Creativity and beards

Well hello there. 

This year is almost not this year anymore. Great news, right? News even better. I am not ready to print out the stickers I promised to humanity (in such a loud voice ridiculous amount of times). But there's one preview of three I posted a while ago on Instagram (comicsonic, you're welcome) and one basically giving you the idea:

Good. Now I shut up about them till they're ready. Nice.

Now, going to fill another request I got some days ago. Write about being creative, and shit. Sorry, not shit. Anyway, what is it? It's hard to avoid stating the obvious concerning this question. If you still asked me about it - means you want to hear the obvious exactly from me, this is quite flattering! Good, how you formed your request instantly reminds me of these great minutes on YouTube:

You're welcome once again.

Now, well, time for me to get all boring and wordy? There is one thing that I wanted to clarify concerning creativity widely applied to our poor exhausted minds and about proudly wearing this mythical and mystical title.

Creative = productive.

Certain amount of creativity can be applied to every task we are engaged in. Right, we don't need to elaborate on this. But we're not talking about the brave carpenters searching for some ground-breaking ways to polish their wood  in... open space, with... water and two monkeys... whatever, what I feel we ought to address is just who we are, a bunch of useless teen(or not so teen)agers who like to be all arty and special and you got what I mean if you're honest enough.  And this is pretty damn easy.

Look, listen, absorb, process, think, do. Always think while you're doing, but more importantly, just do.

Not applied to anything, your imagination is worth nothing. Stop doodling, start drawing. If you're doodling,
make it look nothing like a doodle. Whatever you do should not be accidental. Even the accidents.

Imagination, in case you think it lets you down, is also a skill. A skill to be working on: the more you experience, the more you learn, as you solve more problems you will simply see improvements. On the other hand, you need something to make your wild monsters alive. And you don't want any limitations, while insufficient skills (of whatever you're doing) is the first border you are going to hit. Or maybe even the last one. Get up and learn, we are never good enough.

You know, I read one short story some time back - unfortunately pretty sure it's not available in English (для русскочитающих - Л. Улицкая, "Цю-юрихь"), and it is really not in any way related to this topic, but with good old striking contrasting method it made me see how lazily we approach our lives, most of us - me included, obviously. 

Take this "talent" thing, I bet you've heard people throwing this word all around as if the more you pour it on the ground, more red your tomatoes will grow. No babe, they will not. 

Especially people referring to their lack of "talent" when refusing to give something a try. Well, according to your definition, being talented at something means to perform on average or even above-average level with little or almost no effort made. Isn't it a desirable thing? Why yes, and this is also signifying approach that potentially disables you from becoming any better than "average with no effort". Because growing up always knowing you can rely on your so-called abilities, or inborn sense, spoils you pretty bad. And no one is going to care you were such a "promising" child, you're just not used to push yourself to achieve more that you naturally can, because why would you when it kinda worked for ages? 

Similarly less and less of effort do we tend to put in our relationship with other people, making easy and comfortable connections always there to be cut off when pleased. (Not sure I want to keep on with this topic, let's stop before I said something stupid.)

Your own laziness is your only limit. That's all I have to say on this.

Further on your cute questions;

what do I listen to/watch/what is inspiring me.

On the last one - people do. 

For some idea of what I prefer to stare at, just take a quick look at some of my pinterest pins (I was doing this solely for the educational purpose, gotta be back to the place, new things just don't stick to me)

http://www.pinterest.com/mnnrieh/pins/

Like most of us, I listen to lotz of shit, whatever makes me feel better when I feel good and worse when I feel bad. 

Sorry if I sound grumpy. But I am grumpy, so this is quite fair I guess.

Hopefully I answered your question. Do comment though, I don't know how to get back at you anyway.

To any one reading these lines, 

please stay safe and warm during your holidays. Kisses!

faces and I'm too anxious

Little small tiny and quick portrait for today. 

No name, no particular point, just playing with the cuteness of simplicity.  

(needs a bit of editing that is never to be done, most boring thing ever)

Aaaand a video full of sounds and images that I absolutely love. 

 Too much of talent for one piece!

Now something unrelated.
It's crazy how much it is about faces.
You just pick the face you like to look at. For some subtle and gentle time when the desire to see it grows inside you, nothing more frightening can be possibly imagined. But it overcomes that little huge earthquake a single gaze does to your world, overcomes all the motion of blood rushing right to your own face to blur your eyes, scream in your ears and press your insides against something so big it just can't fit in a human being without driving it insane. But it does, and then you become your eyes. A walking sensor. Without looking, you pick up every move, every direction, every expression of the desired face. Now you want to be in front of it. You find yourself in places you wouldn't normally be doing things you wouldn't normally do. All of your gestures are crying for help, all of your sounds are flouncing in the air, directed towards just one point in space, as if some magical magnetic forces were sucking them up, turning into millions of regrets, why did I say that, why, no, seriously, what's wrong with me?
Oh but later you are going to remember that time as the best your faces used to have. Or you won't. Give it some time anyway.
You want that face to look at you, to see you. Then to see only you. Inevitably.
You will do things and say things and do things again, just to see that face responding to what you are up to, you will make it laugh to see it's only you who makes it laugh, and you will hurt it to make sure you are the one who can do it. And the tears you will see are yours, you made them, you own them, you've made such a long way to this point. This is kind of hunger; it's addiction, full dependence. The best and the worst to ever happen and to disappear one day, just as nonchalantly walking out of the door as it once walked in and messed everything up. Leaving just painful relief.

Iiiiiiii don't know.

How do people ever feel brave enough to try to put this shit in words?
Anyway, anyone, talk to me anytime.
Love you ALL (like seriously ALL okay.)

red red red

That mood, you know, when you only want to listen to those songs you know by heart.
Now sleep sleep sleep.

(горбатого могила)

This happened yesterday night when I decided to do some scenery drawing. Yes, this is a scenery. CAN'T YOU SEE (ha-ha-ha get it get it?)

 Hilarious. So original.

Anyway rejoice, I am back with things. So very typical things. Sorry for the mess in the upper left corner (you didn't notice but now you do), it's all because I am shit and I don't have a scanner. Meh, who cares? Don't trust the machines. 

Right, here's my pick for all of the months of my life. 

This is my soundtrack of my life, in case you ever wondered. So healing.

Love you all, people!

How are you doing there?

The City of Chestnuts and Accordions

Delighted to bring this notice to your attention: November is about to end, that month with a beautiful name and horrible personality is fading away slowly, but surely. Sometimes it stretches its pale arms all the way through December, breathes the gloom in your spine in January, or jumps on you on a March morning. You can never get away from your November.

Today I will fulfill one request I received from my friend, namely - to talk about our lovely Ljubljana, and this is what I am about to do now.

Wet, black pavement during the night looks like skin of some terrifying mystical creature, grudgingly reflecting movements of lights and shadows. The city that grows on it, the city I am living in, never stops fascinating me. I swear I have never been to a place that can turn so alive and so dead: this is something that puzzled me for my whole first year of discoveries.

University, conservatory and other buildings, dollhouse-like tiny castles, lighted against dark sky look almost surreal, too close and too naive under the surprisingly cold rain; worn out, but colorful rows of terraced houses growing out of the river seem like the warmest places to be (although we all know the troubles of heating and leaking the have, but the romanticism!), looking at you with unjust coziness of their lit windows; trees, plants, city benches and lonely lights left, as if someone forgot to turn it off, in empty shops, leaking through glass display and not finding anyone to illuminate - nor inside, nor outside... There is no one. Family evenings? Weather preferences? Did everyone decide to taking time for themselves, or to do a little cleaning around the house?
The city is empty. Tiny, tiny (how come they are so tiny?) sculptures are silent. Fences are silent, street lights are silent. A stranger passes, not pleased, swaying about the puddles with no expression on their face, no expression in their umbrella. A pair of stubborn tourists passes, they don't want to miss the evening just because some water was too bored up there and decided to land on some lovely places to see. And they will know that they didn't make a mistake when decided that a quite poor and nasty rain cannot make them stop exploring. An old woman riding a bicycle, wearing something like a giant plastic bag, passes me, and I feel older  than her, folding my umbrella the very next moment.
The emptiness cannot be accidental, for it feels rather mystical. Like visiting amazingly realistic theatre decorations, but not as an actor, with this familiarity and comfort of routine is his eyes, no; more like a child who, crawling, slipped on the stage after all the wine is drunk and all echoes of step-dancing are swallowed by the night sky.

The other evening, perhaps someday in August, I open my windows to the marching bands, so enthusiastic about something you've never heard of, but already feel connected to; I open my door to humid heat and warm smell of grilled meat, to voices and faces of strangers, moving, moving, waving, talking, singing, eating, drinking. The great celebration has fallen down on the town, and you cannot ignore it. A man with painted face and a girl in a costume looking like as if she stepped out that milk chocolate commercial give me a tomato and a paper. People, people, people, can so many of them fit in these narrow and previously so artificial and fragile streets? Oh yes they can - and they also cannot, at some points, so you have to make your way through smoke, through words you cannot even identify, through unjustified cheerfulness and some characters are not even getting of their bikes in this condense mass of celebrating bodies.
People of all kinds, all shapes, all colours and singing in all languages. Tourists, bikes, accordions, artists looking for some fortune or some change, with or without accordions, fancy people certainly without accordions... I can't name them all. All friends, all strangers.
Music finds you everywhere, you cannot escape it. Exceptionally good, exceptionally bad, sometimes it reaches you from three directions at the same moment, and I get both dizzy and happy. The smell, the light, voices, warmth, wind, life that is overflowing with no obvious reasons - and this is how it should be, I believe.

On some nights the smell of roasted chestnuts follows you. On some mornings, that deep white ghost of mist is your companion. On some afternoons, you just look up and see - bas-relief flowers blooming on the walls of modest heights, your eyes meet with hundred of pars of stony eyes - people of the altorilievo nation, characters, beautiful women, handsome men, displaying their graceful figures or beheaded above the main entrance.
How can you feel alone in this city?
I suppose, you can.

This is something I can now remember about that little area that I inhibit, not bigger that the Central Park, and still full of surprises and simple charm. I will add to it, because every day there is a new (often small, familiar, yet so fresh and vivid) sensation right in front of my eyes, waiting for me to let it be the greatest amazement in the entire universe, at least for some moments.
I will not conclude this entry, I leave it opened. Hopefully, for long and long days we still have together.

To my Darling, who is an asshole

It's my personal blog and it's my personal stuff, so fuck off. (don't fuck off, but well... bear with me for a moment, okay? okay.)

Random Tuesday chat, Again

So I took out my imaginary friend for a walk. We stared at the street lamp, stared at the corpses of leaves on the ground, I showed him my favourite bench so we can comfortably stare at busy people passing by (they never noticed it because we're so good). You know, we were having great time and all.

ha

Autumn is a rich celebration of welcoming death and decay to take over the world. Autumn is balancing on the edge of depression as a weather descriptor, and the peak of nature's mature glory and fruitfulness, it's the most decorated and the least promising season. Cheesy as it sounds, I feel some deep connection between us, as if I already knew something about the day I will die. People who die in autumn should become a foggy morning. All of us should, probably. I wouldn't regret dying if I knew I could still amaze someone at least once in a while.

So now, son, we're heading towards the end of this month. We're in the middle of this season, while this year is already at the doorstep, bending down to put the shoes on before leaving, smiling at its own back pain.
_
And here's something I leave for myself to learn and remember.
There's a narrator to each fairytale. But it doesn't matter how soft and nice his voice is, or how gently he holds a book, he is not a part of a fairytale himself. He just reads it out for you. He might even not believe in that fairytale. And that's not a sin, even though he might be a sinner. He is just a bulb, not the light. Do not mix it. Stay sober, and do not invite the narrator to join the fairytale, you don't need him there. He can take you home, but you can't try to take him on stage. Everything and everyone has their own place. And that's good. Good enough.

wow
I don't know. I'll try to draw something. I can't, but I will ignore this. Too shameful. 

as close as you could possibly get

A day with me.

I was lying on my bed, trying to stay asleep. In the meantime, somewhere something was trying to keep me awake by showing me pictures of dramatic fall from the stairs out of nowhere down to nowhere. After surviving falling down the stairs for the third time I decided to get my subconscious to stop bullying me before I get a brand new phobia. At that point I wondered what would be the word for the fear of stairs? It turned out to be named "climacophobia", and I thought that the "limaco" part of that word is somehow clumsily cute. Also, I discovered that if you rearrange the letters just a bit, you will get "iia choco lamb", which is certainly comforting.

 

After reading enough about people getting traumatized in all possible ways by this extremely foul and quite old (they are believed to appear around 6000 BC) creation of human desire to feel higher than they are, I turned my attention to the wall, the closest reachable object, apart from my depression (that was a joke, I'm not depressed). My wall was white and cold, and I found someone's hand dancing on its surface. She wasn't mine, because my fingers aren't that long and beautiful. She looked very anxious and didn't know where to go; she was taking peace in desperate trying to repeat my moves, stretching and transforming it according to her very own dimension. I think she was lost, way too lost to realise it even. I took a photo so someone can find her someday.

My mother dropped in my room. She said she doesn't want me to be sad. That's good, because I really don't want her wanting me to be sad. That would make me really confused.

Sadness is the most gentle feeling that we can experience towards ourselves, that's what I thought next. Pain, happiness, excitement and boredom are too brutal, too primal. Sadness is sophisticated, melancholy is the greatest luxury. It's like blue cheese, and sadness is the mold growing through it. For an undereducated man of a surface it would be a flaw, but that exact flaw is also what makes it a delicacy. The connection is obvious, there is no way no one has thought about it before me: feeling blue, blue blood, blue cheese. It's relative, see? I might be a genius.

Then I drew a little cute picture. I placed it above these lines, and I really like it. A little tiny place of my own, it doesn't even have any curtains - why would I bother, if no one's watching me from the outside? I wanted to read something to confirm my deep devotion to wasting my day away, but my phone rang then. 

It was a wonderful man whom I've seen whole four times, and who's seen me only twice. We spent some time of ours drinking alcohol on the phone, time too short to justify the difference between us - too big to ever feel like living in the same world. Excitement of a human contact and alcohol took over, and the desire to have more of both started to grow bigger and bigger on me. Both are poisons, both are addictive. Both are something to live for, both can destroy you if you do. The man will ruin me, but that's just what I want. It's still better to be ruined by someone beautiful then to ruin yourself on your own, regretting not giving in.

These thoughts led me to abusive listening to the songs I can't relate to, but I like to imagine that I do.
There's something unfair about those. For a long time I thought (sometimes I still do) that no one ever feels anything, because clearly I did not. Everyone's just pretending, that's what it felt like. Blindly searching their role, finding the script purely by intuition, reading it without knowing the language and playing it selflessly, like the last damn thing they've got in this life. What am I even talking about?

This is basically about my day. Two hours of my warm blood circulating intensively through my very own body.
I could've written 10 times more, but I was afraid to sound too fun to hang out with.
(just joking, everyone already knows I am)
My days are alike. All good. If anyone wants to the the chairs I sit on, or know how I smell without smelling me, or which tree I say hello to every morning, you may express your wish anywhere I have an ability to detect it.
I will go away drinking milk now.
Be nice! Good night.

Don't take on too much

It's the last sunrise over Mongolia. No tears! You could not possibly do anything. 

And just let me conclude with something great.

Just a little bit of

Hey there a white square on the screen that I have to fill with some meaningless information!

How's it going? I suppose great, still being so white of infinite possibilities, huh? See, your life cannot be boring - just think about it, what if someday something really great becomes your body, some real masterpiece of human thought will paint your insides, what if you are chosen to hold the cure for all the bad, peace for all the insomniac, life for all the bored? And even if that never happens, it is still not your suffer - let those who marked your virgin body be the ones in pain, pressed all the way down by the heaviness of their grandmothers' expectations.  Let them think of your face in their nightmares, when you look at them, a hungry believer, a clean slate, a murder list with numbers only, prepared to be fatal, prepared to be something at least. But what did they do, what could they do, what could they even think of doing to you? They'll wake up screaming under your stare, what have you become, what could you become? The terrifying Anything is too much to handle for the sanity, but the little your hands allow to make out of it, the reduction of making it physical, making it yours, making it real - it is even more terrifying.

Despite (or considering) the shitstorm above, today I just feel like rambling about this and that, so hey. Let's chat, but it will be only me holding the mic, and you don't really have to be here - though I would appreciate your clapping or at least a tip, if you feel old enough to do that. 

Anyway, really, I am grateful to anyone who took their time talking to me/looking at me throughout the past month, you were nice - I wish someday I'll be able to pay you back for your politeness and sweetness and all the -ness we can derive from just pleasant people, but for now... For now I'm taking it all with me, carry it around like a baby, in and out of the rooms, popping up here and there, out of nowhere, you know? 

I've been thinking about the word I absolutely hate yet it is impossible to avoid using it not awkwardly - it's inspiration, you've heard that one? Why does it sound so pretentious to me?

There would be a Muse, for example, you know - the one that stands behind the shoulder of each artist or Artist, or sitting on their table, under the table, in the whatever pose you prefer, clothed or undressed, bold or bearded... I just wondered once what mine would look like, why shouldn't I have it--(him? her?), especially now, at our time - bless our time! - it's not her who picks me, it's me who picks her, or him, or them, whoever, well!

I think I want a human - most certainly I want a human, not even a tiny army of the Hattifatteners, or a giant snail (I still really want it so bad help), or not even a fried banana. A human is still what makes me the most awake, a worrying animal I am needs someone to be worried about, so I can complain about being tired of all the worries, yet I need someone to complain to! Not sure if my muse will allow me to do that, but let's assume it will pity me at least a little, because I need it to be gentle. Gentle in that sadistic way, with all the teasing, all the scars covered by kisses, not painful enough to kill you, but just about right to keep you half mad. Oh yes, that would be perfect, so much better than a fried banana - in fact I can fry it for them every morning. They will not like it, and I will be so mad throwing plates on the floor with all the drama and chic. They will abuse the opportunity to watch me and I would love to allow that, maybe it's even the only thing I really need. Am I describing a real person now? It's funny.

Anyway, I need to give in, it's getting colder and my thoughts will turn into nothing but a girly talk if I keep on. Here's my song of the week, and I leave this place. Will be back tomorrow. Was nice to chat with you (me). Peace!

Ain't need no other burger

You know what? I like comics, I've just never read them. Because I am still discovering stuff about this world (I'm a late bloomer, okay?), so here's my confession - this is the first time I took a comic magazine in my hands. And bought it immediately.

 It's Stripburger and it's absolutely awesome.

So I was there - in the bookshop, touching and smelling it, crying over my life spent on nothing, touching it more - the paper is so good, I mean I don't know if it is actually good, but it's still SO pleasant to touch; each press had such an adorable cover, the translation to English is carefully given everywhere possible (it's way too nice, I know it makes perfect sense but I still somehow got touched by it)... You know, the feels and stuff.

It's basically a Slovene comic magazine, filled with mainly (but not only) European authors (for example, in the latest issue it was a Norwegian invasion), interviews with cool people, strips strips strips... What really gets me about this magazine is the variety of styles and topics displayed there and I love love love it, especially for me as a noob learner it's just a treasure, I am absorbing it all like a sponge, and soon I will need more - these four cannot satisfy the hunger it has waked!

Anyway, in this post I just wanted to express my newly discovered love. I would have written more about how infinitely RAD this magazine is, (still would really love to talk about it) but I'll leave it for sometime later because I feel like shit (let's put it simply). Nothing gets me excited these days, so I have to wait till this wave passes. Well-well.
Not excited by AM, still listening to it whole day long. I just enjoy getting myself as low as possible. Anyway, not a bad cover of John Cooper Clarke. Nothing unexpected. In any way, nothing. And that's why it fits.

If you ask me what to read

I wanted to make a post about Stripburger, but as my lovely friend asked me to write something about my favorite books (10 favorite books huh?), I'll first go on with that.
Now, I am not sure if I even have 10 favorite books - as most of my favorite authors are the best in the short story format, but never mind, I will just tell about my favies, and that's going to be cool enough!

The stuff post

Sometimes people ask me about the materials I use - what do I draw with, how much of stuff do I have, you know. Things. So I've decided to make a blog post about it, because... because yeah! Let's just start.

I feel like the first thing that I have to mention is something that is just becoming such an inseparable part of myself that I literally feel anxious if I forget to put it in my bag before going out. No need for long introductions, meet the pilot g-tec-c4 (0.4mm) black ink pen! Coming together with a bottle of indian black Daler Rowney drawing ink. These are my musts, and I just cannot be myself without them.

Well, to be honest, lately I feel like it's about right time to step into a new level - I started to see the 0.1mm pen in my erotic dreams, but I just can't find the appropriate one... The existing ones claimed to be 0.1 or even 0.05mm are no better than my good old 0.4 pilot, so I am still sticking with that. But if, all of a sudden, you feel like you want to make me the happiest ink pen freak in the world - you know what to search for, right? And I told you the trick - THE THINNER THE BETTER.
There, said it all.

The next thing is something that brings me huge amount of fun, and is least depressing of all the things I'm used to work with - a charcoal pencil! Mine is Koh-i-Noor Hardmuth one, and it comes from "Gioconda" art set.

 

 Why is it cool? So many reasons for that, bro! First, it's a charcoal, which is always extremely fun to play with - when I'm sketching with a charcoal, I always feel much freer and more just like playing around and enjoying the thing, than when I sketch with a pencil. Definitely. And it is in a pencil form - which significantly reduces the amount of black that covers your hands, face, clothes, paper, mum etc - you know what charcoal means. And you can blend/shade it awesomely - no need to worry about small mistakes. Actually, no need to worry about any mistakes at all - just cover it all black!

Now, done with the blacks - let's go to some colours, shall we?

First of all, of course, colored ink.

These six from Winsor&Newton, come in adorable boxes, and bottles with same pretty illustrations. I've only got six of them, as I don't feel a great need to buy any more colors - I rarely use even these. But they are great, and it's very interesting to try them out on different paper types. Here you also can see my beloved baby W&N brush - I need to say that this is my absolute favorite one. Being a compact brush, it has two separable parts: a cap (5.5cm) and a brush body (6.5cm), so you can make it a 10.5cm brush (which is my most comfortable length) or fold when putting in a case. It's metal, as you can see - probably steel, although quite light, also it's thin - what else should I say? Just perfection!

This piece (it's unfinished and I think I've never uploaded a photo of it) is an example of how you can mix some of the ink colors above.

I think it's brilliant green, blue, viridian + some out of the box. This is not the best thing you can do with it, okay. Maybe the best I can do though... Let's move on to my another favies!

Winsor&Newton, again. And I know - it says "calligraphy ink"! "For fountain and dip pen", I can read it, yeah. But damn, I don't care, these two colors are just fantastic!!!

Especially the blue one - it's called "blue black", but it is only black taken on an extreme concentration, the more water you add - the more magical the color gets, and the texture is just fabulous. This kind of ink especially does not tend to forgive you mistakes, so you should be extra careful - once you've touched the paper, it's there forever and ever. Even the thinnest layers make the difference. But as I have no life, these two are my best colors for the moment. The crimson one is also very cool, for example, I've made this one using crimson calligraphy ink + two (black'n'red) ink pens.

It's a pure pleasure to work with these, I swear - just try playing with the concentration and layers, and you'll see what I mean. Magic.

The last picture is mainly my stationery, stuff that I have at home, watercolour kit and some watercolor pencils. Pretty much everything that I have...Looks messy, but that is what my room is about. +some additional ink, some additional pencils, some additional... glue... and screwdrivers... Just in case.

Though I would like to mention these Derwent watercolour pencils: I started to use them recently after wanting them for long long time, (uh, uh, so expensive, uh) decided to buy it and never regret getting 10 of them at once - they are great. The blend together greatly, and I am much more confident about using them, particularly when I have to use them in areas close to already applied ink... They don't require much water, and their texture, when dry, seems quite pleasant to me. So if you are a little bit clumsy around the liquid stuff - try them out! I think such are pretty enjoyable.

I guess it's everything that I have to say on this, but if this is an interesting topic at least for one of you who reads this sentence, I will keep writing about materials and stuff, because there is always plenty of coolness around. Well, bye then!

Now you know me better

I've mentioned listing my favorite food in the hello-entry, and my baby Mari has requested me to do it... because she likes me and doesn't want me to feel lonely as obviously no one cares about such information. But I will do it. Because I believe in our love.

Put on your red shoes and dance the blues

If anyone wonders, and even if no one does, here's a piece I'm currently working on, and have been doing since... this spring, I think.

And I really like it - could you believe that I'm saying this? There's still TONS to do, but you see - I'm taking time because I can't afford a single wrong move (not anymore, there's been some already!).

So, this is how it looks kind of in general:

 

It's very heavy even on this stage (I'd say it's a halfway), it's going to be even heavier - hope it's going to turn out well. I am going to add some red berries hanging down from a dead branch up there, it's going to be cool. More grass, more freaky details, possibly dark indigo/navy blue/grey (can't decide) background with while cracks... Oh, man, why should I make it real, it looks so good in my head there is no way I can materialize it. It's also quite big, by the way - extra 10 cm on each side of a regular A3. Loads of work, yup.

                     Here's the detail part (not very well thought out, but it's kind of how I usually go):

Just, wish me luck. I really need it.

Also, if anyone gets any idea of what I could still do/improve by any chance - please, hit me with it right in my face. Deal? Good.

If you like me, why don't you try to listen to fantastic M. Ward covering Bowie's fantastic "Let's dance?"

(even if you don't, it's still great)

Expectations & Trying too hard

Here, I am uploading a piece I've been doing for quite some time, and finally kind of... finished. Better to say, I thought: "well, looks like you can't  do anything about this anymore, so... we gotta move on, darling, we gotta live our life no matter what... juts let it go, babe".

So I let go.

Here's the story: my mother asked me for these. No, she actually asked me for some nice flowers, and I turned it into... this. From trying too hard - this is my problem number one. I do try hard, which sometimes is cool, but sometimes just leads to chaos eventually. This one was passed the sign "stahp" and became just a perfect example of what too much is.
Obviously, my mother wasn't pleased - apparently she hated the green and it was too far away from what she was expecting (I assume some kind of provence-fashion would satisfy her more than this circus), and the first feedback that I got wasn't a positive one. Even though I liked what I was doing, her reaction got me down, I didn't want to be careful anymore, and it all just went downhill.

It's a shame you can't see it in good quality - I simply cannot afford it technically at the moment, so these are just the phone photos.
I am not saying I hate this piece (neither I'm in love with it though), some parts of it do please me, and it gave me some quite useful things - to be persistent, to care less, *to keep the in-progress pictures to myself*, to keep the balance, to plan things out... Not to expect too much, I guess. To know where to stop.
Anyway, a failure can't be concerned as a complete failure if you learned your lesson, right?
Good.

a hello word

After good six years of failing miserably at keeping to the commitments my internet self had been setting by creating one diary after another - being all that it makes my internet-diary experience, I decided to take it seriously and give it a purpose.
If you are reading this, most probably you know me already - that is why I am not rushing to self-introductions and listing my favorite food (which I will definitely do later, or just as soon as you ask me to), and most probably you know that I draw a little - and this is, actually, that glorious purpose of this page.

Some people are being kind enough to say they like the small things I do. And I am really proud of it, even if they say it just to stop me crying. Whatever, hello there, I love you.

I will post the stuff that I do, maybe some of what I've done before, some of what makes me feel like doing the stuff I do, all the whys and whats and whos and hows, you know. I really hope to manage to keep this going.
Now, leaving to work on the appearance of this page for a little more & filling it with stuff,
peace!
N.