K.C. Heart

If you haven’t already, I’d suggest giving “The Te of Piglet” and its brother “The Tao of Pooh” by Benjamin Hoff a read. Love and matcha, my dears. Sleep well. 

Unfinished! Check out this cute little guy I’m doing. Tattoo design whilst listening to some Caravan Palace. Keep practicing and honing in on your style! 

Tattoo commission for a friend- Vasquez Character mashup GIR/Nny. Going to start taking tattoo commissions soon, shoot me a message if interested ^_^

Meditation has been one of the biggest additions to my morning and life that I’ve found in awhile. 

www.kcheartmedia.weebly.com

Have a great Wednesday, loves! 

Working on some flutterbies and watching some Godfather. Ahh, late night arting.

Music: SeeFu Lilac EP by Black Moth Super Rainbow (https://blackmothsuperrainbow.bandcamp.com/album/seefu-lilac-ep) In a physiology class I ended up dropping because of reasons, I shocked myself with how fascinated I was with the way cells achieved homeostasis. Exchanging potassium and sodium for one another, knowing full well how many of each the other is worth, finally finding a happy medium. The same thing, I believe, happens to some extent in the outside to inside worlds. *-*-* There are very few places I can come to rest and work without having to put on headphones. If you find one of these places, where the outside world reaches some sort of input equilibrium with your inside world, keep it near and dear to you, because they're rare and often hard to come by. In my wanderings today my feet decided we needed to visit an old haunt of mine- a cafe in my hometown, specifically, that I stopped frequenting when I moved to the city to start my own independent adventures as a Responsible Adult. (pause for uncomfortable laughter) Once I was inside and had ordered my tea, I was taken aback. Not by how much nostalgia I had for the damn place, but for how much I felt comfortable just letting the world around me do what it did. I didn't need to block anything out. I didn't even know the name of the music playing on the radio. The sound of the coffee roaster and the smell of the stuff itself (which, in itself, is a bit of a heaven for me I must admit. The smell of coffee appeals to me almost more than the taste. Different story though.) and the lighting in the upper seating level and the grayness coming in through the big windows. It was beautiful. Synesthetically, all of it came together perfectly. I didn't need any further input to set my artistic brain into its grocery-store like compartments of color and texture and variance and dopamine hit. It's such an interesting thing, finding these little places. Like little pockets of paranormal activity- someplace between the colors and the activity and the mere energy of the place, coming together, and forming an unseen synesthetic equilibrium. The funny thing is, the people two tables over from me might not even realize what they're sitting in. Fucking bubblegum, that's what. This place has an energetic field that speaks volumes- not of the people, but of the memories and ghosts that haunt it. The silence that fills in empty space in a crowded location always gives subtle hints as to the spirits living within, rather than the bodies living throughout. 

Music: Ghosts and Rotten Love EP by Acid Ghosts (https://acidghostsf.bandcamp.com/album/ghosts-rotten-love-ep) It's been one hell of a day. About twenty four hours ago I woke up from a groggy dream of being chased to multiple areas of pain. The following eighteen hours were spent in bed or in the shower, the transit between usually involving nauseous vomiting or sitting in the hall waiting for the episode to subside so I could make it back to bed. My room is a mess. Clothes are everywhere. I didn't do yoga this morning. I've eaten a grand total of a handful of coconut chips and some broccoli I fried up this afternoon. Not being one to take painkillers, my dresser is a menagerie of ice packs, herbal muscle relaxers, tissues, water cups, and essential oils. I smell like someone who spent the day sick in bed. I have absolutely no idea where my phone charger is. And for some reason, I'm still up, writing a damn blog post. One in the morning is a weird time to be up. It's around the witching hour; for me, it's got a sense of timelessness, where my eyes start to droop but the brain is opening up to all the colors seeping in from the other side. It's an in-between place, somewhere far from being awake but far from being asleep. It's not like dreaming, but there are elements present from that space. It's not like being stoned, though that's a way to reach this space. No, it's a mind-trip that exist, pretty much exclusively, in this time of night, in this realm of creativity that artistic synesthetes like myself feel on a daily basis. There was a famous writer that would sit in a chair, a rock in one hand and a bucket underneath. He would bore himself to near sleep, his hand would relax, and the rock would drop into the bucket, causing such a clatter that he would jolt awake. He'd then proceed to bore himself to near sleep again- the theory was he got his best ideas in that near-sleep zone, and by constantly waking himself up again, he'd be able to remember them long enough to write them down, like waking dreams that he could manifest. I think witching hour artists live in that space. Does that mean we have an excess amount of ideas or a deficiency in brain-sleepy-chemicals? Probably both. Most likely both. Regardless, artists. Though I don't think it's necessarily sustainable, try pushing through that tiredness at least once. See what kind of paint your fingers dip into and what lines they trace. Don't think about it; the less you think about it, the less you seek for inspiration, the more you're able to figure out just what your art and your mind is trying to tell you. 

Beginnings.

Life, currently. Work, school, art, and color. Music is the constant. Learning quickly to hold fast to dreams is the biggest wakeup call I've had in months.

Been pretty busy with midterms to post much work lately, but I found this journal entry and found it intriguing. The bit below my phrase reads "use the vessel you were given; take care of it, give it care when it is sick and give it love, unconditionally. Your body is the garden and you are the gardener- no, you are the caretaker, the faithful horticulturist; invest in yourself" Given a past of self harm, I take this as a fantastic milemarker of progress.

Let your art possess you! 

Butterflies. My room has caught a bug.

#beyourself 

“Greatness” 

“Subliminal Intrinsic Value”