work of art

Works of art are the (usually) tangible result of the activities of artists. Some types of artworks include:

• paintings - oil, watercolor, acrylic
• drawings - pencil, charcoal, pastels, pen and ink
• sculptures - stone, wood, kinetic, neon
• photographs - black and white, color
• quilts
• flower arrangments
• engravings and other kinds of prints
• tattoos
• etc., etc.

"Works of art" can also include non-tangible outputs of creative endeavors, such as

• performace art
• dance performances
• musical compositions
• computer graphics

and a whole host of other, sometimes bizarre, sometimes mundane, things that people do.

Artists are very creative and unpredictable by their nature, and come up with things that are hard to classify! As the art node says, "Almost anything can be art."

Works of Art

Anthony tossed yet another piece of crumpled up paper into the bin. He did with with the expertise that came from years of experience, which indeed he had. Never being able to lose hope was both a blessing and a curse, throughout his time as an artist he had demonstrated perfectly how to not create art. He'd even had to take out his own account with the paper recyclers, relying on the public sector meant that by the time the recycling lorry's came round he was almost buried in the stuff.

Every one of his drawings would have probably got at least an A at GCSE level, and over 75% would have passed A level too. But they simply weren't good enough for the world, nor him. If his passion was say... accountancy, he could have managed, right was right, it would be right whether at GCSE, A level, or degree.

But Art... Art was different.

Art was expression, your innermost self etched into the physical world. Your perspective, your thoughts and feelings on an event, object, place, thrown into canvas. Picasso, his Art was so successful because he was so crazy, he saw the world through a kaleidoscope, and he let the world see that too. To create works of Art, you, yourself, had to be interesting.

Anthony wasn't, or at least he didn't think so. He had nothing inside him except a desire to create. He tried drawing a vase of flowers once, beautiful flowers, lovely, cost him an arm and a leg too. But... they all came out the same, his paintings were perfectly realistic, capturing every gleam of light upon the crest of petals. It was beautiful, demonstrating his huge skill with a pencil and paintbrush.

But if someone wanted to look at a vase of flowers, they would look at a vase of flowers, not at his paintings.

There was no Art in his paintings, no spin, it was just the vase, the flowers, and no Anthony. He may as well just have taken a photograph of it.

Luckily, many people bought his husks of canvas to put on their walls, coffee shops especially, coffee shops need atmosphere. He had never seen a popular coffee shop which had no character to it. Anthony stood up, grabbed his brown leather jacket off of the back of his chair and headed out of the door of his small flat. Time to abuse the privileges of financial security.