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mikkolyytinen · 1 year

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Dig Boy Dig

Is my new time based artwork the image changes hourly on a 24hour cycle

check it out on the link below

My earliest memory of an excavator is from our summer cabin with my father is next to me as I am in the sandbox playing with a green metal toy excavator, which was just a mechanical digging arm with a seat on it. You would operate it by pushing and pulling on the handles you were holding on to. I remember the joy of discovering how it worked after the initial struggle, and how satisfying it was just to dig and move the sand around. Much later in art school, I started doing ink drawing between painting sessions. I did a little bit of it in my teens when I was enthusiastic about making comics, though without much patience for it. And then, few years after my graduation I would pick the pens again, with more definite goals. I was often drawing just random things in my sketchbooks. I did not think much of them then. They were an excuse for the line as I wrote on a notebook once. I was trying to learn the medium. It was awkward first. I had wrong kind of paper, and the ink would splatter as the nibs scratched the paper. Then again, I cherished it and often abused my pens on purpose creating a big mess. Looking back, I see frustration of all kinds. I remember that my eyes got very tired quickly from drawing. I was not very good with expressing myself with words and especially dreaded writing, It is all in there. At some point the excavators started to appear. I found them fascinating to look at, If saw one on a construction on my way to college. They reminded me of some ancient dinosaur, perhaps because of association from the Flintstones cartoon. I still stop to admire them sometimes. The drawings were not trying to be actual representations of the machinery, though I did study them a little bit. The excavators were turning out to become a part of a system of symbols, same as with the repeating letter “a”, I was drawing with something of a built obsession as method to discover meaning with absurdity. The idea began with the launch of the 24h feature on AsyncArt. It has changed a lot since, but it was always going to be something with excavators. Some of the watercolor works were made for this piece in particular. Though I forgot about them for a while until finding them in box stored away. Some are old ones all the way from my first exhibition. I put them all together and arranged them randomly. The runes I painted myself just for fun, let’s say, not intended to be used in art. As the time arose, I felt compelled to use them. I cast them randomly for each picture, as a symbolic gesture. The runes can be representing many things, from actual letters to wisdom and magic. There are many things we can see but don’t understand and then ignore until we learn their meaning, like words of a foreign language. The old drawings from my sketchbooks were placed on the image transparently showing the inverted colors of what is below. I still feel ashamed about a lot of them, the silly puns and visual jokes, mundane scribbles, desires, and struggles contained within the pages, but it was necessary to the turn the ground for this work. Some of it I can appreciate more now and feel proud of things that I have made progress with. This makes me think of history and archaeology. the act in time, digging in the present to gain knowledge of our past and creating it for the future, while we are constantly producing new material to be dug up later. The feel for material is very important to me. whether digital or traditional, it takes time to get acquainted with it. With this piece my material is beyond the changing images and the technology making it possible - it is almost as if it is time itself that I am digging away.

Dig Boy Dig Mikko Lyytinen 2023

#programmable art #nft #digital art #painting #drawing #mixedmedia #excavator #runes

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seth-the-giggle-fish · 1 year

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fuck it I want to answer them

Original ask post is here

1) how would you describe your style

None cartoon left realism

2) what's your favorite thing about your style

The swoopy bits that turn pointy, like Honeybee’s gloves

3) what's your least favorite thing about your style

I haven’t quite settled into it yet??? So it feels like I don’t have my supports fully figured out and at any drawing things can go sideways beyond fixing and I need to just start over

4) favorite thing to draw

Right now I'm having fun puzzling out how metal looks

5) least favorite thing to draw

Shoes and the feet within them. My brain just can't figure them out. I'll have to do some studies at some point

6) warm colors or cold colors

Cold colors

7) show us a WIP

8) what's the most fun and the least fun parts about your process

Scribbly loose sketches and trying to make lineart from scribbly loose sketches

9) show us a finished piece right alongside the original sketch

10) how many different sketches do you usually have until your piece is finished

As few and 1 but typically around 5

11) show us the last thing you drew, be it a finished piece or a small doodle

Cosmica painting sketch!

12) show us an old drawing

I lost a lot of my sketchbooks during a move (water damage) but I still have this hardcover one from 2009

13) how long do you usually take on a piece

I either loose sense of time completely and become nothing but art for hours or I pick and nibble at it over the course of weeks. I think the Commander Cosmo colored pencil and charcoal piece was something around 15 hours

14) digital or traditional

Yes

15) if digital, what program do you use

I’m currently using Krita, more like half of Krita because I’m still exploring what everything is and how to use it

16) favorite media to work with when drawing traditionally

Conté crayons, pastels and colored pencil, they're very loose and free moving for me

17) what do you love getting compliments about

Things like the feel or composition of my art since I'm trying to improve on both aspects

18) are you satisfied with the attention your art usually gets

Yeah, a little more would be cool, but I don’t want a huge following since that would put perceived pressure on me to keep making things of a certain quality and that’s not good for me

18) how often do you draw

During October nearly every day, and I hope to keep up that habit

19) a piece from this year that you're really proud of

"She Hunts Under Moonlight"

20) something you would like to improve on

Paint usage, I don't want to put too much on my pallet and have it dry out before I can use it, but I also don't want to always feel like I'm running out and need to make it stretch

21) what inspires you

Other art in all forms, especially music

22) what's something you hope people notice when looking at your art

The reblog button How I'm trying to let color imply shapes instead of having everything rigidly measured out and applied with excessive precision

#art blogging #acrylic painting

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princeofthecactus · 2 years

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Fluffy Facts Tag Game

thank you to @caspia-writes for the tag! and also, welcome back!!! i saw you on my dash recently and i was just like oooooh!!! because it feels like it's been a while

Rules: List 5 or more cute or wholesome facts about your WIP, either events that happen or worldbuilding details or the like! Then tag some people you’d like to see do the tag game, too!

so... my wip isn't exactly the most fluffy...and I'm also unreasonably terrified of having stuff stolen, so we're gonna have to be vague as anything, but here we go.

1.) worldbuilding details! my story is a sci-fi, and I decided I wanted to try go for a feel that was a little in contrast to the usual sleek white walls, lifeless robots. like, why does being in a sci-fi mean no one can have carpets? old, non-sci-fi things are collected like gold dust in this world. one character has an old grandfather clock (you know the sort) and he won't go a conversation without bringing it up like a proud father. it would almost be cute, if he wasn't more proud of it than he was of his son

2.) Lots of officers that are rarely in active duty where the King (sci-fi monarchy go brrrr) or his Guard can see them will paint their ships bright colours, with flowers and patterns close to their hearts. while not technically regulation, most officers will smile and turn a blind eye

3.) Poems! Culture! All the posh people collect books in old languages no one alive can read because they look good on their shelves, leather-bound volumes packed tightly together on their shelves. memories of a time long past. they don't realise that they're all diaries. just peoples thoughts and scribbles, daydreams and wishes. This doesn't come up in the story much, but its a detail I know. and now you know too.

4.) In fact, authors and sanctioned publishers will release all the digital copies of their books, then auction off one leather-bound physical copy for as much money as they can. libraries are literally signs of extreme wealth. okay, maybe that one's not cute. whoops.

5.) the culture of marriage is much less patriarchal in this world--because it is a heavily military-based culture, marriage was more of a "partners for life, I'll always have your back" sort of thing, meaning platonic marriages are absolutely allowed. even though upper classes frown upon them in more recent times, it is very common to find someone married to both their best friend and love interest with no issues.

there you go!

I'll tag (no pressure tho) @mjwalker-writing, @copper-dragon-in-disguise, @lady-of-himring, @radley-writes and anyone else who wants to have a go!

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orribuontheinternet · 6 years

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Depression and Drawing.

When I was a young lass (I want to say around 7-8 years old), I saw my biological father drawing something while he sat on the porch. The details are fuzzy, but I do remember it being an equine of some sort. He was working in ink. Watching him was so fascinating that I decided that I too wanted to be an artist. To be able to imagine something and put it to paper was a foreign concept to me, one that I was excited about. Oddly enough, my first ever drawing was of an intangible concept: an emotion. I forgot why little me was so knee-deep in sadness at the time, but I remember doodling a self-portrait of a sad, crying baby Olive while holding back my tears. Underneath (or around, I can't recall) was a caption that kind of stated the obvious: "Olivia is sad." When I think about that moment, I wonder if that was a form of foreshadowing since I suffer from...well, Major Depression. But we'll get back to that later. I think this drawing was spawned from a conflict with my siblings, but I can't rightly recall. I do, however, remember that someone tore the picture to pieces. Then came the waterworks.

I want to pause for a second and let you know that I'm going to try not to throw a pity party. I'm not going to whine and stuff this note with melodramatic hyperbole. If you can stomach an emotional artist digging deep into her head and making her introspection tangible, I encourage you to keep reading. If not, I respect your decision to stop.

To segue on to a brighter note, I started drawing in elementary school. I remember the exhilarating feeling of finishing my work. My proudest moment, aside from a (not) Sonic-themed powerpoint, was a storybook I made in fifth grade. It was a flip book of some sort, and very colorful. I think it had something to do with James and the Giant Peach considering it was a book report. But that was an impression I left. Olive, the artist. This carried on into middle school, where I first discovered anime thanks to an art teacher who had the magic VCR/TV cart we 90s kids remember fondly. He showed us Princess Mononoke, one of Hayao Miyazaki's well-renowned works. It was um...horrifying. The film scared the everloving shit out of me, but I was intrigued by it. There was something really cool about the way the people looked, far different from the Ms. Frizzles and Rugrats I came to know. It captivated me, and when I got over the stomach-churning blood and guts the movie presented, I strove to attain that cool aesthetic. I was always doodling during my classes and lunchtime and recess. People came to know me as that kid that draws. Some of them flocked to me and asked me to doodle something for them. It was annoying in hindsight, but at the time it brought me immense pride. People were interested in something I was doing! This development boosted my motivation; I drew picture after picture, happily sharing it with anyone who was interested. It was invigorating! Then high school happened, and I realized I wasn't as amazing as I initially thought I was. In 2006 I was accepted into the prestigious Philadelphia Highschool of Creative and Performing Arts (henceforth shortened to "CAPA," as to avoid the apparent mouthful of syllables). I attended with a major in visual arts, which I took alongside my core classes, i.e., math, science, and English. The first few months were humbling, to say the least. I took ceramics, graphic art, and observational drawing. During this year, I also discovered the magic (to a 15-year-old anyway) of Naruto. That was my biggest obsession since the Dragonball Z/Rurouni Kenshin/Outlaw Star/Big O/etcetera days. Where I used to make "Dark Sonic" characters and the like, I made a step towards creating a world of my own. Thus, after a painful defeat in an original character tournament, I decided it was time to start harnessing my writing and narrative skills, as well as my drawing skills. And so I strove to improve, even with those dents in my pride. It became something I was proud of, almost an obsession. I wanted to share it with the rest of the world, so I went for it.

(The first piece I’ve shared with the internet via deviantART.)

This is where my real artistic journey began. When I started, I had no idea of how mentally, physically, and emotionally tolling this would be. Half the time I've made things way more difficult than they've needed to be: sleepless nights, crouching over a desk, risky investments that granted little to no return and thus resulted in me digging myself into a deeper hole of debt, periods of psychological agony–I've experienced a great deal since I started creating these...things. In my naivety, I envisioned making money off of my creativity, having fun, meeting fans around the world, and hitting up cons like those really cool people I follow on the internet. I started comparing myself to more celebrated, experienced artists, to the point where I'd cry out of eye and earshot and wonder why I can't be as good as them. Why can't I be as skilled, or successful, I'd ask myself. This is when I should have realized that the Depression I suffer from has a voice. It'd tell me that I'd never amount to anything, let alone reach that level of expertise and fame. It was painfully merciless and cruel, and I was its punching bag. I'd start wondering what the point was and why I should even try to engage in this creative expression. Then, something tragic happened:

I realized I was falling out of love with it.

I didn't feel the same exhilaration I'd get when I finished something as simple as a little scribble. I didn't feel the warm burst of energy that I felt when I'd make a breakthrough. I desperately scrambled for something–anything–that would rekindle my love for creating again. Then, after some introspection, I decided that I wanted to try for animation. It had always fascinated me during my time in grade school, so I did some research and even wrote a thesis about animation and why it inspired me. To an extent, the passion I have for the arts did come back a little, but it was just a spark. When I started college, I was reluctantly proud of myself. I started dreaming big again, thinking about how amazing it would be if I could create my own animated series and bring my narratives to life. And so, the dreams of being able to support myself and my family returned to the forefront of my mind, again. While I hopped and skipped through my first year at uni, I built a lot of friendships I never thought I'd have after a painful summer season. I thought back to how I tried and failed to start an art team and decided to go for it again. And thus, after planning gatherings and messing around with my friends, Exploding Fairies was born!

(Old Exploding Fairies logo.)

The Depression and my wounded confidence, however, wouldn't allow for anything to go past casual hangouts and being a nuisance to my teammates. Everything boiled down to three things:

1) I was unwilling to relinquish control of any of the facets of the alliance and our stories. To me, the story we worked on was my baby, and only I would have a say in whatever developments occurred. 2) I lacked the leadership and communication skills to collaborate with my partners effectively. 3) Considering the nature of my requests, I SHOULD have been paying my partners as an incentive. I lacked the money to compensate them for their time and talent adequately. I could very well be painting myself in a horrible light considering how terribly influential my depression is to my self-esteem.

(The image above is by @cucoo.)

(Concept drawings of Dan’s actual identity.)

However, exposure and companionship don't necessarily pay the bills. Besides, I was still a "nobody on the internet!" I may as well have kicked sand in their faces. At least, that's what the disease told me. I grew bitter towards the world when Homestuck and a traumatizing anime gained the admiration of my friends. I became green with envy, wondering why my work didn't win such affection. That summer, I went into overdrive. I started an original character tournament of my own and gained a considerable following. I even found love again!

After a busy three months, I jumped into my second year of college. This is when I finally collapsed under the weight of my mental ailments. Week after week, I stressed almost hyperbolically to the point where a single mistake could mean the end of the world to me. I officially started as an animation student (the first year was mostly core studies with elective and liberal arts on the side), and I wanted to bring my A-game to the forefront. I was going to wow everyone with my knowledge of technology while I navigated through the hills and valleys of my second year. I got to take a course in digital 2D animation, the media I've had my eyes on since I started my college career. Everything just hinged on whether I could manage my workload (I took 18 credits). Apart from the building stress, financial troubles, and impaired health, everything seemed fine. That notion, however, was shattered when I lost my progress on a 2D animation assignment. It was all over. All of that hard work that I put in (without saving, no less) was destroyed by a corrupted file. I didn't have a backup file ready for such an occasion. Admittedly, it was my fault for letting my guard down. I should have known better as a geeky artist! To me, there was no way I could ever recover from that. I was an idiot and a crappy artist anyway! I was a failure! I was nothing! All of the horrible thoughts that my sickness cataloged was thrust into my conscious mind, impairing my ability to reason. Devastated and afraid, I called my crush and opened up about what happened. The pressure finally cracked me, and she had to talk me down from attempting suicide.

The turn of events affected everything, from my focus to my ability to complete my assignments. My crush advised me on what steps I should take while moving forward. I was hospitalized to prevent any harm I could bring to myself. I really DID want to escape from the unbearable pain my sick mind caused me. Eventually, I had to contact the dean of students and was referred to an affiliated therapist. After conversing with him and the dean, we all decided that it'd be best if I were committed to an outpatient program to start on the road to recovery. Fast forward to 2012 or 2013, when I completely lost faith in myself as an artist, and thus, my love for art. I didn't think it'd happen, but I hit what I conceived as rock bottom. I swore off drawing. It didn't bring me joy anymore, and why continue dabbling in something that I'd never be good at?

Unfortunately, the resulting slump turned out to be thicker than I'd imagine and I entered a state of deep depression. I rarely got out of bed, I overate and sometimes didn't eat at all, I never picked up a pencil or opened photoshop, never reached out to the people who I knew and who loved me...I was virtually dead to the world. Some good things happened that, in hindsight, I should have cherished. For starters, my crush became my girlfriend, and we lived together in an apartment in Center City. I was too smothered in the fog to show my appreciation and love for her adequately. She loved me and loved my work, which in turn brought back my passion for creating. If I couldn't financially support myself with my art, the least I could do is bring her joy and feed her imagination.

(We both love semi-horror and anime, so our roleplays took that direction.)

Sadly, thanks to the disease even something as precious as her happiness wasn't enough. When I look back, I can see the hurt in her eyes, but during the time I had such horrible tunnel vision and was so disappointed about things not working out with my art that I couldn't sense that. Me, a self-proclaimed empath! My desperate greed and envy were my downfall, and I limped my way down the artsy-fartsy road. I'd draw fan art and create fan comics, only to become bitter about either the lack of replies or patrons on Patreon or the perceived disregard for any personal ventures I took.

I did my first convention at Anime Impulse back in 2015, and after a pretty bad time in the artist alley, I swore off drawing again. I remember nights of staring blankly at the computer screen, smashing Command or Control +Z and ultimately throwing my stylus down, closing photoshop, and crying out of frustration. I remember pulling my hair and sobbing when I faced rejection. It was an incredibly painful time for me. That's not to say I still don't experience that now as I totally do, but something happened this year that strengthened my stride.

I posted something on Tumblr earlier this year about my frustration when it comes to creating art. It was specifically about how I get stuck in the "polishing" phase of building a webcomic page, but when I look back, I can actually attribute it to art in general. I became a "perfectionist." Nothing was impressive enough to finish or release, and I'd wind up with more works in progress than finished ones. My morale just kept dipping lower and lower, and finally, when picking up a webcomic project that I started more than a year ago, I vented my frustrations. To this, my crush, who became my fiancé some four years ago, replied with this:

"You polish because you’re not confident with your work because you're in an evolution phase. Fear holds you back. So you go back and edit. And edit. And edit. So stop the cycle. Kill the fear by not letting it have time to take hold."

Her words of encouragement and insight changed my perspective in ways I've never expected. It was almost like it triggered an epiphany or a breakthrough in my mind! I was reminded of her love and faith in me! With that came a ray of hope, that I could try again, and this time, throw my fear-induced caution to the wind! While my depression still has a voice and beats me down from time to time, I realize that it's just scared. I realized that when Brittany and I sat down and played through Celeste together. I related it to my sadness and anxiety surrounding art, and now I'm slowly getting back on my feet. I can't displace the blame and "use" my mental ailments as a scapegoat. I can't come up with excuses to give up on what I do. There is SOMETHING in creating visual media that breathes life into me.

(I started learning to let go.)

Looking towards the future, I hope I can look back on even these trying times and remind myself of where I was and how stronger I've become because of it. I'm still struggling with comparing myself to others and crashing into creative and motivational blocks, but someday I'll rise above it all. Besides, I should be doing it for me, right? The external validation should just be the topping on a sweet sundae.

That's why I keep drawing, in spite of the voice's apprehension. We're going to get through this together, I promise.

#personal #tw: sucide mention #art #mental health #depression

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leisurelypanda · 6 years

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Thundering Heart chapter 2

http://archiveofourown.org/works/13605048/chapters/31292034

Thor sighed as the warm water hit his sweaty, grimy skin. Practice was brutal. Last year he had been the tight end while Bucky Barnes had been the quarterback. He hadn’t realized just how difficult making the position would be. He had been training for it all summer and some of last year, but still, actually trying out for the position had been brutal. He still wasn’t sure he had landed the position, though he had done well. It would be a few days before decisions were made. But he had done better than some of the other people trying out for the position. His throws had been more accurate and he had been the fastest applicant on the field. He was also the best at coming up with plays against other teams. That was probably his best asset in his favor.

He opened his eyes and began to scrub himself clean before other teammates could complain about him hogging the hot water. Too late. He felt a sharp pain and the crack of a towel snapping on his ass sounded sharply in the locker room amid the laughs from his teammates. He quickly finished up and grabbed his own towel to exact his revenge on whoever had gotten him. As it turned out, it was one of Hodge’s buddies. Billy Coleman. He was a mediocre player on the defensive line who had apparently been on the team since freshman year and shown a lack of interest in improving at all. The only reason he was still on the team was because he was better than most who tried out, even if he was worse than pretty much everyone else. Thor tried not to feel a little self-satisfied as he wound up his towel and snapped it against his butt. He failed.

The usual masculine camaraderie among sports teams ensued. Guys were roughhousing, arm wrestling, towel snapping, and generally making a ruckus until a coach came in and yelled at them to quiet down and get dressed. The school would be closing soon and they needed to be out. Thor grabbed his stuff and accompanied a few of his teammates out to the front of the school to where his ride was waiting. His mother was waiting for him.

“Hello dear,” she said sweetly in Swedish. She kissing his cheek in greeting. “How was practice? Did you make the quarterback position?”

“Hello mother,” he replied in like fashion. He wiped the spot where she kissed him absentmindedly. “I did well. I will not know if I got the position until later this week, though.”

“I’m sure you will make the position this year,” she said. He had spent the past few years as part of the tight end. And while he knew why Bucky had been chosen as the quarterback all those years, he was looking forward to finally being in the position himself.

“Thank you, mother. I hope so.”

“Now,” she said, growing serious. “Loki tells me that you were sent to detention today. Why is that?”

Thor groaned. Of course she would have found out from Loki. She had a tendency to dote upon them. Which wasn’t bad, per se, but it coupled with wanting to know everything that happened. She had probably pestered Loki into telling her. Or he had just told her to save time.

“I saw a student getting beaten up when I arrived at school today, mother,” he said. “I stepped in to defend him as he was much smaller than the other boys.”

His mother grimaced. “And why is that you received detention?”

“The principal is corrupt little weasel of a man,” Thor replied. “He claimed the boy getting beaten up was a troublemaker and gave him detention as well, but did not punish the bullies.”

His mother tsked disapprovingly. “I am proud that you defended him, my son. Is he well?”

“He insisted that he had it under control,” he said, chuckling. “Though he seemed to no longer be in pain when I saw him last.”

“He sounds spirited,” she said, smiling.

“He is valiant,” he admitted. His mother was uncharacteristically silent for a while. Eventually Thor turned to look at her. She was grinning knowingly from ear to ear. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said innocently. It was that same look that Loki got when he knew a secret no one else did.

“Oh really, mother?” he asked. “You have that look. The one where you think you know something.”

“I’ve never thought I’ve known anything, son,” she replied, still with that smug look on her face. “I actually know things.”

“Such as?”

“You like him,” she teased.

Thor blushed. His entire face blushed red as a beet. He was suddenly glad that his beard hid some of it. Not that it mattered. “Mother, I just met him!”

“What does that matter?” she asked.

“I just admire his tenacity, foolish as it may be,” he protested. “Just because I defended him does not mean I have to like him!”

“Is that so?” she asked. He nodded. “Then why are you blushing?”

Thor grumbled something about the weather and rolled down the window to let the sounds of the city permeate the car and drown out the sound of his mother laughing triumphantly.

Ridiculous, he thought. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thor sighed as he collapsed on the couch, dropping his backpack onto the floor next to him. He was exhausted. Between school and football practice he never seemed to have time to actually do anything else. If it wasn’t for the fact that he wasn’t responsible for cooking food or cleaning his clothes (yet), he doubted he’d actually be alive.

“How was detention, dear brother?” Loki asked from the other side of the room. Thor responded by throwing one of the couch pillows in his general direction. “That bad? I would have thought that you and the boy would have bonded over your heroics.”

“Not you too, Loki,” he groaned.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said, laughing. “I’m just glad to see you making some interesting friends instead of those meatheads on the American football team.”

“You want to insult my friends? Let us see if you can back those words up.”

“Peace, brother,” Loki said. “I meant no offense.”

Thor slumped against the couch and grabbed his backpack. He took out his planner where he had organized his homework for the next few weeks. He was going to be up until midnight easily trying to get everything done in time. Who knew senior year would be so hard? he wondered.

He sighed but got out his history homework that he started during detention. The only thing that period was good for, he thought.

He could hear Loki scribbling on his notepad across the room. He was the smarter of the two, but he was more inclined towards the arts whereas Thor was good at math and the sciences. He liked history, but it didn’t come as naturally to him. It was more difficult for him to apply knowledge that he could not practice himself like in math or physics.

I wonder if Steve will want to study together for these classes, he thought. It would make the classes more enjoyable at any rate.

Soon the smells of seafood wafted through the living room from the kitchen. He smelled tuna and his stomach began to rumble loudly. Loki sighed in annoyance. His father’s job as a diplomat afforded them a home in a nice part of Brooklyn and, thankfully, a hired chef. His father was kept busy at the embassy to make anything and his mother wanted to focus on her art rather than domesticity. It was a convenient system, considering that the Swedish government paid generously for Odin to be the diplomat at the Swedish embassy.

Thor somehow managed to get through his history homework by the time the chef announced that dinner was ready. Thor sighed with relief and put his work down on the coffee table in front of him and hurried to the kitchen. Where his father was waiting.

“Son!” he shouted joyfully. He got up and embraced him fiercely. Odin was as big as Thor and the years had not made him any less strong or dominating a presence. It was impossible not to notice him, at the very least because of his great, booming voice. “How did tryouts go? Did you get the position this year?”

“Hello father,” Thor said as he embraced him. “I did well, but I won’t know if I did well enough until later this week.”

“Ah, my son, I’m sure you will succeed,” he said. “Now come, let’s eat before our food gets cold!”

Dinner was really the only time when Thor could really unwind and focus on something other than school. Well, dinner and football, anyway. Being in advanced classes was good for his academic performance, but it was a time intensive process. Dinner, time with his family was a time when he could get away from all that for a while.

His mother asked Loki how his art was going. He dabbled in many things. Painting, charcoal sketches, simple pencil sketches, digital art, watercolors, pastels. Lately he was trying out oil painting, though it seemed to be presenting some challenges. He was having difficulty figuring out how to make the right layers for his paintings.

“Nothing seems right,” he complained. “I have trashed a dozen canvases trying to get it right but nothing seems to be working the way I want it.”

“Perhaps I can help you after dinner,” their mother offered. “It’s been a while since I’ve worked oil painting but I may be able to help you figure something out.”

That launched a conversation about mediums and paint products and layers and something called “fat over lean” that Thor could not follow if his life depended on it. He took after their father more. Sports, leadership, science, and math were all areas that he excelled in. Art was more his mother’s area and Loki was learning everything she had to teach. He frequently complained about art classes in school not being as good a teacher as her, but he still preferred those classes to the more typical math, science, and history. He was good at them, he just thought they were boring. And a bored Loki was a recipe for mischief.

Their father began raving about the latest rugby upset. Thor was a fan of the sport as well, but since America had this somewhat backwards obsession with their version of football, that was the closest he could get to playing the sport during the school year. He played a lot of rugby when they went home to Sweden during the summer. American football was a lot easier. Probably because they had this strange notion that you needed protection during high contact sports. You were also allowed to pass the ball forward, unlike in rugby. During the weekends when Thor didn’t have to play an away game, he and his parents would watch rugby on TV. Loudly. Loki was the only one who didn’t care much for the sport and frequently asked them to keep it down.

“One of these days,” his father said with determination, “Sweden will go back to Rugby World Cup and we’ll have our chance.”

“You know I hope for the same, father,” Thor replied. “But Sweden has to become much better as a team if they hope to compete in the World Cup. Hell, the United States is going to the World Cup and these people don’t even watch rugby!”

His father scoffed at the notion and drank a large gulp of his beer. “That the United States has a rugby team competing internationally that its people don’t even know about is a crime,” he griped. “Oh well. Hopefully Australia will have their chance to beat New Zealand in the World Cup next year.”

“We can only hope,” Thor said raising his own beer. His father laughed as he toasted to that and drank deeply.

With that, Thor excused himself to get back to work, taking his bag upstairs to his room so he wouldn’t get distracted. This American school system seemed to think that every student, particularly those in advanced classes, only ever took one or two classes at ta time. The only good thing about the first day of school was that at least the homework was relatively less time intensive than it usually was. He managed to get finished around 11. He sighed with relief as he finished the calculus he was working on and threw his pencil down on his desk.

Finally, he thought. He closed his eyes for a moment and let his shoulders relax. One hand came and massaged his neck, relieving some of the tension that collected there. He got up and twisted his back, sighing with content as it popped and cracked. He sighed and picked up a pair of pyjama pants he had discarded that morning and changed into them before collapsing onto his bed. His last thought before he fell asleep went back to his mother’s response to his defending Steve when he got to school.

Ridiculous, he thought again.

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