#SUPER result

[mienar]

the wandering painter, part one

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[mellosghosts]

this is what you get for dating an atheist

original

[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.

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

Thrift store ahegao t shirt lookin-ass

I only just realized how this looks now that they're all compiled here on a tumblr post....what. who drew these🧍🏻‍♀️

This is from something on my patreon. But dang it, these Ford expressions are too good to not share as a preview.

[vintrage]

fire cannot kill a dragon BITCH

[hemlock-dreams]

Wip of Spiderman's berserker mode-

When Spiderman is in a legitimate holy fuck life-or-death situation, (or when his spider senses go from 0-Thanos Just Popped in and is Gunning for me) his body automatically burns its entire store of venom in one big burst, giving him a massive boost in all his powers for 10-15 minutes.

This is the ultimate state of fight-or-flight. He can't control when or if it happens.

When he's in burn, Spiderman's only objective is to survive- either by putting down the threat or getting away from it as fast as possible.

During burn, everything is enhanced- his speed, his strength, his healing factor, etc. He feels little to no pain and fights with the single goal of coming out alive on the other side. He's not necessarily mindless, but he also doesn't hold anything back and will fight to kill if that's what he thinks will give him the best chance of survival.

In this state, he's powerful enough to go toe-to-toe with a fairly serious Thor. However, going through burn is EXTREMELY traumatic for the body, and coming out of it is just as dangerous as going in.

When it's over, Peter is pretty much catatonic/comatose for a few days while his body heals- and basically as powerless as a civilian while his body restores enough venom to put him back into a balanced state.

To date, it's only happened twice (and is the original reason he caught Kraven's attention.)

TLDR: Spiderman's venom works on himself as well, but in a more extreme fashion.

[kenobihater]

no nuance, no show results, no 50-50

[kandismon]

totally lore-accurate swanqueen screencap redraws 4/∞

they're on their first date :3c

[patrickztump]

Color: The German Shepherd Dog varies in color, and most colors are permissible. Strong rich colors are preferred. Pale, washed-out colors and blues or livers are serious faults. A white dog must be disqualified. ✘

these coat colors and more on redbubble

[amphibianaday]

day 1765

[flourish-of-steel]

bringing back some watercolors

[onionninjasstuff]

brought to you by @scatterbrainedbot's tags

[multicolour-ink]

Words cannot express how grateful I am to the animators for getting across so much joy and communication through these expressions 💖

Also the very relatable feeling of being an adult and trying to make it on your own - then getting your first client/job and feeling elated 🤭

[westaysilly]

what if it was called the summer hikaru kissed yoshiki and instead of dying he kissed yoshiki

happy pride month gang 🫡

dont use/repost without permission and credits :3

[sewerdraws]

The fruity urge to get golden clawed jewelry to match your boyfriend's fucked up evil arm