That Feeling When You Madly Want To Talk To The Dead Rock Musician

Body is just a body.

Girl with Golden Eyes

Glam metal quintessence:

Look like women, talk like men, play like motherfuckers, as Dee Snider said one day.

Once I had a dream: a perfectly beautiful room I hope to create for myself one day. Where I'll feel safe and in peace, and whose aesthetic I will just adore. Sadly, I forgot almost everything about this dreamy room - except for one feature, it was just engraved in my memory: there were decorative hand painted plates displayed on the wall, and each of them pictured a mermaid.

So I decided I want to draw this room of my dreams, and those mermaid plates especially.

A living space of which I dream went through some serious changes during the recent years of my life. I remember when we studied art history in the university how I was obsessed with medieval architecture and interiors, and how I thought what a fun (and what a mood) it would've been to live in romanesque or early gothic castle, or at least in a little lonely tower.

Then my lust for whimsy became a bit more modest, and for some time I imagined a mansion built in one of those styles as a place to live.

After that my longings narrowed down again, and in that point of life I was saving plenty of images of both cute and tiny cottages and simple apartments.

And here I am now, subconsciously dreaming about just decorating a corner in my own way.

Isn't it amasing how the dream gets smaller and smaller when it faces our world of money? What a miraculous exhaustion of belief in fairytale.

Sometimes the song is so damn good you just have to illustrate it.

https://lono.bandcamp.com/track/--5 

Made only now this little portrait, a thought of which didn't leave me since I've seen photo of Mahsa Ami̇ni̇ who died after morality police arrested her for wearing a hijab in a wrong way.

How absurd is this - none of mortal souls must have such a power over others' personal choices. Stand with Iranian women - they're fighting against something giant, swollen and very, very old. Something that doesn't want to go quietly.

We must protect them at all costs. ♡

TW: depression.

Almost every day of my life I have thoughts which are so exhausting. Every single one of them is able to plunge me in a dark.

I've heard from some people that it may be just a phase - unwillingness to do anything is not eternal, and one day art block will surely end. On the opposite, others warn that hesitation is dangerous and without treatment it may get worse. Besides, sentences on illustration concern, I guess, not only art crisis, but mental health in general.

That's why I desided to write down my sickly toxic thoughts and draw this art on their base. Maybe I was hoping they will leave me alone after that at least for some time. Have to admit I really felt in my persistant outer grey mist a glimmering of something lucid and hopeful, especially strong during the art work itself.

I'm glad I found this way of self-help. Such thoughts had better be on paper. Not in my head, thanks, no.