Advice to fellow artists
--- ENGLISH version ---
Hi everyone! How are you doing?
Today I'd like to talk about an important subject for anyone who sells commissions (or if you usually buy art I guess you can also find this journal interesting).
Basically I'm trying to save little amounts of money every month to try and commission someone every few months, because I never have much time to draw my characters and why not I want to support other artists too by commissioning them.
For the last 2 or 3 months I've seen a lot of my fav artists opening commissions slots but when I take a look at their info... they barely have a couple of rules and it's usually "I start working after I've been paid" or "No refunds" and that's all.
And this bugs me so so much because I've been scammed in the past where I paid for an artwork I never received (hopefully it wasn't a big amount), and even if I know those artists, even if I've been watching them for so long and I know they finish their commissions, I
The KeyThe silver key was still in the drawer. It had remained there ever since Joe moved in to take care of his parents’ house while they were away on vacation. When he was younger, they warned him not to open the drawer that contained the key, lest “something terrible will happen”. Joe himself didn’t believe in what the warnings foretold, but he still left the drawer untouched. Every day, he’d always wonder what made the key so special, or why his parents strictly forbade him to contact it. As he sat at the table drinking coffee, he pondered for a moment.
“There’s something awfully peculiar about that dresser.” Joe thought aloud. He even felt the air of uncertainty every time he ran upstairs. It sent chills down his spine and discomforted him greatly. “One of these days, I’ll go up there and truly see whatever is kept in that darn cupboard.”
But something still held him back from carrying out the deed. Was there
deaf girl dancingshe cannot hear the music, only see it
and her body sways in waves,riding
the crest of the movement,
she can feel the music in the rhythm
of other people's bodies, jostling and turning,
spinning and swirling, glimmering and burning,
she can read the movement,
tell what the music she cannot hear means
just by the language
of two dozen bodies rocking themselves
into an orchestra of movement.
she cannot hear the music, but
she can feel it, in the way
her body twirls, the way her supple limbs
chase trails of sound that are beyond her grasp,
in the beat of her heart echoing in her ribcage
and her feet, moving to something beyond her
a voice that she will never hear that still calls her.
she responds to silence with her body,
defying limits, refusing to be a stony-eyed silence.
in her life, music is movement, is
joints creaking and hips speaking and
strange breathing, because
she was raised to take the things she could reach
instead of stubbing her toes
by trying to grasp what she couldn't.