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The queen of the forest! Acrylic on canvas

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Self portrait gone wild, I can never keep the self portraits clean or neat.

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Did this sketch with a beautiful Indian woman as my reference. Her nose is everything!

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Lion girl! Lion girl! Lion girl!

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I’m constantly ruing my sketches and making them messy 🤣

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I don’t super like this but it’s aight

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Rough sketch to painting!

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My first try at painting without a pencil sketch on the canvas! I actually succeeded at a freehand painting and I’m super excited!!!!!!

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Blood and Blackness

From where I stand I see nothing but the spilled blood of hurt hearts. It floats around me along with the numbing blackness. As I watch the black eat up the red, I find myself making a wish.

I wish for the color of the pain to stain me. Mark me so that I will not be alone when the black is all there is. I cling to that last bit of crimson as the dark closes in.

When I look down I see my wish has come true, my hands are dripping in red.

I am glad. I wanted this reminder so that even if my only companion in the dark was suffering, at least I wouldn’t be alone.

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Come to me, I am desperate for you.

I am lying broken and bleeding, I know naught of your face or you way.

Come to me and make know your love for me.

Become lost and I will find you, touch me and you will heal me.

Beware the warning that echoes through the forest of my soul, telling those of cowardice they are unwelcome.

Enter into the sanctum of my starry wonder with dedication in your heart, lest you be cast into the fire of my fury.

For I am broken, but I never bend.

Never while breath is in my lungs will I allow those unworthy of my love to stay.

Though I need you, long for you, and wait for you, you must be a man who knows.

A man that can see I deserve a love as fierce and vast as my own.

When you see me, if you do not see what I really am: a woman made of the night sky, who’s many stars are the very thing poets past only dreamt of.

If you don’t, then leave.

Though I am weary for you, it does not mean you can be anyone.

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Written to Fade

My touch written on your soul, my love painted on your heart.

It should have been that way, I should have mattered. Instead you only scribbled me on paper.

You didn’t even use a pen.

I’ve only ever been scrawled in pencil, never written in pen. Why would you be any different?

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I painted this in a flurry of inspiration that struck me in the middle of the night. I felt like I was mirroring the escaping of my own color (gold) that comes out of me whenever I experience something good.

Except she’s experiencing it while in the turmoil of some kind of anguish or rage. I was feeling it in that moment too, and I found out that my color, my purest self. It’s not just there when I’m happy or when I’m stable. It’s there in all my difficult and dark times as well.

We don’t become lesser when something is hurting or broken inside. We can still shine our truest selves out into the darkness, though we feel pain it only makes us stronger and brighter.

We are and always will be colorful.

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CALLING ALL SYNESTHETES!!!!!

I have OLP synesthesia and I have no one in my life really to relate to color and the like in the way I do. I would really love to talk to some folks who understand. I want to vent about the feelings and the ideas and the whole experience of having synesthesia.

Please message me if interested!

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Hope with me, heal with me.

Yes, it’s possible.

-MT

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I painted this late 2018, in a short lived moment of joy and hope for better times ahead. I spiraled into depression again soon after I painted this, but there was this remnant of hope and love left behind. I can’t quite remember what it was or why it crumbled, I still know the feeling inside I had though. Every time I look at her I feel it again.

In a way she symbolizes the hope and joy and love that was shining out of me with every breath. I didn’t feel it for long, but this painting kept me going through the expanse of darkness that came after it was created.

Two long, long years later I have found not just hope but healing too. Though life still struggles to drag me down I’m stronger in my newfound stability than those clawing hands of pain and sadness are.

Sometimes I look at her, my painting named hope, a girl I can never speak too but a girl who saved my life nonetheless. I look at her and know in the back of my head that if she wasn’t here I wouldn’t be either. That one bright moment in the darkness of turmoil encapsulated on canvas. She saved me. Hope saved me.

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Maybe it’s the Stars

The stars, they catch my eye. They twinkle and draw me to look so I do. I look for comfort, for imagining, for wonder, and though the stars drew me to them upon seeing my gaze directed toward their glory, they recoil. They lean down and whisper into the atmosphere of the earth and she covers them up with clouds so that all I see is the grim and dreary darkness of an empty sky

I am left wondering if the stars have told the same secret to the rest of the world. The secret I know nothing of, but that in some way everyone else does. Perhaps it’s not a knowledge that comes in definition, but a knowledge that creeps into the heart and directs the actions that are displayed towards me.

Maybe it’s the stars, or maybe it’s me.

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There is a pressure inside of me, torturing my mind and turning my bones to dust.

-MT