Date: January 13, 2024
painting (nadav_rock_2)
shirt print
In a canvas vast as the deep sea's hue, Petals unfurl in a sapphire stew. A garden of lapis, so vivid, so bright, A floral expanse in the absence of light. Each bloom a gemstone, cut from the night, Radiant and gleaming, a natural sight. In patterns that echo the stars' own array, These flowers of stone hold the moon's soft sway. Their edges are sharp as the crisp ocean wave, In blues that the richest of treasures would crave. A dance of the petals, so wild, so free, In a rhythm that pulses with the deep blue sea. An endless field where the cobalt flowers rest, In shades that the heavens have surely blessed. This floral fantasia, a cerulean dream, Where petals and minerals in unity gleam. A blue that enchants every dreamer's gaze, In each delicate fold, the cosmos ablaze. In this tranquil kingdom where blue lilies reign, The echoes of serenity sing in refrain. Each stamen and stem in harmony lies, Under the watchful gaze of sapphire skies. A tranquil sea made of blue blossom waves, In the garden of tranquility, where the quiet saves. An opulent sea of tranquility flows, In the hue of the gem where true calmness grows. Here in the azure, we find our release, In the lap of lapis, we dwell in peace.
Date: January 13, 2024
Prints On Clothes (nadav_rock_2)
Whispers of the Void 2
In the silence of space where the stars converse, Lies a spiral of clouds, the universe’s verse. A dance of the cosmos, so wildly spun, A celestial ballet, second to none. In its core, a secret beckons, untold, A swirl of hues—azure, silver, and gold. Each whispering wisp, a story divine, Woven by time in an astral twine. Gravity’s hand conducts this choir, Pulling and twirling, higher and higher. From the void’s soft hum, a harmony spills, A symphony crafted by cosmic wills. Downpour of light, like rain it streams, A cascade of stardust, or so it seems. Between each droplet, the silence roars, In the vast expanse of the cosmic shores. This gyre, a cradle of creation’s breath, A sight to behold, vast as it's depth. Here, in the void where the echoes drift, The fabric of reality starts to shift.
Date: January 13, 2024
painting (nadav_rock_2)
Whispers of the Void
Date: January 13, 2024
painting (nadav_rock_2)
The Forest Arcanum
In the heart of the wood where the shadows play, A creature of bark bends the light of day. With tendrils wild as the windswept sea, It cradles the secrets that none can see. A cloaked figure, small yet brave, Stands before the ancient knave. With a staff in hand and a spell to weave, In the dance of magic, they both believe. From the open tome at the figure’s feet, Rises a spell, an arcane heartbeat. A sphere of light, in a web of blue, Spins a tale as old as dew. The creature listens, its eyes aglow, To the whispering winds that around them blow. In this hallowed place where the old trees yearn, The pages of nature gently turn. Magic hums in the air so thick, A story spun with a sorcerer’s trick. In this moment where time stands still, The forest breathes its silent will.
Date: January 13, 2024
painting (nadav_rock_2)
The Spectral Warlord
In the shroud of night where shadows weave, A warlord stands, his soul to grieve. Armor aglow with the light of the moon, His spirit whispers of battles strewn. Beside him paces a beast of flame, Eyes that spark like lightning's claim. They share a bond, both fierce and bold, A story of valor, in silence told. With katanas crossed upon his back, He walks a path where light lacks. Followed by ghosts in cloaks so dire, They tread through night, their eyes like fire. They command the storm, the wind, the sky, A spectral march, a silent cry. In unity, they face the dark, With every step, they leave their mark. The warlord's might, the beast's bright mane, Together they ride, forever untamed. In the realm of specters, they find their worth, Silent sentinels of an ethereal earth.
Date: January 13, 2024
painting (nadav_rock_2)
Rumor of the Salon
In whispers of silk on a breath so hush, Two ladies confide, in a moment's crush. One leans to the other, secrets to tell, With a hand to her mouth, where soft confessions dwell. In finery laced with the blue of the sky, One's corseted truth, not a single lie. The other, in gold, listens with grace, A newspaper rests, from its headline's embrace. Their curls are coiffed high with pearls entwined, As they share the stories that weave and wind. In the glow of their youth, with a gaze so keen, They are queens of the parlor, elegant and serene. A testament to the art of quiet allure, With whispers that echo, demure and pure. In the salon's embrace, where rumors ignite, Their tales are spun from the morning to night.
Date: January 13, 2024
painting (nadav_rock_2)
Belle of the Ballroom
In a hall where chandeliers glow bright, A belle of beauty beams in the night. Her dress of blue, with lace so fine, Around her figure, it does entwine. A hat adorned with feathers and bow, Sits atop her curls, a radiant show. Her eyes, they sparkle like stars above, A testament to her grace and love. The corset hugs, the skirt does flare, Each stitch tells of a tailor's care. A whisper of silk on marble floor, She's the dream of the dance, the lore. Her necklace, a string of glistening pearls, Compliments the joy that in her swirls. She holds the room in a silent spell, In her presence, all worries quell In a hall where chandeliers glow bright, A belle of beauty beams in the night. Her dress of blue, with lace so fine, Around her figure, it does entwine. A hat adorned with feathers and bow, Sits atop her curls, a radiant show. Her eyes, they sparkle like stars above, A testament to her grace and love. The corset hugs, the skirt does flare, Each stitch tells of a tailor's care. A whisper of silk on marble floor, She's the dream of the dance, the lore. Her necklace, a string of glistening pearls, Compliments the joy that in her swirls. She holds the room in a silent spell, In her presence, all worries quell.
Date: January 12, 2024
painting (nadav_rock_2)
Ceremony Of Fire
Date: January 12, 2024
painting (nadav_rock_2)
The Summoner Of Winter
In a realm of white, where cold winds sing, Stands the summoner, the winter's king. His staff aloft, with a crystal glow, Commands the dance of ice and snow. The trees stand guard in silent might, Coated in a frosty, silvery light. His beard, a cascade of ancient lace, Frames the wisdom etched upon his face. The air crackles with his magic’s touch, A power that whispers, but says so much. His eyes, a piercing, arctic blue, Hold the secrets of a world so true. Around him swirl the spirits of chill, Obedient to his formidable will. He weaves the spells of the longest night, With gestures grand, beneath moonlight. His antlers rise like thrones of ice, Crowned with a cold that’s all precise. He is the heart of the winter's thrall, Where the frosty breath of nature calls. In his presence, the snowflakes lace, Adorning the earth's forgotten face. The summoner of the winter's roar, A guardian of lore, forevermore.
