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Inspiring Medals of Honour!


dAseniors is the official home for all Senior Members here on DeviantArt. There are various things we do to keep this nursing home alive and kicking; features on our blog, news articles that promote a multitude of happenings, projects that revolve around more than just creating artwork, and hilariously engaging chat events.

Senior Members are users of DeviantArt distinguishable by their medal symbols () behind their user names.

Only Senior Members may join this group as a member, but you are, of course, free to watch :+devwatch: this group to stay tuned for our latest updates. In fact, we encourage it!

We hope to launch projects and contests in the near vicinity. These will be open to all members of deviantART, but (co-)hosted by senior members.

FAQ #29: How do I become a Senior Member?
FAQ #106: What are the symbol next to each deviant's username?

Hidden Talents #31

Wed Mar 25, 2015, 2:25 PM
I keep finding all these gorgeous artworks and I want to share them with you. All of these deviants are unknown/unappreciated, and could deserve more attention. Please be sure to visit their galleries and spread the love!  Heart

More of these journals will be published in the coming days, with only five deviants featured per article, so keep an eye out. If you know any deviant who is deserving of more attention, please Note note me, rainylake, their name La la la la 


Reflections of Rock by timbodon
A Tors Behind by timbodon


Violet-backed Starling by JessicaDobbsThe Rhinoceros Hornbill by JessicaDobbs


Bahh by jolieke10Cookiemonster cupcakes by jolieke10


Stanley, Tasmania, Australia by paulmpPurlingbrook Falls by paulmp


Maine-coon kittens 7 by Kelshray-photo
Cat 1 by Kelshray-photo

Please +fav if you enjoyed, hopefully that will expose the artists to more viewers!


#24#25#26#27#28#29, #30

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Weekly Hunt Winner Feature!

:la: This week's winner is: SilverInkblot

Old SoulsDoc says I’m an old
soul, with my postcards
and letters, and waste-no-words
policy. Doc says old souls still make eye
contact instead of playing with iPhones,
mirrors that stare back, and tell
us who we are by knowing
who they are.
Doc tells me I’m an old
soul in a young body, taming
wild Internets and bringing my words
to heel like a triple score
in a game of Scrabble.
That I was born in the wrong
decade, that I was meant to punch
typewriter keys like a boxer,
that the twenty-first century
wasn’t made for old souls like mine.
Doc thinks I’m too old
to be twenty-three, constantly forgetting
the barriers of my few years.
Like that I never wrote about myself
until he gave me moments
worth writing down, and cared
about the person behind the words.
That I learned who I was by learning
who he was, and drew a timeline
of intersection points where each
node became a poem, and each poem
became a stepping stone.
Doc unearthed an old
soul in my notebook.
Old like a favori
Turn my words against me.I want my words to take
root in your stomach and grow
up your esophagus, the calyx
of your tongue brushing the edge
of your teeth until the words blossom
from your lips in a slow
explosion of elegance, jawline
trickled with nectar, charming
hummingbirds and honeybees
with the promise of butterfly kisses.

Architects paint with light and concrete.I dreamt I was an architect,
a handful of doubts and
corrosive intellect.
The clock tower has the most lonely
view of the industrial sunrise,
rising like the old Indian song inside.
From where I sit, sunlight
drips like honey fresh
from the earth over concrete elegance.
Sometimes autumn feels like winter.
Once a classy hotel
and now an urban puzzle,
consumed by kudzu creeping
all along the broken windows,
choking the windchimes.
How do cities understand
what soul sings behind their windows?
There’s so many different suns
desperate to connect;
the light through a dirty
windshield; the sun in an empty
room; something ordinary in the quiet
presence of light and shadows.
Some moments are golden,
as if even the city knows
the art of being perfectly still.
Autumn was my first love.October, I follow you -
from the magic lights of New York
to moonshines in Georgia,
until the colors dissolve.
The anxious poetry of autumn
made a memory of me.
Here’s to things I take for granted:
September blues,
chasing airplanes,
country road thunderstorms.
Unspoken words, unwritten ideas.
October, I follow you;
I thought I saw you on the shore
where the river runs through gold
on the last boat leaving the city of a hundred spires -
or perhaps Pittsburgh
(it was the lights I guess).
Here’s to the things we leave behind:
sunbeams in November,
letters addressed to no one,
poems, wounds, dead birds.
I’ve got that summertime sadness.
Maybe you’re gonna come back;
we’re changing our ways, taking different roads
and loneliness knows me by name
but October, I follow you;
without you I’m a winter heart,
a love story you don’t want,
a November shade of grey hunting ghosts
in cities that sleep inside our heads.
You told me you lied the night you kiss



Add a Comment:
Astralseed Featured By Owner 6 days ago  Professional General Artist
:B can I be invited to members again please :heart:
Astarsia Featured By Owner Mar 18, 2015
:wave: hello... How exactly do i join? Maybe i'll send a note - clicking the join group thing says its closed, but i'm a senior... :tears:
(1 Reply)
MattGAllan Featured By Owner Feb 25, 2015  Professional Photographer
(2 Replies)
RhynWilliams Featured By Owner Feb 18, 2015   Traditional Artist
This place rocks :3
(2 Replies)
Hidden by Commenter
(1 Reply)
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