I'm kinda proud of how well this went.
My traditional art is still much better than my digital.
Whirlpool.You said I was always rough around the edges,
clouds unfurling away from me like new dimensions,
billowing like smoke.
You made me work on keeping myself
so completely inside the lines.
A decade later, I am wounded.
Contained and restricted -
kept behind a new plethora of barriers I blame
everybody else for,
when it's nobody's fault but my own.
Each and every time the rare little islands of lucidity visit me,
the realisation sets back in and
I am left reeling.
I am left surveying the devastation
from a throne made of ruin
that crumbles further each day, a threat
I keep ignoring
like old enemies
and court dates
and recommended medication.
Who builds them, these walls?
Who constructs them by hand,
with no voice or fight, an automatic labour
Deft hands work tirelessly
to fight a warped brain that cries loudly.
Each brick is so carefully moulded and formed
with thought and care and precision.
Each new layer is so strategically placed.
Barbed wire and "Danger!"
Done a lot of things in my life, a pen, pencil or tool in my hand has gotten me through a few tough times.
Some of my work is ok, most of it needs work. I am open to constructive criticism, but I may promptly do it my way anyway.
I do a lot of pencil sketching, I'm a decent photographer, learning ink and learning GIMP at the same time. wish I had time to take a sculpture class.
I have an idiosyncrasy where I usually capitalize the I in Idea.
Cant wait to meet you all.