archives

October 2016 Art

I didn’t manage to catch the Inktober train this year but I have been drawing regularly prior to NaNoWriMo. I want to get as much drawing out of my system as I can, before I disappear into the realm of words for a whole month.

Here are some of today’s efforts so far!

A Velociraptor sticker design.

20161011001-velociraptorigwp

Velociraptor-inspired digital painting – flokot.redbubble.com.

Work-in-progress screenshots.

The reference picture in the bottom right corner is from Wikipedia’s Velociraptor mongoliensis page.

20161011002-screenshot-velociraptor

Work in progress screenshot, 1.

20161011003screenshot-velociraptor

Work in progress screenshot, 2.

RedBubble Cover Image.

I also finally got around to making a header picture to emblazon the top of my RedBubble portfolio. After several false starts, I settle for a pink, purple and blue unicorn galloping through space. I think that this, more than anything else that I attempted, best summarises the type of art I have in my portfolio!

20161011002-rbcoverpngunicornigwp

Cover/header for my RedBubble portfolio. Digital painting – flokot.redbubble.com.

 

 

 

 

 

stand off

I am currently decluttering my RedBubble Portfolio, to make way for more recent art that best represents who I am now, as well as to make it easier for customers to navigate the available products for sale. As a result I will be sharing some of my old creative writings here on WordPress, as a way of preserving them. In several cases my mind, opinions, beliefs, values and overall understanding of life have changed since the time I wrote these pieces, but I still feel that they are personally valuable reminders of the various stages of my life journey thus far.

This piece of writing was first posted at my RedBubble Creative Writing Portfolio.

Date of original post: 22 November 2010

Total views, at 2 May 2016:

Stand Off? A lament on distance and separation

Two figures standing face to face but separate.
A drift of dandelion seeds stirring in the space between us.
The light here is pale green diffused by a thick canopy of summer leaves.
Where to go from here?
There are no boundaries, no limits
to the many escape routes –
But I don’t want to escape.
Who is the hunter, the hunted?
The roles seem fluid, malleable, transferrable.
The distance is short, but seems eternal.
Cannot move closer:
The fear is overwhelming.
And were I to run, would you chase me?
If I turned and fled to the cover of the forest
Would you follow me?
Or would you abandon me to the elements?

 

My swamp

I am currently decluttering my RedBubble Portfolio, to make way for more recent art that best represents who I am now, as well as to make it easier for customers to navigate the available products for sale. As a result I will be sharing some of my old creative writings here on WordPress, as a way of preserving them. In several cases my mind, opinions, beliefs, values and overall understanding of life have changed since the time I wrote these pieces, but I still feel that they are personally valuable reminders of the various stages of my life journey thus far.

As I wrote on the original piece here, swamps are a powerful symbol or archetype for me, and a theme to which I continually return… as long-time readers and followers of my blogs and art sites will know.

This piece of writing was first posted at my RedBubble Creative Writing Portfolio.

Date of original post: 24 November 2010

Total views, at 2 May 2016: 277

My Swamp; Or, a moment of paranoia

It’s lonely here in the swamp.
Only frogs and waterbirds for company
and it’s not like they can talk with me.
What does a duck think about, anyway?
I could stand in the murky depths all day
until my skin is stained with dirt.
Still it seems to me that they’re better company than humans.
People are hurtful, painful, messy.
Full of horrors.
They plot the many ways they will hurt me.
Here among the snakes and fish and mosquitoes,
the creatures, they do not plot and plan and invent ways of evil.
They exist, they act, they behave according to their ways,
but they are not man that they should seek to harm or destroy.
And so I cloister myself in nature’s monastery,
in the solemn solitude and darkness of the waters and the trees
and meditate on that which drove me here.

 

convincing myself I can wait

I am currently decluttering my RedBubble Portfolio, to make way for more recent art that best represents who I am now, as well as to make it easier for customers to navigate the available products for sale. As a result I will be sharing some of my old creative writings here on WordPress, as a way of preserving them. In several cases my mind, opinions, beliefs, values and overall understanding of life have changed since the time I wrote these pieces, but I still feel that they are personally valuable reminders of the various stages of my life journey thus far.

This piece of writing was first posted at my RedBubble Creative Writing Portfolio.

Date of original post: 13 December 2010

Total views, at 2 May 2016: 274

Convincing Myself: I Can Wait

In the long lonely months of solitude
In the broken scattered sunlight breaking through the tangled dead canopy
Watching the years fade into dim memory with no shift in the routine
I must wait.

If I try to claw my path through the tangled woods
If I try to escape the confinement here
Where would I go, I could not return to you, I would only destroy you.
I must bide my time.

Were there a chance to meet you here
When in meeting I could stand my ground and look you in the eye
And no longer desire to devour you
Then I would seek you out and find you.

I must wait.

If I am here for all eternity awaiting a time when we will be made new
And there will be no divisions, no secrets, no barriers
Then that is what I must do.
The isolation hurts
but it is the only choice.

I will wait. I can wait.
I will hide here for as long as it takes.
I must wait.

 

He left me to die here

I am currently decluttering my RedBubble Portfolio, to make way for more recent art that best represents who I am now, as well as to make it easier for customers to navigate the available products for sale. As a result I will be sharing some of my old creative writings here on WordPress, as a way of preserving them. In several cases my mind, opinions, beliefs, values and overall understanding of life have changed since the time I wrote these pieces, but I still feel that they are personally valuable reminders of the various stages of my life journey thus far.

This piece of writing was first posted at my RedBubble Creative Writing Portfolio.

Date of original post:

Part 1 – 26 December 2010

Part 2 – December 2010

Part 3 – December 2010

Total views, at 2 May 2016:

Part 1 – 570

Part 2 – 486

Part 3 – 413

I. He Left Me To Die Here – 1 of 3

When I finally opened my eyes, it was into the searing white heat of a desert landscape. Sun-bleached stones and striated mesas came into focus. My limbs ached and the thirst was unbearable. Spiky tussocks of grass poked my bare, burnt skin. I became aware of my prone position, face down, skin scraping on harsh, rocky soil. I was cut in places, with dried blood caked to my arms.

He had brought me here. I was sure of it.

He left me cut and bleeding, and in a ditch?

I thought he was loving. I thought he cared about me. It was a strange kind of love that did this to a girl.

Did he not know that I was already mired in self pity, in old hurts, in a wounded spirit? Was that not enough for him?

To call me into this wild place, fraught with danger, injured and left to die; how could he do that to me?

The ghostly howl of the wind as it rushed between rocky passes and through the sharp-bladed grass was broken by a soft voice. “Here, drink this,” he said, holding a flask to my mouth.

It was him. Wrapped in coarse robes. Despite the dry heat, he wore heavy, dark clothing. His feet were bare, and he must have been tough skinned to walk on the rubble and thorns.

I drank, and drank, feeling the life slowly coursing back into my broken body.

He squatted next to me in the dust and dirt, and held out his hand. I glared at him, knowing that my naked, bruised, and wounded state would steal any authority or strength from my countenance. He waited. I refused to stir. An age seemed to pass as I tried to stare him into submission, knowing it was a fruitless task, knowing he could wait forever.

“I didn’t try to kill you,” he whispered, “but I brought you here so you could stay with me and heal.”

Lies. It had to be lies. He had told me he would protect me, stay by me, always love me. Then he had disappeared and left me to die here.

“I am here now,” he said. “And I was never far from you.”

A sharp jolt of pain ran through my body. I groaned and clasped his hand. His skin was cool, his touch kind. He lifted me to my feet and wrapped me in rough robes like his own. I hurt, but I could stand, still holding his hand.

He almost smiled, and his eyes were gentle. I wanted to hate him. What was this lonely desert? The heat, the pain, the blood. The scent of unseen flowers caught in the wind’s howling rush across the land.

“Come with me,” he said. He walked ahead of me, releasing my hand. Tears began to fall. I did not want him to let go, not again. I hated him and I loved him.

He walked onwards, and I struggled to catch up. I saw his feet dig into the rocky soil as he climbed over a rise. I followed in his footprints, dented in the white earth.

“Where are you going?” I cried. My voice was weak and lost in the natural noises of the wasteland. He glanced back toward me and smiled. I struggled after him.

II. He Let Me Hold His Hand – 2 of 3

It was hard travelling with him. He moved so quickly and easily in the soft, shifting sands and over rough, sharp grass and rocks. Sometimes he looked back and caught my eye. Something in his glance gave me courage.

He never answered my questions, merely walked ahead. Shimmering waves of heat distorted the horizon, which became flatter as we headed into the white desert.

I had so much to ask him. Why had he brought me here, to this desolate waste? Why had he let me nearly die before restoring me? How did he move so lightly, so swiftly? How could I ever trust him to lead me when he left me for so long? How I hated him, hated with a passion. I had loved him, that was the only reason I could despise him now.

Yet, he had come for me. Late, but not too late. I saw him now, climbing a small rise. He stopped and waited for me to catch up. I reached out to touch his hand. He stood still and let me entwine our fingers together. He smiled now, as he looked across a green plateau. The silvery thread of a river wound its course through the grassy expanse. The sky here was less harsh, a pale blue, rather than glaring white.

To touch him was like touching the source of life and light. It was overwhelming, and I wanted to let go, but wanted to hold on. I was entirely torn. Who was he? Why did he bring me here? Why not someone else? Though, it seemed, there was not another soul in this strange place.

He led me down the hillside toward the river, feeling the cool grass beneath my aching feet. The wounds on my arms had healed now, leaving fine traces of scars. Still, he let me hold his hand.

I did not know if he would answer me, but he was here. For now. I would have to rest in the closeness of his presence and hope that he would remain close.

III. He Said I Could Never Be Happy In This Place – 3 of 3

We sat by the silver stream, watching the clouds drift across the caerulean expanse of a kind sky. It was quiet, more peaceful here.

He lay down on the ground and motioned for me to do the same. Lying on the soft grass next to each other, I listened to him breathing. Wondered what he was thinking behind his thoughtful eyes. Wondered if I should ask him what was going through his mind. I did not though, for fear of being ignored. For fear that if he did finally answer me, I would not be able to bear the truth.

For now it was enough to be here, with him. To lie side by side and take in the sky, the distant speck of a hunting raptor high on the air currents, the sound of the gentle rushing river, the sound of his breathing.

“I did not leave you to die,” he whispered. “You ran from me. So I brought you out here. Only here would you see that you could trust me.”

His tone was serious. I struggled to understand. He had never made much sense to me.

He placed his hands on my face and looked in my eyes. It was confronting to face him at such close range. He was overwhelming. Terrifying. He certainly had my attention now, alone together, lost in some wilderness.

“I can’t force you to trust me,” he said gently, “but know this: you will never be truly happy in this place.”

He let me go, then, and I repositioned myself on the riverbank. I could not ignore the fact that, for now, I was happier than I could recall in any of my memories.