Visual artist & writer immersed in drawing, illustration, and creative experiments @EllesaurArts.com
Community arts in NYC/LIC Queens and online, NaNoWriMo "The Ellesaur"
Love participating in challenges to motivate new work!
- Second Place in Snow Micro Challenge
SnowmanSecond Place in Snow Micro Challenge
The boy sculpted a man from the New Snow. A snowman. His lonely tears fell against the frost, a smear of blood from his bruises, the salt of his sweat, and warm breath that summoned life from the barren landscape, as frantic flakes swirled down around them. He wrapped his scarf around the stoic standing figure, tenderly as though this simple visage were his elder brother, and ardently wished for the company of a true friend. A floating spirit, who'd long been lost within a cracked lake's frigid waters, whose essence had become one with the winter season, he encountered this vessel crafted by the boy and found it to be a fine resemblance of his former self, a suitable resting place for his soul. Boy, spirit, and winter's magic coincided in that moment. The snowman shed a tear in tune with the lonely boy's sadness, and a small pearl of ice dropped onto the boy's head. His cold hands, like those of a corpse returned to waking, unfolded and hugged the boy with a comfort the child had never before known. "I am with you now" the young man whispered to the little magician. "I will protect you, and take you away from this place, to wherever you want to go." The boy looked up, amazed that his desperate dream had come true. He remembered then, the stories told of shaping a wish from the first snowfall. And now he believed in his heart that anything could be possible.
New Year's resolutions are a touchy subject for some people - resistant to setting unrealistic goals, and the unpleasant weight of added expectations, aiming for changes that may never happen. Are you setting a new course for yourself, or should focus on developing who you already are?
I often drew pictures of people on my commutes through the New York subway system. Carrying a little sketchbook that I could cradle in my hands. It was so beautiful to look at a row of passengers seated across the train car, and see so many different kinds of faces all in one place. All with two eyes, one nose, and a mouth, but each so distinctive in their shapes. As an artist, it was important to examine and determine how to depict such things, how to distinguish on person from another, or find their commonalities. This fascinated me.
Well, if you think in probabilities of how long I'll live, at 37.5 x2=75 seems likely these days, while my great-grandma lived to 97/2=48.5 so it tracks that I'd be writing my middle memoir about now, possibly projecting into the next 10 years. (Though by then, they might have invented technology that keeps as alive another lifetime. Or the world could end tomorrow.)
The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - and actually the entire Narnia series - is one of the first full books I remember my parents reading to me, then reading and even re-reading the entire set to myself at a young age, and already thinking I must re-read again when I'd forgotten too much.
(Mostly) Good Omens: the show
A delight to watch the characters interact, their reluctance to admit genuine care for each other’s well-being, amidst a humorous struggle to handle a world on the verge of cosmically falling apart. However, my appreciation of it relies too much on what it promises, not entirely upon how it delivers.
His sword was the first thing I noticed when he arrived. People might assume I mean that euphemistically, considering the kind of relationship we're rumored to have had, and how he was - at that moment - covertly climbing through my bedroom window. Can't say I didn't sneak a look at both. But when you've been living in a cushily padded room your whole life, with hair so long that everyone else uses it as their mode of transportation, or at least if you're me, you've been searching for escape from every angle. Day in and day out, to no avail. That witch who calls herself my mother is awwwfully careful about not leaving sharp objects unattended. So then all of a sudden, unless that scabbard's just for decoration (and it very well could be, considered how fancily dressed the dunce is) this pointy stick at his waist just might be my ticket out of here.