Hey, Here’s This:

I’ve been occupied. Sorry.

So here’s some stuff from my sketchbook:

My pen ran out of ink.

Some random page.

Close up of Antlerpus.

Imagination Flower.

I have a sick relationship with baked goods.

I have a lot of free time.

Like, tons.

Ok. I’ll be back later.



This Is Limbo

So there I was, crusin around beautiful crime when I stumbled upon a unique artist:

Now this is my kinda art.

They do everything from 2D-3D and installation work.

I couldn’t find their name, probably because I was just fascinated with the work and didn’t look hard enough. All I found was their flickr account: thisislimbo

I’m pretty sure if my soul looked like anything, it would be these hooded characters that appear all through out their work.

Their medium of choice is cardboard, water color, string/yarn, and packing tape.

There is also this little bird character that appears in a lot of their work.

This was piece was made before the disaster in Haiti. Apparently they were tearing up a street and thisislimbo found it a perfect spot to make art.

They also include the phrase “know hope” in most of their pieces.

This is my favorite piece.

I dont have the link to their flickr account, but I’m sure if you search for thisislimbo, they will come up.

Go check them out.

Too much girl power

Hey Internet.

I’ve got that warm, feministy feeling inside today.

So here’s Tracy Emin:

She’s well known for this piece entitled “My Bed”. It’s actually kind of gross and makes me never want to sleep in anyone else’s bed ever again…but whatever.

I like the idea of her neon work better.

I like the idea of writing whatever you want in bright lights.
If I ever get to work with neon my messages won’t be this feministy.

I don’t think I’d ever want to get into a fist fight with this bitch.

Shit, I mean woman.

Tracy is really into writing sad, obscure messages on things.


Just shut up and listen.

Some times now or never moments happen, and I hesitate.

I’m kind of a mess right now. It feels like it all started mostly because I kept quiet about it, even though I was far from quiet.

And right now, to help myself heal I need to yell.

Several years ago, I was a rape victim. After it happened I went catatonic. Physically I was lucky: pulled limb muscles, minor internal bruising and skin tearing in places that were private. As it was happening I completely checked out. I remember thinking about the noise from the radio being made, and trying to be loud so someone would hear me over the radio and come help. But nobody came. I knew physically if I were going try and get out of this, I was going to get really hurt. So I screamed and yelled and went somewhere else in my head.

People living right across the hall heard loud music and screams. Some body did hear me! But nobody came to help me. Nobody thought to knock on the door or get an RA. It was easier for them to dismiss it as loud, violent sex, and it was none of their business so they left to a quieter area.

After it was over I wasn’t really with it. I don’t remember when it ended. I only remember telling myself that this will all be over soon, it has to be, moments cannot possibly go on forever. Just hang on. I remember just trying to get through until I could get to some place safe and fall apart.

It’s really difficult to sit here and type all this out. I’ve buried it really well. Mostly because of the fear of others’ reactions. Because after I finally did get to a safe place and fall apart, hours had passed. And when I went to report what had happen to me, I was treated really well by the school’s security (which came as relief and surprise) but the city police told me that if I went to court with my case, I’d have to serve jail time for lying to the authorities.

My instinct to keep myself from physical harm had royally fucked up getting justice in the eyes of the law. If I had just physically fought back I could have saved myself the experience of being marked as a liar. Sure I could have been severely hurt, but when someone had me pinned down and was telling me all the things they were going to do to me and that there was NOTHING I could do about it…I did what I could.

As this is an art blog, you’re probably wondering what the fuck I’m doing on HERE talking about sexual assault. Creating images is how I come to terms with what happened and what is happening to me.

My Goals as of right now include:

  • treating myself better because what happened to me was not my fault
  • getting my nails painted
  • letting myself feel as beautiful on the outside as I do on the inside
  • making artwork
  • and not giving a fuck about what anybody else thinks of me, but me

And While I’m at it…

Oh yeah, I’ve also been busting my ass with FYI21:

Inside looking out. Text message courtesy of textsfromlastnight.com Come on, it’s not like I’m the alcoholic who comes up with this shit. My drunken witticisms are much clever.

Inside looking out.


And on an unrelated note, here’s some pen and ink work I’ve done.

(That’s right, I’m uploading this stuff all in one shot.  So DEAL)

The white frame is incredibly distracting, yes I know this. Once finals are all over and my life calms the fuck down, I plan to fix it. Don’t you worry.


And this is how I almost killed myself. Hand-drawn exploded view of a Rollicord TLR camera.

This drawing officially makes me king of pen and ink.

Wanna know how I did it with out a computer? LOTS OF TRACING PAPER. I think I single handedly slaughtered a small nature reserve with all the tracing paper I used (and recycled!!!) I’ll plant some trees later to make up for it.

Is it Thanksgiving yet?

Hello all. Here are a few more pieces I’ve finished for my independent study:

Outside looking in.

Outside looking in.

Inside looking out.

Detail: thread-hance.

Inside looking out.

Materials include: Digital inkjet image, various types of paper, various types of ink, acryllic paint, various types of thread, and electrical tape.