Hey! Could you do me a favor and spread this around? It looks like my only summer income is going to come from selling my art, and I haven’t had that much success.
Through my Etsy shop, I’m offering several paintings as well as portrait commissions in oil and watercolor.
If you choose watercolor, you get a 9x12 portrait based on the photo of your choosing, mailed to you within a week for $25 plus shipping.
If you choose oil, you will get an equestrian painting based on the photo of your choosing on a 9x12 canvas for $35, shipped to you in June when the paint dries (oil paint takes weeks to dry). I can adjust the pricing if you’d like your portrait done on a smaller canvas— you can choose the dimensions. :)
Please share! I need to get the word out.
Can you fall out of love with someone just as fast as you fell in love with them?
A helluva lot faster, actually.
Why am I obsessed with my boyfriend’s ex?
Because she used to touch your boyfriend’s penis.
Why would a woman claim to not be a feminist?
I just got out of a crappy four-year relationship. I dated around and it was fun, but I recently found someone I want to settle down with for a little bit.
He has female friends he hangs out with regularly, which I shouldn’t care about, but for some stupid reason, I get…
We fight all the time. We’re both artists, we both get dark, we battle demons, sometimes they’re each other.
Being artists also means we have a lot of the same friends, so I don’t really have anyone to talk with this about. If I did, it would totally cross some lines and…
Eff that shit
My left hand will live longer than my right. The rivers
of my palms tell me so
Never argue with rivers. Never expect your lives to finish
at the same time. I think
praying, I think clapping is how hands mourn. I think
staying up and waiting
for paintings to sigh is science. In another dimension this
is exactly what’s happening,
it’s what they write grants about: the chromodynamics
of mournful Whistlers,
the audible sorrow and beta decay of Old Battersea Bridge.
I like the idea of different
theres and elsewheres, an Idaho known for bluegrass,
a Bronx where people talk
like violets smell. Perhaps I am somewhere patient, somehow
kind, perhaps in the nook
of a cousin universe I’ve never defiled or betrayed
anyone. Here I have
two hands and they are vanishing, the hollow of your back
to rest my cheek against,
your voice and little else but my assiduous fear to cherish.
My hands are webbed
like the wind-torn work of a spider, like they squeezed
something in the womb
but couldn’t hang on. One of those other worlds
or a life I felt
passing through mine, or the ocean inside my mother’s belly
she had to scream out.
Here, when I say I never want to be without you,
somewhere else I am saying
I never want to be without you again. And when I touch you
in each of the places we meet,
in all of the lives we are, it’s with hands that are dying
When I don’t touch you it’s a mistake in any life,
in each place and forever.
i am super delighted to find out my grades were more than enough to qualifyi me for internship this semester. thank you Lord. :’) i still can’t believe it, i was starting to really feel like there was some dead end.