An object, that doesn’t belong to a child,
is misplaced.
Never supposed to be there.
Played in a shape sorter.
All the shapes are pretty colors.
Many of them don’t fit into the box,
but there are certain types who fit in the box.
A couple of them aren’t shaped like anything,
yet the very eager child shoves the shapes in.
This was in my drafts.
There’s someone there. He caught my eye a long time ago. He was an idea of freedom, an idea of absolute power. Though, he may not be an innocent gent like I want him…he was perfect.
He believed he caught me coincidentally. By the sun, by the moon, at his apartment, at the park…
There’s no such thing as coincidences.
I don’t know what love is, but I know what I want. I want him, I want his skin, I want his life, I want to wear his body, I want to strangle him and watch him bleed out.
So, I followed him into the street. I wanted his attention. He turned to me.
“Oh? Dell?” He said softly. “You’ve followed me again. I’m not really in the mood to talk.”
“But, sir,” I replied. “I just want…well, I don’t want to talk to you. You’ll be okay.”
“But, you’re always walking behind me?” He said. “Why? Go away.”
“I don’t want to,” I replied. “I don’t think I am.”
He was just a skinny, defenseless man. Someone in our society that anyone would love. I’d kill to be him. He is perfection. He knows my name and who I am. He won’t let me follow him.
“Dell, please,” he said softly. “Go away.”
“If I have to go,” I replied. “I need a kiss goodbye.“
“No,” he said. “We are in public. I don’t like guys or you.”
They just put out with anyone.
Very well.
We were in the square. He stared at me in fear. It was everything I wanted. It was orgasmic. I just needed to see that. Everyone was watching and I needed them to.
Nidili mi li li
wòhédi me chidaré
tune tuni
woudum
His eyes widened with my knife, I imagined it reflecting his face. I am the knight, he is the dragon. His end is the gold. I slayed him. It was much harder to do that so, I had to do laborious slaughters. He was like slaughtering a pig.
Covered in sweat, I was dragged away watching his spirit.
Shidùrú a Nini
Nidili a Nini
micosi mi micosi súi
I was tied by my neck. I wasn’t going to go to Nini. It was a force conversion. I wasn’t taught to repent. I don’t know where I was going…but I felt happy the shidùrú acknowledged me beyond humans. It was divinely pleasant watching how angry people were at me, even though it was his doing. It’s his fault. He was there and interacted with me, he made me his bedmate.
My audience screaming at me made me so hard. I love their attention. I know they’ll be happy when I die.
I lost consciousness slowly, but I heard music and fell through the ground and fell through a sky.
This story is written to be a first person perspective of an in story movie character based of off a religious figure. I was a bit curious to write this out, but I might have to do it again because it’s not morbid enough. Probably because it lacks details. The character is not a psychopath or a sociopath, just is jolted and disturbed by interactions by this man previously. It’s beyond, you are so attractive, I don’t know if I want to date you or be you. It’s more: You we’re entitled to me, I’m entitled to you. You marked me, I am yours, you are mine. I want to date you, I want to be you, we have to be one. You don’t deserve to live without me.
The aforementioned character’s name is Dell.
Dell is a feminine name in Adis culture and is in a very similar story as Bamygdala Dell but she is a victim of homophobia and her girlfriend was killed brutally—Bamygdala’s Dell is made out of xenophobia and homophobia. He is usually depicted as a Jinhi with stars around his head as if he is constantly dreaming or was smacked in the head, or sly and/or demonic.
A person with a mild Jinhi fetish and a taste for a homoerotic story wrote a character that kills a citizen of that country yet isn’t a citizen himself but an enslaved person or similar. After killing the man, he is put to death but not after he speaks some words in Jinhi (the ones I have on there are partial gibberish because it’s hard to conlang. That’s kind of how the language looks at least.) and sinks into the ground and comes out of a sky in some underworld and meets a whole ton of other characters. (Which I’m too tired to write about)
Anyway, thanks for talking to me. Make sure to sleep well, stay healthy, and hydrated!
I was trying at this time to be as experimental and interesting as possible and I can say these certainly are that. It’s easier to make swatches and okay art alone without people bothering me when I’m at home and not showing anyone, but when I do, it’s awful. It’s really hard to put art on social media. I take myself seriously and also not enough. Some words that don’t stress others out, stress me out and I can’t deal with them well.
Overall, I feel like I need some change in my life. [But not specifically my life, but drawing and painting] It’s been mentally exhausting trying to find the energy to draw a legit amazing picture in my classes of my ocs. Either it doesn’t look good enough, or it looks fine and my professors don’t think they’re good. It’s kinda like an unnecessary fighting.
I don’t know how worth it it is to post “art” on my account when I don’t really want it as a career and I just want to show it for attention and validation. After thinking about those things and therapy, having a social media account—even WordPress—is pretty much useless for me because then I’m going to want more attention and validation. I don’t want to become a reviews blog and I don’t know what else to write about. I don’t want ever get rid of this blog or abandon it, but I seriously don’t know what to do with it.
It’s a lot mentally to write stories on here and I don’t want to really write about my life because I’m not comfortable posting about myself. I just really don’t want to post garbage or just disappear and I don’t really know what’s going on with me. I know some of my personality is hidden on here so I won’t look terrible.
It’s only been a few months since I made this and I know I’m overreacting but I just don’t know what to do.😩
Dear Vivian,
This is what you can call your friend, Hanzo! Hi. How are you? I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Probably much more than the average human.
I’ve been thinking of your origins and what you have told me. I’m sorry I called you strange and denied your personhood. That was rude. I guess, I was feeling uncomfortable.
So, you say you were…born to replicate another dead artist’s work? I never understood that. I mean, you are a robot, but still, what? I mean, I did research on your artist of reference and I mean…yes, he did do paintings that were popular at the time, but it doesn’t make any sense. You were born to mimic his style while his style isn’t really original? I mean, yeah, he’s old, dead, and revered and if I ever stupidly went to your congregational meetings, I’d have to know him…but, his style is similar to half of the artists at the time…so?
You said your dad and your mom, who are your creator and programmer, really love this…artist. Do you? Do you actually enjoy mimicking him? You didn’t sound happy when I attacked your “intelligence”, his memories in you, and your devotion to him. You didn’t even sound happy to have completed your goals. You don’t seem happy you can’t change. In fact, you sounded depressed which is surprising for a robot like you. You’re weird.
It sounds somewhat like you want a family, some friends, and a stable life. Why don’t you marry a monitor or a charger? I mean, you would be marrying your own kind and you can finally experience intercourse…uh heh. I’m not going to erase that. That’s embarrassing that I wrote that…ugh. If someone told me I could only get with a ______ person only and then said something offensive like that, I would be offended. I’m sorry.
It’s just that…you’re not a human and it’s hard to accept your personhood. You don’t look like a human, you don’t act like a human, you don’t talk like a human. I mean, I find you interesting, but it’s not because you’re the revered ________, it’s because you think you’re a real human and you’re not. You’re just a robot that is programmed to be like an artist and think you have a soul. Wires are not the same, your CPU is not a brain, you don’t have lungs; I don’t know why your creator decided to give you the ability to mock that. I don’t understand your appeal either. You look human-like, but you’re really creepy. You do have something that of lungs, but it’s not like human lungs.
I don’t understand you. I want to, but I don’t. I know you’re a complex specimen, but you don’t have a soul. Why are you even going to congregation? You don’t have a soul. You can’t be damned or casted astray. You also cannot go with ________…_______ never asked your “father” to create you and deny him or whatever your religion says. You aren’t going anywhere. You exist and you don’t exist. I don’t understand why you were touting that shit to me or invited me to a place that treats you like you’re not more than a prop. You are a PROP. They’re bragging about their futuristic technology to communicate with a venerated figure—not your irrelevant ass. Nobody cares about Vivian. Hell, I can’t even go to your little cult party because even though I’m a human, unlike you, my ancestry makes them believe I’m less than a dog and cannot walk into their building and they wonder why I’m here.
I know you’re probably going to respond back with “your feelings” or whatever, but I don’t think being processed to have real feelings is feelings. You don’t. You’re a “sensitive,” privileged-ass robot that gets to get so much attention and I get none. I don’t like you and I wish you could be damned, because then I’d pray to your _______ to have you placed there when your shit breaks down. Can’t stand your ass.
Anyway, since you’re my only friend, I sent you a painting of yourself when I was talking to you. 🙂 You look like you have much more of a soul on here than real life.
Haha, I forgot to paint your clothes. I was too busy worrying about your face since you criticized my art style and said that I draw too caricature-like. I can do anything you want, but it was an attempt to paint like you. If you send me a critique, I will make like my stereotype and fuck you up. Anyway, send me some art back! ^^
From your friend,
Hanzo
Side note: Don’t get pissed off, facts are facts.
Without ever seeing the artist, I wonder how people depict them in their heads and their minds.
Some of my followers know what I look like, but I wonder for those, do you ever wonder? Is that a thought?
I’ve never been able to host a research study…because typically artists aren’t scientists or are thought of as people who like projects—especially scientific ones. Typically, artists are noted as enjoying the Arts, pretentious, Francophiles, don’t and don’t know how to math or science so they chose art, and dirty and hungry. It’s funny to me at first, but some people believe exactly what they hear and think all of us are Vincent Van Gogh but mixed with whatever stereotype is where people dress like mimes without the face paint. Aht aht, not my problem.
Some people look very similar to their art, as if they were creating as the Abrahamic God would, and even with slightest deviations, it appears as them…
While others draw as they see, and it’s very similar to the person or appearance, but has their ideology and beliefs in it.
Rarely do I see art that lacks artistic hand, but some manage to do it and their art is lovely and soulless. ☺️ I would love to learn how to do that.
Is it easy to follow and understand? If I write a story, I definitely would love to know if my characters feel human even to the most faithful.
I’ve seen some stories written and the character is so nonhuman like, but everyone parades and says it’s human, but it’s not really…it just has human coded reason…but another very human character is treated as if they’re a monster or too animalistic. Fun stuff.
How far can I go to the point where my characters no longer feel human even if they are and act very human (and I mean socially and not biologically)? Can I write something truly strange, soulless, and horrific? If so, I’d LOVE IT.
Anywho, I was out making a constructive language and consistently failing to my perfectionist mind. I already have naming conlangs and naming conventions on the still unnamed storyline, for example, Madenna, Pitri, Tatmtar…so on. But I don’t know how to do more. I’ll keep thinking of words that fit perfectly but then I get scared. I just can’t use a randomizer because I’m a control freak.
Oh, if you think “why am I making a conlang? We can’t hear your characters or would be able to understand them” you’re totally right, but I can’t help it. They need conlangs. Sorry.
I have a couple of songs written in some gibberish to make a conlang—one in the conlang Kwadi (just found out there was a natural language with the same name and I was startled! One of my followers and someone I follow mentioned it. (If you want your name mentioned, sir, I can edit this over. Just tell me)) and the other in Ne.
I will post them sometime if I ever completely draw their pictures and storyboard and record myself singing. (😣) We are manifesting potential. The only thing holding me back is my lack of knowledge of storyboarding and lack of follow through. I mean, I also don’t want to be bullied for not buying someone’s services to sing for me, having MIDI and electronic instruments, or not making good enough music, but I can’t care about that too much because I would have to be moderately relevant for that.
Anyway, thanks for talking to me! Stay healthy and hydrated (learned this the hard way)! See you.
Color atmospheres and environments and glazing with pencils. Mixed media.
For the most part, these are two different watercolor palettes with two different colored pencil palettes.
You’d think this would be common knowledge, but it isn’t. I guess we all have to learn by experiences. I love experiences.
So, the grittier the watercolor, the more likely it would color on gritty. Gum Arabic already dries on very, very tight and has texture when I touch it, but the granules on some are fascinating. I have a watercolor on here that I forgot what it’s called, but I think it’s by Prodigal Sons, one of my favorite handmade watercolor brands. It’s Han Blue (maybe?) and when I color on top with colored pencils, it feels like using sandpaper and I love it sooo much because I wasn’t expecting it.
As well, some other colors have that same scratchy feeling.
Some colors are fine, but still produce a texture so there’s a ring around them and a change of reflection and light that comes off of them. Absolutely stunning.
Now, colored pencils have a similar feel to transparent watercolors so they layer and show the white of the paper or show whatever’s underneath it. Prismacolor isn’t as transparent as Crayola (I used crayola on here) and Faber-Castell Polychromos. Faber-Castell has some opaque colors, but typically they are transparent.
The backwashes! Those look stunning. I avoided coloring over them. Everytime I get them on something like this, I get so happy because they never look the same…however, when on a design I don’t want them at, I get so sensitive and irritable. They’re accidental here because they’re swatches but are beautiful.
I like how different the color pencils look when backgrounds change.
The paper. This is a study and not a major art piece, but dang…I liked painting on it, but coloring ACTUALLY SUCKS. It’s no texture so it’s slippery and hard to go light and dark. Also, with experience with this paper, I know it cannot take thick layers of acrylic without screaming uncle and crying. It’s only going to take so much. This paper is not useful for everyone, but it can take light water mediums alright. I enjoy it.
I also just don’t like how I left a space of white for some but then got jacked because I didn’t really think of it that hard. I also wish I left less white around so I can do Josef Albers’ levels of comparison. His studies however were more scientific, mine are just done so I could practice and avoid drawing and coloring characters. 😓
Anyway, thank you for talking to me. Have a great day and make sure to stay healthy and hydrated.
I always wonder what people’s words mean, what they mean in context but I fail to understand them. Sometimes just listening helps, sometimes I ask. Sometimes I just never understand them.
It is like the Tower of Babylon. Some of us know the same language but have different vocabulary and grammar.
Some words are prescribed to others and make their words and little communities escape. Not everyone’s inner language essence can be protected and cared for if it isn’t written down. Communities mix and mingle their community essence and are forgotten.
Words…words like yeet versus thrown aren’t bad. Neither is “cool,” cat, and other slang from the past. They are alive at that moment and are in their golden age. To some, fleek is dead. Poggers or others. But that wasn’t my topic.
It was more on similar words with esoteric meanings and scientific words. Is lack of understanding the reason why they’re separate? Why can’t the loveliness of divination can be combined with science? Why is one more evil than the other in heavily guarded communities? Why do some people make it a personality trait?
I made a goofy little story about atoms, well specifically elements and not atoms, being created/formed in the solar system after the Big Bang….I wanted to mystify it. Why? Because it’s fun. If someone wanted to mystify it, it wouldn’t be bad because it’s still science, no? Or are we all supposed to think the same?
I think some people don’t understand each other or know how fallible “experts” of any field can be and how absolutes are hard to find if they do exist. If you make them exist, you aren’t faithful to looking at things from an objective perspective. I think most people who think they’re objective think they’re objective because they say so. Not because they can prove it. Even then, proof is only proof if you can believe it. That goes to the pseudoscience route. It’s pseudoscience or bull crap because there’s no proof it does as is nor proof against it.
That level of uncertainty makes a couple people go bleak. Somewhat I thrive on it. Uncertainty makes stories and ideas, but at the same time it’s stressful.😩 Is something not realistic because it’s not realistic or something else?
Being perfect or trying to be hasn’t really helped anyone. It’s a dumb concept and conveniently works with grind culture and other spaces I don’t want to be apart of.
I’m not perfect and I’m not sure if I even want to be anymore. It hasn’t helped me in the past and worked against my confidence. Some things just don’t work for me. I understand some people are okay with things in life and it makes them feel important and they’re amazing, but I’m not cool with a lot of things and they don’t improve my life.
I used to be so upset in school when I used to be called smart and intelligent but I still had to study and it seemed like other people did. I didn’t want to study. I didn’t even like the material! I didn’t enjoy school until I got into eleventh grade because it was more interesting then. I wanted to just be smart. I wanted everyone to keep calling me smart. I didn’t and still don’t feel smart, but I know now it’s just a meaningless label like being lazy, cool, stupid, or mature. I was called mature when I was younger because I didn’t talk, yet I cried every year at school and had some immature issue going on at home. I’m not mature. I still am not mature. I “think differently” than some people but I’m not mature nor am I special. In the classrooms that I’ve been, I’m not that well liked or even cared about. I was never put into special groups and when they’d tell me they like me, I knew they were lying. I didn’t even do my homework, I just talk a lot and want people to hear me.
Anywho, perfectionism was the reason why I didn’t do my homework. It was never advanced enough, never good enough, never worth showing, and if I did it, it was never going to be perfect. I use that annoying site Duolingo and frequently tell myself it’s okay to get less than a 100%. Nobody is watching me and the little characters still get happy when I get an 86% or less. Yet, I don’t feel smart enough. I didn’t try in school because trying and receiving failure was stressful.
I was never an A student. I never had amazing grades. I’ve always been average and always somehow got ok grades. I didn’t and still didn’t read a lot after I peaked at six. So I mean, my perfectionism is nonsensical, but it just so happens that it gets worse.
I can’t do that crap at college. Getting low grades literally make me feel dead inside and like I’m worthless, wasting my mom’s time and money, and I’d be better off dead. It literally is that bad. I hate school but I can’t drop out. I want to learn, but graduation is the only option. My life would be worthless and I’d be a bad person if I drop out. Do I think other people are that way if they drop out? No. Honestly, it’s so exhausting for me to be myself that I can only make comparisons with people in my spaces.
I am a lazy piece of crap. Some people who drop out have classically successful lives I can’t dream of having because they have drive and doesn’t matter if they were in school or not. They have something about them that makes them want to do something. I don’t. I don’t have that skill and I’m not even sure I care enough nor have faith to change it. I cannot see myself in the future really. I can make dreams and think of them but I don’t actually see them as reality nor care about things. I feel in the moment. I have ideas and plans I do in the moment, but when I make goals, sometimes they feel meaningless or not worth achieving.
And I constantly make goals. Regardless how elaborate they are to poorly planned, they don’t really work out as planned. They’re done halfway or are changed and some of those plans are okay. Majority don’t impact my life in an irreversible way, but they keep me average, forgettable, and boring.
It’s like the condescending thing a lot of older people say where there’s an idiot that’s in an obstacle course and instead of thinking of new ways to get over the brick wall, the idiot just keeps hitting the wall with a hammer and getting tired but nothing changes.
And what makes it worse is that I listen to people and their ideas of success—some that aren’t for me but I’m permeable and people can say stuff and I’ll consider it—and I never feel successful. I don’t care if I graduated high school. I don’t care if other people didn’t. I didn’t do things the way I wanted and didn’t graduate in the way that would make me smart or even competitive. I punish myself when my GPA drops. I didn’t in high school even though I should’ve.
I wanted to be those kids that studied for a long time and had no friends. I had no friends. I did the unthinkable and tried making internet friends and failed. If I could be a hermit closed off of the world or single souled (to only be happy/content) and successful, I wouldn’t have to think about my success.
That’s exactly why I just don’t like perfectionism. I don’t like being like that. I don’t like caring about people and doing what they want. I can’t help it. I can’t help wanting attention and appreciation. I just do.
Anyway, see you in a bit.☺️ I just wanted to get it off my chest.
So, hello there! I got too nervous to draw backgrounds or redesign, so I did some color swatches and this bad boy. I designed some clothes.
And I’m going to post my palettes again so you can see how they look. 😀
I forgot to show all my little studies I did for color environment and I’m posting on my phone in a environment that doesn’t have my art around.
Anyway, I’ve been doing little sketches and paintings as well and have been struggling.
So, I was a bit productive…but eh…but not really.
Have a nice day and stay hydrated and healthy! Talk to you later.☺️
Some things are great,
Some things are bad.
I know you’re glad,
you seal my fate.
My heart beats; my stomach moves,
I look at you,
I feel nervous and drool
As I feel your grooves.
I run for miles to be close to you, you see.
I get so anxious being away.
I think about how you sway,
When I first lie on you; then I dream.
And what you are?
It is obvious.
After a while, there were many soldiers. Mumumum put some of them together in an army. Some were very solid when together and were nearly impermeable, but others could fit anywhere and were hard to describe exactly what they are. Mumumum ate some of its soup with the soldiers to make them stronger but after a while, they were done reproducing.
The last soldier was bored. Bored and wanted chaos. This little soldier watched Mumumum was going to make more soup but the little solider knocked it over. Mumumum sighed. It knew it was going to happened and the soldier wouldn’t
This was in my drafts . It was unfinished and I doubt it would’ve ever got finished. So many people on here are amazing and accomplished writers and can make meaningful short stories and have so much energy and passion for them and I write a paragraph and feel exhausted. I still am working on my writing stamina. It was easy when I was a child and it’s easy when I don’t have to post, but it’s hard when I try to make a serious plot more than just:
Kintin and Tirela laid on the bed together staring into each others eyes. Kintin grinned and gave Tirela a kiss.
“Are you feeling what I’m feeling?” Tirela asked. “Did you feel something?”
I feel like partially it’s taking myself to seriously even though I know my lack of motivation and some depression holding me back. It’s hard getting stuff done when I’m too busy preparing for the worst and feel somewhat like I can’t do something and it’s not going to ever be enough but not trying to give up.
So, this is a picture made about…hmm…two or so years ago. I don’t know when I drew it…but considering that the style looks long and the character has a big nose, I’d say 2020-2021.
It is a picture of Zhan with an ancestral doll that I haven’t created a name for. It is powered by a button and plays music that sounds like a music box (it kind of is but I don’t know).
It is one of the objects an Adis uses to get to their micosi, i.e. dream-state. They press on the music their familial ancestor crafted for them and they appear. (There are other ways, but this is one I drew out). This one is supposed to mimic a figure—that works like an orisha—to sing to bring comfort. It kinda isn’t a doll but that’s what I called it. I guess it would be a sculpture or a music box. 🤷🏾
Anywho, this specific object is made by a distant ancestor (like a many great grandpa) named Hadorinal who passed it down to everyone else in his family and it got to Zhan after the dad stupidly gifted to his mom (because he liked her) not realizing she’d have his spawn.
In the micosi, Zhan usually reads the books prayed in by other family members (the spirits can be given food, books, so on) or he talks to the ancestor, Hadorinal, who I mentioned earlier. He has the ability to speak Adis (due to his father Lupita) so that’s who he talks to and he will talk to him about everything in his life.
Now, that micosi (I’ve painted the colors but not drawn it to look as is) has a very 2D appearance to it and also the characters rock as if they’re in a video game. The composed ancestral music constantly plays over and over (unless the person is intercultural with a culture with a quiet micosi or one that plays for a short while) and the characters, if able, may dance to it. The backgrounds are usually vibrant and have many shapes and have varieties of realism. Some of the characters, like Zhan, draw in the style of their micosi (albeit, not well, because Zhan cannot draw😂) while others don’t so much.
I probably would redesign the figure so it’s easier to draw and as well, make it look more creative (not the original isn’t, it just needs a different form). I think I may change the size too. [I have a bit more knowledge on designs after seeing some African statues, sculptures, and masks, so I have some ideas!]
Have a nice day and stay healthy and hydrated!
Mumumum has no explanation of its existence, but it began to exist a long time ago in a sky cradle in a nursery. So, Mumumum may have known previously that it wanted to do…but it made its little soldiers.
The first little solider it crafted took some time…but how much time? We don’t know. It was crafted from very hot liquidy fire soup. Mumumum gave it some of the fire broth from its birth. It stirred over and over and over until it pulled out a tiny bubble that was smaller than Mumumum’s pinky finger. The bubble screamed as it first came into the universe. Mumumum gave it a coat. The coat was there to protect the heart of the little soldier.
This little solider asked for more friends to help it guard and Mumumum was on it. Mumumum crafted many more until it got the bright idea to make the inners of the solider much, much more powerful. It added two bubbles that would never be apart. These two soldiers together were not only very light in weight, but were very effective in making the liquidy fire soup hotter. Their coat was very cute, but Mumumum had to make it a bit thicker and give them a more individual coat to keep the two safe.
Mumumum enjoyed the process.
Ok, but how did we get here?
Be patient, older one. The story just got started.
All these triumphant words
Nothing
A metaphorical straw
Nothing
There’s something left
Nothing
A husk.
Where is your power
Nonexistent
And it makes you feel
Nonexistent
You can’t fix what is slapped as your fault
Nonexistent
You should be ashamed.
And look at you,
Null
why do you think you deserve things?
Null
You’re not a human,
Null
You’re supposed to be dead.
Hey, y’all. I finished my art homework for the next part of the semester but overall, I just wonder what I’m going to do with this blog. I can’t keep taking breaks. I don’t think that’s right, but I’m exhausted with everything. I literally wake up and don’t feel like offering anything to the table and my characters are great but I just don’t feel like sharing them anymore. I’ve lost a lot of passion and drive. It’s like…what’s the point. It’s not even like it’s a story.
It’s just that it’s hard to make something. It’s not like this story is really that complex than any movie you’d see or book, yet, it’s just…exhausting to share to people. I hate to say some people don’t care, but I could just post my art on here with no captions or a long explanation and that’d matter more then if I littered my post with captions and effort.
It’s like how my professor ask why I did something and expect a small one word explanation or an artisty term and go on but when I give a story and my references, they zone out. It’s just…what’s the point?
If my intent is meaningless and everyone else’s are important, why do I need intent or write a long caption? What’s the point? What’s the point of just not doing painting of absolutely nothing or just a women looking at y’all, the viewers? Give your own intent.
What is my purpose of making a blog or existing? What’s the point?
Anyway, I could lament about how this painting looks failed right now…but why?!☺️ I rather gush about mixed media.
I’ve never been much of a traditionalist when it comes to art, so particular notions mean nothing to me. People could guilt me for hours and I’ll feel bad, but I’d never change. Colored pencil and acrylic paint have improved my paintings and allowed me to do what I wanted to. Don’t get me wrong, I still love love love my watercolors, but other tools prevent me from giving up.
So, I love colored pencils so much because they are still somewhat very transparent, but still have the ability to layer over things in a way that makes the painting look interesting. So, I can show you two paintings that were fixed by colored pencils.
The thing about watercolors is that sometimes it’s very difficult to layer and get soft edges when you’re a beginner and using cheap paper, so left chick was looking dull with a bunch blossoms on her face making it hard to see her details. She’s quite dark skinned so capturing light without making her greasy was a struggle! Something something lighting something ambient occlusion. It is a study on how to draw people in environments. Still suck at backgrounds though.
About that one character. If any of y’all had the experience of being with Evangelist groups as a child, knows how intense they can get and how they emotionally corner you sometimes to donate and/or do things that you may not want to do. This is also like Catholic Baroque art to people living in that time. It is intense. So intense, you might as well say you’re not thinking straight. Fascinating stuff. If anyone has some non-Evangelicalist experiences, do share. I’d love to know.
It was nice talking to you. I hope you stay healthy and hydrated. ☺️
When?
“When” is the question,
that many ask when asking for the next best thing
or the end of the worst.
I ask,
When will I be able to draw bodies correctly?
When will I have the courage to attempt bodies,
instead of sitting with my book drawing busts?
When will this fear be over?!
When will I practice anatomy?
When will I complete my conlangs?
When will I put a story together?
These are only in my control.
I control when.
Drawing is not enough. Practicing other things are great, but they’re tiring or embarrassing…extremely embarrassing. It is extremely hard to post content that looks bad as it is extremely hard to take time on a picture that looks like absolute trash. By no means am I trying to achieve perfection, I’m trying to achieve completion or at least do something well enough that I don’t see immediate mistakes when I do it or it doesn’t make me stop too early.
I’ll show you some stuff that has me like that.
S is playing a Jinhi hunter and Damijo is playing the “evil” Jinhi. It’s somewhat early in Damijo’s acting career and he’s a horrible but cute acting character (he can act, he just doesn’t really fit in with the vibe and was placed there for nefarious reasons not of his own doing). Anyway, of the two scenes, a scene before makes S feel really bad for Damijo to the point that instead of drawing his sword (that I poorly drew), he drops it and walks to the Jinhi (again, played by Damijo) and nuzzles him.
S has a reputation of being sarcastic, brave, heroic, and insensitive (because it’s their culture to mimic soullessness or basically lack emotions because emotions are bad to them). Meanwhile, Damijo’s reputation is the opposite. He’s very sensitive, ditzy, silly, and humorous because he looks stupid to people and has a strange sounding voice. S basically feels bad for the in story character and also for Damijo and cracks into his inner suppressed self, Solisi.
S was born in the same small community— Sholi—as Damijo, but instead of being a Jinhi like Damijo, he is a Sol Solio. He, however, had a very different life then Damijo and was raised moderate poverty and lacked a citizenship to Bamygdala. He was scouted out by these people looking for an actor. He fit the idea when he acted, but his appearance and his demeanor was unfit. He is naturally timid, anxious, shy, and very emotional and will cry easily. They worked on him with that, but they also gave S plastic surgery to look more of the idea for Northern Bamy people, they were trying to push and made him bleach his skin and hair.
As sensitive as he is, it gave him an identity crisis and made him slightly dissociate. He sees himself as Solisi as his own, but S wants to take over his body and fight him. S is almost always referred to as the Almighty S, and even Solisi will call him that. Solisi refers to himself as himself and refers to S as someone else even though they share the same body and think similarly but differently. Solisi is very traumatized of all the chaos in his life and that’s one of the many ways he handles it (until he gets therapy).
Anyway, Solisi comes out of S in this scene and decides to not to harm the Jinhi. The director thought it was okay because it promoted a message he wanted. (That it was socially okay for citizens to buy a spouse that’s from one of the indigenous groups nearby.) Though, S’s mindset of doing that wasn’t out of romance. It was more out of frustration.
Anyway, this was a lot to write. I was a bit hesitant to write it, because it could be spoilers…but you know…👉👈. This comic or even storyline is unlikely to take off at the rate I’m going so I thought it would be more worth my time to just say it and move on and show you my oh so lovely art. (Not sarcasm, I do actually think my art is lovely.)🤷🏾It was nice talking to you. Have a nice day or night and make sure to stay hydrated.☺️
I know I said I was going to do interaction pictures but I got the dumb idea to color. I mean, coloring is not bad, but I’m not a fan of coloring. I’ve never been a fan of coloring. When I was younger, it used to embarrass me how everyone colored so neatly and I’d color with lines everywhere going everywhere in different directions. As you can see, I still have a lot of that haphazard lines in my work and clearly struggling with hair.
So anyways, just random tidbits about these characters and how I draw them: (I slip up a lot, but it’s a one-man show)
Have a nice day, y’all. Sorry for the filler. I am a hot mess.
Okay, y’all. So, basically, I’m forcing myself out of my funk. As you know from my last blog post written in pure rage. 😬😓 (give me a break, I was reading about stuff to improve my art. Improvement has always been the soul crusher in my life)
I absolutely refuse to write long posts and pages about my concultures. I believe I’d rather like to split them up. It is tedious to write about every single character in a long post only for that post to never be looked at again even if I write about said characters. I have no idea if links work for people! So, I rather just split them up into informationals.
I am trying my hardest to communicate with you all the best way I can, but communication has never been my strong suit. Honesty is great too, but I’m trying to give relevant honesty and not honesty that gets on people’s nerves. I like to pretend I’m a good person, but I doubt I am.
I hate to post more than once per day, but it is what it is. I still have more to post and more to talk about.
Drawing can be rewarding but it’s also something I hide from at times. Sometimes I hide from putting characters out here. I mean, they are as they are.
Anyway, it was nice talking to you. Happy End of February. See you. Make sure to get good rest and stay hydrated and healthy.
I’m not trying to say I don’t care anymore because that would be disingenuous, but I feel like half of my soul has been slurped out of my body and reminds out there leaving me a sad and partially empty and angry individual.
I hate whining because it seems like only a select group of people want to hear it, but dang. I hate this world. And not because it’s villainously bad or anything, it’s the bane of my existence. I cannot and I’m not sure will ever be able to stand people unless I’m sedated. And again, not just evil people that are easy to hate. I hate a lot of well-meaning people who are basking in their false senses of security while dumping every single living problem on everyone else. Not even worrying about their own lives or repercussions because they don’t have to.
I know I sound like a hypocrite. We are all a hypocrite to someone, but some people are so far up to social justice that they don’t do a single thing that is worthy or actually helps people. Same with these so called people that are allegedly the opposite that are PC killers or whatever. They’re not doing anything. Nothing has happened. Nobody has stopped the bad guy. At this point, is it even their goal to? Or to fight amongst another? Why are marginalized groups fighting for representation and yet, not getting a SINGLE DROP of glory. Ultimately, wanting and fighting for your freedom is destroying it.
People don’t want equality, they want to be happy. If you secretly have people a pill to save the world but be equal or a happy pill, I can assure you 77% would choose the happy pill.
Is this a bad thing?
No. Equality isn’t freedom. Human kind doesn’t want freedom. They want to be happy and happy all the time. They don’t care about others. As long as their happy and if they lost dimensions of their soul to be in Heaven, Nirvana, and other joyous places, they’d take it. Nobody cares about, you don’t care about others. I like to believe I do, but tons of well-meaning but self serving people have told me all humans are bad and only care about themselves no matter how many times I tried to argue that I just will go as they say. Their microcosm probably is Hell, itself.
Drawing is my life, but it’s not a need. I don’t breathe art. I’m not an artist. I do drawings and cartoons and some people call it art. I stopped, because frankly, the word meant something to me and it hindered my progress.
I don’t want to be an artist anymore.
Art, by definition, is one of the stupidest and strangest concepts to mankind and only exists to sell a collective universal that doesn’t exist. Kerry James Marshall’s Black art only resonates with me because we are both Black. I cannot relate to the pictures. I don’t have the lived experience. However, galleries and political pictures don’t care.
It’s easier for many people to lump people into groups because it’s convenient and they don’t have to think hard at all to where the point in their head is it has boobs and a skirt, big lips, big hips. It a female. Must reproduce. It got gray sweatpants on and has a beard and features of a male. It a male. Must reproduce. Groups are convenient and some people can’t live without them and have what is like an autistic meltdown when it’s change.
I don’t want someone invalidating my creation as an art object because it doesn’t follow some outdated idea of what it’s supposed to look like. Which brings me to my next point.
Everyone says study realism and anatomy and your art will improve.
TO WHAT?!
What is my artwork supposed to be looking like? I’ve had people share their expectations for me to get better and it tanked my self esteem and my little heart. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO BE IMPROVING ON?!
Everyone says art is soooo subjective and you can do anything you want but then you read an article to improve your way and get dunked with so many (honestly worthless) opinions and if you’re silly and young like me, don’t take them with a grain of salt because everyone is saying that.
So, I learn anatomy and realism…and then break the rules I spent my whole time not having fun or enjoying and going back to cartoons I wanted to draw 300+ years ago…and I look to see that I actually wanted to draw that way even if the art style is bad to everyone…what now? Do I stop enjoying what I love because it’s not good enough?
No offense, but we need to stop telling kids to be themselves. You’re always going to be yourself. You cannot escape your body, your physiology, your mind. Let’s say you’re in a play as Hamlet.
There’s a script, but your choices to act and how to deliver are purely your own and are just as frustrating if you had whatever. Stop telling kids that.
Their enough is never enough and they’ll live with it and if they don’t, I’m sorry. I’m learning the sheer inconvenience and frustration being myself.
My art is not abstract enough to be marketable, my art is not realistic or impressive. My own family ignores my art objects and drawings unless I gaslight them or perform a whole ASPCA commercial for attention.
I don’t enjoy drawing more realistically but I know I have to.
Unless you have an interest that is marketable that everyone likes or you want the glory, you’re going to get ignored or be lucky and have a niche group of people like and want to pay for your interests.
I’m tired.
I’ll see you later.
👋
I think I’ll be on a hiatus for a while. I’m putting in too much emotional effort and not enough of what I wanted to do with the website I made. I am going to spend more time on my posts and my content, thus, I am going on a hiatus for a while. I might post WIPs but I need to be serious.
What did you bring to the potluck? 