art
Art of an introspective nature; a look at artwork that reveals the artist's psyche and comments on the inner workings of a chaotic mind.
Be Proud of Your Bad Art
I have two of my own paintings displayed in my home. Are they well-done? Not particularly but I display them nonetheless, right along with paintings and prints by much more talented friends and artists. It’s important to recognize the value in creative endeavours, regardless of overall quality. That’s why I hang my bad paintings and revel at their colour when I pass them in my home.
Rachel RamkaranPublished 3 years ago in PsycheArt is a Good Medium for Expression
Tolstoy (1828-1910) stresses that art express worthy feelings. Art as emotional expression finds great exposition from the work of Benedetto Croce (1866-1952) and R.G. Collingwood (1889-1943). Croce, starts, "intuitions", the immediate knowing of impressions and transformation by active imaginative unified images or organic wholes. Intuition is regarded as expression of emotion to express the personality of the artist and evoked to the “larger soul of man” Holcombe,2015).
Shanie WalkerPublished 3 years ago in PsychePTSD Treatment using Art Therapy
Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a psychiatric disorder which results from the experience or witnessing of traumatic or life-threatening events. The stress resulting from traumatic events triggers a spectrum of psycho-emotions and physio pathological consequences. PTSD also has profound psychobiological links, which can damage a person's existence and be life threatening. (Iribarren, Prolo, Neagos, and Chiappelli, 2005). PTSD Trauma treatment, (2010-2014) enlightens patients that suffer trauma, at times cannot express themselves through words to explicate their post-traumatic emotions. Sometimes words are imprisoned within a person’s unconscious, restricting them from verbalizing their emotions. To heal, patients need to express their emotions, work through them, and regain a positive focus. Some patients with PTSD can find a way to heal by expressing themselves through art. Art Therapy is an accepted intervention that insures effective and efficacious treatment for the benefit of the patient.
Shanie WalkerPublished 3 years ago in PsycheThe Special Thing About One's Mind
I always think about time machines that could bring me to the past and future. Oftentimes, I think about space machines that could take me somewhere else away from this world. Sometimes, I think about inventing a machine that could make my wrong decisions to right one or to correct my mistakes and show me the path I should take so I could guarantee the ending that I want. All of these, I know I couldn't make them happen. I am not capable enough to build one of these. I wish I knew more about technologies or machineries, but unfortunately don’t which is totally okay. I can only imagine in my mind and I realized, I can do this all in my mind. And it gives me the good feeling that inside my head, I could do anything I want without doing any harm to anyone. It is like building things like these inside my head without having actual things that I need to build one in reality. In reality, I have a lot of ignorance about all sorts of things.
Barlin ChavesPublished 3 years ago in PsycheColors Effect On Human Behavior
Colors and Human Behavior Everyone in their childhood plays with colors and draw the different design. Mostly it happened that the outcome seems different from the thing which we want to draw, but we feel happy by seeing our creation.
SAIMA AFTABPublished 3 years ago in PsycheThe flesh beneath the marble
There have been days when anguish, sorrow, and dismay were the ferocious tyrants of my soul, and all I could feel was a pain so deep that it felt too much for this weak, earthly body.
Claudia TofanelliPublished 3 years ago in PsycheThe Read Soul
My agent gave his best effort to look at me soberly. He wanted me to know that what he was about to say was important. I didn’t know why he was trying so hard to be serious. It was making me nervous. “John just tell me what the news is,” I said. “Fine. Fair enough,” he responded. “Ben, when last we spoke you pitched me on an idea for a book and you gave me a sample of what you wanted it to look like in this little book.” He held up the elegant black journal I had given to him with two handwritten chapters in it. Of course, I had also emailed him the text. He went on: “You explained that your vision for the book was, upon completion, to have a publisher reproduce copies to look as close to this journal as possible, down to the handwriting.” “Yes, I know John, and...” He cut me off and continued: “I was, and I continue to be, skeptical of this idea. In fact, I think it’s a bad one. I tried to talk you out of it, but you said there was no turning back.” I could tell what was coming, and I attempted to intercept his rejection so that I could transmute it into some kind of new possibility, but he wouldn’t have it. “Just shhh for a moment Ben.” His gray mustache fluttered. “Where was I?”
Adam Noble RobertsPublished 3 years ago in PsycheThe Waiting Room
There are 4 of us here. And the room is thick with tension. Dark, cold and dripping with tappings of rainwater from the previous night. 2 metres apart, maniac scribbles, loud breaths and thick cigarette smoke. Glances are quick and unsettling, our supervisor looks tired, my legs are weak and my throat thirst from lack of water.
Enigmatic
Staring at a cardboard package on the kitchen island. A young woman, still holding her school books, is puzzled by the appearance. The package is weathered and looks quite old. Her eyes hastily look to see if someone is still there. A chill stands the light colored hairs on the back of her neck. Moving closer, cautiously, she cannot help but be drawn to the parcel. Her big and bright beautiful eyes focus on the label. It is addressed to her brother Nathan whom is two years older than herself. She fights the urge to see what is inside, insomuch she instinctively reaches out without hesitation tearing open what has been tugging at her curiosity. She steps back, inside is a black notebook, almost as if it had never been used. "That is odd!" she thinks to herself. Underneath the black notebook appears to be a large book nicely wrapped in an old newspaper. The date reads 1959. The headline catches her eye. "The Disappearance of Avril Lynch!" A photo is also below the headline. It is of a shiny black 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air. She carefully unfolds the corners of the newspaper to peek inside. Her big brown eyes widen. Inside are stacks of twenty dollar bills, hundreds of them, thousands, each sealed in a plastic lining. The thoughts race through her mind. Her brother had never been in trouble a day in his life. What could he possibly be into, is he hurt or in danger? She shakes the unnerving thoughts away. Her fingers shaking, she folds the newspaper back into place. Now, her attention is focused on the notebook. The home feels quite damp. Picking up the the notebook, she wraps her hands around her shoulders and shrugs from the cold. She climbs the stairs to her room and sits on the bed.
Paul SauvolaPublished 3 years ago in Psychemuseum of fire
They cannot know but they do. Galloway did all he could: there is nothing heavier than a secret kept from humankind. When they knew they knew, Galloway preached instruction on acute mental exercises, like a monk explaining god. The lesson was on how to build a prison for a secret in your head. You open a wall in the weakest point of brick. Pry the pieces loose with soft fingertips if you’ve never fortified your personhood with hammers and picks. Now, you are the sharp object. It’s important that you are the sharpest thing in your own room. If that’s not possible, if your mind is too much flesh, wall yourself in. Like he said, it’s important.
Sarah E. RoyPublished 3 years ago in PsycheRude Awakening
I awoke with pain in my arm. Silence contrasted against distant chatter and beeping. Was I in a robot prison? As ludicrous as that seems, it was my first thought. I pulled my mind closer; it felt like a kite pulling against thin string. My mind continued to float into the sky driven by a will of its own.
Scarlet MartinoPublished 3 years ago in PsycheThe way it breaks
No. Fucking. Way. He couldn’t believe it was true. His eyes widen and his pulse starts to race. It feels like the first time he had sex or what he imagined it would feel like to win at pretty much anything at all.
Jarred HarknettPublished 3 years ago in Psyche