A stranger path I'd find to tread,
and tread it different all the same,
A different time, a stranger's laugh
Carries me away again...
...
The night air is thick and languid, and the only sounds you can hear are the groaning of the ropes and the wet slap-slap of paintbrushes and tongues.
Don’t slip. And don’t look down....
...
another sketchbook page, more coherent than most of what i've done lately. i am stalled out on art pretty bad. around january (of 2024) i finished a major piece but decided (too late) that the...
Beyond the corridors of the passage subaquatic lie the Fortunate Isles, the sunlit misty spires of rock that jut from the abyssal floor. Near the top of each pillar the mist clears.
🐚This one came at a...