#anyway go forth and make

[chipped-chimera]

Ok sorry but hold on a sec while I get real neuroscience/social psychology-ey about this.

So I have been a good 'drawer' since I was very young, but I also have a keen interest in psychology for mental health (and honestly autism) reasons. I think one of the most formative things I've ever done in my young life with regards to my perspectives with art, was read Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain by Betty Edwards. At like, 13 (see what I mean about the autism? lol).

Did I need this book considering I'd gotten into my high-school with a literal art scholarship with my demonstrated skill? No. But I was interested in the neuroscience perspective of art + if there was anything I could draw from it that would help my own art improve.

I don't remember the specifics, but my main takeaways were this:

Absolutely no one pops out of the womb with innate art skill. Like language and reading, it is a developed skill, not born out of biological necessity. Natural talent doesn't exist.

Because skill in art tends to be devalued in western society across the board ('starving artist' mentality, how shittily VFX artists have been treated for years, OpenAI already knowing how to ask for permission to make an AI ethical because they were scared of the music industry but threw that out the window crawling for training data for stable-diffusion, how art is constantly stolen and reposted with 'credit to the artist!' without actually linking or crediting said artist - LITERALLY TAKE YOUR PICK) being artistic is not encouraged. As children we all draw (to make art is human, I sincerely believe this), but there will be a point where it goes from being an encouraged part of child development to 'this is a childish waste of time' and actively discouraged as a poor career choice. If you wondered why most people's artistic skill level is 'frozen' and can only draw like an 8 year old - this is why.

The reason people remain stuck in this frozen state is lack of education, because our societal structure doesn't emphasize the use of art. It's considered 'optional' or a 'hobby'. It's not a critical part of the curriculum like math or english. Reading and mathematics are not innate skills either, they have to be trained. The difference here is you straight up just did not get any education to make progress.

As an adult, we tend to get discouraged when we can't draw well at all for all the aforementioned reasons and give up (or if you're extra scummy, make AI art and claim artists are 'gatekeeping' as your excuse) but the only difference between you and someone who can draw, like me, is I grew up in an environment where drawing was encouraged, not torn down as a 'childish activity'. So I've literally spent most of my childhood practicing, that's the only reason I draw better. I just have more years of practice under my belt.

There's no such thing as talent in art. You might be able to pick colours well instinctively, heck you might be a tetrachromat (like I suspect I am) giving you an advantage that is innate and biological. But beyond that I honestly believe the only talent you can have is being stubborn and doggedly aiming for and perusing your goals, even when you feel discouraged. You will always see what is wrong in your own art, no matter if you started drawing seriously yesterday or 30 years ago. It's what I call 'the curse of the artist's eye' - but it is a good thing, because it means you still have room for improvement! You still have things to learn! If you think something about your art is shit, use that as motivation. Learn from the experience. Go find drawing books about the thing you're weak at drawing. Come at it from a different angle, utilize references. Keenly observe what you're looking at.

Also lastly, the most important one: the biggest barrier to improvement for most people is having to wind back years of ingrained symbology and actually start seeing. What do I mean by this? When you draw a portrait of yourself, ears, eyes, nose, etc. you aren't drawing your face at all - you're drawing a collection of learned symbols, the representation of an eye, a nose, a mouth, that you may have learned at 8 years old - then never progressed further. To break out of this you have to stop seeing 'eyes' and 'noses' you have to start seeing shapes and lines. One of the activities to demonstrate this in the book was to take a picture of a still life scene or something and do your best to draw it. Then take that picture, flip it upside-down and draw it again but upside-down. Generally comparing the two pictures, the upside-down version always had a drastic improvement - because you basically forced your brain out of using recognized, ingrained symbols and had to rely on shapes and structure instead.

Also as a side note: Having ingrained symbols isn't a bad thing - it's the backbone of artist style. But this is why most professional artists, even with highly stylized style recommend learning anatomy and doing life drawing first - because they have spent time learning to understand how things actually look and improving their skill, before basically developing a symbolic shorthand. I can usually tell my symbolic associations are getting too strong or I've 'forgotten' how to draw things when I start getting a lot of 'same face syndrome' in my art. That's usually a sign I need to go hit the books, practice drawing from life again so I can remember that. I don't just practice drawing eyes once and never do it again - I probably do a refresher, at minimum, once a year. And each year it gets a bit better.

So that's it. Talent doesn't exist, everyone can draw - all you gotta do is be stubborn enough to keep learning. Go forth and draw shit!

No really, this is literally it - in my lifetime I've infected at least three people with the drawing bug telling people this, girl in my italian class went from going 'I wish I could draw' to sitting next to me in fine arts in my final year of school. Just practice dude - and be stubborn about it.

truly the best thing to say to someone who self-deprecatingly tells you they "can't draw" is "why?"

[spitedemon]

i really don’t think it’s “typical dragon age fandom nonsense” for people to be genuinely upset about the world state choices. combat, level design, art direction, gameplay gimmicks, those have all varied across each dragon age game. the one thing that’s remained constant are nods to our previous choices.

i wasn’t expecting my HoF to come riding in on a griffon, but i can’t find a monument dedicated to warden tabris somewhere around the anderfels? lucanis couldn’t have some lines about the time that one arainai boy was stirring up trouble in antiva city? you’re gonna tell me that making a mage the new divine wouldn’t have some impact on nevarra and antiva? on the anderfels, the supposed most devout militant andrastian nation in thedas? you’re saying nobody in the north is paying attention to who rules orlais or ferelden? come on.

[lucabyte]

A belief in Nominative Determinsim

[obsob]

one small step for. kitties

[the-red-planet-mars]

500 notes on this and you write that angsty mars fanfic

JKDHGHOIJWEHBGEHUIWO FINE!

sigh im making the deadline to 5th May despite knowing this will reach half the goal in under an hour

[racingliners]

If we're living the dream, I hope we never wake up

[marzipanandminutiae]

so help me god if I tanked the chance for a well-paid job with full medical benefits, sick leave, paid vacation time, etc. because I hardly ever do machine seam-finishing

I'm going to be. really really really upset

[saltpepperbeard]

a pensive babygirl™

[picture source]

[myokk]

before it felt like a sin, ch. 1

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 3000

summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

a/n: Hi everyone!! I decided to post this here too...I'm slowly going through everything I've written so far, and I want to post each chapter here as I edit them. I'm hoping that this can be a way to a) get back in to writing more, and b) get better at my art as I make full illustrations for each chapter. Let me know what you think!! :)

There is nothing quite as horrible as being a muggle, Eloise thought savagely as she ripped out yet another stitch in the landscape she was embroidering. At least, it was supposed to be a landscape. Maybe with her head tilted to the left and with her eyes almost closed so everything blurred together, it might resemble one. She did just that, trying her hardest to make out some recognizable shape and blast the stupid practice of manually pushing colored thread through a fabric in some sort of -

“And what is this, Miss Babbit?”

Eloise jumped at the sound and looked up at the scowling face of her teacher, and then quickly back down at the tangled thread in her lap. Behind her, she could hear the hushed giggles of the other girls in her class.

“Oh! Er…it’s -”

“How long have you been here?” the woman interrupted.

“One hour…I just -”

“Don’t be smart with me. I mean, at this institute.”

“Five years.” Eloise glared down at her embroidery as if it had personally offended her. It wasn’t like she was actively trying to be bad at everything, but she had the distinct disadvantage - how had it ever come to be that she would be at a disadvantage to muggles? - of not having spent a lifetime being prepared for muggle society and all that it entailed. The last five years had been a monotonous, endless cycle of lessons designed to turn her into the perfect lady: French (a waste of time as Eloise was already fluent), embroidery (a waste of time as the things she embroidered weren’t actually useful), dancing (a waste of time as she was already engaged to be married - why would she bother trying to woo another silly man?), and her most dreaded class of all: etiquette. No matter how many years had been spent trying to assimilate into muggle culture, her thoughts still got muddled when she tried to remember the steps to a dance, or how to properly address the son of a duke.

Did it really matter, anyways, what the other girls thought? She had pretended her whole life to be the daughter she thought her parents had wanted - now she was simply pretending that she hadn’t been thrown into the muggle world without a second thought. What was a bit more pretending - that she didn’t care? That she hadn’t been tossed aside without a second thought?

“Exactly. Five years. And yet, you have shown no progress whatsoever. This -” a finger jabbed accusingly at the embroidery - “is absolutely horrendous. If your parents hadn’t continued to make such a sizeable donation every year, I would have deemed you a lost cause and sent you packing when you first arrived. How your family ever managed your betrothal to the son of an earl is beyond me.”

Eloise grimaced at the mention of her fiance as her teacher clapped her hands together to get the attention of the class - a wholly unnecessary action due to the fact that it was already being given. “Class is dismissed. Please collect your belongings and put them in the correct place. Remember, as future wives and mothers, you must be organized in all aspects of your life. Many of you will be managing important households and the slightest misstep -“ a slight glance to Eloise out of the corner of her eye - “can cause the biggest of scandals.”

Eloise raced to gather her things and leave the classroom before everyone else. No matter how many years had been spent at the school, she couldn’t help but hate sitting through the classes amongst the judgmental stares and snide remarks. Although things had started out shaky at the finishing school - to be expected, really, when you’ve grown up in wizarding society and then are then forced to live as a muggle - it still stung that after all these years, she still hadn’t found a friendly face. She was treated as if she were a pariah: it was as if the other girls just knew that something was different about her. But…wasn’t that the great irony of it all? She wasn’t different than them. She was a filthy squib.

When she first arrived at the school, she was an anomaly. A twelve-year-old girl who didn’t know how to play the piano or who the queen was. It was clear to everyone that Eloise wasn’t the charity case of the school - her parents were obviously quite wealthy - and yet they seemingly wanted nothing to do with her. Whereas the others got regular letters and visits from their family, it was as if Eloise were an orphan. Nothing new to her of course, but to her peers this otherness aided them in her ostracization.

Upon entering her room, she was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts. Something wasn’t right. Everything seemed the same: a twin bed perfectly made opposite a small wardrobe, a plain wooden desk placed between them. The weak afternoon sunlight shone through the window, illuminating her desk. But…there.

That…

Placed on her bed, resting on the pillow, was a letter.

She never received letters.

Eloise shoved her embroidery under her bed and hungrily grabbed at it, pausing when she saw the address. Miss E. Babbit. The Third Bedroom on the Left… It seemed vaguely familiar to her in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

As she read the letter, though, it became apparent to her exactly why this was. Although not exactly the same as the one her brother had received six years earlier, it quickly became apparent that this was a Hogwarts letter. For her. For Miss E. Babbit.

Hands shaking, she set the letter down on her desk and sat on the edge of her bed. She smoothed her hands over her skirt over and over, taking comfort in the familiar softness as she tried to even her breathing.

How was this possible? She had all but accepted the fact that she was a squib. The shame of her family, a dirty secret to be hidden away and never talked about or mentioned again. Her parents had suspected as much by the time she had turned seven without any signs of magic whatsoever manifesting around her - not even a basic transformation of brussel sprouts to sweets during dinner. It was ultimately confirmed, however, when her own Hogwarts acceptance letter never arrived. She had spent the whole year before her banishment daydreaming about her life at Hogwarts, still optimistic that there could be something magical inside of her. Her brother, Leo, came home every holiday with wonderful stories of his new friends and teachers, and the subjects he was learning at school. Even back then, at twelve years old, Eloise hadn’t been sure if he was actually hopeful she wasn’t a squib, or if he had been trying to prolong the fantasy for her before it all came crashing down.

Although she had had five years to come to terms with her new life, there was still a small part of her that hoped. A small “what if…”. She had tried time and time again to squash that tiny ray of optimism that would escape every so often, tried so very hard to cultivate a hard exterior that wouldn’t let any sort of vulnerability shine through. And that optimism was a vulnerability, after all. It was that vulnerability that had made it absolutely impossible for her to fit in the muggle world, and made it so that she didn’t really want to try.

Five years to come to terms with the fact that she needed a new purpose for her life and…

…not anymore?

Eloise grabbed the letter and greedily read through it again, drinking in all of the words. She paused at the end, thinking. Was this a forgery? Some sort of awful joke orchestrated by her brother? Leo had never been cruel to her in the past; in fact, he was the one who always encouraged her and was the most probable source of the small optimism that remained within her. However, she had no way of knowing how he had changed since she had last seen him. It had been, after all, five very long years. And not once had she heard from him, even though he had promised her through huge sobbing gulps that he would never abandon her. Maybe their parents had slowly poisoned him against her. It would be right on the nose for them, after all.

Looking at the envelope again, however…Third Bedroom on the Left…no. It was too specific. Nobody in her previous life had any reason to even want to contact her again, and nobody in her current life even knew what Hogwarts was, let alone have the ability to convincingly forge a letter just to have some fun at her expense.

A light, bubbly feeling began to spread throughout her body as it sunk in that this was real. She was going to Hogwarts. Soon, a - squinting at the letter again - a Professor Fig would be contacting her and giving her things to study. A huge grin slowly spread across her face and she hugged the letter to her chest as she fell back on her bed. She read through it again. Was it the fifth time already? It felt as though no amount of times rereading the letter would ever be enough.

Eloise got up and walked over to look at the calendar on her desk. She was surprised to see that September 1st was in only two days. The days at the finishing school moved in such a strange, sluggish way. They all felt the same. Monotonous. French and Latin and embroidery and household management and Merlin even knows what else all blending into each other in an endless parade of dusty classrooms and gossip and boredom.

The light feeling left her in an instant as, after years of practice, the optimism was squashed back down. But how will you even get to London? And, her brain added sneakily, you haven’t even shown any signs of magic. Maybe you’ll just be returned back here after they realize their mistake.

No, she thought fiercely, gripping the letter. Until -

A tapping came from the window. A tentative smile returned at the sight of a tawny brown owl with another envelope in its beak. She ripped it open as soon as it was in her hands (again addressed to Miss E. Babbit) and along with the letter a small, purple pouch fell out of the envelope and onto her bed.

Miss Eloise Babbit,

I am pleased to be the wizard charged with such an important task as escorting you to Hogwarts in two days’ time. It is something extraordinary to be accepted in your fifth-year, and as such, I expect extraordinary things from you. I have enclosed a small pouch along with this envelope, and in it are some items that will be vital to you in the upcoming days. I have included books for you to study at your leisure, and a small gobstone that will bring you to our rendezvous point in London. All you have to do is touch it at noon on the 1st and you will be transported instantly.

Your family has not been informed of your acceptance. I am sure you understand why - at this, Eloise scoffed quietly to herself - which is why I will personally be your escort.

I am looking forward to meeting you and bringing you to the sorting ceremony in two days’ time.

Yours,

Eleazar Fig

The handwriting was tiny and spidery and cramped, but it didn’t stop Eloise from reading it with the same vigor as the previous letter and as many times. Finally, she turned to the small pouch that had fallen onto her bed when she opened the second envelope. It must have had an invisible extension charm, because it was filled to the brim with books on basic spellwork and general wizarding history. Professor Fig had no way of knowing, but Eloise had already read many of these books and many more during the year her brother had started Hogwarts, as she had needed to know absolutely everything about what would be awaiting her. A few years may have passed since she had stepped foot in her family’s library, but she couldn’t get the books or their contents out of her brain even if she had wanted to. She had really wanted to forget everything she knew about the magical world when it was confirmed she was a squib but it was a futile effort. As she zoned out during her piano lessons, she would find herself mentally going through the movements to cast different charms.

It was painful to be thinking about things from the life that had been ripped away from her, to know that what she was thinking about would never come to pass, that she would never be able to wield magic - and yet she couldn’t find herself able to stop.

As Eloise picked out one of the books and settled into her armchair, a steely resolve overcame her.

She would prove that she deserved to be there, and was just as capable as any of they were. She would make her parents regret ever discarding her like she was nothing.

She was worthy. She was capable. And she would prove it.

The morning of September 1st dawned cold and rainy. Absolutely perfect.

Eloise had pretended to be sick the night before, and no one had suspected a thing when she stayed in bed long after all of the other girls had gotten ready and headed to breakfast. As the last of the chattering faded away down the hallway, Eloise finally got out of bed and prepared herself for the day. It was difficult to sit still long enough to braid her hair. Her fingers wouldn’t stop trembling and she had to restart countless times. Finally, she tied the black ribbon at the end into a neat bow and turned to the drawer of her desk to retrieve the small purple pouch she had hidden away.

Everything she deemed important enough to come along with her had already been placed inside: the books from Professor Fig, the hair ribbons gifted to her by her brother many years ago, and some clothing. Nothing else was coming with. She needed the fresh start. Besides, anything else she might need would be supplied, as her acceptance letter had specifically stated that any school supplies would be provided to her.

Waiting the hours before noon came along proved to be more difficult than Eloise had imagined. Time seemed to be moving slower than the molasses that had come with the breakfast sent up to her, the steady patter of the rain becoming a sort of metronome keeping time as she paced back and forth. Wasn’t there anything that could distract her, even for a bit? She glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed since the last time. 10.35.

The second hand ticking away in tandem with the sound of rain splashing against her window.

What if this was all a trick? What if she arrived at Hogwarts, and they turned her away because they realized they had made a mistake? After all, why would they admit a sixteen-year-old? Surely she was too old; every other student had started Hogwarts at the age of twelve and had shown signs of magic much earlier than that. She still hadn’t shown any signs of magical capability whatsoever, and didn’t feel any different than she had before receiving the letter. It had to be a fluke.

As her thoughts started veering into the melancholy she was prone to, she shook her head. No. Today was a happy, exciting day. She wasn’t going to squash the optimism down today, not when she needed it most. All of these thoughts she was having were simply that: thoughts. Not reality. Hogwarts never made a mistake, and in all of the history books she had read, she couldn’t recall an instance of someone being turned away at the door. Granted, she had also never heard of someone being admitted so late. But, better to focus on what she did know, which was that she had gotten the letter. It must be right in its assumption that she had magic.

Trying to pass the time was easier said than done. She ended up quizzing herself on all of the charms she had memorized in the books sent by Professor Fig, moving an imaginary wand in the precise movements needed to successfully cast and focusing on her pronunciation. She had studied all of these forms late into both nights she had had the books, and when she would eventually close her eyes to sleep, the wand movements were all she saw.

Eloise was determined that she would receive pity from nobody. Nobody was going to look at her like she was lacking. She had gotten enough of that to last a lifetime, and now that she was given this opportunity she wasn’t about to waste it.

When noon finally struck, Eloise was ready and waiting. She eagerly grabbed the gobstone that was sitting on her desk and felt the familiar tugging sensation in her navel as she was whisked away to London and the beginning of her new life.

next chapter

[halfdeadwallfly]

hi!!!! thank you @summercampghostie @im-the-son-of-rage-and-lov3 and @biromanticboba for the tag! i'm making a new thread so i could respond to everyone at once. i love this picrew so it was really fun to do again with the changes in my look hehe

it's supposed to be what you look like vs what you would want to look like, but if i'm being completely honest, i've just been really happy with how i look lately so i only did that version :))))

EDITING TO ADD THE LINK LMAO HERE YOU GO

np tags 🪄 @spectral-mycoblin @starry-eyed-darling @trips-around-the-sun @mack-anthology-mp3 and ofc anyone else who wants to join!! love you all <3

[0m3n-0f-d3ath]

Local knight is enamored by the princess

Fantasy au!Kat and Lily

[slcepily]

weow

[normalbrothers]

Arthur: Where's John do you think, Tom? Tommy: Fuck knows

t.s. eliot, ii. a game of chess the waste land

[fatedroses]

I know I design him with the intention that he becomes an evasion tank, but there's an irony I find very amusing in making his new magitek armor lighter than his original.

[read-write-thrive]

how much would I need to fuck with Niko and Monty’s genders to ship them

[moeblob]

Look, I just think it's VERY funny and on brand that I thought of an entire premise of colorful characters for half the cast and immediately drew the only one void of color.