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flinx

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I'm almost 40. It is the second year of the pandemic. I'm still freelancing, I'm still overweight, still suffer from depression and issues and whatnot. So far the only art I make outside of work is in the form of painting pots and making weird little things from clay. lets see if I can copy and paste. ok, so no pasting of images in journals. If you know how, let me know please :)

ok I sort of figured out how, but its a bit higglidy piggildy. as a designer these tools are quite limited. newhu, just thought i would say hi. so hi.


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artzorz

1 min read
Cheesy kreezy batman. Deviantart reminds me of the days I use to make art. I illustrate now but I always feel  like I don't make art. It's pretty quiet on DA comparitively. Overrun by prOn, and people drifting over to instagram, it seems a relic of the past. But fer me it reminds me of a certain bold but still cautious creativity. A sense of experiment not determined by what will sell, what will look good in a portfolio. Something divorced from the shiny shackles of commerce. But a girls gotta eat. and so do her cats. So she makes work and things to sell and doing it for fun or escape becomes relegated to the past. So many things happen in this time. friendships forged and lost. places explored. milestones reached and pathways lost. And always looking for connection. for purpose. For a sense of clarity in a foggy world.

I'd forgotten that I used to know how to work with words to a degree. Although I've become recklessly tired of punctuation.
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I wonder...

1 min read
I wonder if returning to Deviantart might not be a good thing for my creativity. Is anyone still out there?
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i miss making art for fun.
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Filling in a bit of time with some thoughts. Creatively its been weird with all the work I've been doing being...work. I can't recall when I made a piece simply for the making of it.

I'm at peace with some things in my life. I don't care so much about being single or not having kids. I care about not affording a home of my own but at the same time enjoy the comfort of having lived in the same place for 36 years. I'll probly die in my room surrounded by familiar and much loved objects. Which is not a bad thing. Hopefully I'll get buried under a tree with my cats.

This sounds horribly morbid but its not! I assure you. I'm just trying to get into the swing of things and into writing. I haven't written in so long I don't know the purpose of it all.

For now it's to soothe this marbled and wobbly bit of wagyu that I like to call my soul. Adrift in a different land I paddle towards the only shore I know. I clamber for the feel of familiar ground and smells and sounds already coded into my skin. Everyone is different and new and foreign and makes me wary and weary. I liked it at home with my cats and my sunshine. Obviously. Who wouldn't?
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