Halloween is Art! Halloween Treats…


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“Monster” painting by Hannah Blankenship, Western Hills High School Art Student

Everywhere you turn, costumes, paintings, face painting,  and hair styles dress the Halloween.

 

 

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“Monster” by Maci Tackett, Western Hills High School art student

At Western Hills High School in Frankfort, Kentucky, we celebrated our new status as a Distinguished School with special activities including an outdoor cook out for lunch. The weather was beautiful today! Perfect day for a picnic!

 

 

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“Ghost” by Kanice Prince, Western Hills High School art student.

Our High School students in the art room treated the Western Hills Day Care trick -or- treaters with a little chocolate!

 

MORE HALLOWEEN ART

 

 

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AND WHO REMEMBERS GOMEZ AND MORTICIA?

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A POEM FOR HALLOWEEN BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

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The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe | Poetry Foundation <link href=”//www.poetryfoundation.org/assets/styles/icons.fallback.css” rel=”stylesheet”>

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore–
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door–
            Only this and nothing more.”
    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow;–vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow–sorrow for the lost Lenore–
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore–
            Nameless here for evermore.
    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me–filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
    “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door–
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;–
            This it is and nothing more.”
    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”–here I opened wide the door;–
            Darkness there and nothing more.
    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”–
            Merely this and nothing more.
    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
      Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore–
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;–
            ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door–
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door–
            Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore–
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning–little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door–
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
            With such name as “Nevermore.”
    But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing farther then he uttered–not a feather then he fluttered–
    Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before–
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
            Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore–
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
            Of ‘Never–nevermore’.”
    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore–
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
            Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee–by these angels he hath sent thee
    Respite–respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!–prophet still, if bird or devil!–
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted–
    On this home by Horror haunted–tell me truly, I implore–
Is there–is there balm in Gilead?–tell me–tell me, I implore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!–prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us–by that God we both adore–
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore–
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
    “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting–
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken!–quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
            Shall be lifted–nevermore!

CLICK HERE FOR BOOKS FOR CHILDREN!

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

 

CLICK HERE FOR SOME PET HALLOWEEN COSTUMES!

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Halloween lion’s mane for your dog!

Collector’s Choice: Tim Benson


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Faces of Ebola

“In November I will be exhibiting a number of portraits of Sierra Leonians affected by the recent Ebola outbreak. This solo show at the Mall Galleries’ Threadneedle Gallery will highlight the continued stigma that surrounds both survivors of the disease and many of those who treated them.”

 

 

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“The oil painted portraits by Tim Benson grip me with their visceral paint application of vibrant variance of hue. His build up of painterly brush movement forms a human soul and presence commanding and compelling in its power and complexity. From out of the flat two dimensional painting surface emerges the individual personality and presence of a person made complete and whole through the engagement of intuited color and form.”  By Janis Kirstein

 

 

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Educated at Glasgow School of Art and Byam Shaw School of Art from 1998-2001, contemporary artist Tim Benson has received recognition with his election as Vice President of the Royal Institute of Oil Painters. As a practised figurative artist Tim not only creates a distinguishable likeness of a subject but moreover evokes the sitter’s character and mood. He is never satisfied with simple representation, rather concentrating on bringing to his work an emotive and often visceral quality.
Tim regularly exhibits in solo and group exhibitions around the UK. He displays fine art paintings that stand on their own as collectible works of art and accordingly has established a large following and collector base. In addition to his fine art pieces, he accepts more formal portrait and figurative commissions in oil or charcoal.

 

 

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EXHIBITIONS
2016
• November: Faces of Ebola – Mall Galleries

 

 

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Do you know what I would love?  I would love to hear your thoughts and feelings about this feature! How does this work affect you, make you feel? Grace us with your comments and insights.  We would all love to hear from you!  Thanks so much.                Jan Kirstein

 

Collector’s Choice: Igor Smode


 

 

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About Igor Smode

Igor Smode is a photographer from Ljubljana, Slovenia. He has become masterful at subject matter ranging from People Portraits to nature, architecture and landscape photography.

Igor’s favorite cameras and lenses include the  Nikon d750 camera and  the Nikon d7100 camera. This is a list of lenses he uses. These lenses are made in USSR and include the  jupiter 11, jupiter 8 jupiter 37-a, helios 44-2, and Tokina macro100 f2,8.

He is from the town of Ljubljana, Slovenia. Ljubljana is the capital and largest city of Slovenia. During antiquity, it was the site of a Roman city called Emona. It was under Habsburg rule from the Middle Ages until the dissolution of the Austro-Hungarian Empire in 1918.

Today, Slovenia‘s capital and largest city also happens to be one of Europe‘s greenest and most livable capitals. The European Commission awarded Ljubljana with the coveted Green Capital of Europe title for 2016. Car traffic is restricted in the center of the city, leaving the leafy banks of the Ljubljanica River, which flows through the city’s heart, free for pedestrians and cyclists.

In summer, cafes set up terrace seating along the river; it almost feels like a nightly street party.

Slovenia‘s master of early-modern, minimalist design, Jože Plečnik, graced Ljubljana with beautiful buildings and accoutrements; attractive cities are often described as ‘jewel boxes’, but here the name really fits. And bringing life to these historical riches, the city’s 50,000-odd students support an active clubbing and cultural scene, and the museums, hotels and restaurants are among the best in the country.If you  would like to read more about Ljubljana, follow this link: http://www.lonelyplanet.com/slovenia/ljubljana/introduction#ixzz4AY4abEQE

The photographs of Igor are masterful in their composition, capture of contrast, texture, color and emotion. Many of his images contain additional unique visual enhancements, such as the appearance of images embedded into one another. This effect is evident in his architectural images, seen above. Though this technique and others, he adds subtle emotional nuance and creates a sense of timelessness that push the boundaries in traditional photography.

More of Igor Smode’s photographs are located on his Facebook Page.

 

 

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Photographs of People by Igor Smode

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Landscape Photography by Igor Smode

imageThe Dolomites are a mountain range located in northeastern Italy. They form a part of the Southern Limestone Alps.

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