11/17/2012
10/26/2012
10/18/2012
4/11/2012
Flower Stories
This is a theme from a cartoon we used to see when we were kids.
I remember the story in persian had a narrator with a heavenly voice, I loved his warm, kind and relaxing way of telling stories.
Finding this music brought tears to my eyes. Thank you shanto1111 for sharing it.
I remember the story in persian had a narrator with a heavenly voice, I loved his warm, kind and relaxing way of telling stories.
Finding this music brought tears to my eyes. Thank you shanto1111 for sharing it.
4/08/2012
4/03/2012
IF:Return
Spring has begun and winter is crawling back to her chamber ,waiting for her turn to come.
Painted in SketchBook Pro
3/31/2012
3/15/2012
Doodle roll
It's a chain doodle. I put a big paper on my table, so everytime I passed it, I draw something.
دلم خواست فارسی بنویسم . هرچند چیزی هم برای گفتن ندارم.
2/26/2012
A Separation
Iranian drama ‘A Separation’ wins best foreign language film Oscar
Thank you Mr. Farhadi!
1/22/2012
Departure Lounge
I painted this with my finger! Using SketchBook for iPad.
It has a free transform tool , so you can paint a big object, then scale and minimize it.
Hope you like it :)
1/12/2012
1/11/2012
My instagram
I have recently joined a fun community, named Instagram(I know many of you have already seen it). I love it's square shaped images , and it's application has some super cool filters. If you are not already a member , do join! All you need is an iPod Touch (minimum hardware requirements :P), and your talented spirit!
1/09/2012
millionmasterpiece.com
Years ago I did this painting in millionmasterpiece.
It's fun to see the progress of your painting in an animative way.
Try it, I'm curious to see your paintings as well :)
12/14/2011
11/24/2011
11/17/2011
IF-Silent
I've decided to post regularly despite my nature :D, so this is my entry for this week's theme , and I painted it so quickly. It's better than being silent all the week ;)
11/08/2011
11/03/2011
Coral Girl
Google reader is almost dead and I've turned back to my blog!However, I was lonely there too, but at least I could share what I liked with a few of my friends...
Have you noticed that many of my illustrations have floating people in them? :D
5/25/2011
4/12/2011
My new Bamboo pen
I don't know what's wrong with my timing, I don't even have enough energy to paint a small painting!
I have to work on that, seriously...
Last week I bought a Bamboo Wacom pen, and the first thing I tried to paint, turned out to be this. It's not clean , I know, but I like the cat's figure.
1/13/2011
12/08/2010
10/11/2010
10/03/2010
Autumn
Golden color of sun beems through the window reminds me of an old website:
http://www.afterlifeseasons.com
http://www.afterlifeseasons.com
Enjoy
7/19/2010
7/03/2010
My own stickers
I'm painting little cute objects on an A4 paper, so that Afi can print them on a special paper and send them back to me , as stickers :D Thank you sister! I'm so excited!
here are some of them:
here are some of them:
6/10/2010
6/03/2010
5/27/2010
4/13/2010
My cat ,Khenzel
Is there any cat ladies out there who want to be with this handsome guy? (inside Iran) He is very cute in person :)
3/09/2010
IF:Brave
They are not afraid of heights :DI painted this for one of my friends as a birthday gift :)
2/10/2010
2/06/2010
1/02/2010
Happy new year!
Yesterday I moved in to a new apartment, same time last year I made this weblog. Coincidence? Maybe, but it seems to me as a good sign.
This was my daily horoscope for 1 January 2010 on yahoo :
A guardian angel in a human guise could come to your aid today. You may not even find out about their intervention until much later. If things seem to smooth out especially quickly or if you receive some excellent news, be aware that it could be the result of someone's advocacy on your behalf. Show the proper gratitude when the time comes. In the meantime, be an angel to someone else.
She's right, my friends and family are angels sent from heaven above :D
This was my daily horoscope for 1 January 2010 on yahoo :
A guardian angel in a human guise could come to your aid today. You may not even find out about their intervention until much later. If things seem to smooth out especially quickly or if you receive some excellent news, be aware that it could be the result of someone's advocacy on your behalf. Show the proper gratitude when the time comes. In the meantime, be an angel to someone else.
She's right, my friends and family are angels sent from heaven above :D
12/01/2009
First session
Feels good , following your dreams a bit :) I always wanted to go to a drawing class...Today was it's first day, and here is one of my sketches. I'm going to post them every month to see the flow of it's improvement.
10/25/2009
10/13/2009
9/22/2009
IF: Infinite
This is just an idea of what I'm going to illustrate for the ending of a book named Siddhartha, by Herman Hesse.I don't even like the way I've arranged elements in this draft...The final version will be so different.
Last week I saw a documentary produced by BBC about evolution. It was mind blowing... Our world is a beautiful place, yet it seems so cruel in some ways. The whole system is a flow towards perfection and happiness though. I believe in creator, and I think he made an intelligent node who has the ability to improve itself and he knew where it's going to lead...
Hope for joy and success for every one of us in this journey!
Spoiler alert: If you want to read this book someday, don't read the following lines :D
....
He no longer saw the face of his friend Siddhartha, instead he saw other
faces, many, a long sequence, a flowing river of faces, of hundreds, of thousands,
which all came and disappeared, and yet all seemed to be there simultaneously,
which all constantly changed and renewed themselves, and
which were still all Siddhartha. He saw the face of a fish, a carp, with
an infinitely painfully opened mouth, the face of a dying fish, with fading
eyes—he saw the face of a new-born child, red and full of wrinkles,
distorted from crying—he saw the face of a murderer, he saw him plunging
a knife into the body of another person—he saw, in the same second,
this criminal in bondage, kneeling and his head being chopped off by the
executioner with one blow of his sword—he saw the bodies of men and
women, naked in positions and cramps of frenzied love—he saw corpses
stretched out, motionless, cold, void—he saw the heads of animals, of
boars, of crocodiles, of elephants, of bulls, of birds—he saw gods, saw
Krishna, saw Agni—he saw all of these figures and faces in a thousand relationships
with one another, each one helping the other, loving it, hating
it, destroying it, giving re-birth to it, each one was a will to die, a passionately
painful confession of transitoriness, and yet none of them died, each
one only transformed, was always re-born, received evermore a new face,
without any time having passed between the one and the other face—and
all of these figures and faces rested, flowed, generated themselves, floated
along and merged with each other, and they were all constantly covered
by something thin, without individuality of its own, but yet existing, like
a thin glass or ice, like a transparent skin, a shell or mold or mask of water,
and this mask was smiling, and this mask was Siddhartha’s smiling
face, which he, Govinda, in this very same moment touched with his lips.
And, Govinda saw it like this, this smile of the mask, this smile of oneness
above the flowing forms, this smile of simultaneousness above the thousand births and deaths,
this smile of Siddhartha was precisely the same,
was precisely of the same kind as the quiet, delicate, impenetrable, perhaps
benevolent, perhaps mocking, wise, thousand-fold smile of Gotama,
the Buddha, as he had seen it himself with great respect a hundred times.
Like this, Govinda knew, the perfected ones are smiling.
Not knowing any more whether time existed, whether the vision had lasted
a second or a hundred years, not knowing any more whether there existed a
Siddhartha, a Gotama, a me and a you, feeling in his innermost self as if he
had been wounded by a divine arrow, the injury of which tasted sweet, being
enchanted and dissolved in his innermost self, Govinda still stood for
a little while bent over Siddhartha’s quiet face, which he had just kissed,
which had just been the scene of all manifestations, all transformations, all
existence. The face was unchanged, after under its surface the depth of the
thousandfoldness had closed up again, he smiled silently, smiled quietly
and softly, perhaps very benevolently, perhaps very mockingly, precisely
as he used to smile, the exalted one.
Deeply, Govinda bowed; tears he knew nothing of, ran down his old face;
like a fire burnt the feeling of the most intimate love, the humblest veneration
in his heart. Deeply, he bowed, touching the ground, before him who
was sitting motionlessly, whose smile reminded him of everything he had
ever loved in his life, what had ever been valuable and holy to him in his life.
faces, many, a long sequence, a flowing river of faces, of hundreds, of thousands,
which all came and disappeared, and yet all seemed to be there simultaneously,
which all constantly changed and renewed themselves, and
which were still all Siddhartha. He saw the face of a fish, a carp, with
an infinitely painfully opened mouth, the face of a dying fish, with fading
eyes—he saw the face of a new-born child, red and full of wrinkles,
distorted from crying—he saw the face of a murderer, he saw him plunging
a knife into the body of another person—he saw, in the same second,
this criminal in bondage, kneeling and his head being chopped off by the
executioner with one blow of his sword—he saw the bodies of men and
women, naked in positions and cramps of frenzied love—he saw corpses
stretched out, motionless, cold, void—he saw the heads of animals, of
boars, of crocodiles, of elephants, of bulls, of birds—he saw gods, saw
Krishna, saw Agni—he saw all of these figures and faces in a thousand relationships
with one another, each one helping the other, loving it, hating
it, destroying it, giving re-birth to it, each one was a will to die, a passionately
painful confession of transitoriness, and yet none of them died, each
one only transformed, was always re-born, received evermore a new face,
without any time having passed between the one and the other face—and
all of these figures and faces rested, flowed, generated themselves, floated
along and merged with each other, and they were all constantly covered
by something thin, without individuality of its own, but yet existing, like
a thin glass or ice, like a transparent skin, a shell or mold or mask of water,
and this mask was smiling, and this mask was Siddhartha’s smiling
face, which he, Govinda, in this very same moment touched with his lips.
And, Govinda saw it like this, this smile of the mask, this smile of oneness
above the flowing forms, this smile of simultaneousness above the thousand births and deaths,
this smile of Siddhartha was precisely the same,
was precisely of the same kind as the quiet, delicate, impenetrable, perhaps
benevolent, perhaps mocking, wise, thousand-fold smile of Gotama,
the Buddha, as he had seen it himself with great respect a hundred times.
Like this, Govinda knew, the perfected ones are smiling.
Not knowing any more whether time existed, whether the vision had lasted
a second or a hundred years, not knowing any more whether there existed a
Siddhartha, a Gotama, a me and a you, feeling in his innermost self as if he
had been wounded by a divine arrow, the injury of which tasted sweet, being
enchanted and dissolved in his innermost self, Govinda still stood for
a little while bent over Siddhartha’s quiet face, which he had just kissed,
which had just been the scene of all manifestations, all transformations, all
existence. The face was unchanged, after under its surface the depth of the
thousandfoldness had closed up again, he smiled silently, smiled quietly
and softly, perhaps very benevolently, perhaps very mockingly, precisely
as he used to smile, the exalted one.
Deeply, Govinda bowed; tears he knew nothing of, ran down his old face;
like a fire burnt the feeling of the most intimate love, the humblest veneration
in his heart. Deeply, he bowed, touching the ground, before him who
was sitting motionlessly, whose smile reminded him of everything he had
ever loved in his life, what had ever been valuable and holy to him in his life.
9/16/2009
9/05/2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)