A friend of mine, an artist online, has been struggling with their style, with their progress, with their perceived lack of creativity. I think that their pieces are gorgeous. But I can understand that frustration. I can appreciate it.
So… Without calling anyone out, this was my response. As I scribbled away, it occured to me that maybe, just maybe, someone else might be in the same boat. That someone else might be struggling. And that maybe they should see this:
This is beautiful. I really wish them all the fun and courage in their work. It take time for the lines to flow better and better but I dont think that no one will ever lack creativity especially when trying so hard and having fun. (I know the feel, during my second year of fine art my teacher one day told me bluntly I didnt knew how to draw and that I should consider going into photography.)
When there is heart in it a drawing will always be precious.
I had promised a little comic for easter and there it is.:D
This wonderful scene full of peeps candies is from "happy easter" by p0ck3tf0x.:)
(then again I could have added wayyy more peeps I think.XD)
I have more little doodles but sadly I wont have the time to post them tonight! tomorow without fail tough! (I am in my end of semester AND end of program so I am quite running everywhere! will be back soon with quality once It finished tough.:))
A very special ‘thank you’ to iwouldliketosayhello and wolfkinq on Tumblr for keeping me company as I wrote this at odd hours. Also, Hetalia does not belong to me. Neither do any of the countries mentioned. Get back to me after ‘World Domination Phase Three’ is complete.
What Are You Doing For The Rest Of Your Life?
Matthew curled beneath the bus shelter and tried to ring out his sweater. It was a lost cause, of course. The thunderstorm had soaked through his clothes, through his satchel, through his notes. He was a mess.
'Clear skies,' the weatherman had said. 'No chance of rain,' he said. Bullshit. Matthew should have known better than to take his words at face value.
He grumbled and pulled out an old, worn handkerchief. It was wet.
He used it anyway.
"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” A man shouted as he darted up the street and ducked into shelter. He hissed and shook his hands, splashing both of them. He sneezed.
Yes, I know it’s not Easter yet but I’m sure, positive, that someone, somewhere, wanted more short pointless fluff. And because I’m sure this is what Prussia thinks romance looks like. And because, ultimately, Canada encourages his behaviour.
Canada paused on the doorstep as the front door creaked open, unlocked. He dropped his briefcase.
“… Gilbert? Are you there?”
He pushed it open, checking for damage, but no, it was just unlocked. Strange. He narrowed his eyes.
“Are you…” He stepped inside and jumped as his shoes crunched. He looked down. Easter eggs. “Oh, you fucking asshole.”
This is just a little nothing drabble that I wrote between hospital visits. It doesn’t mean anything. Or maybe it means everything.
Friends are important. Especially at three in the morning.
Three in the Morning
Matthew leaned back on the shingles, relishing the scrape of sandpaper and the slide of moss beneath his fingertips. He sucked in a breath. He held it.
It was cold out, colder than April should be, and it cut through the flannel of his striped pajamas. The stars seemed brighter, somehow, in the cold. Bright and honest and true. Brilliant. He should have been tucked underneath his covers, safe and warm.