These girls, they drift in and out bleating some language I don’t understand. Eight year old me understood. Twelve year old me understood. Years later, I still don’t understand.
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It feels like the weekend although the weekend hasn’t started. It’s because I feel slow, slow and relaxed and languid, like maybe a sloth or maybe a koala. I see flashes of Tampa, Florida in my mind as I consider my slothiness. I see flashes of blue and sea as we’re on the highway. I’m trying to get the sun positioned right behind my hair. No, not like this. Like that. From that angle. I see a tiger sweatshirt and wild cats that’ll never be free. In the pictures my hair’s even more untamed than the felines prowling the space.
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I have an art crush. This is my art crush, @elesq. I wormhole through art blogs on tumblr every so often and stumble upon styles/artists I really like and this is one. Simple poignant stuff. I’d emulate it, but I feel like my style is kind of heavy–I go and try to fill in every space possible. When I attempt minimalism I’m inclined to fill in the spaces. But you’re supposed to let the space speak for itself. Like silences used for effect in plays. In conversations. In speeches where you think people have dropped off from listening so when you’re quiet they’re jarred back to attention: why aren’t you droning on anymore?
Lately I’ve been getting some inquiries about drawing requests. I decided to make a clearer style and pricing chart to highlight how people can commission a painting!
In regards to style, I’ve decided to delineate between “chunky” and “smooth” paintings. Whereas “chunky” paintings have visible shading, “smooth” paintings are light, airy and “buttery.”
The process itself is fairly easy. Send a request and photo; pay via Venmo or PayPal; I’ll have the image to clients in 3-5 days.
In the past, I’ve been commissioned to paint wives, sons, mothers, siblings, musical artists and models. If you’re interested in a digital painting, please feel free to message me here.
…and smize. Digital painting of my model friend whom I met at summer camp.
Reminder to self: we’re all a part of a giant shared collective experience mired in good and evil and love and fear and desire and emptiness and peace and calamity. (We are all made of stardust.)
SO you take it upon yourself to judge the content of someone’s heart without ever having the chance to rip open a chest to peer inside. Instead you look at the way their arms flail or their facial expression, the way they extend a hand or recoil in fear. On a bench or through a friend of a friend, you decide on which adjectives you’ll use to describe this heart.
You decide that:
the heart is open, the heart is cold, the heart is kind, the heart is distant, the heart is hardened, the heart is shut-off, the heart is readable, the heart is murky, the heart is big. The heart is stony. The heart is a million things except for what it simply is: a heart.
It never occurs to you that: maybe we’re all just wasting our time trying to superimpose these value judgments on an organ. But that doesn’t stop us.