The No Longer

There were moments in the stillness. Moments when the moon hung high in its cycle that Aban gained a feeling of being. That moment when everything aligned and no longer was he Aban, fettered to the worldly world, but a figure, an entity as chilling and silent as the moon that kept him company. And when his gaze lighted upon you it was as though you had glanced into the sun–blinded by the sheer will to exist. To be.

But the true power came after, when the feeling fell, and what was left was the emptiness, the vastness–the void. The void of potential, the lingering of what could have been, the loneliness in the no longer.

“The King of Gold”

gilded-king-bust-fin

The Gilded King has become a favorite elf of mine to paint in terms of skin-tone. Here’s to hoping one day I’ll figure out how to paint light-colored hair… Also, happy to at least give a variation of his outfit. I imagine he has many of these but in different colors and patterns, all, of course, featuring gold accents. (Might do a royal purple one next!)

Sketches & Readings

I have been taking a hiatus from social media. I do still use it briefly to let people know when I livestream, however. But otherwise I have cut ties with social media simply to get the chance to breathe, and not to worry about things except for myself.

I will continue to only stream at haphazard, and often late, times since I use it more as time to still talk to friends while doing art.

These two digital sketch paints came from such livestreams (the one on the left just tonight). Both are original characters, my right one, Silvin, the most well known. These will be properly uploaded in other places when I “return” from my hiatus. I think I will take the next week to simply read and take a week off art as well! I have been reading the book, Reading Like a Writer by Francine Prose and so far–it is a beautiful book. She thinks quite a bit like myself, which is lovely, but it is also lovely to be reminded the pleasures of reading and to read as a way to improve one’s own prose and writing.

“September 12”

—September 12, The Advisor
From the project, “Le Conseiller”

“Must I constantly be aware that I am a walking corpse bound to experience agony with each night? I do not, no,—cannot—understand myself. When I think back I assume I must have been ghastly to be turned into such a monster. Cannot even the vampires with flesh be allowed some mortal comforts? I, on the other hand, have been cast to the pits of Hell only to trudge through the sludge every night without even one mortal luxury. I get no peace in both mind and body. I am reminded again of my inhuman nature by having to constantly cast away dead skin, and slowly lose what gives man his appearance. Do not think me pitiful, however, because what a wretch I must have been—and still am—to deserve such a fate as mine.”

“Forest”

And what do we say to silence?

That it lives. And it thrives only as the moon touches the tops of trees, and walks amongst the fallen leaves, weaving through the mossy overgrowth upon the backs of trees, nestling amongst the flowing streams.

And what does silence say to us?

That it remembers. That it knows. That it moves.

And it is home.