Inktober Artwork #1 (late)

I’m pretty behind on Inktober this year. I’ve managed to get around eight illustrations done, however. Here’s number 1 🙂

Inktober Artwork #2

So yeah, more than just ink here. Still a lot of black line-work and texture. I really like how this one turned out. Kept it thematically ambiguous. Enjoying experimenting with mixing different mediums for now.

Pinegrove Shoals – Original Artwork

It goes on and on and on. Switching the skin inwards then backout. The thing twists what’s meant to stay hidden and shows anyone curious enough to peel away their own flesh for free. Free. Everything’s free. That’s what the thing says but it stands to reason that prices aren’t always monetary. Doesn’t cost a cent but once it’s inside it’s already too late. Millions of eyes will watch your every move. But you’ll never feel their claws peeling back the skin. Hordes of keys clack away and detail every link you click, ad you like, and pornstar you eye-fuck.

Transparency. They watch, learn, then manipulate your thoughts. The thing feeds you drivel through a scrollable pipeline. It’s all free, too, by the way. Post your skin so they can use you too. Nothing could be wrong if all your friends’ hang their skin out to dry right alongside yours, right? Not when they all dress up their skin to the point of lunacy; a lie. Blatant, black, and to your face; they’ll lie. Make it out to be perfect. The only thing that knows who we are is the thing manipulating us into factory grade pigs. Ready to be churned and turned out for ad revenue. Little capitalist fingers pick and pluck all the right strings.    

Exhibit 39

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Begin excerpt:
 Red lights abound,
 A flickering side-show masking cute frowns,
 Dressed up all pretty;
 just want to be found.
 Empty glasses accenting nothing
 but young blood craving something; more than this nothing. 
  
 Things seems good,
 potentially normal.
 He wants to chat,
 thinks I’m immoral.
  
 I tell him to fuck off.
 Moods seem dampened,
 But I bite back the tears.
  
 Because after all;
 it was just a compliment, nothing weird.
 At least that’s what my best friend seemed to think.
  
 But how does that make me a slut when all I did was let him know you exist?
  
  
 Hours later the bars all closed.
 My spirits had lifted; I suppose.
  
 Said my farewell and let her drive; away.
  
 because she was always more poised than I…
 …thought I could be.
  
 Can’t question that, because it’s easier just to trust she’s got your back. And if she has my back, I’m sure she has her own…you can’t defend another if you’re all exposed. Can you?
 And if I can’t honestly say I have my own, then who’s got her back? Because I clearly don’t…since I’m the bitch who let her drive away; all fucked up on oxy cut with glaze.
  
 Too late now,
 I say to myself;
 Walking down the street,
 On my way to the house.
  
 Few minutes later,
 phone makes a ding,
 weights all seem lifted,
 when she says she’s home safe.
  
 And that makes one. I thought to myself, eyeing that same shadow across the way. It belongs to the creep that I’d kept at bay. But now it’s all dark, and I’m not feeling sure…that I could do it again. Alone. Here.
 He probably lives on campus, probably not a bad guy. Just a little pushy when hyped up on rye. The rhyming is lazy when I’m all worked up. Thing’s don’t quite flow and we all know what they serve at bars. I could try and rhyme alcohol for you but I don’t think it would matter, in communicating this learned fucking reflex that causes me to cower…when I see a man. When I don’t know what he’s doing over there.
  
 Across the way.
  
 I’m sure it’s nothing. That little flash every thirty seconds is probably his phone.
 Still; my hand is on that whistle…the best gag gift I ever got.
  
 And I’m sending this message because I just want you to know, that I don’t feel quite right being alone…right now. And maybe the drugs just cloud up my mind, maybe his shadow is nothing but kind, but maybe I don’t feel like he’s reassured me of that the way he touched me without asking.
 So, I’ll send you a text in a minute or two,
 When I walk through that door we’ll know I was a fool,
 for shivering and quivering in these fucking high heels,
 hoping to God he isn’t the kind of tool,
 who likes my false advertisement; because as far as I’m concerned my light belongs to you.
  
 So try not to worry,
 I’ll be home in a fetf–
  
 -Excerpt from exhibit 39, sent in the early hours of June 11th, moments before the incident took place. 

Smile

I guess it’s been a while. Consistency isn’t really my thing. I guess that’s okay for what is essentially an anonymous e-diary.

But like most things online, silence is good. It means I haven’t needed the outlet, because I was already smiling. Not perpetually, but often. I have a lot to love in my life right now and that’s mind blowing. I feel so lucky. I love her, she loves me, and now we have a home. I have my desk and art supplies and my keyboard and a career path and music and everything I need to exist.

I’m living a snapshot of what I used to dream about. I hope it doesn’t change but terrified because it inevitably will. But maybe it’ll be for the better. Maybe I’ll finally grow up.

An abstract piece meant to depict a positive head space. A fictional but salient dream.

I keep coming back to my blog and thinking I really should post something. But…I just didn’t need it like I used to. I don’t have anything to air out; to work out or think through. I don’t feel like the same kid who named their diary after an evil pirate from a fairy-tale. I need to rename it. I don’t feel like an outcast anymore. I feel loved and my old format doesn’t reflect that.

Conflagrate – Artwork

It’s awake and breathing. The hate. They stop, they stare; a show. They share.
Then it’s inside. The hate is in their blood, and it’s so easy to catch. How could anyone not look?
We learn to hate by watching others conflagrate into ash. We tell them it’s okay and sweep up the ashes. We place them in a little vase; a prison. Then they shout and claw at everything that doesn’t exist in that prison, anything that doesn’t feed their egocentric world view.
And it is so hard to leave once you are inside.

A place to hide

Trigger warning. 

It’s not the bleeding dark that’s resting in your eyes, it’s the way you say I’ll never break away these ties. Your hook, and the cadence that you took.

Look. Now I begin cry as your hand runs up my thigh.

You lean in to bare and clothes begin to tear. So I stare; at the cracks between the paper, those scratches on the wall. Your fever brings out the worst in people; not me. I’m the quiet little pet that won’t let a person see; your real eyes. And fear is his name, a crow that watches us. All I see is us. Through the window. Through my crow’s eyes. The window starts to haze, as you go and have your way.

Only the red mist obscures.

This disembodied madness is how I broke away your ties. And so what?! I’m still here in your chair, with all of me to use but my mind is in a place you could never abuse.

Fuck you.

Color where your face should be – Painting

An abstract color/texture study. The goal was to make it as chaotic as possible without disturbing any of the focal points (eyes, forehead, nose, mouth, and chin highlights). It turned out way more interesting than I’d expected and I’m proud of it 🙂

I think the fade-away effect on the head turned out well on the left side but should have been wider as the hair shadow ended up looking a little awkward. I also struggled with shading the very tip of the nose. I made the decision to use magenta/pink gradients there and it was tough to accentuate the highlight at the tip properly. Any feedback on problem areas would be great (I’m interested in revisiting this and improving it in a few weeks)

 

V7.png

 

43×67 inches (custom cut)

Worst week ever – Rabies

My S/O and I adopted a kitten. The kitten began to have seizures. We called the shelter and they told us just to keep an eye on her. The seizures got worse and one not she couldn’t walk straight after a five minute seizure. So, we took her into the emergency vet. The vet told us the shelter was full of shit and we should have brought her in immediately because seizures are rare in kittens. Epilepsy doesn’t show up until they are at least one year old, apparently. Given the kitten was a rescue, the vet was very concerned she had rabies. We made the hard decision to put her down and get her tested. Unfortunately we also had to go get rabies vaccines which made us both feel sick (I vomited for times after the IGG shots). My anxiety tempered the grief and convinced me it was too late and I was going to die of rabies.

The kitten didn’t have rabies, she had a rare brain infection. I think we did the right thing by putting her down, as she wouldn’t have made it either way, but it was a horrible week. This drawing is a representation of what it felt like.

Rabies6.jpg

 

Cheers,

Blu