the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
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does anyone else form their headcanons of marinette and adrien largely on the basis of "they have to be opposite each other"? like, creation and destruction, yin and yang, etc. like Marinette being late all the time and sleeping through her alarms? so she's probably a deep sleeper? So that means, by the laws of my lovesquare headcanons according to my brain, Adrien has to be a light sleeper. Marinette is a chaotic creative person and I can imagine her just having so much STUFF all around and living in organized chaos. so therefore Adrien likes his spaces neat and clear. (also something something creation and clutter vs destruction and emptiness) you know??? ???? ? adrien and marinette headcanons just cant be independent of each other in my brain. they are always intrinsically linked
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listen, i have no idea what’s currently canon in dc comics and i really don’t care to BUT regardless of what continuity we’re in, i think jason todd might be the funniest character of all time. just the biggest hypocrite ever and i’m obsessed. like, so many people have pointed out how crazy it is to be pissed off at tim for replacing him as robin when he literally replaced dick while dick was still alive, but then to go and parade around bludhaven as a murderous nightwing while dick is (again) very much still alive and THEN form a team with dick’s ex girlfriend and best friend??? jason todd is THE definition of “replacement” or what the fuck ever he calls tim and i actually find it so funny. stay crazy girl <3
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I really like the Law fanboy thing, it's just so silly.
Grown ass man who likes comic book villains loser
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Also my posts are going to slow down for a bit as the previous ones were just old stuff that I did like weeks ago.
I might post more old drawings if I like them enough not too probable however
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Jazz has a plan.
She's gonna get a lawyer.
The anti-ecto acts clearly infringe on the meta protection acts, but no lawyer in Illinois will touch it, and due to the unlawful detainment and control of Amity Park, it's impossible to hire outside of the state.
Well. Almost.
Jazz signs up for a trip to Arkham, claiming it's a work study before college.
Once there, it's cakewalk.
She just needs to find Harvey Dent.
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A compiled list of various severe crimes committed by one Mr Scar of the Good Times, exact counts pending.
Cannibalism (Multiple counts)
War profiteering
Trading of Souls
Grave robbing
Fraud of multiple varieties
Racketeering
Arson (Like a lot of it)
Unethical experimentation
Acts of Terror
Spiritual possession
Contract killing
Sale of human remains
Ritual sacrifice
Oathbreaking
Violation of the real life Geneva Convention
Deceptive marketing
Kidnapping
Desecration of a sacred place
Whatever tf Area 77 had going on
Insider trading
Extortion
Patricide
Matricide
Unsafe building practices
Holy war
Desecration of corpses
Market manipulation
Treason
Tax evasion
Murder (Lots and lots)
Large-scale extreme vandalism
Mass enviromental destruction
Political corruption
Identity fraud
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Tell us the sex stone joke
so this joke requires the light setup of, as the Resident Geologist, on any given hike my dad will have been subjected to a light barrage of Hey What's This Rock I Just Picked Up Off The Trail, answers ranging from "that's clearly serpentinite, the state rock of California—note the distinctive gray-green color and soapy texture" to "that's probably a local mudstone" to "that is a piece of concrete" to "that is tanbark."
the joke typically runs as follows:
you, presenting an interesting pebble for identification: hey, what's this rock i just picked up off the trail?
my dad, after a few seconds of thoughtful examination: ah, interesting. what you have there is what's known as a "sex stone."
you, slightly shocked by the apparent erotic provenance of what you thought was a random rock: oh! okay. i see. thanks.
my dad, slyly: would you like to know why they call it that?
you: um. yes?
my dad: BECAUSE IT'S JUST A FUCKING ROCK.
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