#Directed at my mom

[socks-wizard-money-gang]

ShutupshutupshutupSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP

[kairos-in-space]

just because you’re better than your mom was doesn’t mean you’re a good parent

[winter-angst]

listen I’m a girl in love with fictional men twice my age who loves Twilight and Taylor Swift. what exactly do you expect from me?

[title]

Lily Gladstone as Jax Fancy Dance (2023), directed by Erica Tremblay

[lil-cherubb]

"Body hair is so gross" KILL YOURSELF

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[phoenixtakaramono]

【TIMESKIP】

I think the Princess of Hell and her devoted knight make a great powerhouse couple

Higher-Res Version: Twitter

[cozylittleartblog]

happy pride month. i did not make this up for th ememe

[stuckinapril]

sorry if this is a weird question, but i was wondering if you knew respectful words in arabic when talking to older women? ive been talking with Palestinian women in Gaza, and it always feels wrong or rude to call them by first name esp since im young. maybe its just the east asian in me but was curious if theres any cultural respect norm that i should know here since its hard to find online

OHH this is tough bc the Iraqi in me grew up referring to older women by “khala” or “ama” which is literally just the Arabic word for aunt …….. and most times it goes well but sometimes women take offense to it bc they’re like I’m NOT that old lmao I love Arab women

[myokk]

the summer before Hogwarts🫶

in my mind, Sebastian is a huge planner & he always insisted on bringing too much along whenever he and Anne went on adventures. It’s always better to be prepared than to realize you forgot something at home😤

the next drawing will be Anne so you can compare the two😂💓

[socks-wizard-money-gang]

Idgaf about your feelings youve been hurting me for years and me growing a spine doesn't mean I'm being manipulated. Fuck off

[kairos-in-space]

holy shit just because you don't hit me doesn't mean you're not fucking abusive

[suntails]

adrift

[honeyspotpie]

Trudy Trout you are so important to me. For a show that's been specifically about the trails and tribulations of parenthood from the perspective of father figures and viewed from the lense of said fathers only, it's so refreshing to have a main MOTHER character who is as painstakingly tragic as Trudy. Because yes, her character is a commentary on the negativity of tradwife values - but being a "tradwife" doesn't exclusively mean being a perfect lover for her husband, but being a perfect mother to her children as well - and I feel like a lot of people are forgetting that and not acknowledging it nearly enough. Women, especially in that time, had to pretty much carry the entire burden of shaping and properly raising their children into functioning human beings, being their singular caretakers. Trudy (or the husk of the person who is Trudy now) having to properly shape and form the minds of her children when she herself is not properly shaped and formed. Raising them to be ready to face the great wide world out there, the same world that she struggles to face herself, the world that kicks her down everytime she gets up. There's so much potential to explore, so many poignant points to be made. Like look, I'm as fascinated by her relationship with Tucker as literally everyone else, but I do hope that at one point in the narrative the focus shifts to her relationship with Tuck, Tina and Timmy. Make Trudy realize how much her motherhood is intertwined with her personhood, and let us watch her grapple that.

[caramellashton]

I'm devastated...

[anuspastor]

inspired by some happenings on m dashboard from a couple of days ago