Drunk on Dandelions

My journey in photography began when I received my very first iPhone for Christmas, just like many others (R.I.P. flip phones with the built in keyboard). Since then, I've spent countless hours on personal photography projects. I've collected many tools over the years keeping affordability and accessibility at the forefront of my mind. Artistry does not require the most advanced, most expensive, most main stream products.

I’m local to New England and my studio is based in New Haven, CT.

I’ve had many pets throughout my whole life. I’ve had cats, dogs, guinea pigs, gerbils, and fish. My future dream pets are axolotls, lizards, or rats.

My skillset includes: writing, traditional art, digital art, and mixed media. Future skills I plan to develop: music, painting, animation, and videos.

I'm available for commissions and requests.

Commissions: If I feel as though I can do a decent job, I will take the commission. My limit is 2-3 commissions a month, but this may vary on size and detail of each commissions. DM for details.

Requests: If I feel as though I can do a decent job, I will take the request. My limit is 3 requests a month. This is a fixed limit. Requests are NOT as detailed as commission. DM for details.

And, yes, it is true. I use my phone for digital art and my finger as a stylus. And, yes, it is true. I use Crayola colored pencils. For inking, I do use Micron and/or Staedtler pens. For markers, I use Copic, though I only have about 25 colors. I tend to do art on a budget, so I keep the majority of my materials accessible. For the more expensive stuff, my collection started small in 2012 as I would only buy if the item was on sale. I like to believe my work highlights the fact that anyone can create art with "cheap" tools.

Well, I guess that's about it for now! Thanks for stopping buy!

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"Why would anyone move here?" you hear the kids at school say. They are not talking to you, but they are talking about you. Just as you were going to tell them that you had no control, that you never had any control, that it was not your choice, they are gone. It would not have mattered anyway. They would not have listened. No one ever does. You hear someone say "Welcome to Hell," but you are not sure who said it. The hallway is empty, and you are late for class.

School is over. Your car will not start. You cannot drive home. You try again one last time. As you turn the key, you hear the faint hacking of a five-pack-a-day smoker, and your exhaust pipe is spewing out light-brown powder. Further inspection reveals that the powder is ground-up nutmeg and that your engine has been replaced with nutmegs. You should probably start walking home now.

It is getting dark. You are almost home. As you hurry along the sidewalk, you keep hearing footsteps coming from behind you. It's just a deer, you tell yourself, nothing more than a deer. The footsteps are far too heavy to be a deer and far too hoof-like to be human. You feel hot breath on the back of your neck. It's just a deer, you tell yourself again. Your pace increases. Do not turn around. Just keep walking. Only look ahead, and you will get home safely.

Your mother is making dinner, as per usual. Your father has already prepared a plate of raw steak and chicken legs for you to take upstairs to your older sibling. He does not come out of his room much these days. In fact, you cannot recall seeing him leave once after he went up there. Cautiously, you inch toward the door at the end of the hallway. The light bulb above you flickers frantically as if it is startled by your presence. You leave the plate. As you turn to walk down the stairs, you see the door crack open and a dark, shadowy figure grab the plate.

"It's nothing to worry about," your parents tell you. You protest. They try to convince you that it was just your older brother. You shake your head. It was too large and had far too many limbs to be your older brother. "No," they tell you, "your older brother is just going through some 'changes'." You try to protest. Just then you hear a sloshing sound behind you. Your parents' eyes widen with horror. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of what seems to be a dark purple tentacle slinking up the stairs and out of sight. Your parents deny its existence and order you to go to your room. You do not protest.

The next morning you wake up, and there are six feet of snow on the ground. Where did all the snow come from? It's the middle of spring. The roads have not been plowed. You still have to go to school.

Through the thick curtain of white, you see shapes moving out in the distance. The girl sitting next to you says it's just some deer. Maybe turkeys, too. You tell her that deer do not have that many long, slender legs or grow to be over eight feet tall. The bus screeches to a halt, and the doors fling open. The girl takes off her backpack and winter jacket, then gets off. She stands rigidly with her back to the bus. The bus starts moving again. Out in the distance, you watch the girl's silhouette shrink until the shapes close in on her. There is a faint, high-pitched scream. You never see or hear from the girl ever again.

You walk into class to find a large basket of nutmegs at your desk. Where do all of these nutmegs keep coming from?

Your English teacher thinks he's Edgar Allan Poe. He's even wearing clothes like the old poet. He keeps reciting "The Raven" at random students in the hallway. Occasionally he will squawk at people. You assume he is saying "nevermore." But you are not sure. No one is. Either way, it's frightening to the freshmen. Though, this is not surprising to the upperclassmen. Everyone was expecting him to lose it sooner or later. Someone even started a betting pool. You hear that your creative writing teacher won the pool. Wait... isn't that the same teacher?

At the end of the day, you head out to the school parking lot. You get into your blue Subaru. On the passenger seat you find several nutmegs scattered about. You look at the back seat. More nutmegs. Who the hell keeps giving you nutmegs? What are they even for? Suddenly you realize that you do not own a car anymore. You look ahead to find a note hanging on the rearview mirror. It says: "We've been watching you. Enjoy the nutmegs."

The sun is bright. There is no more snow on the ground. It's summer now. You smile as you drive home in your blue Subaru. It's so nice out, you nearly forget about the nutmegs rolling about your car. It's not until you slam on the brakes, causing all the nutmegs to fly into the air, bounce off the windshield, and hit you in the face to avoid colliding with a deer, that you remember. The deer screeches at you, kicks your headlights, and then slithers away just like any other normal deer.

Shivers travel up and down your spine as you drive. You have been driving for so very long. Your mouth is so dry. You are surrounded by Dunkins. I do not want Dunkin', you say to yourself. Further up the road you travel. It is getting late. You are tired. So very tired. And so very thirsty. Finally you notice a familiar glowing green-and-white sign. A single tear rolls down your cheek. Starbucks. You desperately crave a Pumpkin Spice Latte. You join the others in the drive-thru. You wait. The line at Starbucks is too long. It is nearly out into the street. You wait. The line is still too long. You think there are more cars in front of you than before. This cannot be right. You grow tired of waiting and drive away. As you speed up the road, you notice a Dunkin' coming up on the right. You go in, order a Pumpkin Swirl Iced Coffee, and then return to your car. As you bring the cold, caffeinated pumpkin swill to your lips, it begins to snow. You blink, and the Dunkin' is gone. You are not entirely certain that there ever was a Dunkin' there. Then where did you get the drink? You do not even like pumpkin.

As you park your car in the driveway, you hear a rustling in the woods. This would not be unusual, except there are no woods near your house. Just an empty field and the sound of the snow murmuring as it falls. You cannot tell what the snow is saying, and you are not sure if you want to. You shiver, but not from the cold. You enter your home and lock the door. Perhaps it was just another deer.

There is no school tomorrow. It is not a weekend. There is just too much snow. They run out of salt rather quickly and, as a result, start using nutmeg. At least you have a use for the ever-growing pile of nutmegs in your room. Seriously, what's up with all the nutmeg?

The snow melts due to a burst of unexpected summer. You decide, after careful consideration, that it is safe to go outside. You take a baseball bat just in case you run into any deer.

At a duck pond, you see an old lady wearing extremely outdated clothing—bonnet and full-blown colonial attire—surrounded by ducks. She turns to you. Her wrinkled lips pull back to reveal that most of her teeth are missing. It looks like a snarl. Although you assume that it was a smile, you do not smile back. It is safer not to interact with the locals. She turns away. Her bonnet is gone, and she is wearing a simple white nightgown. You cannot recall seeing the old lady change. You have not taken your eyes off her the whole time. You watch her wrinkly hand reach into her bag and toss the contents to the ducks. Those don't look like breadcrumbs…, you think to yourself. They are too white, too big, too solid-looking to be breadcrumbs. She is wearing her colonial garb again. You look away for an instant. You look back to see that the old lady has disappeared. A single duck stands where the lady had once stood. You are quite certain that the duck's eyes are glowing a bright red. It quacks, and a piece of the old lady's bonnet comes out of its mouth. Ducks are evil. Ducks are cruel.

It is 12:00 in the afternoon. You stop at McDonald's. There are so many McDonald's. There is nowhere else to eat. The man's gaze is unfocused and his expression blank as he takes your order. You are tense as he utters something you cannot understand under his breath. You are not quite sure you want to understand. He hands you your order, and you sit down. The other customers do not interact with each other. They are looking down at their smartphones. You do not own a smartphone. Occasionally you catch a glimpse of one of them smiling or hear the faintest whisper of a laugh. It is now 1:30 p.m. You have not eaten your lunch. It is cold. You are late for work. As you throw out your uneaten lunch and leave, you do not say a word to them, and they do not say a word to you.

The day before school starts again, an apple orchard springs up overnight. You are not quite sure where it came from, or why it's in your front lawn, but the man at the stand smiles warmly as he offers you a basket. You refuse. Just then your younger sibling grabs the basket and charges off into the field. You call after your little sibling. The rustling of the trees is the only response. You hear a shrill scream as the birds fly away. The man smiles again, but this time he shows his teeth, and they seem just a little too sharp. You run inside and lock the door.

"You never had a younger sibling," your parents tell you. They do not acknowledge the apple orchard in the front lawn. You struggle to get out your younger sibling's name. You know it. You really do. It just will not come out. You rush to the living room and grab your family portrait. All you see is your parents, your older brother, and yourself. That cannot be right. Perhaps, you think to yourself, your younger sibling was sick that day. But deep down, you are not even sure you ever had a younger sibling.

You fall asleep with the window open one night. The next day you wake up to find a gigantic turkey hovering over you. You kindly ask it to leave, but it refuses. You throw your pillow at it, and it pecks at you. It takes up residence in your room. At night it whispers things, terrible things, into your ear as you sleep.

One day your teacher introduces you and your classmates to a new student. She does not speak much English, you are told. Her smile is so full of hope. You want to warn her to get out while she still can. Her smile fades as she takes her seat. The next day she isn't in class. You never see her again.

There are more standardized tests. What are they for? "It's for funding," the teachers say. Where does the funding go? "It's for funding," they repeat. That makes sense, you think. "It's for funding," you say with them.