#this is my first time doing watercolor (this class not this specific painting)

[havic-fr]

Art of one of my dragons from 2017, and a watercolor redraw I did for class yesterday! 6 years sure did make a difference :'D

[oddmawd]

I was trying to write before and it’s didn’t turn out good and I just stop writing and it don’t take practice you just have to be good at writing the first time you do it that is my opinion tho

i'm gonna assume you're like...12 years old...because there's no way an adult would be able to type that with a straight face

i'm not about to coddle you and give you a happy little pep-talk about ✨believing in yourself✨ after the way you treated that author...calling them a "bitch" because they don't PANDER TO YOUR SPECIFIC TASTES was a bully tactic and you should be ashamed of yourself

FURTHERMORE using a gendered insult like "bitch" and then demanding they write you a male reader insert story (while insulting female/gender neutral inserts in the same breath) is misogynistic as hell, i don't feel even the littlest bit sorry for you, so save the "woe is me, i can't write" bullshit for someone who gives a damn

but let me give you something to chew on while you throw yourself a pity-party about "not being good at writing" and pretend that gives you the right to bully people who actually TRY to be good writers:

Do Olympic athletes show up winning gold medals without ever setting foot on the practice field?

Do painters show up to their first class knowing how to use oil paints and watercolors and how to hold a brush effectively?

Did Hemingway roll out of the womb and write The Old Man and the Sea without writing a single damn thing beforehand?

no, they didn't...every writer you love wrote some SHITTY first drafts they didn't share with anyone because they sucked first (in private!) and THEN got good (in public)....and they got good by showing up and failing and trying again, and failing again and trying again and FAILING AGAIN (because that's what practicing is!!!!) until they finally started succeeding regularly...

UNLIKE YOUR CLOWN ASS THAT RAN AWAY SCARED WHEN YOUR FIRST STORY DIDN'T TURN OUT PERFECT

i'm not gonna take the easy road here and point out how fucking LAZY you sound when you say you tried once and gave up, because that's a cheap fucking shot and way too easy (you set me up so badly bro, like c'mon)

what i'm gonna do instead is point out that you just admitted that you were too fucking scared to try more than once

"BOO HOO, i wrote something, it was shitty, i was scared of what people might say and then i gave the fuck up" - you, probably

and that's the difference between we "lazy bitch" reader insert writers who actually post our work, and you: we show up and we TRY, every goddamn day, and we put ourselves out there despite the risk of being bullied by people like you who can't be bothered to try more than once

do you know what writing is, at its most fundamental level? it's showing your work to people and saying "please read this and enjoy it, i worked really hard," and PRAYING they don't tear your hard work apart for no reason at all, but that's what YOU did! you saw someone writing something they enjoyed and went "fuck you, i don't care that you labored and practiced for weeks and months, it wasn't to MY TASTES and therefore you're a lazy bitch," and you're apparently so un-selfaware that you don't realize the irony of YOU, a person who can't be bothered to try writing more than once, A) calling someone lazy, and B) demanding they spend their time/expertise to write something just for widdle ol' you, in the same breath

do you not fucking hear yourself????? huh?????

you tried writing ONCE and found out it was too hard for you, so now your answer is to bully writers and make demands of them? when you should know through your ONE attempt how difficult writing must be?

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK BRO?

you should never message a writer again with your demands when you can't even be bothered to live up to your own standards, you entitled tone-deaf hypocrite

writing takes courage, and you have ✨N O N E✨

[thedragonagebigbang]

Bang Creator Interview: Tumblr: @scatterhearts

The Collaboration period has begun! In these quiet months before works are due, we want to foster a sense of excitement, camaraderie, and celebration among our participants. To that end, all participants were given the option of a formal interview by our mod, Dema, or an informal “ask-game” survey. We hope you enjoy getting to know our phenomenal creators as much as we have!

Interview with Scatterheart

Scatter and Dema talk pokemon, dark fantasy, and advice for artists just starting out.

Dema: You are participating in this bang as an artist, and have just handed in your first progress check, which is a brainstorm or thumbnails or a rough sketch. How did that go? Is this more or less in line with how you usually plan your pieces?

Scatterheart: Yes, it is more or less how I plan "big" pieces, by which I mean the composition matters haha. I usually first look for references of all stuff that would be relevant, then edit pictures for a collage sort of sketch or also just regular sketch. Most of the time outside of "big" pieces I just go straight to drawing a thing and changing it as I go, not very efficient but fun mostly.

Dema: What media do you work in? And is that the medium you started with?

Scatterheart: I'm pretty much digital art only since I started it four years ago, and when I decided I wanted to "really learn" art stuff it was good old pencil and paper!

Dema: What made you decide you wanted to "really learn?" And what did that look like? Did you follow tutorials, specific teachers, books? Something else?

Scatterheart: I was really into anime at the time and wanted to be able to draw the characters I liked like the fanart I saw, or the source material. At first I simply copied stuff, and then also looked at a few youtube tutorials. I did have an art class in school at the time and because other classmates also liked anime and the teacher was cool we worked on that for some time, haha.

Dema: Oh that's lovely! Any anime in particular? We have a lot of DA artists who also love anime, for sure.

Scatterheart: The one I liked most to draw in/mimic the style of was pokemon in the unova seasons and also cutesy styles like K-on or nichijou. My favorite genre was comedy, clearly. I got more ambitious after I also got really into visual novels, which have really pretty art, and it coincided with trying other mediums in my aforementioned art class. But I was not good at painting or watercolor LOL, it was so hard and time consuming I went back to pencil only.

Dema: So your favorite anime genre was/is comedy, but I saw you mentioned in your artist interview that Dragon Age introduced you to dark fantasy.  I'm curious what hooked you?

Scatterheart: I guess dark fantasy has a different kind of seriousness, in comparison to like, non-dark fantasy even when it's also serious, and dragon age has such well presented/executed stories of that sort that it was like "Oh! This is what I'm looking for and now I have a word!". Like vampire stories! I think darker topics but in a fantasy way have so much potential to really get them across.

Dema: Are there other dark fantasy media that you're enjoying lately?

Scatterheart: Does Elden Ring count? If so then that one, the game is so beautiful I end up just running around looking which is great for wanting to draw.

Dema: Oh yes, Elden Ring for sure counts! Do you have other reliable sources for inspiration? What do you do if you're in an art rut?

Scatterheart: For inspiration in the sense of making me want to draw, like, at all, music videos probably. There's been other inspiration stuff for that purpose that has come and gone but that's the most consistent one I can think of. With art rut stuff, if it's in the way of "wah everything I draw looks off" or "wah i can’t think of what to draw," I do studies, outside of those cases I just completely stop doing art stuff and go enjoy doing other stuff – watch more movies/shows, play other games, do more music stuff. Last year I had my first full on art block and I just barely drew anything for a bit over six months, then organically felt again like drawing.

Dema: What do you most enjoy drawing from the DA universe?

Scatterheart: I really like drawing Sera! LOL I haven't drawn that much dragon age stuff yet. Similar to the anime fanart, when I was just starting digital art I wanted to draw Dragon Age characters but I felt like I was not doing them justice, fast forward I now mainly draw in a painting and realism-adjacent way and would like to think I'm better at conveying facial/body features so it's like, now I have the power! That aside, yeah Sera is really fun, next is my beloved Cassandra.

Dema: Any advice for other artists just starting to make fanwork who might be having those same fears?

Scatterheart: Hmm I think that if you draw in a style that isn't quite realism and want to translate the characters to it then studying simplification of features/shapes would be useful. Fortunately game renders make that easier than looking at real people and DA characters are real shapely! Another way, going to realism-ish: painting exercises like simplifying shapes of light/shadow (ie black and white only) work really well for starting and for facial features.

Dema: Those are great tips! Thank you for taking the time to chat with me today, Scatter!

Scatterheart: I hope they can be helpful tips, thank you as well for doing the interviews!

[trapastrology]

My Decision has been made...

Good Afternoon, my beautiful astro babes!

A Week ago, I made a poll asking if you'd all rather me go the route of Patreon or Twitch. I want to take a bigger step in my career esp given my upcoming transits and other circumstances.

The poll has officially ended and there was a weeks' time to vote.

Patreon was the WINNER

I actually prefer this over twitch being that i can do more and there be a huge bang for your buck!

My Patreon will include a lot such as...

Lives (will be available to watch even if you missed it)

Exclusive In-depth information

Merch (towards the end of the year)

Discounts for readings, books and classes exclusive to patreon members

YouTube style videos (so those on Patreon will be seeing my face lol)

Classes strictly for Patreon members (the classes will be chosen by them)

& way more!

There will only be one tier. I find that this is the easiest way for me to post quality content between 2 platforms (Tumblr & Patreon) as well as not having people feel "left out" who may not be able to maintain the purchase of other tiers they may really like to join.

The only Tier will be $9. Being that a lot of quality content and such will be produced every month, I find that this is an amount that isn't too, too much but can still be sustainable for me.

I will be very ecstatic for those of you who'd like to join. I will be able to do more with something that I love to do without any outside sources intervening. This will also help me better interact with everyone one on one and giving a specific group of people what they want and need. The information i'll have on my Patreon will definitely be things that you can (& should) apply to your daily life to better your quality of life. This will also be towards people trying to get into the deeper parts of astrology.

I hope that everyone who wants to join is able to join!

However, there is one more thing I'd like to address. As a 1H Jup, I like to ask for signs from the universe for if I should do something or not. I was wondering if I should go on to Patreon/Twitch or if I should continue to stay on social medias strictly being that I've been on here for years.

Yesterday, I was accused of "stealing" my book title name from someone handle. For those of you who have been here for a while & came from twitter, I released Written In The Cosmos, on May 1st and was working on it a month prior to posting about it on April 1st. Nothing about or from my book was ever stolen from someone or something else. The title? Came from my mom. I asked her to help me with title and chapter names and she gave me a few and Written in the cosmos was supposed to be a chapter title but I switched it to a book title. The Artwork? If you've read any of my book promo, you'd know that it is Watercolor Painted by me! I also posted the whole tutorial on my personal TikTok and I painted it way before I thought about my book. The contents? was all me. Experiences I had and gathering information from people I interviewed! This is the first and last time I'll speak on this being that I honestly don't have the energy or anything to prove becuz as I worked on my book, I posted about it all the time. However, she commented on my post about my book, so I dm'd her asking her to clarify the issue and then I was blocked instantly. Furthermore, I took this as a sign to do bigger things becuz as a Scorpio/8H plmnt, if you aren't doing your thing and someone isn't trying to accuse you of something you didn't do...are you doing it right??? LOL

Nevertheless, everyone here knows I only post original content and I'm usually out and about when I think of posts info and ideas so I'll put it in my voice memos and type them out later.

Thank you for everyone who has purchased my book becuz it's meant the absolute world to be being that I thought it wasn't good enough to share! You are very appreciated by me forever and always!

I can't wait to start my New Patreon journey while also continuing my journey on here!

If you got this far, I love you and more content will be loading!!!!!!!

[pbandjesse]

Today was a little off the rails. I feel absolutely terrible right now. My head is pounding. My face feels swollen, specifically my eyes and under my eyes. It sucks.

I slept okay last night. Not amazing but fine. When I got up I was not feeling great. James had left early to go bike to the museum before the marathon. They apparently almost missed their window because they dropped their water bottle on the street and had to go back for it. But they did make it and went kayaking. They had left me an omelette which was greatly appreciated.

I took a shower and tried to be alright. And I was okay for a bit. I went and warmed up my omelette and went and brought my drink upstairs so I could free up my hands. My plan was to eat breakfast and work on my floor mat sewing project.

And thing started well. I was enjoying my omelette. I was watching a video. Sweetp was being annoying so I gave him some egg. And when I finished eating I took my prenatal and calcium. And got into my sewing.

I was sitting on the floor and was just finishing sewing one pocket closed when I got a rolling pain in my stomach. And I knew I was about to throw up.

I quickly put my hair up (luckily every single time I've thrown up I have been able to get my hair up first) and I threw up everything. It was horrible. Painful and violent and it didn't feel like it was going to stop. It was honestly scary. I was crying and shaking.

Once I finally stopped throwing up I cleaned up and brushed my mouth out and went and sat down. And I saw my face and I was shocked at how puffy my eyes were and then I started to notice that I have red dots all over my neck and my cheek.

I almost thought I was having a reaction to something. But then the dots started around my eyes and the rest of my face. I looked it up and I broke capillaries all over my face from throwing up. I was so upset. I felt like I wasn't in control of my body and it was just terrible.

I tried to not let it bother me. I had a little candy and drank water and finished another row of my sewing.

My plan was to leave here around 1115 to go to awah for the MD steam festival project. I had some time to waste so I took Crabcake out to have a walk around the studio for a half hour which he seemed to enjoy. Just walking the perimeter of the room.

I would put him back in his tank and said goodbye to him and Sweetp. And then I was off. I was very worried about streets being closed and having trouble getting over there but it actually was totally fine and I got to the building by 1130.

I was surprised that everything was already set up. So I mostly was running around trying to go find the projector remote. Which I would have to reach out to Sofia to find the location of.

A lovely girl named Cammi was my assistant today and she was really nice. 25, teaches with awah at a couple schools. She was very helpful.

We also have a volunteer named Judy who was about 65. She apparently have been volunteering with awah for 10 years! She was very nice too.

But no one came for the project. It was so weird. I don't know if it was more because of the running festival blocking streets, or if it was because there were 30 other events for the MD steam festival. Me and Cammi looked it up and we were shocked there were so many programs happening.

But we didn't know no one would come so we stayed ready. Judy would work on some mosaic stuff she's doing for other days she volunteers. Cammi worked on cutting out watercolor paper stars for a class she has. And I painted a lantern. Which was fun. They were supposed to be planets and since it want exactly our earth, had to many landmasses, I have called it Erf.

Judy was funny though because she was so mad that no one came. She kept complaining about how her taxes go to these programs. And while I don't exactly think that's true I also was just like. It's fine? I was just happy to have a nice short little shift to work on a day where there was no farmers market.

I was not feeling great though. Once we cleaned up I alarmed the building and we left. I decided I would go to Mom's, the organic grocery store, and get some treats. I would actually spend almost all the money I made today, oops, but its fine.

I had a nice walk around the store even if I was nauseous. I got vegan pepperoni and crackers and black cherry cola to have for lunch. And I got a new bar of soap with tea tree oil. And as I was getting ready to walk to check out I saw this precious strawberry print water bottle. My favorite brand of water bottle, klean kanteen, and I decided I deserved that after having such a shitty morning and feeling so bad.

The cashier was so sweet and said I absolutely deserved the water bottle and she discovered that the straw pops out in such a nice way and it's a very good design. Jess said it's the cutest water bottle she has seen and I agree. It's adorable.

I considered going to the park to eat lunch but went home instead. This was a good move.

I drove past where the house fire happened in Hamden and was shocked how bad it was. I am very sorry to the families of the people who died. I was just really surprised that it effect like 8 houses. And the whole block smelled like fire still. It was honestly wild.

When I got home I brought a blanket and pillow outside to lay on the ground in the shade and eat my lunch. I brought Crabcake out to his outside enclosure and I enjoyed my food.

But I wasn't feeling great.

I really wanted to lay down. I decided to pull one of our guest bed mattresses outside and I would end up falling asleep. I had a wild headache and was upset that lantern flies were landing on me. Sweetp was trying to catch them and he got some which was nice of him. He's a good boy.

I fell asleep though around 4. And woke up when I heard James come outside. I was happy to see them but I felt terrible. And it wouldn't get better. My head was pounding. My face felt like it was full of so much pressure it was scaring me. I was honestly considering asking James to take me to the ER.

Eventually I would come upstairs. James brought me some aspirin. Laid with me for a bit. We were supposed to go to Paul and Sam's for her birthday dinner but I just couldn't go. I encouraged James to still go for an hour or so. And while they were gone I just sadly laid in bed and tried to drink water and be okay.

James brought cheese fries home. They were a little to greasy but I appreciated them for trying. I was still feeling so bad though. They tried holding my head while helped a little. But I was so nauseous still. And would throw up again, not a lot but it was still upsetting.

I took a shower and tried not to cry. It just really sucks. I hate feeling like this.

I had some water and James brought me an apple sauce. And slowly I think I'm feeling a little more normal. My eyes still hurt though and I think I just want to go to sleep.

Tomorrow I have my class with BAS and hopefully I feel alright. I hope you are all doing well today. I love you all. Goodnight.

[oftlunarialmoon]

What I Learned in a D&D Miniature Painting Class PLUS How D&D Miniature Painting Compares to Fashion Doll Repainting !

Originally posted to www.onlyfunthings.org on January 07, 2019

Ciao lovelies! Today’s post is about something I don’t talk about very often- miniature painting! Recently I went to a D&D (Dungeons and Dragons) Miniature painting class and painted a figure. I learned many things from this experience, and I’ll share those with you today, and I’d also like to talk today on how this type of painting differs from repainting a 12inch Fashion doll like Monster High or Ever After High.

As you all probably know if you’ve been following the blog for a while, I’ve done some doll repaints on fashion dolls (Monster High, Barbie and Ever After High), but I have never painted a D&D or tabletop gaming figure before. So I attended a class, and here's what I learned.

This is my final result from the class:

As you can see, I’m clearly a novice at painting figures (and this figure is not based yet). But I learned a great deal in the process of painting this figure.

Some tips I picked up from this class:

-          If you’re doing metallic paint do it last and with an old throwaway brush (or a brush specifically for metallics). This is because the metallic glitter flakes can remain on your brush and contaminate other colors that you might prefer to be matte.

-          Do a base coat in either white or black depending on the color scheme you want.

-          Work bigger areas first and work your way down to smaller details. 

-          Water your paints down with a little water so they can get into all the little crevices.

-          For highlighting, put a little bit of paint on a brush and wipe it off until there’s barely any left on the brush. Then run your brush over your figure. This is called “Dry-Brushing”.

-          Using a ��Wash” (which is just really watered down paint) can help bring out details and make your figure look really good. 

-          Using old medicine bottles with poster tack on the bottom can help you hold your figure in place while you paint. 

-          A suggestion I heard was to use a high gloss sealant first then a matte on top, once the figure starts to look glossy again it’s time to re-seal.

-          When cleaning the brush, brush it up against the sides of your water cup, don’t push it down against the bottom.

So now let’s talk about how painting D&D Miniature Figures differs from Fashion Doll Repainting.

For starters, the scale of the figures is obviously different, Monster High and other fashion dolls are in a 1:6 scale, often called “Playscale,” while D&D miniatures I’ve seen estimated at 1:76 scale all the way to 1:54.

Secondly, the materials you use to repaint differs with what you’re working on and the quality, as well as what YOU prefer.

While you can use Acrylic Paint for both fashion doll and D&D figure painting, many fashion doll faceup artists prefer to use MSC (MrSuperClear) sealant and watercolor pencils as opposed to acrylic paint. I personally use acrylic paint because MSC is very expensive, but I’ve done a face-up or two with pencils and I prefer acrylic paint, but that’s just a personal take.

Third, the techniques differ. Even if you’re using acrylic paint for both fashion dolls and D&D miniatures, you’ll be using very different painting techniques. D&D miniature painting seems to be more about covering areas than designing, (though of course there is some design involved). But fashion doll faceups are all about design, as you wipe the face clean usually and start on what’s essentially just a blank canvas. Though both are similar in that there is a high amount of detail. 

Personally, I prefer painting fashion dolls than D&D miniatures, but I did enjoy the experience of painting a D&D Figure for the first time.

What do you think? Have you ever painted figures for D&D or other miniature tabletop games? What did you think of the experience? Let us know in the comments!

Remember to Stay Awesome and Love Yourself!

[this-is-not-a-slow-burn]

"I neeed to creaaaate". But first I must gather.

One of the biggest hurdles to creating things with my hands is the process of gathering supplies. It saps me of the motivation to actually do the thing the supplies are for.

The reasons behind this are probably ADHD and dopamine related, but that's for another post.

But yesterday I had a revelation.

looong post with images under the cut!

TL;DR Make baskets or boxes that have all the supplies you will need for a single type of project, so they can just be picked up and used.

So we all know that being organized can make things easier. But when the ADHD strikes, no amount of organizing can solve the issue completely.

Case in point. All of my art supplies are organized by type. All of the alcohol markers, felt tip markers, fine liners, colored pencils, regular pencils, brush tip pens, pastels, etc are mostly on one shelf (frequently used are in a desktop carousel), all of the paper is organized by type: card stock, (further organized by plain, textured, or patterned, and all are color sorted, etc) blank printer paper, origami paper, velum. Below that are the notebook/pad style art papers, watercolor, sketch, bristol, plus canvases, and sheets of watercolor paper. All adhesives are in one drawer. There is a "idk where the fuck this belongs" drawer with those odds and ends that are important but solo in their class. There are magzine holders full of journals and sketchbooks, reference books

blahblahblah

(those totes in the left cube are not transparent. the table reflection makes them look that way though)

Great! Yay! Hooray! You can find what you need pretty quickly!

:|

Yes. But.

Art making and crafting isn't a mono medium. You see posts that say things like "all you need is a pencil and paper!" and sure yes, that's technically true. However my brain fills in with ....and an eraser, and you need a flat surface, and the paper has to be the right kind, the right size, what kind of sketch is this? what hardness of pencil do you need? Is there enough light in the room? Do you need references?

(yes I even torment myself with the "well akshully" stuff)

The art I make is rife with "parts", like painting (paints, palette, water, brushes, paper towels, surface to be painted on, apron) collage (base medium/substrate, image sources, adhesives for different types of paper, scissors, craft blade) sewing (fabric, shears, needles, thread, buttons, elastic, zippers, velcro, hook and eyes, snaps, ribbon, lace...) , etc.

(I do have most of the printmaking stuff in one container so that's a start...)

what's that saying about how a messy desk is the sign of a creative person?

The process of "shopping" my shelves for what is needed seems to derail any motivation. It feels like maybe my brain is happy with the idea of creating, and that's good enough. Like gathering the stuff is the goal, and having satisfied that, my brain dumps dopamine all over. Which is way less than ideal. (I am very guilty of the "I thought about doing it and am just as satisfied as if I had done it." thing. It's awful.)

SO. Then yesterday, while looking for something else, I came across a wire basket full of the supplies I had gathered to do a sewing project in bed, and I thought, that was so smart. how handy.

And I realized that I could do that with ALL of my supplies! Or at least, make up some project baskets with everything one would need to do that thing, all ready to go. So when an idea comes to mind I can just grab the basket and sit down for some art time, instead of chipping away at the urge one shelf at a time.

I sort of did this with a tackle box style of art tote, and a bunch of collage images, pens, and stickers, but it's not quite there.

(pictured: a halfassed unintentional attempt at this idea. plus a bunch of scraps that were pissing me off and got tossed in "rage")

It will be great for those times when the urge to make something comes up, but not a specific thing, just that "I neeed to creaaaate" blinking neon sign that can be so fleeting. Grab a basket and satisfy the need without distracting faffing about.

Obviously I'm not the first one to ever do this, and pre-school teachers are probably giggling at me for only just now thinking of this, but hey. We all learn at different speeds :p

(Oh, and I promise the fabric and desk will be at least a little bit less messy this weekend :3 )

[elaine-abroad]

Volume 3 Part 1

Volume 3

Week 2

The second week was a lot less chaotic and eventful in general than the first. We all felt a little bit more accustomed to how things worked on campus. To start off the week, my friends and I decided to visit some Hangang parks to see the infamous Han River. Our first stop was at Ttukseom Park. This park was a little underwhelming when it came to attractions as the main thing was this tube and a waterpark that was packed to the brim with people. It was still quite busy though. One cool thing about this park is that I was able to see the Olympic Stadium.

Tube and Olympic Stadium in the back

The main reason why I wanted to go to this specific park was because I saw online that there were duck boats you could ride on in the river. Although they were a little janky-looking in how they were made, I still really wanted to go.

Our plan was to do “daytime” activities at Ttukseom Park before making our way to Yeouido Park for sunset, a supposed night market, and the water light show. Before we headed over to the other park, we stopped to eat.

Unfortunately, when we arrived at Yeouido Park, it was only around 6 pm and the sun wasn’t going to set for another two hours. The park itself was a lot bigger than the other one with vendors already set up.

To pass some time, we went to a couple of nearby malls. The first one we went was definitely too expensive for us, but I was in awe of the interior. The many floors and the literal waterfall inside gave for a sleek and elegant look.

We came back to the park as the sun was starting to set and headed over to the floating dome stage. The pictures we had seen had shown jets of water flying out and colorful lights as well so we were pretty excited.

However, even as the sky darkened, nothing happened. My best guess is that it was because we came on a Sunday. A lot of Koreans are religious and don’t do anything on Sundays. Many restaurants we’ve seen are closed on Sunday and consider it as a holiday. We were pretty disappointed and kind of just sat there for a bit before going home. The night sky with the street and traffic lights were still nice to look at though.

Classes started back up the following day and we continued our orchid studies in traditional painting. I like painting with acrylic and watercolor so I thought I’d like this too. It’s actually very difficult and frustrating to use ink because of the water to ink ratio on the brush. The brush holds a lot of water and the paper we use is very thin so even the tiniest amount of water causes the ink to spread out everywhere.

We actually had a field trip for my visual journal class at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art. There were a lot of gamified exhibitions for whatever reason and even consoles to play games on like Pacman, Minecraft, and original games.

There was even a station where you could take pictures of yourself like a photobooth. Grace didn’t want to be featured so here’s me.

Because it was a roasting 97 degrees, Grace and I scrambled to get bingsu and then food later.

The next day I learned how to make a traditional Korean stamp. It was very interesting because I’ve done printmaking with stamps before but I’ve used linoleum, a soft rubber, and not a slab of stone. We had to make a stamp of our names in Korean so I learned how to write mine. We also had to use a knife to carve. It was actually really fun until I realized at the end that I didn’t flip it properly so my stamp was backwards, in turn making my name read backwards.

Elaine in Korean spelled out in letters is "illein"

It was raining that day so we weren’t able to go out all that much. I had the idea of going to the movie theater, but we decided against it after arriving and seeing the movie choices. For dinner we decided to get pasta since the pasta place we wanted to go to the day before was closed. It’s been a little bit of a struggle eating out with an introverted vegetarian but we’re getting through it one day at a time.

Here’s my second stamp with a small sheep in honor of the year I was born in. My teacher said a lot of traditional stamps are either your name or your zodiac animal.

In the middle of this week we visited Hongdae again and visited shops we didn’t even see the first time. This included a BT21 store. To give a little background information. I assume we all know the famous kpop boy group BTS. Several years ago, each of the members drew their own character that sort of represented them. These characters later were launched into actual merch. This was a collaboration between BTS and Line Friends, a group of characters based on stickers from diverse applications of the South Korean internet search giant Naver Corporation and the Japanese messaging app Line. My transportation card is Line Friends branded. Anyways, a BT21 store is basically a BTS merch store.

We both felt obligated to visit and maybe buy something because we both had a heavy BTS/kpop phase in high school. It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but it’s fun to have someone to talk about that stuff to. This past week I’ve been listening to a lot of songs that came out when I listened to kpop religiously and it’s kind of nostalgic. 

We grabbed some Shake Shack after.

We also discovered this artist who created this dumb, booger-looking dinosaur character and accompanying dino friends. For some reason we both think it’s funny and cute so we stalled around for a while. I didn’t end up getting anything then even though I loved a lot of the designs.

We mainly wanted to go to Hongdae again to see how it looked with the night lights and we were not disappointed. It was so colorful. 

For the last day of class this week, I learned how to paint chrysanthemum flowers. Surprisingly, they were a lot less of a headache than the orchids. Our teacher said throughout this class we would be learning how to paint something called the “Four Gentlemen”. There are basically four plants that have become the basis of traditional ink brush paintings for whatever reason. We’ve so far completed two of them: the orchid and chrysanthemum. 

My take on chrysanthemums

And for visual journal, we went on another field trip to the Piknic art gallery which was basically a huge exhibition for this photographer named François Halard that captured pictures of interiors and architecture. Each of his pictures had a story behind them. He took pics of people’s house interiors like Lenny Kravitz and Rick Owens. In my opinion it was a lot more interesting than the contemporary art museum.

For food that day, we had to go back to Insa-dong. My main reason for this was because the shops seemed to sell seemingly more traditional and less trendy items which is something my parents would appreciate. I didn’t end up getting anything though because I wasn’t sure how authentic things were after seeing the same items sold at multiple stores.

We couldn’t leave before getting more bingsu – tangerine flavor for me this time.

A couple hours later, Grace, Bianca, and I went to this hotpot place right outside campus. To me, we got hotpot, but to Bianca we got malatang. I don’t think I’ve ever heard my parents refer to it as that, but I guess that’s technically the right term. Bianca is an international student from Beijing and insisted we at least learn the right word for it. 

We got to grab a bowl and choose whatever was going in it which was really nice. They also made it for us and made it look all pretty.

Now I get to talk about the relatively more interesting part of my week. On Friday I went on a field trip to Nami Island, an island not in the ocean but in the middle of South Korea. It was about a 1.5-2 hour drive. The coolest thing about this trip was that we got to take a 90 second zipline from Seoul City to the actual island. 

I’ve been on a zipline before but never for that long at once. It was super cool, especially because we went with a partner going at the same time. 

[nebula-nights-reblogs]

Thinking abt the time that some guy in my ninth grade art class says real artists don’t use mechanical pencils to his friend and I was so internally pissed abt it I started drawing in pen

[leos-regression-cove]

A Proposal

I have dreamt of, for a very large part of my life, before I even knew what age regression was, opening a daycare for littles, and I think I may have just worked it out enough to share with the world and gauge interest for (be aware, this is YEARS away from development, and I still need to graduate high school, get my degree and teaching certification first)

So the concept is a Waldorf based regressor school.

Let's talk about what this means:

Why a Waldorf based foundation?

Although Waldorf and Steiner education has a troubled, to say the least, past, I think it might be the best method of education for littles there is.

Why?

Most littles who'd be coming to me, already know their numbers, letters and colors. By using Waldorf curriculum, more new skills could be introduced to keep tots away from boredom!

Take a look at the way things are taught!

And this doesn't even include preschool and kindergarten, which tend to be much more open ended towards exploration and play. (Guidelines below are VERY strict, and I do not plan on following them entirely, it's more just as a base)

By working through things that wouldn't normally be taught in a traditional public school setting, like foreign languages (here in my little spot of California), knitting, and woodworking, littles will be actually learning something and not just rehashing old knowledge! This is especially important for when we think about regular attendees who's headspace may not grow up, even as they stick with the program for multiple years, these skills and hobbies are malleable and can grow with them without outgrowing them.

Plus, the heavy usage of outdoor time and movement will keep littles healthy and happy, and the emphasis on practical skills will transfer over into the adult world like cooking and sewing.

What would make this program Waldorf-based and not just pure Waldorf?

Quite a few things actually!

-Usage of technology! You can expect opportunities for online learning if we have a distance program, and movies and tv shows on rainy days, especially in our after school program.

-No weird ceremonies. Waldorf schools are almost infamous for their weird, cult-y ceremonies, you won't find any of that here.

-No more knowledge restriction! Waldorf students are held back from specific practices until they're deemed ready. Not here. Read all you like despite your 2 year old headspace, paint with any or all the colors you want, even if you're still a preschooler. Have an interest in Euclidian geometry at 6? Great! That's totally cool! I have plans to try to make even the higher grade lessons available to littler students, and books are always welcomed and encouraged. Activities and lessons will tend to vary more on a day-by-day basis than an age-by-age one.

-No Eurythmy. That's a style of dance or expressive movement based more around feelings and the specific sounds of a piece of music or poetry. It may be touched on? But the information online about it is sparse. As of now, I do not plan on emphasizing it over other styles of dance or PE. That may be subject to change when I look into getting my teaching certification, but as of right now, it feels a little pseudo-science-y, and from what I've heard from peers who took it, it wasn't very fun.

-Spontaneous lesson plans led by student inquiry! I've been reading about this in my Early Childhood Ed textbook, and I think when dealing with a class of littles, it might be really nice to cover some topics by suggestion and not just stick to the stiff, narrow, subjects listed above. Let's branch out!

- No rights and wrongs to art! Waldorf is known for its restrictive art. Only paint a certain way, only draw a certain way or certain things. Of course, of you like, you'll be given the opportunities to learn these techniques and concepts, but if you want to draw your sparkledog oc during art time or make fan art of a character you like instead of watercolor flowers or gnomes, you're more than welcome to. Art lessons are for community building and your own enjoyment.

What services would you plan to offer?

Assuming I'd be able to do this as a full time job, with separate facilities than my home, and have other staff members with me, I'd like to hopefully offer:

- Daycare sessions (full school day, 8:30AM-3:30PM) covering headspaces ranging from toddler-hood through second grade two to three days a week.

-An open session day where students who may not be enrolled yet and press are allowed and encouraged to come explore (separate from daycare sessions to protect privacy)

-One on one sessions or smaller groups by appointment (best for smaller littles, like 0-2, or littles with anxiety who may want a caregiver close by)

-After-work-care for littles of all ages from 5-9PM 3-4 days a week.

-I'd love to have some kind of long distance option? But I'm really not sure how that would work out. But if you have any ideas for it or know how to set up a Discord, maybe we can go from there and get it started ASAP before anything else.

This project is not affiliated with any K!nk related activities, and any sexual misconduct would result in an immediate banning, just like k!nksters interacting with this post will result in immediate blocking.

So feel free to add on, this is just a spitball-ed idea I'm tossing out into the world to see what others think since it's been something I've been thinking about and tinkering with for over decade. It might not be totally realistic right now, but I know my community has a market for it.

If you have any other ideas or questions, I'd love to answer them and talk this through because that's what's going to get this off the ground.

I think it could be a really cool project and something I wouldn't mind dedicating my life to.

[mimicofmodes]

“The Ladies Waldegrave” by Joshua Reynolds, 1780 (NGS NG2171)

I’ve complained before about two very big pet peeves of mine - corset stuff and Regency women being dressed in 1770s-1780s clothes - but one that may dwarf them because of how frequently it comes up in historical and fantasy fiction is the oppression of embroidery.

That’s probably putting it a bit too strongly. It’s more like ... the annoyance of embroidery. Every character worth reading about knows instinctively that sewing is a) boring, b) difficult, c) mindless, and d) pointless. The author doesn’t have to say anything more than “Belinda threw down her needlework and looked out the window, sighing,” to signal that this is an independent woman whose values align with the modern reader, who’s probably not really understood by her mother or mother figure, and who probably will find an extraordinary man to “match” her rather than settling for someone ordinary. To look at an example from fantasy, GRRM uses embroidery in the very beginning of A Game of Thrones to show that the Stark sister who dislikes it is sympathetic and interesting, while the Stark sister who is competent at it is boring and conventional and obviously not deserving of a PoV (until later books, when her attention gets turned to higher matters); further into the book, of course, the pro-needlework sister proves to be weak-willed and naïve.

Rozsika Parker, in the groundbreaking 1996 work The Subversive Stitch, noted that “embroidery has become indelibly associated with stereotypes of femininity,” which is the core of the issue. "Instead embroidery and a stereotype of femininity have become collapsed into one another, characterised as mindless, decorative and delicate; like the icing on the cake, good to look at, adding taste and status, but devoid of significant content.” 

Parker also points out that the stereotype isn’t just one that was invented in the present day by feminists who hated the idea of being forced to do a certain craft. “The association between women and embroidery, craft and femininity, has meant that writers concerned with the status of women have often turned their attention towards this tangled, puzzling relationship. Feminists who have scorned embroidery tend to blame it for whatever constraint on women's lives they are committed to combat. Thus, for example, eighteenth-century critical commentators held embroidery responsible for the ill health which was claimed as evidence of women's natural weakness and inferiority.”

There are two basic problems I have with the trope, beyond the issue of it being incredibly cliché:

First: needlework was not just busywork

A big part of what drives the stereotype is the impression that what women were embroidering was either a sampler:

sampler embroidered by Jane Wilson, 14, in 1791 (MMA 2010.47)

or a picture:

unfinished embroidery of David and Abigail, British, 1640s-50s (MMA 64.101.1325)

That is, something meant to hang on the wall for no real purpose.

These are forms of schoolwork, basically. Samplers were made by young girls up to their early teens, and needlework pictures were usually something done while at school or under a governess as a showpiece of what was being learned - not just the stitching itself, but also often watercolors (which could be worked into the design), artistic sensibility, and the literature, history, or art that might be alluded to. And many needlework pictures made in schools were also done as mourning pieces, sometimes blank, for future use, and sometimes to commemorate a recent death in the family. A lot of them are awkward, clearly just done to pass the class, but others are really artwork.

Many schools for middle- and upper-class girls taught the making of these objects (and other “ornamental” subjects) alongside a more rigorous curriculum - geography, Latin, chemistry, etc. At some, sewing was also always accompanied by serious reading and discussion. (And it would often be done while someone read aloud or made conversation later in life, too.)

Once done with their education, women generally didn’t bother with purely decorative work. Some things that fabric could be embroidered for included:

Jackets 

Bed coverings and bedcurtains

Collars and undersleeves 

Pelerines 

Neck handkerchiefs and sleeve ruffles 

Screens

Upholstery

Handkerchiefs

Purses, wallets, and reticules

Boxes

Book covers

Plus other articles of clothing like waistcoats, caps, slippers, gown hems, chemises, etc. Women’s magazines of the nineteenth century often gave patterns and alphabets for personal use.

(Not to mention late nineteenth century female artists who worked in embroidery, but that’s something else.)

You could purchase all of these pre-embroidered, but many, many women chose to do it themselves. There are a number of reasons why: maybe they wanted something to do, maybe they felt like they should be doing needlework for moral/gender reasons, maybe they couldn’t afford to buy anything - and maybe they enjoyed it or wanted to give something they made to a person they loved. That firescreen above was embroidered by Marie Antoinette, someone who had any number of other activities to choose from. It’s no different than people today who like to knit their own hats and gloves or bake their own bread, except that it was way more mainstream.

embroidery patterns from Ackermann’s Repository in 1827 - they could be used on dresses, collars, handkerchiefs, etc.

Second: needlework wasn’t the only “useless” thing women were expected to do

Ignoring the bulk of point one for now and the value of embroidery - I mentioned “ornamental subjects” above. As many people know, young women of the upper and middle classes were expected to be “accomplished” in order to be seen as marriageable. This could include skills like embroidery, drawing, painting, singing, playing the piano (as well as other instruments, like the harp or the mandolin), speaking French (if not also Italian and/or German), as well as broader knowledge and abilities like being well-versed in music, literature, and poetry, dancing and walking gracefully, writing good letters in an elegant hand, and being able to read out loud expressively and smoothly.

This wasn’t a checklist. As the famous discussion in Pride and Prejudice shows, individuals could have different views on what actually made a woman accomplished:

“How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.”

“It is amazing to me,” said Bingley, “how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.”

“All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?”

“Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.”

“Your list of the common extent of accomplishments,” said Darcy, “has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.”

“Nor I, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley.

“Then,” observed Elizabeth, “you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.”

“Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it.”

“Oh! certainly,” cried his faithful assistant, “no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved.”

“All this she must possess,” added Darcy, “and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”

Mr. Bingley feels that a woman is accomplished if she has the ability to do a number of different arts and crafts. Miss Bingley feels (or says she feels) that it goes beyond specific skills and into branches of artistic attainment, plus broader personal qualities that could be imparted by well-bred governesses or mothers. And Mr. Darcy, of course, agrees with that but adds an academic angle as well.

But what ties all of these accomplishments together is their lack of value on the labor market. A woman could earn a living with any one accomplishment, if she worked hard enough at it to become a professional, but young ladies weren’t supposed to be professional-level good because they by definition weren’t going to earn a living. All together, they trained a woman for the social and domestic role of a married woman of the upper middle or upper class, or, if she couldn’t get married, a governess or teacher who would share her accomplishments with the next generation.

(To be fair, almost none of the trappings of an upper-middle/upper class male education had anything to do with the kind of career training that college frequently is today, either. Men were educated to know the cultural touchpoints of their class and fit in with their peers.)

There are reasons that an individual person/character might specifically object to embroidery, but it was far from the only “useless” thing that an unconventional heroine would be required to do against her inclination by her conventional mother/grandmother/aunt/chaperone. Embroidery stands out to modern audiences because most of the other accomplishments are now valued as gender-neutral arts and skills.

“The Embroidery Frame”, by Mathilde Weil, ca. 1900 (LOC 98501309)

So, some thoughts for writers of historical fiction (or fantasy that’s supposed to be just like the 19th/18th/17th/etc century):

- If your heroine doesn’t like embroidery, she probably doesn’t like a number of other things she’s expected to do. Don’t pull out embroidery as either more expected or more onerous than them. Does she hate to sit still? I’d imagine she also dislikes drawing and practicing the piano. Would she prefer to do academic subjects? She probably also resents learning French instead of Latin, and music and dancing. Does she hate enforced femininity? Then she’d most likely have a problem with all of the accomplishments.

- If your heroine just and specifically doesn’t like embroidery, try to show in the narrative that that’s not because it’s objectively bad, and only able to be liked by the boring. Have another sympathetic character do it while talking to the heroine. Note that the hero carries a flame-stitched wallet that’s his sister’s work. Emphasize the heroine’s emotional connection to her deceased or absent mother through her affection for clothing or upholstery that her mother embroidered - or through a mourning picture commemorating her. There are all kinds of things you can do to show that it’s a personal preference rather than a stupid craft that doesn’t take talent and skill!

mourning picture for Daniel Goodman, probably embroidered by a Miss Goodman, 1803 (MMA 56.66)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

For Vampire Chris! What if he and Jake went to a museum and came across some of Tooley's paintings? And Chris has a panic attack! We would finally get some Jake comfort. And maybe Chris would reveal more horrible things that Tooley had done to him.

CW: Discussion of death, blood, vampire whumpee, caretaker and whumpee

The sun sets early in the winter, and it's the only reason they can make this work.

Chris is barely awake even so, sipping from a coffee cup Jake filled with the contents of one of his blood packs, hoping he doesn't trip and spill and lead to Jake having some very awkward, panicked explanations to make to anyone nearby.

He'd slept in the truck Jake borrowed from Nat most of the way over here, curled in the passenger seat. He looks for all the world like any high schooler who stayed up too late the night before, dragged out by his family, forced to go learn when all he wants is rest.

Chris is draped in a hooded sweatshirt pulled on over his head, hair mussed from sleeping in the closet in the little nest-bed he made for himself in there. It sticks out like stray from beneath the hood he's pulled up, coppery strands occasionally covering his eyes and making him shove them out of the way with a snort that has no right to be as adorable as it is, considering the monster who makes the sound.

Not a monster, no. Not really.

Or his monster, anyway, the same way his mother is his mother. Jake is starting to understand the little vampire - more than three times his own age - has chosen him for family now.

The sweater he wears is kind of a joke, actually. Jake bought it weeks ago from a website that puts the covers of books on clothes, and it's an old cover image from Dracula.

Jake thought it was funny, anyway. Nat was less amused. Chris only smiled and said something about being happy the hairy palms thing isn't true.

The air is chilly, and Jake shivers a little as they head in from the parking lot across a small sidewalk next to a park and toward the museum itself, but of course Chris doesn't even notice. He seems to be enjoying it, the way it blows around his hair as they make their way slowly up the steps and past the row of Grecian-style columns that mark the entrance.

Jake has to visit for one of his classes, an extra-credit something-or-other, and Chris had asked to go along with him.

Jake had been hesitant, but seeing the way the vampire's green eyes sparkle as he moves around in public like any other person, well... he feels like he made the right choice to bring him along now.

"Finish up your drink, you can't take anything in once we pay and get past the lobby," Jake says, and Chris nods, gulping the last of the blood as fast as he can as they push through wide double-doors. Jake tries not to imagine how it must feel, swallowing thick congealing cooled blood. Someone's life, someone's heartbeat, down your throat...

Really, is he that much different? Jake has eaten a dozen cows' worth of beef in his life.

Does Chris see them all as just livestock? He doesn't act like it, but then, there are people who treat pigs or cows like pets and not like food...

His stomach flips a little and he forces himself to look around, up at the chandelier at the high ceiling, the heavy wooden desk they have to walk to off to the side to get their tickets. To stop trying to understand if Chris is a sort of stray they've adopted, or if he's a higher-level predator living with prey.

Once Chris drops the cup into a trash can, Jake throwing a couple wadded-up tissues on top so no one can accidentally see the smear of red around the edge of the lid, they buy their tickets, and wind their way through and past the little velvet ropes that mark off the entrance.

The museum opens before them into a grand hall, with paintings the size of two-story buildings on either side, permanent installations in the museum. Commissioned for its opening, sometime back in the 70's.

Jake picks up a brochure so they know which way to go - LGBTQ+ Art in Pre-War America is the temporary exhibit he's here to see, traveling work that is usually housed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

"Oh, nice, it's on the first floor. Looks like you go through a couple of 'specialty' rooms, just showing off stuff from the in-house collection. Sounds cool, right?"

Chris, looking from side to side at the gigantic paintings that hang on the walls in the opening hall, hums softly, a tuneless constant sound. He doesn't answer Jake's question. He hums often, and Jake barely notices any longer, but there's something edged to it, now. As if just being around the paintings is making him nervous.

"Okay, little man, let's go over here." He touches Chris's arm, lightly, through the thick fabric of his sweater. The vampire looks over at him, smiling with his lips pressed together to hide his teeth from any potential prying eyes.

He follows easily, but he sticks closer to Jake than he normally does, and his eyes are constantly roving. They move through an exhibit of Pre-Colombian pottery first, on their way to the room in the back where the temporary showcase is.

Jake watches Chris's fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to learn by feeling the bumps and ridges in the ancient clay, and how he holds back as best he can. His urge to lift the clear protective plastic boxes right off the pottery so he can get at it is nearly physically painful.

Jake pretends not to see it when Chris's fingers trail along a column, settling for the white-painted rectangle the pottery is balanced on, taking in the rough texture smoothed by the matte paint.

"Did you ever meet anyone like you that was old enough to have made stuff like this?" Jake asks, stopping in front of a water jug in the shape of a man playing a flute with a dog at his feet. The dog wears a carved smile marked with disturbingly human-looking teeth. The paint it must have been covered in is worn by time, leaving the reddish-brown of the clay behind, with the faintest streaks of white still in the crevices.

"No," Chris replies, tilting his head, making direct eye contact with the statue in a way he never quite can do with any real person. Not comfortably, anyway. Jake has seen him force it and shudder afterwards, overwhelmed. When he'd asked about it, Chris had said he never liked looking at anyone's eyes, even before, when he was alive. It's too much, was all he would say. It's always too much. "None, um, none of us live that long."

"Why not?" They're alone in the room. It's the only reason Jake feels safe asking.

Chris's tongue runs over the sharpening bumps of his growing-in fangs, pressing against them, easing the itch and the ache of their return. After a second, he pulls a plastic bat on a cord from inside his sweater and puts the bat into his mouth, chewing on it idly, jaw working. "I, I, I don't know. That's just what what what my, my, my pack told me."

"I thought vampires lived in covens."

"No." Chris doesn't elaborate on this one. He can be weirdly secretive about how he lived before he came to Nat's, before he was pulled out of a basement, a living drug for a wealthy asshole.

Secretive, or just forgetting whatever wasn't essential.

He moves away to another pedestal, a shard broken off of a larger vessel, marked with a deep white and intense black angular design. He hums again, and Jake takes the hint and leaves him alone.

They spend several more minutes looking over the pottery before they head through a second room full of what must just be the favorite pieces of museum employees, as there doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason, and each little card with the name of the piece and its maker has a paper next to it with a note on why each employee loves this piece in particular. Chris lingers around older things, a woven tapestry from medieval England, landscapes from the 19th century. He stares for a while at a painting called The Country Path by Joseph Poole Addy, a pale watercolor of winter trees with bare branches breaking the line of sky and a woman bundled in a coat carrying a basket down an equally colorless road.

Chris's humming getting louder, and he rocks a little, forward and back, his eyes moving again and again through the lines of the painting.

Jake wonders what it is about this one specifically that catches Chris like that, and when the vampire finally moves on he checks the employee's statement. Joseph Poole Addy, Irish painter in the 19th and 20th centuries, blah blah, something something countryside... Jake frowns, and glances over at Chris, who isn't looking back. He's moved on to something else.

Jake decides to ask him later.

They make it to the exhibit they're here to see, and Jake whistles under his breath as he enters. There are vibrant, saturated paintings lining the walls, a couple of large sculptures on the floor that still are taller than he is, a few smaller ones on pedestals. The work is mostly figurative, although there's some early abstraction there, a hint of the contemporary push to take even figurative work out of simply being an echo of a real life thing.

Chris looks at a sculpture, his head cocked so far to the side it looks almost birdlike, not quite human. Jake thinks his own neck would ache for days if he tried to do that. "Must've been, um, later," He mumbles to himself.

Jake files that away in his mental list of things to talk to Chris about later.

He walks slowly along the line of paintings. The whole point of being here is that he's supposed to pick a specific piece and write a short essay about it and the artist who made it, prove he saw it in person.

The class itself is about how to encourage better outcomes for healthcare in marginalized populations - but if she's giving out extra-credit for looking at queer art, well, Jake is happy to spend an hour in a museum.

After his dismal performance on the last test, he could use whatever credit he can get. Besides, the exhibit is actually kind of cool with that in mind. Every one of these artists was in some way outside of the sort of het ideal, and Jake smiles a little as he catches the heaviness of a look between two men seated across a table from one another, looks over the clasped hands of women, sitting with everything from shoulder to hip touching, who are listed as 'friends visiting the riverbank'.

Art that celebrates, hidden in plain sight. Art that rebels by sliding details in under the surface where only those looking for them will find them.

Each piece has another little paper, although this just has details about the artist and their work, what they were known for. He can use it as a jumping-off point for his paper, anyway.

"You, you, you finished her," Chris whispers, standing in front of a sculpture of a woman with her head thrown back as if in uproarious laughter, a woman with curls expertly carved so that her hair seems to have been there before the stone it's made of somehow. "I wonder if she, um, if if if she saw it."

"What'd you say, Chris?" Jake blinks, pulled out of his own internal reverie.

"Nothing," Chris responds, and walks slowly around the statue. The woman's smile is a shining light in the room. No one could carve like that without being at least a little in love with the subject.

Jake wanders away and then comes to an abrupt stop before a large painting, probably taller than Chris is. The background is near-total darkness with only a suggestion of stone, a single beam of light shining down to illuminate the central figure.

A naked boy clothed only in scraps of torn cloth that only emphasize his nakedness everywhere else is crouched in terror. His knees are bent and his feet are on the floor, one hand holding his weight with fingers slightly curled, his spine bent and arched as if he is caught in the midst of turning to look up to find the direction of the light. His other hand is thrown out, as if trying to ward off an attack.

He bleeds from a dozen or more places, the blood curving perfectly around his form, giving it extra weight and heft that makes it seem like he'll step out of the canvas, grab Jake, and shake him.

Jake's heart starts to race as he stares.

There are bones littering the ground around the thin, wasted boy, not bleached but sort of yellowed, marked with little notches as if cut with a knife. There might still be bits of skin attached to some of them, a hint of muscle. The detail makes Jake sick, but his panic, that comes from something else entirely. Just behind the panicked boy there is a body, as if just fallen, the eyes still open in the final terrified throes of death. The body's fingers are still dug into the dirt floor as if the dead man had been trying to pull himself somewhere, to escape.

A skull watches with eerie cheer from one corner of the painting, a few teeth missing and knocked out from its garish grin.

Barely visible, a thin wash of grayish-white, there is a pale, gnarled hand near the bottom reaching out from the background as if to grab the boy's ankle and drag him into the darkness.

Count Ugolino's Last Son, oils, 1932, reads the little plaque beside the painting. Its faint brassy shine glints in the carefully calibrated light. Edward Tooley, 1907 - 1936.

Jake swallows, but the lump in his throat doesn't budge, and he swallows again. And again. He can't take his eyes off the boy's painted hair, a dirtied copper, strawberry-blond badly in need of a wash. The wide green eyes with their terror writ large and clear, painted with lovingly perfect detail.

The boy in the painting is the perfect identical twin of the vampire who is still staring at the sculpture on the other side of the room. The fear in his face is so expertly done as to seem more photographic than painted in oil. The blood that drips to the ground follows his anatomy with absolute perfection. The bones are not bleached by they so often are in paintings, no, these...

These...

Jake holds his phone up and takes a photo, and then another of the little plaque.

"Chris." His voice cracks and Jake clears his throat. His heart is still pounding. "Chris, come look at this."

"Yes, Jake," Chris answers, sounding a little faint, and then he seems to simply appear at Jake's elbow, the teenage boy who has seen two world wars and a half-dozen smaller, stupider ones.

He goes still at Jake's side when he looks up. Jake looks over, just slightly, glancing sidelong to see a look of something like... wistfulness on the vampire boy's face.

"Tooley," He breathes. His hand goes up, and out, and he would have touched the canvas if Jake hadn't reached out and grabbed on to stop him. Chris jumps a little and turns to meet Jake's gaze. His eyes are pink-tinged in the whites, as if he's holding back tears. "Is, is, is he famous?"

"I guess. He's... he's here, isn't he?"

"He always wanted to, um, to to to to be famous." Chris's eyes move over the details, but it's not with surprise, it's with easy familiarity. He's seen this painting before.

He's been this painting before.

"That's you, isn't it?" Jake asks in a hushed voice. "Like, that was really you."

Chris looks away again, a faint flush in his cheeks. He's full enough of blood for it to happen, and you'd never know he isn't alive if you didn't already. "Yes," He whispers, and wipes at the corner of his eye with one hand. "That, that, that's me."

"Were you his model?" Jake blinks, looking back over the painted twin of the vampire beside him. The fear in the boy's face, woven in with a kind of awful resignation. It's all so perfectly rendered.

"Yes. Sort, um. Sort of. He, he, he kept me in a room." Chris exhales, slowly, and his eyes shift over to the paper with the little bit of biographical information on it. Edward Tooley's early works focused on landscapes or retreads of common historical subjects, only to find greater excellence and focus when he began to paint, again and again, the same figure - a representation of the darkness of the human soul - he stated appeared to him and demanded to be portrayed... art historians believe Tooley was driven by the demons of the Great War that had taken his family from him one by one to seek out uncomfortable subjects that force viewers to see the damage humans do to one another...

Chris's nose wrinkles as he reads, his lips moving slightly with the words as he takes them in. "I never did that. Never, um, wanted to be painted. Also, um this, um. He was... wasn't... he wasn't... wasn't like the paper says."

Jake looks over, reads it himself. Gregarious, sociable, popular with the libertine art crowd... he frowns. "What part is wrong?"

"This." Chris points, this at least he can safely make contact with, and presses the pad of his finger under a sentence that reads took inspiration from the ugly side of the city hidden under its shining lights. "He, he, he he didn't care about anyone in the city. He thought everyone who, who who who who-who wasn't him was, um, was stupid."

"What did he care about?" Jake imagines telling his professor that instead of an essay, he's going to bring in a vampire who literally knew one of the artists in person. How she might react.

Probably call the cops and report an unsecured vampire loose on the streets. But maybe she'd listen to what Chris had to say first.

"Blood," Chris says, softly. His voice is getting lower and lower, until it's barely more than a whisper. "Pain. Fear. Being... being the the the the last person who, who saw someone. He, he, he, he liked to lay them out and paint them, liked me to, to, to... arrange them for him."

Jake's eyes go unwillingly back to the dead body behind the scared boy in the painting. The grasping fingers, the open eyes that look sightless, lifeless, at nothing at all. When he looks, he can see - more suggestion than made clear - that the body's throat is torn open, as if by an animal's teeth.

Now, only now that he's looking for it, does he realize there is the slightest hint of red tears on the cheeks of the painted boy, a sheen of pink on his teeth where he begs for mercy from the grasping singular hand coming out of the dark.

His stomach flips again. "Chris, are you saying-"

"His, his, his name was Ben." Chris nods at the dead body in the painting. "I asked. Before..." He gestures, a little vaguely. "That."

Jake feels a sudden, wild urge to look up missing persons cases from New York City in 1932. See if there's anyone named Ben on there. He knows without having to do so that there definitely will be.

"What happened to him... after?"

"I don't know. I, I, I was never let out when Tooley was gone. I... wonder how, how, how many of me there are." Chris looks up at the echo of his own face, his head tilting again. His lips tremble, just a little, and then part to show the hint of white teeth wet with pinkish saliva. "On walls, in houses, in... in places like, um. Like this. How many there are... is, is, is, is that what I still look like?"

Jake clears his throat again, looks down at his feet. This feels, suddenly, like he's walked in on someone looking down at his own dead body in a funeral home. Interrupting a moment so immensely private it shouldn't even exist.

"Yeah," he says, a little gruffly. "Yeah, that's it. More or less. Except I hope I scare you less than that. Also you wear a lot more clothes with us."

Chris laughs - it's a huff of sound, barely-there. Then he turns away from himself. "We, we, we can't see ourselves, in mirrors," He says, and he's got the little plastic bat back in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the carved silicone. "But I have mirrors everywhere. On these walls."

He goes suddenly terribly still. He isn't breathing.

He doesn't have to, but the realization that he isn't even pretending is a jolt of awareness of exactly how dead Chris is. He leaves the exhibit, and Jake is left to scramble after him, struggling to catch up to someone he should be able to easily outrun.

He breaks into a flat run when they get outside the double-doors, jumps the steps three at a time with grace, and runs across the grass and towards the stand of trees halfway across the park. Even Jake, who works out four days a week, is breathing hard and has a hitch in his rib by the time he catches up.

He finds Chris curled up under a tree in the evening dark, the stars starting to twinkle overhead as the sun finally allows them a clear night sky to shine in.

Jake drops to his knees, ignoring the damp that seeps into his jeans from soil that still hasn't dried since yesterday's rains, and he leans over, putting a warm hand to either side of the vampire's face.

Chris looks up, his eyes glinting like a cat's briefly in the dark, and there are trails down his cheeks, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl that is anything but angry.

No, this is grief.

This is loss.

Jake knows the feeling.

"Talk to me," Jake says softly. "Tell me what it was like, what it's been like for you. Tell me about the life you've lived before I knew you."

"It, it, it hurt," Chris whispers, and his own hands cover Jake's. They're the same temperature as the air around them, and Jake shivers a little. It's almost a chill. "Every time. I, I, I try not to kill, Jake, I try so hard, but but but he would keep me so hungry and I couldn't-... stop..."

Jake thinks about the robbers Chris killed - for him, to save him from them - and how he'd locked himself in the closet afterward. Had he cried like this, over taking lives even when in defense?

"The museum thing said this guy Tooley died in 1936. He was only, what, twenty-nine? Did... did you-"

"Yes." Chris's voice is thick but it's not quite with regret. "I was hungry. He, he he he he didn't bring food. I was so hungry... then I was, um, was alone for a while... then, then, then, then then then I was taken for, for, for the, um, the trade, for my v-venom, and..."

"Got it. I got it, Chris. It's okay," Jake says, softly. "It's going to be okay. You're with us, now. And we'll never, ever make you hurt someone that way. We'll never make you go hungry. We'll never hurt you or use you."

Chris ducks his head, rocking forward until it knocks into Jake's shoulder, and Jake slides his arms around the vampire's shoulders, listening to his soft, muffled sobs, wondering how red his shirt will be stained by the time the vampire's tears have been cried out.

The same mouth that tore out the throat of a dead body that lays in a painting on the wall is so close to his neck it would take less than an inch for him to bite down. Even without fangs, he could lock his jaw and break the skin.

The same dangerous monster that has killed likely dozens to stay alive, the same stalking predator that has been the last sight of far too many, cries in his arms. Just a teenage boy who has been lonely, and terrified, and hurt for too long.

A teenager... and a monster that hunts prey after dark. Jake tightens his arms around Chris, holds him tighter.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter how long he's been alive, not really.

He's just Chris.

That matters more.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[luvidzy]

☆ genre: fluff

☆ pairing: hwang yeji x reader

☆ summary: it’s the day of your first art exhibition and yeji isn’t there to hold your hand

☆ word count: 1.8k

Your fork clattered onto your plate, your hand trembling as you took in the news that your girlfriend, Yeji, wouldn’t be able to make it to your art exhibition tomorrow. You had been so excited and proud to share your artwork with her, having spent a long time on the specific piece being displayed. The display that she would never see.

She stared at you with eyes full of sadness, moving to take your hand in hers. You were still frozen, your lips shaking as you tried to stop the oncoming tears that were making their way to the corners of your eyes.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I really did everything I could, but we are just so close to our comeback that I can’t miss anything.” Yeji’s voice was soft, almost as if she was afraid you might break if she raised her tone. You squeezed your eyes shut, begging yourself to get a grip on your emotions. You needed to calm down, afterall this really wasn’t that big of a deal.

“No…. No, it’s fine. I promise. Sorry, I guess it’s just been a weird day.” That was a lie. Your day had actually been really good (up until now), but Yeji didn’t need to know that. If lying was what it took for her to feel a little less guilty about the situation, then you would lie until the sun began to rise in the morning.

“Will you take pictures? I still want to see everything, and I want to hear about everything. I promise, the minute I come home, I’m all yours,” Yeji said, giving you the smile that always managed to warm your heart and bring you a little bit of solace. 

“Won’t you be tired from practice?”

“Too tired for my beautifully talented partner? Never.” You giggled weakly at that comment, feeling a small smile make its way onto your face. You were still upset, still cursing the fact that you couldn’t have Yeji there for something so important, but you knew that she meant every word she said about staying up to listen to you recall your experience.

“Okay. I love you.” Yeji lifted your hand and pressed the smallest kiss onto the back of it. You felt your face heat up as she smiled at you, continuing to hold your hand while grabbing her silverware with the other one, determined to give you comfort in her touch, even if it was only the smallest sliver of happiness.

The next morning, after a quick breakfast with Yeji, she headed off to do some outfit fittings while you headed out to do last minute checks on your art before it was taken to the small gallery the event was taking place at. Your teacher was already waiting in the classroom, your canvas sitting on an easel.

You took one last look at the piece in front of you, of the watercolors that splashed together on the canvas to create the perfect image, before you let the black cloth drop over it. Your teacher gave you a smile as she patted you on the back.

“It’s going to look great at the exhibit tonight, Y/N. Just you wait,” she reassured. You gave her a soft smile, though you couldn’t get rid of the pit that sat in your stomach. After all, the one person who you wanted to see the piece most wouldn’t be able to make it.

You knew that it wasn’t Yeji’s fault; that it was the price that you paid for dating an idol. You would simply have to get used to the fact that she wouldn’t be available all the time, and that you would simply have to do certain things alone, even if you wanted nothing more than to hold her hand while doing them.

Upon leaving your classroom, you headed straight to your apartment. As much as you would have loved to sit and mope around til the time came for the exhibit, you knew that getting ready would take much longer than you wanted. Afterall, this wasn’t a simple class gathering, this was a public art exhibition, and you wanted to look your best for the masses.

After showering and spending about half an hour wrapped in a towel looking at your phone, you finally decided to get ready. You sent a quick text to Yeji, wishing her luck on their practice tonight, before throwing your phone gently onto your bed and focusing on getting yourself presentable.

It wasn’t until you were on the way to the exhibit that the nerves began to set in. This was your first time showing art to such a big group of people, and you hoped that they would find it as beautiful as you did. Despite the reassurance from Yeji and your teacher prior to this moment, you still found your finger nervously tapping the steering wheel as you tried to get your heart to stop pounding.

This was right about the time that you would have loved to have Yeji’s hand to hold, to squeeze, to ground you and let you know that everything was okay. But unfortunately, it was just you.

Your anxiety only worsened as you walked into the gallery. It wasn’t your first time here, and you usually loved visiting, but for some reason you couldn’t find it in you to step into the gallery knowing that your art was on the wall, waiting to be seen and critiqued.

You squeezed your eyes and pretended that Yeji was beside you, calming you down. You imagined her hand gently rubbing circles on your back, and it felt so real that you almost got chills as her hands moved from your back down to your hands. You could practically feel the weight of her palm in yours, and you squeezed lightly. You felt your eyes shoot open in surprise as her hand squeezed back, except it was too real to be just in your head.

You turned your head quickly, your breath catching as Yeji smiled from beside you. She looked gorgeous, in a simple skirt and a nice blouse, but she looked so much more magical to you. Your mouth opened in surprise as she smiled giddily at you, pulling you into her embrace. In no time, your hands were wrapped around her petite waist, holding her close as you felt the urge to cry again, this time with happiness. 

“I thought you said that you couldn’t make it,” you said, pulling back to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Her laugh filled your ears and you were certain that, no you weren’t dreaming, you were just dating the most perfect girl to ever exist.

“I managed to talk my way out of practice. I owe our choreographer dinner, but it was more than worth it to be here.”

“But, you shouldn’t miss practice! Your comeback is soon and this is something so small, it really doesn’t matter that much.” Your voice trailed off as Yeji squeezed your hands again. You looked at her, your heart melting at the soft smile that was on her face, along with the look of complete adoration in her eyes.

“But it matters to you. If it matters to you, then it is the most important thing in the world. I know that you were looking forward to showing me your art, and you support me all the time, it’s my job to do the same for you,” she explained, her voice warm and steady. Your arguments died in your throat as you let your joy spread to your face, a smile breaking onto your features. You hugged her again, quicker this time, before pulling her into the exhibit.

You walked around, observing the art and talking about the different artists and techniques used, until finally you came to your piece. Yeji let go of your hand, her eyes wide as she walked closer to it, as if in a trance, while you watched from the sidelines with a smile on your face.

Splashes of neutral colors were painted onto the canvas, the watercolor causing the paint to flow from one color to the other. A large tree stood in the background, the brown standing out against the black and gray night sky. Warm white lights were painting along the branches of the tree, the watercolor allowing them to look as though they were truly glowing steady and bright. In the middle of it all was a beautiful girl, your muse. She looked off into the distance, her sweater pulled up above her palms as she held them to her face for warmth. Her brown hair flowed around her shoulders, perfectly messy in the way that only the girl could pull off.

To anyone else, the painting might have looked simple: a girl by a tree at night. But Yeji instantly recognized the photo. It was one of your favorite photos that you had taken a few months into your relationship with Yeji. You had it as your phone wallpaper, and you always gushed about how the picture captured Yeji’s subtle beauty in the best way; you even said this was the night that you knew you truly and wholeheartedly loved Yeji.

Yeji turned to you, tears in her eyes as she looked back at the portrait, and then back at you. She rushed to you, pressing her lips to yours as she tried to convey all the love that she held for you. You kissed back, your own way of letting her know that you loved her too, and that this picture was just one way of how you showed that.

When she pulled away, she was giggling happily, a single tear streaking down her skin. You brushed it away with your thumb, smiling at her fondly.

“It’s me. You painted me,” Yeji said, her voice trembling as she smiled that smile that made her look just like a little kitten. You kissed her nose, nodding as you pulled back.

“Of course I did. You’re a work of art. I’m glad you think I captured your essence. I was worried you’d think I didn’t do you justice.” Yeji scoffed at your statement, rolling her eyes playfully.

“Didn’t do me justice? Y/N, you’ve painted me like an angel. You’ve done me the most justice than anyone could ever do,” she rambled, which caused you to laugh. She turned back to look it over again, before pulling out her phone to take a picture. Soon, she was typing away furiously, a mischievous smirk on her face. You raised an eyebrow as she tucked her phone back into her purse, a satisfied grin replacing the smirk as she took your hand again.

“What did you do?”

“I sent it to the Itzy groupchat. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t rub it in their faces that my partner made a masterpiece of me?” You laughed at her statement as she chuckled along with you.

“Now come on, I want to see the other art. Though, I doubt anything is gonna top yours.” You rolled your eyes softly, but couldn’t help but smile as she pulled you along gently, her hand in yours. 

Just the way it was meant to be.

[israahassan511]

The first artist:-

Tala Saad:

She is 21 years old, she is Lebanese-American artist based in Michigan. Her inspiration simply come from the urge to create and experiment. The main medium she use is acrylic paint, although she don’t limit herself to just one media/style. From Acrylics, to oils, to watercolor, to charcoal, she allows herself to expand her skills and knowledge as an artist.

1- What does Art means to you?

- Art, to me, is a form of expression, communication and/or stress reliever 😅 sometimes i make art just to make art and throw some colors on a paper and otther times i make art that speaks may speak to a certain group of people/community. Other times i make art to strengthen my skills!

2- Since when did you started painting?

- Ive been painting since 2019 and ive only improved since! (It was a rough start lol)

3- Who inspires you in art?

- I get inspired by previous master artists and art movements as well as modern day artists on social media! Even if the art i create is different than the art i look at, it still sparks some inspo! I love looking at paintings from renaissance, rococo, and impressionism movements.

4- Who is your number one supporter in art?

- I have a pretty good support system from my immediate family and closest friends! My brother specifically always encourages me to keep creating!

5- Did you study Art?

- I just graduated last week, but at uni i was majoring in interior design and a minor in drawing and painting. I had started my art journey before declaring my minor, but found some space in my uni schedule (as an int design major)so i added some art classes and eventually chose it as my minor! I thought i might as well benefit a little since i dk want to pursue art! However, i do not think it’s necessary to study art to be a successful artist!

[bogkeep]

Hey! I'm the one who asked the poorly worded art process question. I'm here to give it another try by being more specific. The problem is . . . that's hard. Because that was about a specific as I can get, since I kind of want to know everything about how your art works.

Big things, like how you come up with ideas, or how you design characters. But small things, too, like what tools you use for drawing, how you balance between traditional and digital art, and how you decide what color to use for your unique and beautiful line art.

I want to be more specific so you can answer, but the question in my head is too vague and broad for me to be specific about it. So . . . here are some subquestions of my question, I guess! Maybe that helps?

Sorry this is so weird, and thank you, your art is amazing

first of all, thank you so much <3

and yes, this is far more answerable! i hope i can satiate some of your hunger for insight without writing a whole book.

HOW DO I COME UP WITH IDEAS?

this is obviously going to be very different for everyone. i very rarely have to dig for ideas or sit down and brainstorm, unless of course i am trying to achieve something very specific, like fulfill art contest criteria or working on a commission. my brain is very visually wired, so a lot of my ideas literally just pop up in my head (i know of several artists with aphantasia - some people don't have any visuals in their head at all and I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT'S LIKE AND I AM IN AWE OF THESE ARTISTS), sometimes i see a character or character design and im like HNNNG i need to draw them, or i just... have a concept i really want to Exist and i'm going to figure out how.

my biggest problem is that often, when i get an idea i want to DRAW IT, NOW NOW NOWNOWNOW, and that's just Not Feasible. sometimes because i'm Literally In Bed, sometimes because i have too many things i need to do or draw first... but i need to clear up space in my head, because my Urge To Draw will be like, beeping and whirring until i satisfy it... so i write it down on my TO DRAW-list! it's a real list that exists on my phone and i have to use it frequently. if i keep scrolling down i start finding weird notes that i have NO idea are supposed to mean anymore, but that's fine. i can't satisfy every Art Urge. sometimes i need to let them pass.

HOW DO I DESIGN CHARACTERS?

this one might vary a bit, but it can often be boiled down to "i sketch around until i figure something that Works." many of my characters, especially my older characters, became characters by accident when i kept drawing them over and over and i was like Ah I Like Drawing You... You Exist Now. that's how sparrow spellcaster happened, at the very least. this could happen because i had school and i would focus in school by doodling/sketching while listening to class. since i no longer go to school, pretty much all of my new characters are far more intentional. Timian and Vinta specifically exist as a result of a "favourite character fusion" challenge, and a lot of iphimery characters started with a Purpose rather than just harnessing the vibe of something i drew multiple times without thinking.

it helps to write down elements or tropes i want to include, like "sturdy-looking" or "VILLAIN OF EVIL SCARY MAGICS but it's a little girl and the dark magic is bright lightning and not shadows" or something. it can vary from a tiny visual detail to their role in the story. whatever i want to Achieve. my Intent. because my brain works so visually, i just really need to sketch somethign repeatedly until i nail it and can be like Yes That's It.

sketchbooks look a little messy but that’s what they’re for.

WHAT TOOLS DO I USE

for digital art, i’m currently using an ipad pro and procreate. i use a lot of the brushes that came installed, like Mercury is my primary lineart brush, and Moorilla is my primary sketching brush, but i also buy a lot of custom brushes on the hunt for More Delicious Textures (DAUB has a lot of good ones, especially if you want some that imitate traditional art). i have also used Huion and XP-pen tablets and generally recommend them, as well as clip studio paint as an art program (i love it very much and if it wasn’t subscription-based on ipad i would still be using it).

for traditional art, mostly just whatever sketchbook i have + my trusty mechanical pencil. i mean i have two: one with softer lead (it comes out darker) and 0,7 mm thickness, and one that’s 0,5 and harder lead for more light sketching, or if i’m going to line it with ink.

i also have a trusty pentel brush pen that i love DEARLY and feel bad for not having used in a while for reasons i will get to.

when i work on calendar pieces traditionally, i like to draw lines with ink - i use a dip pen with exchangeable nibs - and then color with watercolors. i have several sets because they’re all slightly different and i want the Range.

i sometimes travel with a little sketchbook in my bag and an assortment of pens, so that i can sketch Anytime, Anywhere. i think doodling with a pen can be very useful because you gotta become comfortable with the mistakes and imperfections and keep going anyway. if i doodle at work that’s the tools i have -  regular ball pens and a bunch of paper lying around.

HOW DO I BALANCE BETWEEN DIGITAL AND TRADITIONAL ART?

currently, i... don’t, really. it was easier when i had school, and i would just doodle freely and then maybe use some of my sketches as thumbnails or concept ideas. it’s harder now that i need to intentionally sit down with my sketchbook, and tbh... the ipad works very well for sketching. it’s so CONVENIENT and i have WORK all the time and my time to create art has become much more limited than it was. i miss going to my weirdo art high school where we would try out a whole bunch of different tools and methods. sure, yes, i had to paint with Acrylics My Beloathed, but getting to play around in different mediums is VERY valuable.

i genuinely want to be able to make more time and space for non-digital art again, but i just don’t have the ability to right now. it’s also different now that i’ve moved away from my parent’s place - i used to have an enormous desk and my mother has a large collection of art tools and there was a lot more storage space for whatever i created. digital art is very convenient and very accessible. ah well!

HOW DO I DECIDE ON THE COLOR FOR MY LINEART?

i usually line in black or a very dark color, and when i’m done coloring + shading i might play around with the colors and see what works. if you lock the layer you can just throw all the spaghetti at the wall you want. i decide on whatever fits the piece. i tend to be pretty fast and loose about it too, sometimes you can probably spot parts of my lineart that have slightly mismatchy color, but it’s like... done is better than perfect! i don’t have the energy to overlook every single pixel of my piece or else i would drive myself utterly mad.

HOPE THIS ANSWERS ANYTHING AT ALL!! THANKS FOR ASKING!!!

[thewildsophia]

.Art Project. Clone High//Van Gogh x Reader

Van Gogh x Reader

Word Count: 2564

~~~~~~~~~~

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t get the thought of the tiny Dutch artist out of your head. You weren’t even sure what about him it was that caught your attention. Perhaps it was his orange hair that almost looks red in the right lighting, or maybe his pale skin that mirrored the white bandages that you know he changes everyday (you also loved how his face would blossom with this gorgeous shade of orange-pink when he was complimented), or maybe it was just his hands. Yeah that was it. His hands, petite and delicate, that could paint such beautiful, exquisite paintings that told of many different things.

God you felt like such a creep. 

But you couldn’t help it. You were absolutely infatuated, -- no, that’s not quite right -- obsessed with him. 

And the worst part about it all was that the two of you have barely had any real interactions with each other. The last time the two of you had really talked was when you were assigned an art project with him. It was a collaborative project where you two were given a piece of art and two canvases and you would paint half the artwork on each canvas using styles and colors that were different, but still complimented the other half. 

You two had received the artwork The Kiss by Gustav Klimt, with you painting the man and Van Gogh painting the woman. You had used cooler colors -- blues, greens, grays and purples -- while Van Gogh used warmer ones -- reds, yellows, oranges and whites. You had focused most of the detail on the man, leaving the background somewhat barren with Van Gogh doing the opposite, focusing on the background and less on the woman.

It had actually turned out really well and the two of you had received a perfect grade, but what you liked the most about the whole thing was how much time you got to spend with him. 

You worked with him for a whole week and when the deadline was coming up he invited you to his dorm to finish it. You actually found it quite funny how much his room looked like The Bedroom, but you weren’t surprised. 

If you really thought about it, it was probably the second day when you started to become fascinated by him. The sketches had been completed and you two had just started painting. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t focus on your piece, intrigued by his painting. His strokes were quick, decisive, like he knew exactly what he wanted. It was difficult not to stare as he painted and you had barely gotten any work done that day. And he quickly picked up on your distracted state. 

“Is something the matter?” God that voice sounded just perfect to you. It was deep, but not too deep, and somewhat raspy, like he had a slight cold. You could listen to that voice for hours. 

“Y/N? Are you alright?” You remember him asking. 

“Yeah.” You had answered, “I’ve just never seen you paint before. It’s beautiful.” After those words had left your mouth, that beautiful peach color blessed his pale skin and he looked away with a bashful smile. 

“I-Thank you.” He had stuttered and it was probably the cutest thing you had ever heard. You wanted to get him to do that more often. After that the two of you continued to work on your project with the occasional chatter between you. 

When the two of you had finished, you didn’t really talk to the other. You’d wave to each other in the hallways while transitioning classes or offer a quiet “Hey” when entering Painting II. What you did find a bit strange is that if you show up first, he’ll sit at the same table as you and vice-versa, and neither of you seemed to mind it. 

Actually, it kind of worked to your advantage. 

You really couldn’t help yourself and often found yourself drawing Van Gogh in your sketchbook, ranging from basic sketches to full on ink pieces (of course you’d ink them when you got back to your dorm). It’s actually gotten so bad lately that you now have completed paintings of him, whether it be acrylic, watercolor, oil, gouache, you name it and you probably have it. 

You were actually about half way through painting another piece of him, although you didn’t like this one as much as some of the others since he looked a bit too feminine. While painting, you heard a knock at your dorm’s door. You quickly looked at the clock hanging on the wall opposite of a window. 

“It’s almost 10pm, why the hell is someone coming up here?” You thought before getting up and looking out the peephole in your door only to be greeted with nothing. You grumbled to yourself while opening the door just to make sure no one left something for you. 

Upon opening the door, you’re greeted with none other than the clone of Vincent Van Gogh himself, canvas and set of acrylics pinned at his side. You felt yourself straighten as you greeted him.

“Oh-Hey. It’s almost 10, are you alright? You need something?” You asked watching him shift his stance before answering, 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for coming by so late, I just needed a bit of help with the portrait project and you’re the only person I really felt comfortable coming to.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his. You felt your heart stutter at hearing that.

“It’s alright, what did you need help with specifically?” You asked leaning onto the door frame. 

“I’m having trouble with making a background that works with the subject.” He said. Weird. Backgrounds are usually his speciality. “Um, may I come in?” He asked. Your eyes widen slightly with realization of you forgetting to let him hit you.

“Of course! Sorry.” You apologized sheepishly, moving out of the way to let him in. 

“It’s fine.” He said. You closed the door before quickly jogging over to your desk, grabbing the still wet painting and placing it against the wall opposite the door, facing towards said wall. You cleared a spot on your desk for him to place his things. 

“Alright, let’s see what you got so far.” You said looking over his painting. 

You talked to him for about 15 minutes about how he could improve what he currently had before you got up to grab you painting to show him what you had done.

“That’s Frida Kahlo, right? If I remember correctly she’s from Mexican descent, so I would use brighter colors like greens, pinks and yellows.” You said while rustling with the huge stack of paintings you had looking for it. “I had gotten Aaron Douglas, so I stuck with more desaturated colors and focused less on details and more on the silhouettes of the subjects.” Once grabbing the painting you returned to Van Gogh, placing the painting onto the desk next to his.

Only…That wasn’t the right painting.

Nope, instead it was one of Van Gogh, specifically the one of him you had finished a few weeks ago of him looking at himself in a full-body mirror while painting a self portrait. You grabbed the painting, pressing it against your chest the moment you realized it was the wrong one. You stared at him a moment before turning around and scrounging around in the pile again for the right painting. 

“Y/N-” Van Gogh started, but you weren’t gonna let him finish. 

“Just! Give me a second.” You said, searching a bit faster. God seemed to be against you that night because when you started to look for it faster the whole stack fell and, of course, with it came the majority of paintings you had made of him. And…the painting of Douglas. 

You stood there a moment, feeling the sweat gather at your forehead and back of your neck. You grabbed the painting of Douglas before stacking all the other ones up. You turned back around, slowly walking back over to the desk and putting the right painting next to his. 

“So, um, like I was saying earlier…” But your voice died in your throat when you heard him speak.

“Y/N.” He said firmly. You felt yourself swallow thickly before looking over at him. “Come with me.” 

And you did. You really didn’t feel like arguing with him after what had just happened. He led you to his dorm room on the 3rd floor, unlocking it and gesturing for you to step in. You did before he closed the door and walked over to the corner of his room. He pulled out a bundle of canvas, separating them from each other. 

“You know, for the longest time I felt like such a creep doing this so often, but after seeing what you’ve been doing, I feel a lot less like one.” He said while revealing the paintings to you.

They were of you. They were all of you.

You felt your heart leap out of your chest as your eyes laid on the paintings. They were all different from the last, varying in size, color, style, much like your own. 

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since we were assigned that project together, ever since…you said that about my painting.” He started, “At first you were just a passing thought, but as time went on, you started to plague my mind more and more often to the point where I couldn’t get you off my mind.” He finished, that stunning peach color returning to his cheeks. 

You walked over to where he had the paintings spread out over his bed, running your fingers over the texture in the dried paint.

“Oh, Van Gogh, these are…” You started, still stunned about everything. 

“Not my best work, I know.” He said scratching the back of his neck, “It was a bit difficult painting you without having you here to reference.” He admitted. 

“No, Van Gogh, these are beautiful.” You said stroking your cheek, “And not just because they’re of me.” You added with a laugh, to which Van Gogh also let out a chuckle. 

The room then when quiet, neither of you having the courage to speak up until you decided the silence had lasted enough. 

“I don’t know what it is about you,” You started, “But you’ve captured my interest, and ever since I got to watch you paint that day I also haven’t been able to get you out of my head.” You paused, breathing in deeply. Well, it’s now or never you suppose. 

“Everytime I think of you, I can physically feel my chest tighten and I feel almost like I’m going to be sick, but in a good way.” You tried to explain, not meeting his light blue eyes once. “I’m not sure if this is what love is supposed to feel like, since I’ve never really been in love before, but…I know that I do like you. Like…really like you and…God, I don’t know what I’m saying; I’ve probably said too much.” You finish with a nervous chuckle. 

“No,” You heard him say, “You said just enough.” He grabbed your hand, making you look down at him.

“I’ve…I’ve never really been in love before either, but…I do know that I really enjoy being with you, even if we’re not talking to each other. Just being around you makes me happy. Hell, the whole point of me seeing you this late was just to see you.” Van Gogh looked up at you briefly before looking down at the ground. “Ah, I’m rambling. Look, my point is that I don’t know what it’s like to love someone, but I do know what it’s like to really like someone, and…I really like you.” He finishes, looking back up at you only to notice the glassiness of tears that clouded you e/c eyes.

“Oh, no, wait don’t start crying.” You heard him say, but you couldn’t stop the flow of tears that warmed your cheeks every so slightly. You collapsed onto your knees, embracing Van Gogh, soon feeling his arms wrap around you and the wetness of tears on the back of your shirt. You hugged him harder when you heard a sob rip from his chest, trying your best not to start sobbing yourself. After all, you didn’t look the most elegant when you cried. 

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours before finally pulling away from the other. You looked him in the eyes, rubbing away some of the stray tears that still remained on his cheeks. He returned the favor. 

“All this time,” he started, “I was so scared to tell you how I felt about you. Hell, I was scared to talk to you at all. I was so worried that I would mess things up between us that I decided to just stay silent.” He paused, sighing. “It’s…difficult for me to connect with people so…I don’t have many good friends. I didn’t want to ruin what we had.” 

“I was scared too,” You admitted, “In all honesty, I wasn’t sure if you even wanted to talk to me after we finished the project. I like being around you, so I was okay with just sitting near you in art.” You ran your hand through his orange hair, being mindful of his bandages. 

“I guess we're both kinda creeps.” You say after a minute. He smiles with a chuckle. 

“Yeah.” He whispers, “I guess we are.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Extended Ending: 

You let go of Van Gogh, allowing him to clear his bed and put the paintings away. He straightened his bed out, looking over at his own clock that read quarter til midnight. He turned to you, peach dusting his pale cheeks.

“Would you, um…” He stuttered, “Would you like to spend the night? I don’t mean like, you know, but just…sleep. It’s late, we have class in the morning and it’s a bit of a walk to your dorm.” He finished, gesturing to his bed. You blushed before smiling.

“I’d love to.” You answered. He smiled before opening the covers, patting the open space.

“Great! I-Um, I’ll get the lights.” He said, walking past you. You took your shoes off before climbing into his bed, moving all the way over to one side. He turned the light off, the room only being visible because of the moonlight coming through the curtains. You felt the bed shift, assuming Van Gogh had gotten in the bed with you. 

For a while, you both laid there stiffly, painfully aware of the other’s presence. You felt his eyes on you for a while before he spoke.

“Um…would it be alright if I…” He said, scooting closer to you. You did the same, until the two of you met in the center. You turned your body towards his and he did the same. The two of you simply stared at the other for a moment before he wrapped his arms around your neck. You, in turn, wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your chin upon his head. He pressed his face into your collar and you shuttered as you felt his breath on your neck. 

“This,” he started, “This is…” Leaving you to finish his sentence. 

“Nice.”