關於 room painting supplies ，我們在網路上蒐集到這些相關的討論、資訊與評價

11h đêm ủng hộ the GOAT năm bờ oăn nào các nuii

Dịch hơi ngựa trân trọng góp zui chương trình này 🥳🥳
Lời lần này chất lừ nên bớt ngựa ráng rhyme cho engsub cũng bay lên trực thăng như lời Việt 😈😈😈

Ai thích giao lưu với t và nghe tips tiếng Anh từ t nhiều hơn thì hãy join my Nuii Gang <3 patreon.com/hanaslexis

🎵🎵🎵

Trời hôm nay nhiều mây cực
= Today’s cloudy as fudge
Đặt bàn tay mình ngay ngực
= Put my hand on my heart
Nghe con tim mình xóc nảy
= Listen to the pitter patter
Chiều mướt mải làn tóc bay
= Hair in the afternoon aflutter
Tâm tư tựa như bánh tráng
= My mind is like rice paper
Mỏng và có màu cánh gián
= Thin and puce-colored
Không muốn lòng cứ âm u
= Don’t want no doom and gloom
Giữa căn phòng nhiều ánh sáng
= Inside a brilliant room
Lấy xe rời bỏ phố xa
= Hop on a bike leaving the city behind
Nơi đó nhiều khi làm khó ta
= Where I was often in a bind
Không chở ai nên có đà
= Empty backseat lets me take flight
Lên con dốc bằng số ba
= Ride uphill in third gear
Lại đi tìm về lối nhỏ
= Back in the alley here
Mắt nhìn trời đầu thì gối cỏ
= Eyes to the sky, head laid on the grass
Nặn mặt trời thành một khối đỏ
= Mold the sun into a reddish mass
Đôi khi nhắm mắt lại nhìn mới rõ
= Squinting helps when it’s hard to watch
Nhắm mắt lại trời tối om
= Shutting turns the sky pitch dark
Gom mây lại thành gối ôm
= Gather clouds into a body pillow
Chất muộn phiền thành khối rơm
= In a bale of straw pile up sorrows
Lửa lòng cháy mùi khói thơm
= Soul on fire wafting a nice aroma
Rừng lặng tiếng và im hơi
= In the woods all sounds become soft
Im cho tới độ nghe kim rơi
= So quiet you could hear a pin drop
Sầu thi nhau mà tháo chạy
= Sorrows rush to exit in tow
Chiều nay nắng mang tim phơi
= Heart hung dry by the afternoon glow

Hook:
Đi vào rừng một mình không có rủ ai
= Into the woods alone no need for chaperones
Ngực no mùi đất mẹ, làm con đủ high
= Puffing on Mother Earth, enough to get so high
Sẽ luôn là người tốt, như là lũ nai
= Be a good Samaritan, forever doe-eyed
Học cách làm chủ được mình trước khi làm chủ ai
= Be your own boss before bossing around other lives
Ở trong rừng an toàn hơn ở trên mạng
= Into the woods is safer than online
Một mình vẫn tốt hơn là mất thêm bạn
= Choose solitude to evade goodbyes
Thế giới này không phải của chúng mình đâu
= Claiming this world is ours ain’t right
Loài người được đằng chân rồi lấn đằng đầu
= Give someone an inch, and they’ll take a mile

Verse 2:
Ta bị không gian thao túng
= Yield myself to the space
Bị thời gian làm cho nao núng
= The time has me hesitate
Bị giới hạn trong đủ đầy
= Confined by ample supplies
Trong những đêm suy tư và ngủ ngày
= And sleeping in after restless nights
Bao nhiêu đôi ở trong tủ giày
= Umpteen pairs in the shoe cabinet
Liệu con đường kia có dễ bước?
= Could they ease life’s hindrances?
Bọc thêm áo và thêm quần
= Wrapped in more clothing all the way
Mà lòng người thật ra vẫn dễ xước
= Does not keep the heart unscathed
Đời sao kì lạ, đúng ra
= Life’s so strange in a sense
Đừng bắt ta chọn giữa súng-hoa
= Stop forcing us to pick, guns or roses
Đừng cầm gót chân rồi nhúng qua
= Stop trying dipping our heels of Achilles
Chúng ta thuộc về chúng ta
= We make our own histories
Rốt cuộc thì ai cũng sẽ bị buộc phải lớn
= Everybody has to grow up eventually
Niềm đau sẽ đến một ngày không muộn thì sớm
= Pain will visit one day, late or early
Không còn là trẻ lên năm lên ba
= Gone are the days of being kiddies
Nghĩ cho thật kỹ trước khi đặt một hình xăm lên da
= Think hard before etching ink in the skin
Miệt mài viết tiếp để những đêm trắng hoá thành đêm bạc
= Lose myself in composing, dye all-nighters silvery

Lòng tham duy nhất là mong trong đầu có nhiều thêm nhạc
= Head filled with verses is my only greed
Và vẫn chối từ cái ngủ ghé đến đòi hôn mắt nồng
= To still deny my eyes the sweet slumber’s kiss
Dù biết một ngày mọi thứ cũng thành “nhựa nhôm sắt đồng”
= Though I know all will reduce to scrap metal
Sau này, sau này, sau này
= One day, one day, one day
Chỉ mong là không còn cau mày
= Just hope that my brow no longer furrows
Học cách để làm mình bình thản
= Learn to let it all go
Từ niềm vui cho tới niềm đau này
= From the highs to the lows
Và mong là còn được cười, ngày mây kéo trắng về trên luống tóc
= Hopefully the day my locks turn cloudy gray, me smiling will still be a thing
Vẫn chưa từng được gặp Tăng Thanh Hà, nhưng đôi khi bỗng dưng lại muốn khóc
= Have yet to run into Tang Thanh Ha, but sometimes the blues still come knocking

Verse 3:
Nếu cho ta ngai vàng, ta sẽ bán lấy tiền mua bánh ăn
= I’d trade a royal throne for hard cash to stuff my stomach
Mua bánh bò, bánh pía, bánh trung thu và thèm cả bánh căn
= With honeycomb cakes, “pia” cakes, mooncakes, and even “can” pancakes
Cũng vì tiết kiệm nước, nên nhiều lần chỉ tắm trong ánh trăng
= Been moonbathing many times as I’ve got water to save
Làm gì thì cũng vậy, ngày hai lần ai cũng phải đánh răng
= Whatever you do, you still gotta brush twice a day
Ngày còn nhỏ anh thường băn khoăn
= To my younger self I would often say
Có điều gì đó ở trên cung trăng
= What is it that lies on the moon up there
Nếu là chú cuội và chị Hằng
= If it’s really “chu Cuoi” and “chi Hang” (the Moon guy and the Moon lady)
Họ lấy cái gì làm thức ăn
= What food do they live on to survive
Rồi tình đầu tới, buổi tối đầu tiên
= Then came the first love, the first night together
Em thơm và ngậy như là múi sầu riêng
= Like durian flesh, you were aromatic and full of flavors
Lòng mình khi đó như được sơn sắc hồng
= My heart then felt pink-tinged with fever
Còn e dè hệt như chim ôm chắc lồng
= Still like a bird clutching its cage, I dithered
Như tranh của Le-vi-tan
= Like a Levitan’s painting
Mùa yêu năm đó thật vàng
= The season was our golden loving
Em như là con nai nhỏ
= A fawn, like you were
Anh là đám lá thu sang
= A fall foliage, like I was
Tình yêu như lò vi sóng, làm ta nóng từ trong ra
= Making us hot and bothered, our love was like a microwave
Mang đến nhiều dư vị như đồ ăn chợ Đông Ba
= Like the food in Dong Ba market, it left such a rich aftertaste
Tiếc là mình không gặp người lái đò ở Sông Đà
= What a shame we did not come across the ferryman at Da River
Nên em thì ra cửa Đáy, anh đổ ngược về Sơn La
= Thus you drifted to Day estuary, me finding myself back in Son La
Mình lao vào những guồng quay
= We both got swept away by the currents of life
Giờ cũng không thấy buồn mấy
= And have since become desensitized

Nobody’s Fool　　( January 2011 )

Yoshitomo Nara

Do people look to my childhood for sources of my imagery? Back then, the snow-covered fields of the north were about as far away as you could get from the rapid economic growth happening elsewhere. Both my parents worked and my brothers were much older, so the only one home to greet me when I got back from elementary school was a stray cat we’d taken in. Even so, this was the center of my world. In my lonely room, I would twist the radio dial to the American military base station and out blasted rock and roll music. One of history’s first man-made satellites revolved around me up in the night sky. There I was, in touch with the stars and radio waves.

It doesn’t take much imagination to envision how a lonely childhood in such surroundings might give rise to the sensibility in my work. In fact, I also used to believe in this connection. I would close my eyes and conjure childhood scenes, letting my imagination amplify them like the music coming from my speakers.

But now, past the age of fifty and more cool-headed, I’ve begun to wonder how big a role childhood plays in making us who we are as adults. Looking through reproductions of the countless works I’ve made between my late twenties and now, I get the feeling that childhood experiences were merely a catalyst. My art derives less from the self-centered instincts of childhood than from the day-to-day sensory experiences of an adult who has left this realm behind. And, ultimately, taking the big steps pales in importance to the daily need to keep on walking.

While I was in high school, before I had anything to do with art, I worked part-time in a rock café. There I became friends with a graduate student of mathematics who one day started telling me, in layman’s terms, about his major in topology. His explanation made the subject seem less like a branch of mathematics than some fascinating organic philosophy. My understanding is that topology offers you a way to discover the underlying sameness of countless, seemingly disparate, forms. Conversely, it explains why many people, when confronted with apparently identical things, will accept a fake as the genuine article. I later went on to study art, live in Germany, and travel around the world, and the broader perspective I’ve gained has shown me that topology has long been a subtext of my thinking. The more we add complexity, the more we obscure what is truly valuable. Perhaps the reason I began, in the mid-90s, trying to make paintings as simple as possible stems from that introduction to topology gained in my youth.

As a kid listening to U.S. armed-forces radio, I had no idea what the lyrics meant, but I loved the melody and rhythm of the music. In junior high school, my friends and I were already discussing rock and roll like credible music critics, and by the time I started high school, I was hanging out in rock coffee shops and going to live shows. We may have been a small group of social outcasts, but the older kids, who smoked cigarettes and drank, talked to us all night long about movies they’d seen or books they’d read. If the nighttime student quarter had been the school, I’m sure I would have been a straight-A student.

In the 80s, I left my hometown to attend art school, where I was anything but an honors student. There, a model student was one who brought a researcher’s focus to the work at hand. Your bookshelves were stacked with catalogues and reference materials. When you weren’t working away in your studio, you were meeting with like-minded classmates to discuss art past and present, including your own. You were hoping to set new trends in motion. Wholly lacking any grand ambition, I fell well short of this model, with most of my paintings done to satisfy class assignments. I was, however, filling every one of my notebooks, sketchbooks, and scraps of wrapping paper with crazy, graffiti-like drawings.

Looking back on my younger days—Where did where all that sparkling energy go? I used the money from part-time jobs to buy record albums instead of art supplies and catalogues. I went to movies and concerts, hung out with my girlfriend, did funky drawings on paper, and made midnight raids on friends whose boarding-room lights still happened to be on. I spent the passions of my student days outside the school studio. This is not to say I wasn’t envious of the kids who earned the teachers’ praise or who debuted their talents in early exhibitions. Maybe envy is the wrong word. I guess I had the feeling that we were living in separate worlds. Like puffs of cigarette smoke or the rock songs from my speaker, my adolescent energies all vanished in the sky.

Being outside the city and surrounded by rice fields, my art school had no art scene to speak of—I imagined the art world existing in some unknown dimension, like that of TV or the movies. At the time, art could only be discussed in a Western context, and, therefore, seemed unreal. But just as every country kid dreams of life in the big city, this shaky art-school student had visions of the dazzling, far-off realm of contemporary art. Along with this yearning was an equally strong belief that I didn’t deserve admittance to such a world. A typical provincial underachiever!

I did, however, love to draw every day and the scrawled sketches, never shown to anybody, started piling up. Like journal entries reflecting the events of each day, they sometimes intersected memories from the past. My little everyday world became a trigger for the imagination, and I learned to develop and capture the imagery that arose. I was, however, still a long way off from being able to translate those countless images from paper to canvas.

Visions come to us through daydreams and fantasies. Our emotional reaction towards these images makes them real. Listening to my record collection gave me a similar experience. Before the Internet, the precious little information that did exist was to be found in the two or three music magazines available. Most of my records were imported—no liner notes or lyric sheets in Japanese. No matter how much I liked the music, living in a non-English speaking world sadly meant limited access to the meaning of the lyrics. The music came from a land of societal, religious, and subcultural sensibilities apart from my own, where people moved their bodies to it in a different rhythm. But that didn’t stop me from loving it. I never got tired of poring over every inch of the record jackets on my 12-inch vinyl LPs. I took the sounds and verses into my body. Amidst today’s superabundance of information, choosing music is about how best to single out the right album. For me, it was about making the most use of scant information to sharpen my sensibilities, imagination, and conviction. It might be one verse, melody, guitar riff, rhythmic drum beat or bass line, or record jacket that would inspire me and conjure up fresh imagery. Then, with pencil in hand, I would draw these images on paper, one after the other. Beyond good or bad, the pictures had a will of their own, inhabiting the torn pages with freedom and friendliness.

By the time I graduated from university, my painting began to approach the independence of my drawing. As a means for me to represent a world that was mine and mine alone, the paintings may not have been as nimble as the drawings, but I did them without any preliminary sketching. Prizing feelings that arose as I worked, I just kept painting and over-painting until I gained a certain freedom and the sense, though vague at the time, that I had established a singular way of putting images onto canvas. Yet, I hadn’t reached the point where I could declare that I would paint for the rest of my life.

After receiving my undergraduate degree, I entered the graduate school of my university and got a part-time job teaching at an art yobiko—a prep school for students seeking entrance to an art college. As an instructor, training students how to look at and compose things artistically, meant that I also had to learn how to verbalize my thoughts and feelings. This significant growth experience not only allowed me to take stock of my life at the time, but also provided a refreshing opportunity to connect with teenage hearts and minds.

And idealism! Talking to groups of art students, I naturally found myself describing the ideals of an artist. A painful experience for me—I still had no sense of myself as an artist. The more the students showed their affection for me, the more I felt like a failed artist masquerading as a sensei (teacher). After completing my graduate studies, I kept working as a yobiko instructor. And in telling students about the path to becoming an artist, I began to realize that I was still a student myself, with many things yet to learn. I felt that I needed to become a true art student. I decided to study in Germany. The day I left the city where I had long lived, many of my students appeared on the platform to see me off.

Life as a student in Germany was a happy time. I originally intended to go to London, but for economic reasons chose a tuition-free, and, fortunately, academism-free German school. Personal approaches coexisted with conceptual ones, and students tried out a wide range of modes of expression. Technically speaking, we were all students, but each of us brought a creator’s spirit to the fore. The strong wills and opinions of the local students, though, were well in place before they became artists thanks to the German system of early education. As a reticent foreign student from a far-off land, I must have seemed like a mute child. I decided that I would try to make myself understood not through words, but through having people look at my pictures. When winter came and leaden clouds filled the skies, I found myself slipping back to the winters of my childhood. Forgoing attempts to speak in an unknown language, I redoubled my efforts to express myself through visions of my private world. Thinking rather than talking, then illustrating this thought process in drawings and, finally, realizing it in a painting. Instead of defeating you in an argument, I wanted to invite you inside me. Here I was, in a most unexpected place, rediscovering a value that I thought I had lost—I felt that I had finally gained the ability to learn and think, that I had become a student in the truest sense of the word.

But I still wasn’t your typical honors student. My paintings clearly didn’t look like contemporary art, and nobody would say my images fit in the context of European painting. They did, however, catch the gaze of dealers who, with their antennae out for young artists, saw my paintings as new objects that belonged less to the singular world of art and more to the realm of everyday life. Several were impressed by the freshness of my art, and before I knew it, I was invited to hold exhibitions in established galleries—a big step into a wider world.

The six years that I spent in Germany after completing my studies and before returning to Japan were golden days, both for me and my work. Every day and every night, I worked tirelessly to fix onto canvas all the visions that welled up in my head. My living space/studio was in a dreary, concrete former factory building on the outskirts of Cologne. It was the center of my world. Late at night, my surroundings were enveloped in darkness, but my studio was brightly lit. The songs of folk poets flowed out of my speakers. In that place, standing in front of the canvas sometimes felt like traveling on a solitary voyage in outer space—a lonely little spacecraft floating in the darkness of the void. My spaceship could go anywhere in this fantasy while I was painting, even to the edge of the universe.

Suddenly one day, I was flung outside—my spaceship was to be scrapped. My little vehicle turned back into an old concrete building, one that was slated for destruction because it was falling apart. Having lost the spaceship that had accompanied me on my lonely travels, and lacking the energy to look for a new studio, I immediately decided that I might as well go back to my homeland. It was painful and sad to leave the country where I had lived for twelve years and the handful of people I could call friends. But I had lost my ship. The only place I thought to land was my mother country, where long ago those teenagers had waved me goodbye and, in retrospect, whose letters to me while I was in Germany were a valuable source of fuel.

After my long space flight, I returned to Japan with the strange sense of having made a full orbit around the planet. The new studio was a little warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo, in an area dotted with rice fields and small factories. When the wind blew, swirls of dust slipped in through the cracks, and water leaked down the walls in heavy rains. In my dilapidated warehouse, only one sheet of corrugated metal separated me from the summer heat and winter cold. Despite the funky environment, I was somehow able to keep in midnight contact with the cosmos—the beings I had drawn and painted in Germany began to mature. The emotional quality of the earlier work gave way to a new sense of composure. I worked at refining the former impulsiveness of the drawings and the monochromatic, almost reverent, backgrounds of the paintings. In my pursuit of fresh imagery, I switched from idle experimentation to a more workmanlike approach towards capturing what I saw beyond the canvas.

Children and animals—what simple motifs! Appearing on neat canvases or in ephemeral drawings, these figures are easy on the viewers’ eyes. Occasionally, they shake off my intentions and leap to the feet of their audience, never to return. Because my motifs are accessible, they are often only understood on a superficial level. Sometimes art that results from a long process of development receives only shallow general acceptance, and those who should be interpreting it fail to do so, either through a lack of knowledge or insufficient powers of expression. Take, for example, the music of a specific era. People who lived during this era will naturally appreciate the music that was then popular. Few of these listeners, however, will know, let alone value, the music produced by minor labels, by introspective musicians working under the radar, because it’s music that’s made in answer to an individual’s desire, not the desires of the times. In this way, people who say that “Nara loves rock,” or “Nara loves punk” should see my album collection. Of four thousand records there are probably fewer than fifty punk albums. I do have a lot of 60s and 70s rock and roll, but most of my music is from little labels that never saw commercial success—traditional roots music by black musicians and white musicians, and contemplative folk. The spirit of any era gives birth to trends and fashions as well as their opposite: countless introspective individual worlds. A simultaneous embrace of both has cultivated my sensibility and way of thinking. My artwork is merely the tip of the iceberg that is my self. But if you analyzed the DNA from this tip, you would probably discover a new way of looking at my art. My viewers become a true audience when they take what I’ve made and make it their own. That’s the moment the works gain their freedom, even from their maker.

After contemplative folk singers taught me about deep empathy, the punk rockers schooled me in explosive expression.

I was born on this star, and I’m still breathing. Since childhood, I’ve been a jumble of things learned and experienced and memories that can’t be forgotten. Their involuntary locomotion is my inspiration. I don’t express in words the contents of my work. I’ll only tell you my history. The countless stories living inside my work would become mere fabrications the moment I put them into words. Instead, I use my pencil to turn them into pictures. Standing before the dark abyss, here’s hoping my spaceship launches safely tonight….

Paint with me and my sister! Since we are at home in quarantine, we decided to re-decorate our rooms with some cute handpainted paintings.🎨We used acrylic paint for the main colours, and sharpie for the black outlines. We found two old photo frames and cork-board at home, so we used those to frame up some of our finished paintings.🌟

在家裡有點無聊所以我們就決定用手繪畫來造型裝飾我們的房間✨改造成兩種可愛玩具總動員風格和ins文青風的房間。我們用的材料有舊的照片框，壓克力顏料，硬畫紙和馬克筆。簡單又好玩🎨！

My Supplies:
♡ Sharpie | Permanent Marker - Black
https://www.sharpie.com/all-markers/specialty/extreme/SHExtremeBlackFine
♡ Liquitex | Basic Acrylic Paint Tube 48-Piece Set
https://www.amazon.ca/Liquitex-101048-Basics-Acrylic-48-Piece/dp/B00251I66C
♡ Photo Frames | from Ikea
https://www.ikea.com/ca/en/cat/picture-photo-frames-18746/?page=2

Connect with Me!
♡ Instagram | @x.yunny.x
♡ Instagram | @my.eatz
♡ Email | yunnyhou@gmail.com

Music:
Music by Eric Reprid - June Blues - https://thmatc.co/?l=8D73474

What I use:
♡ Camera | Canon G7X Mark ii
♡ Doodles | Sketchbook iPad App
♡ Editing | Final Cut Pro x Adobe Premiere Pro

This old shop (called Takei Sansyōdō) that originally a sold writing brushes and all kinds of other writing supplies has beed relocated to the Edo Tokyo Open Air Architectural Museum and you can see it there still. It has been originally built in 1927.
http://www.tatemonoen.jp/panorama/east_jp/e06/

I was interested in this shop for a while because the rumor says that Hayao Miyazaki got the inspiration for the boiler room in “Spirited Away” from the insides of this shop - it has a lot of hand-crafted small drawers that held once all the writing supplies - inks, brushes and others.

I wanted to paint this shop few times already but during all my visits to the museum the top windows were shut with storm shutters so I did not know how they looked. Just recently I got my hands on the “Story of the Edo Tokyo Musem” book that was made with the collaboration of Studio Ghibli members. The book had a photo of this shop with the windows visible so I decided to paint it.

I used a style similar to my “Tokyo Storefronts” series but took some inspiration from the illustrations from the book (made by Studio Ghibli’s Oga Kazuo) and decided to make the lines with a brush and dark gouache rather than a radiograph to make the painting a little bit more light and watercolor-like.

Technical details:
* Sketch - 0.5mm mechanical pencil with RED leads
* Colors - my main Schmincke brand watercolors set
* Paper - Holbein Waterford White 300g cold press
* Lines - Winsor And Newton gouache, Perylene Violet

Feel free to check out my other stuff:

Gumroad: https://gumroad.com/mateusz_urbanowicz
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/mateuszurbanowicz
Blog: http://mattjabbar.tumblr.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/gommatt