these are the days.
when we go dance.
naked in the ocean waves.
with the moon as the only one.
when we laugh so hard.
time turns backwards.
and our love stops and starts.
with the rhythm of your heart.
when we are just us together.
and never think to ask.
for things to get better.
for it is a simple pleasure.
to share our presence.
through the midnight strolls.
and the morning runs.
these are the greatest adventures.
that lead nowhere.
but take us everywhere. 💫
my book “the moon” is available through the link in my bio.
if i were to call these art, what would be stopping me from calling everything else "art"?
i sometimes wonder if what i make really conveys emotion. i want to get better at giving emotional significance to my work, other that aesthetic importance.
A letter on depression (slight TW)
I often question what it means to remain human, or to have the human experience that millions have a drive for. For years, not everything could or even should have clicked. Some days I struggle to find the reason to continue to exist, even with spouts of psychosis, I still find it painfully real to know what is and isnt real.
My future is dwindling.
For the time ive been given here, in this human experience, I just want to change my history, past, blood and covens. Things have been prone to slip the second it felt heavy to me. Suicide, death, iscolation, ptsd, lonliness, social and intermediate rejection. There’s kossed I know I could never get back, or follow them back to me.
My motivation, time, memories, friends, plans, chances, opportunities, even multiple times, my own life.
I’d like to lie and say im not haunted and how ive forgiven. An experience that was on the brink of my own crashing. To think back, to find a reason to seek out help, I often do find myself aimlessly drifting, asking myself if I really know what I’m even doing, if I belong here, questioning more than I should, or trying to solve an emotional guilt.
Things lately feel more enhanced, but also cold and colorless. Unsettling, but there is just something missing, something I am chasing after that remains foggy, or hazy. “What am I fighting for?” I often keep a composure on that I fear in myself that is snapping, I can reallt feel how much ive aged, or how I feel too much.
Somedays however, I am sick of living or being so hopeful. What exactly am I even hopeful of, or for anyways?
I can tell that a lot of people feel the same. #ventart#art#anatomy#surrealism#traditionalart#drawing#guroart#sketching#ink#illustration#lineart#pencil#aesthetic#lowbrow#withinhell#surrealart#realism#inking#artistsoninstagram#igart#monochrome#depression#intrusivethoughts#surreal