I sit with my grief. I mother it. I hold its small, hot hand. I don't say, shhh. I don't say, it's okay. I wait until it is done having feelings. Then we stand and we go wash the dishes.
«No longer dreaming, but not awake either, feeling stuck in a kind of sleep paralysis. Drowning in the dark depths, piercing them with light. Exhausted and shattered, frozen and shocked. Whispering and begging to wake up. Deafened by the scream of light»
Reflections of the old worlds. Dark and otherworldly, associated with earth and death. Internal struggle, and a comfort of decadence. Dreaming...
I like certain periods in my art, it's atmosphere, "smell" and "music", and how it reflects my inner world. I also like these drawings because they were completely intuitive, usually unrelated to any lore, characters or stories at all, although sometimes very small parts of my worlds, characters and stories appeared in them. But mostly these drawings were about feeling, they are a lot like music. Often when I started drawing I didn't imagine what I want to draw at all, just letting my feelings to lead my hand. I lost my ability to draw like this and sometimes I really miss it. I miss art that was about feeling.
the milk train doesn’t stop here anymore by tennessee williams // holly warburton // holly warburton // memory for forgetfulness by mahmoud darwish // before sunset (2004) // calling a wolf a wolf by kaveh akbar // teodor axentowicz // anne magill // the song of achilles by madeline miller
helihi
monsterohnenamen
onesecondbeforesunset
villiedoom
dr4gme
moonstoast