acidshadow

[acidshadow]

I found the right file and was able to finish my baku sculpt!

Now I get to print it out

I might do a version with a mane, partially because I had a lot of fun detailing the fur.

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Canyon bat pups, via

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Reflection on Winter

Here, I will share some of my works along with my trivial writings.

As this is a format where long texts are interspersed with "Unrelated" works, I hope it can be appreciated as such.

Please forgive the incomplete translation.

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Since I was a child, I have been dominated by an insatiable desire for someone to listen to me and understand me.

Because of this, controlling my emotions has always been difficult, and creating serene Animations became the only way to suppress those feelings.

Through painting, I found work and gained a sense of self-worth, and I finally reached a point where I could remain calm enough to read books.

However, at some point, I forgot who it was I wanted to understand me and why it mattered in the first place.

As I poured my thoughts into words and delved deeper into reflection, I realized that philosophy and reading could help me in this pursuit of being understood.

However, by the time I reached that realization, I had also acquired an unsettling awareness that language dulls the visual senses.

In fact, it imparted a slight sense of symbolism to my artwork, while dulling its intuitive qualities.

This conflict likely explains why my art oscillates between symbolic representation and intuitive visual expression.

It has grown more pronounced this year. It also explains why I’ve found myself engaging in this sort of self-reflection more often than ever before.

My works exist in a complementary relationship with my self-reflection.

However, this is by no means a teleological approach—it is rooted in intrinsic impulses.

I simply, purely, and genuinely enjoy things like Gas stations on winter nights, side entrances of public facilities, rural port towns, or the colors of 100-yen lighters. That’s all there is to it, and that’s why I paint.

Please don’t worry. Unlike in the past, I would never even consider taking my own life.

I’m too curious about what I’ll paint next. I love my art.

For that reason, I ask for your understanding regarding my extremely poor productivity and my reliance on your support.

Dear friends, thank you for your continued support, and I look forward to the next year together.

P.S.

If you'd like to support my work and activities, please consider becoming my $1 patron.v

Thanks.

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What a month of Blender does to a MFer

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Eeman Masood (b.1998) - Rejoicing. 2023. Gouache, gold ink and 24 karat gold leaf on arches paper.

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people keep reposting my comics without credit or permission so heres a dump of my comics frome my twitter @/cuptoast

do not my reposts my art, if u see one of my comics uploaded to here, it was not with my permisiions!

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Invictus

In the dimness he woke and knew it was too late. Morning never came so late unless the world was ending.

Fortunately, he knew what to do about that.

He blinked and ruffled his feathers, looking around. This was his place. Surrounding a patch of grass were two holly trees, a pine, a cypress whose branches all went the wrong way, and much shrubbery, mostly beech and thorn. The shelter was good here, even on nights like last night. And in the holly, food appeared hung up: good food that tasted of fat and meat. It was all his. Later, when it was time for sex, there would be someone else who’d get some of it. But right now, he owned it.

This cold white stuff on the ground did complicate matters. It came and went without warning, and here it was again. Now, others who might have spent the morning scratching around the ground instead of stuffing themselves full up here would be turning up in his territory, eating his food. His feathers ruffled up again, this time with rage at the thought. Bastards. Bastards. Kill them all.

He hopped up onto the branch that had the best view across the patch of grass and into the bushes, and sang. Bastards! Who wants a piece of me? Come and get it! Because this was when it had to be said, no matter how much you might have preferred to sit quiet with your feathers fluffed up, conserving your heat. The dim sky was already paling toward that too-cold blue. It would be a bad day, cold, everybody and his family would turn up here trying to get at the tree food, which was what you needed this time of year if you meant to stay alive until dusk –

And suddenly he heard the harsh dark cawing coming from across the hardened path, across the wall, in the wood full of tall starved pines. He shivered. Not so early, he thought, what are you doing up at this hour? But he knew. That one wanted the tree-food too. It had come for it before. Now, in the silence before the morning wind, he heard the flapping of the wings.

Hastily he turned to the food cage, ate a few mouthfuls, felt the fat melt down his throat like blood, like life. Almost before he finished, the darkness had landed with a noisy thrash of leaves and branches up in the holly. A huge expressionless black eye gazed down at him.

He sang. It was almost all he could do. It’s mine! Stay away, or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! But the outcome was hardly so simple. The black-headed, white-backed shape with the axe-like beak bounced down another branch, and another, its eye on that tree food, that meat. It liked meat too. He’d once seen it zoom down onto the pond and simply pick up a baby duck and fly off with it. I’ll kill you if you get any closer! Don’t push me! I will!

It came closer. It was winter, it was death, the shape now only one branch of holly away. He sang as if life depended on it: because it did. If he had enough to eat, the sun came up. If the sun came up, the world was safe. It was as simple as that. Go away! I have to eat the food or the world will end! I’ll kill you to keep that from happening! Monster, go away, don’t make me rip you up — ! He fluttered at the monstrous gaping head, enraged, desperate.

A clacketing, rattling noise from behind. The black eye went wide, the death-pale bulk roused its wings and flapped clumsily out of the holly tree. Desperate with relief, he flung himself at the food-cage again, and ate with frantic speed as the sky paled brighter, toward day-blue: and between mouthfuls, he sang at the top of his lungs, shuddering with relief and triumph. Bastard! I warned you not to mess with me! Victory! Victory!

The sun peered up over the far hill. The shadows fled. He gorged himself as the black bird flew off, and stopped, and shouted again, Victory!

…She stood there with her mug in one hand, looking out across the back yard snow at the dot of red breast deep in among the holly branches, pecking furiously at the suet in its little cage. “Boy,” she said to the husband, back in the kitchen, “listen to that guy. You’d think he’d just won World War Three.”

“Yeah. Where’s the milk?”

The door closed. On the snow, the sun of the shortest day shone.

Victory!

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Tokyo Godfathers (2003) dir. Satoshi Kon

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Thinking about how wild it is that enshittification starts as a way for the rich to squeeze the populace for more money but ends up infecting everything so even luxury products decline in quality. They’ve got more money than fucking God now and for what? Literally they can’t even buy fun nice stuff for themselves because they killed craft.

Anyway this post is about Dhaka muslin but it’s also about everything.

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it really is the most Pokémon thing ever that they made a route full of rapid water that if you're lucky you might navigate in just the right spot to find an area you can dive, and you follow that along and find a cave where everything is written in Braille - like, the language made for the visually-impaired which can only be read by touching it, which you obviously cannot do through an LCD screen - which if you somehow manage to read it you find out you need to A) use Dig, which if you do happen to have on you you then need B) a fucking Wailord and Relicanth, two late-game kinda hard to get Pokémon I guarantee extremely few people would ever have used one of on their team never mind both water-types at the same time for some reason, and if you DO manage to do all of that it unlocks three caves across the region which it doesn't even tell you where they are and you have to solve more braille puzzles and your prize is 3 pokemon that just arent even good

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Drawing my favourite pokemon (not magikarp) for this month’s character design challenge.

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sound on

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After 8 years living not far from it @revretch and I finally saw the Zymoglyphic Museum. This isn't a "review" exactly, because I decided to just describe each image and include a piece of the opening of its official book.

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I thought today - the TV show I'd really like to see is one about a medieval monastery.

You could have all kinds of characters: the pious guy who joined because he wanted to serve God, the son born out of wedlock sent there to cover up his parents' shame, the geek who wanted to study Latin but couldn't afford to go into university, the former knight sick of violence and afraid for his soul... Plus monasteries were centres of pilgrimage and places where criminals could take refuge, so we can have a lot of characters who crop up for a few episodes and leave.

Some plotlines I thought of:

Our relics aren't bringing in the pilgrims the way they used to - what do we do?

A women fleeing an abusive marriage has taken shelter in the monastery - how will the brothers respond to having a women in their midst?

One of the monks wants to leave - will the abbot accept or not?

A murderer has taken refuge in the abbey, and the abbot decides to try and save his soul - what will happen?

People are coming to the monastery for food during the famine, but the monastery is itself short of food - how will this be dealt with?

War has broken out between two local lords, and the monks attempt to broker a treaty - will it work?

I've already mentioned some reasons why I think this setting would lend itself to television, but I'd also love to make it for two other reasons:

Get people to understand how weird medieval religion could get, but also that, within its own frame of reference, it was a reasonable and consistent belief system.

Show people that the Middle Ages consisted of more than just muddy people stabbing each other and burning scientists at the stake.

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mood

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