said to me one night. My whole world came crashing down as his lips formed those words of divine misery. If the saints depicted my suffering fate then so be it, I shall burn for someone who will forever be in love with someone else. Carefully I watched his eyes trail after the girl whom foolishly strode into his life, unfaithful to the wicked things he had done. All the lies hidden underneath the mask I've noticed and accepted. The question is will she? The man I love was immortal, older than the monsters inside, he came upon the shadows brimming the golden rays of light. He was the Darkling, born perfect, a sinner and holy. The man of my dreams was slowly falling away from my hands, and into a girl no where he stands. I've done cruel and unforgivable morals to people, all for the sake of his happiness, that will always be placed upon another. She was the Sun summoner and I was his loyal servant. Killing was the only thing I can do for him and nothing more. He not once mentioned my love for him, needless the filter I've showed countless of times. They were a match made in heaven, so who was I, a mortal to interrupt their born to be love? I was his follower and he was my master, every command must be obeyed, even if that command may be a final goodbye. For him, I'll do anything, anything this world may be against and sought for, because he was my Aleksander, the shadow of my soul.
Wattpad: BookDragonEmpress
Instagram: @l.draco_reginawrites
So here's a little something..
Time; something that she had of just. plenty. The sand in the giant twenty four hourglass never seemed to stop flowing, yet…yet her day never seemed to end. The hourglass that held so many of her precious memories…so many of ‘their memories’. As she sat there crouched in a corner of the room in her damp mustard sweater…more like ‘the mustard sweater that they shared’, she couldn’t help but realize how massive the place was that never seemed so when it was ‘the two of them’.
Now that she was by herself, the place echoed regardless of any winds from the seas. It was like she could hear herself running barefoot through the floors, through the curtains..just laughing and all happy, something she just isn’t now. She could almost hear his heavenly voice ….her chest tightened. Is this what he meant to do from the start? Sail away together on a abandoned but resourced island while showing her perfect vivid dreams and just abandon her? No matter how much she thought over and over again, she couldn’t wrap her head around..even as she continued her hugs refusing to get up. There was no leftover strength in her knees. He had taken it all from her, everything that she owned, all of it, regardless of whether she treasured it or not and the astonishing thing is he left her with everything too ..everything that she needed to survive but even then it was missing the most crucial thing for her to live; him. He was missing even though he had promised he’d be here; right next to her when she woke up daily, doing her hair for her just the way he liked it..loosely tied and the only thing she ever wore; oversized sweaters. He had sworn in her ear every morning that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his whole life just like he had promised he would when he had put the rose gold metal band on her ring finger; with no gems or stones.. nothing shiny ..just the way she liked. She always told him that he was the only beaming thing that she’d ever wanted in all her 23 years of life and he’d always tell her that he was far from so and that she was way more than anything he ever deserved. He had got that giant hourglass as a remainder of the precious time he had and would gladly continue to spend with the ‘love of his life’
He promised and promised but was this his final plan? To abandon the woman to whom he had become everything to? Since when had he planned this? Just why? She had been fateful, had told absolutely no one when they’d be leaving or where they’d be going to. Had he approached her with such intentions from the very start? Was it because she never showed any forms of interest in any men before? Isn’t this the typical ‘player’ her friends had warned her of? He’d never turned up to any of those meetups that she and her friends had planned too, her parents lived abroad and every time she suggested they fly there together..he’d say they’d do it together once he had shown her their living arrangements for the future.
‘Future’…that word seemed to sting her harder now…even more than her scarlet frozen hand did. She refused to get up from her corner …from that place even now, refused to acknowledge that she has to do something…anything. She absolutely refused to recall that just that morning she had overheard her fiancé whisper to her thinking she was still fast asleep that the iron rods he was surprising her with would be arriving soon. If she had thought of that as nothing the single ship boarding pass on the candle holder had come off as a massive shock.
A blast of wind had her shivering…harder than before. She still refused to get up and shut the balcony door. The wind chimes continued to make their noise…as if someone’s world hadn’t fallen apart today, as if someone hadn’t lost their ‘soul mate’ today...just a few hours ago in fact. At that she looked up at the see through ceiling and only noted the moonlit sky. How special the night would have been if she wasn’t on her own, how he had rocked her from the sun and the wind every time so she could sleep better.
The man who made her feel so vulnerable and protected, wouldn’t let her do anything by herself, wouldn’t let her carry any weight, reminding her he was the one who had promised to take care of her for the rest of their lives, only to succumb at death...her hand shook more violently and she clutched her injured hand with her better one and brought it close to her chest. Her metal band still felt warm from being in his hold just last night and she swallowed a sob and still did not get up. She looked towards the dining table where the breakfast lay cold and untouched. She had made it herself; she had cooked and he had cut the fruits just this morning.
Another cold blast of wind and something dropped in front of her…a ticket...the boarding pass from this morning. She picked it up with trembling hands...and looked at the candle holder where it’d fallen from. She got herself to stand up somehow. The plain glass next to it showed her a mess...why had he told her she was beautiful every morning she’d never know. Her hair was too loose…her once mustard sweater was now semi scarlet-semi mustard, in knots and wrinkles from the scarlet liquid that had hardened. A short girl with dark, puffy eyes looked back at her. She looked drained. Something caught her eye…right close to mirror was the giant hourglass…but the thing at its bottom had her attention…a paper. She picked it up and it was her was another boarding pass, this time with her name on it. She stopped breathing for a moment. As she turned it, there were words that read ‘ My love, I’ve been putting off meeting your parents for too long haven’t I ? It must have upset you. I just wanted to make sure I had the right to ask for their approval. It’s taken a while for sure, and you have truly been patient. I realize you just acquired your sailing license. I want you be my captain this time.
But I have a mini surprise before that. You know how you always wanted to try snorkeling in the deep ocean? Yeah, how about you look beneath the balcony this time?” She rushed to the balcony and looked down. True to his word there was an iron cage the perfect size to fit a human bound to chains next to the bank.
She looked behind her...on floor where she’d been crouched all this time. She rushed there, to the body lying lifeless whose side she had been unable to leave even after having thought that he had betrayed her. She now shook him violently with just the smallest glimmer of false hope; that maybe...just maybe he’d wake up and embrace her trembling self. She began to put the pieces all together; he was bringing the cutlery back into the cooking space and she got agitated from seeing the blade; she began to put all the pieces together now looking at those glassy amber eyes that’d never look at her again. Her fingers shook as they gently caressed his curly dark hair…she had never thought she’d have to witness it all lose life right before her eyes…right by her own hands. His pure soul was lost to the unknown for good.
Even in his last moments he had struggled to protect her, worrying she had had decided to do the unthinkable, never knowing it would end in his life. Cold, hard and completely worn out now...she plopped down and looked at the butter knife stuck to his abdomen. She recalled grabbing the blade as he had brought it close to her from the back and as she struggled to get it out of his hand, he had refused to give it to her and in the process she ended up embedding it in his chest. He lay still and lifeless, eyes wide open as if shocked at what ‘his fiancé’ had done and probably wondering why too. Weeping, she leaned on his now hardened shoulder to inhale the scent for one last time and for the one last night, wishing to find solace in those loving arms even as they turned colder by the minute.(END)
twitter:@bobazbubbles
WHOA, incredible work! this deserve more views, likes and comments!
new favourite playlist... thank you very much
You Tube be ashamed please was a masterpiece, is a masterpiece and will be masterpiece this playlist got me from the first time
''I only painted them once, I've painted you...too many times to count, love. I have walls of paintings and sketches of you, my dear. They are a figure for study, you are my muse, my favorite subject and figure to draw. You are the person I dedicate all my art to. I was born and, gifted hands to draw you to attempt to capture a mere glimpse at your essence, to show the world how gorgeous you are, to immortalize your beauty in every stroke of paint. I and I alone, have the privilege to attempt to capture your ethereal beauty. When I am gone I will be forgotten the only thing left as evidence of my soul ever being on this planet, my paintings of your divine beauty.''
Best mix I have listened in a while, thank you...
I did a painting whilst listening to this. I did indeed feel misunderstood.
i love this channel omfgshah
lmao, I was looking for music to listen to during my German campaign in War in the East 2, and RUclips showed me this.
I guess it fits!
No there is no Wagner here to sooth the troubled mind . 😅
To my broken self, if you cross this obstacle... at least you can be depressed with peace of mind 👍
I adore your playlists! They are absolutely amazing and the vibe they give off is perfect! Where do you find this music?
This is truly heartbreaking and so beautiful ❤😭
Does anyone else notice how good music stimulate creative people to write ?
It does with me. I put it on either You Tube or my radio in the background , and then I write . Or I could sketch depending on how I feel.
Who agrees that Art is therapy.
And maybe, if he hadn’t dropped my soul when it was glass, it would have the ability to be mended. He shattered it, a thousand shards of my soul piercing into the solace of my heart, the stain of crimson leaking out each day with less in it than ever before.
alr imma try sorry for the bad english
I wasn't used to write a lot,
I only wrote sometimes,
but once i got to know her i never stopped, cause if I did, she would stop existing.
Just like I did, to meet her again.
Expected it to be nationalist German songs but this is cool also
Your playlists actually help me to study
Thank you for this incredible playlist you beautiful human ☺️
8:12 best …. 💔🥀
Ahh this is soo beautiful
oh to be an artist :,)
The POVs here are *chefs kiss*
your playlists are always sublime
Ég Le Te
Olykor örökké csak élnék,
Végestelen végig,
Úgy érzem, hogy ezen földön élni,
Aztán, néha még egy perc is teher hirtelen,
Körbevesznek arcok, de olyan
Teher, idegen,
S a föld, mi nekem oly kedves és melegség volt szívemen,
Egyszer csak komor lesz,
Kegyetlen, mint üvegszál az idegen,
S burjánzó földről, ott termek
Egy lakatlan szigeten.
Mily rejtélyes, titokzatos
listening to this while painting :)
your lips wander the touch of empty skylines as you find an amusement to bore. the clenched clouds were ready to pour out the misery served from the Gods themselves, as a punishment to the human. His ruby eyes danced the atmosphere and his sculpted nose inhaling sweetness found only in gifts from Gods. His perfected lips shine in the ballroom of delight, where he was always alone. the comprehending change disgusted him as he therefore took another soul
Poor sweet Evvy,
believed in Persephone
fallen for the misery
which was ever so drenching them out.
.
Oh this made me teary eyed
this is the perfect playlist
The last song makes me think of the Days of Our Lives (lol, my mom used to watch that, I remember it being on every afternoon when I was a kid)
this channel is my pain killer pill
How ironic is it that I stumbled upon this playlist as I watch "At eternity's gate"
same!
Oy, so you think you got problems? Lemme tell you, you don't know trouble like I do! I can't even claim to be a starving artist that lives in a garret, because I can't afford to live in a garret....instead, I live in a basement that might as well be a walk-in freezer, and I write books in a society where even the libraries are giving up on printed media. We're talking about a Farenheit 451 type situation here,folks....so us tale-spinners have gotta parck our brains and be ready to boogy when the time comes to get the heck out of Dodge. Things are gonna be grim, and we might not all make it to safety, but remember what the doormouse said and feed your head. Read and write voraciously, passionately and with dedication, use your heart and your mind, and say what you mean and mean what you say, and finally, remember what Oscar Wilde said about how some of us may be lying in the gutter, but looking up at the stars....and when the time comes, try to say come up with some clever last words, like "Either that wallpaper goes or I do!"
That was clever and funny too.
I have sent her a portrait painting of her and since then she didn't talk to me and I think Iam a miss understood artist.
when you followed through and need to do a 15 page academic work for an arts history final
austrian painter would have loved this
Austrian painter moment
Wonderful choices
I'm glad that I find this.
layers of fear type of vibe
why do I born with this stupid skill i don't deserved to have this talent at all...being have this talent make me lonely. it turn me into a cold person. when i see other artist i see they are a sweet person unlike me .
To write this you are not cold.
hey i saw your traveling in empty places vid was removed :( there’s a specific song on it that i can’t remember the name of, do you have a list of the songs that were on it? i love your taste in music xx
why did i immediately think of klaus mikelson 😂
i came for the song "erika"...mmh...I must have misunderstood the title
Ow Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
you should add memoir #2 by may roosevelt in the next mix
Misunderstanding: exists
Me: Listen this while reading the scene of Court on the Stephen’s paintings in “A thing of beauty” by Archibald Cronin
Just perfect
Me as I craft a niche deep cut shit post meme that only two people on Reddit like while my friends and family laugh at me.
a real artist is the one who studies and observe till pain, for him and the others. that's what akutagawa ryūnosuke thought
Hitler's favorite playlist
Not really, he would only enjoy Wagner.
When Ernst Klimt is the most famous Austrian painter.
Ha! The title is my life
Artist: would blood work for the under painting?!
Was there ever really an artist that wasn’t misunderstood?
ALEXANDRE CABANEL
When it starts with Philip Glass 🥵
Welcoming the unwelcomed are we, or will I myself do so.
Is it bad that my first though upon reading the title was Hitler?
No, he had nice paintings.
‼️ CALLING ALL WRITERS ‼️
Anyone who wants to share their beautiful stories with me, please do so in the comment thread here. You all are so incredibly talented and I can feel the pain in your every word. It's a shame such beautiful work is not more well-known. If any of yall have books or fan fictions or anything please share. I want to READ!!!
Make sure to get permission from and compensate writers if you formally compile their work.
I can give you some of my micro stories .
m3h
why did you delete so many playlists? i really miss them already.
they were blocked by youtube, i will reupload them soon
All of you " misunderstood artists" give H vibes.
I've lost my imagination, along with my portfolio. That was 25 years ago. Just started over
Now I feel like painting a portrait of someone I fell in love with who must never know my true feelings, while poring all my heart and soul into the painting making it enchanted so that it will get old instead of the person that it represents allowing him to commit the worst sins without loosing the innocence in his face, and when I confront him about it he kills me… or something
the artist in me is very sad while doing math rn!
same here