🌲Plant Lover🌲

Embroidered Backpacks from Julia Linen tale

Non-toxic means it won’t hurt if you /ingest/ a little. It doesn’t mean anything in regards to /Burning/ and then /inhaling/ the vapours and smoke! 

If you want to add sigil magic to your smoke, there’s So Many better ways to go about it.

✨Write or carve the sigil into whatever you’re going to use to light your joint. On your lighter, or carve it into a (natural wax, lead-free wicked) candle.

✨ Write it on a piece of paper, then tie your hemp wick around it, use the wick to light your joint, and then, (in a fire-proof container) let it continue to burn down to the paper with the sigil on it. 

✨Write a sigil on your paper tip, on the inside, where it won’t get hot enough to vaporize.Though I’d still stay far away from inks here, and stick to pencil, or better yet, a natural ink like fruit juice, coffee, wine etc. 

✨trace the sigil into your ground herbs before rolling

There’s a running joke among people who know me personally that I unwittingly go out in public with a sign on my forehead stating “I Am Non-Threatening. Come Talk To Me.” Because if there’s a chance a bizarre conversation with a total stranger is going to happen, I’m typically the person it happens to.

Some context: I have been pretty darn sick this week. (It’s not Coronavirus, don’t worry.) Since the work in my queue for my day job is comprised entirely of audio narration right now, and I currently sound like a waterlogged Demi Moore, I haven’t been able to work these last couple of days. As a result, I’ve been using my down time to knock out as much of Manu’s redesign as possible. Today, to ensure I didn’t spend the day languishing in sinus misery, I medicated the crap out of myself and took Manu to the Starbucks down the block from my son’s day care.

I hit the bathroom, then picked an empty table, but as soon as I sat down with my venti Comfort Tea and started tweaking the inks on my iPad, I felt the eyes of the man next to me looking over my shoulder.

When I looked up, he had his phone out. “I’m sorry,” he said (in a thick accent I couldn’t place geographically), “I don’t want to disturb. I notice you art. You are artist!”

I tried to smile. “Yes, I’m... Well, I’m trying to be,” I croaked.

He leaned in, like he was sharing a secret.

“I am artist, too.”

He stuck out his hand.

I gently took it, grateful for the bathroom trip I just took in which I washed the scourge off of my fingers.

“Can I?” he asked, holding his phone up.

“Take a picture? Uh... sure,” I said. It’s not like he would be able to steal Manu out from under me or anything, I figured. The panel I was tweaking was magnified out to Guam.

“I am artist. Architect and Designer,” he clarified while he steadied his phone over my iPad. “I am Ilker. What is your name?”

“I’m Venessa” I said, trying to be polite. This, I thought warily, is precisely how I get myself into trouble. I’m too damn nice.

“You know, I come to America twenty years ago from Turkey...”

I put down my stylus. This was going to be a while.

“I like Turkey,” he explained. “I like the country and I like the people. But I am artist. I am not... religious man.”

I nodded.

“I told my wife I was going to go to America and she said, “what are you going to do? You don’t have job! You don’t have money! No Visa!” And I said, “I am artist and architect. I will paint and sell my paintings.

“So I come to America alone. To New York City. I sit outside, and I paint. And people, they liked my paintings. They bought them. This one for $30, that one for $50.

“One day, a man comes over to me and he say, “I like your painting. I see you are also architect.” And he gives me his number and asks me to go to meeting at his office. Because he wants to offer me a job. He starts to talk about a building contract.

“I tell him I don’t know anything about contracts. I have no Visa. I am not American citizen. But he says, “That’s okay. I will take care of everything. You will have nothing to worry about.” And this man, he gave me a job. $173,000 a year. And my wife, he gave her a job too. She was project assistant. I bring her and my two daughters over from Turkey.”

“Wow,” I said, not fully believing the veracity of what sounded like a full-on immigration fairy tale.

“Here,” said Ilker, unlocking his phone and opening up his Facebook app. “I show you my work.” He paused and looked up at me. “I am interrupting. You don’t mind?”

At this point, I was invested. I had to see. Because whatever he was about to show me would either prove or disprove this yarn he was spinning. “Please,” I said, gesturing for him to go ahead.

He opened his photos and my jaw dropped. His work... was UNREAL.

“This is building I designed on Madison Ave.... And this one in Chelsea...”

Holy crap. I had just been to Chelsea with my sister last month on a trip to see a broadway show. I had crossed the intersection of the building he was, at this moment, telling me he designed.

He flipped through more buildings. These, he’d designed in Washington, DC. In Bethesda. In Arlington. All beautiful, streamlined, modern structures I had visited and parked my car in front of. He told me he did much of his concept work freehand. That he worked exclusively in natural media. His preferred media was pen, ink, watercolors, and chalks.

Between photos of his wife and daughters, he went on to show me photos from the RUSSIAN EXHIBITION OF HIS ARCHITECTURE ARTWORK.

Y’all, I was stunned. I couldn’t believe the talent I was sitting next to. Scattered among these gloriously rendered images of some of the most beautiful building concepts I’d ever seen were paintings of scenes in Central Park, the National Mall, and nudes from a life-drawing session he attends from time to time.

When he was done flipping through his phone, he looked at me and smiled. “I hope you don’t mind that I interrupt you. I show you all this because what you are doing is very good. And you should be encouraged. To draw is to make beauty.”

I nodded, a lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I managed. “Your work is astonishing. I don’t even know what to say. What is your name again?”

He held out his hand once more. “Ilker Kocahan,” he said. “I am getting more coffee. Can I get you one?”

I looked at my still-full venti cup. “No thank you. But here, please take my card.”

He held my dinky business card like I’d handed him a treasure and thanked me.

Then Ilker got his coffee, and left the coffee shop.

At some point in his ramblings he talked about America as a place of dreams. How he credits this country with helping him rise to the top of his field where he is now able to sell his paintings for $800-$1000 a piece now that he’s retired. My heart ached to hear him talk about that, knowing how our leadership’s positions on immigrants have taken such a dark and horrifying turn.

Imagine the buildings and museums and public places that would never have been if a business man in the park hadn’t lifted up a Turkish painter who spoke little English.

And now that painter was paying it forward on me.

I still feel pretty darn sick. I’ve still got body aches and a nose that has taken the rest of my face hostage.

But today was a really good day. And I just wanted to share it with you in case you are looking for reasons to keep drawing/painting/dancing/writing. It all counts and it is all good.

If you would like to see Ilker Kocohan’s work, please click here.

As luck would have it, I saw Ilker one last time before my area received the mandate to start social distancing. I came into the Starbucks to work on the “Simon Is On the Ground” comic while waiting to pick up my kid from day care, and there he was, happily chatting with the Starbucks manager, who gifted him with a Starbucks hat while I ordered my tea.

A week had passed since our first meeting, so I wasn’t sure he’d recognize me. Lo and behold, as I turned the corner, I caught his eye, and he waved at me. This time, I asked if I might sit with him, and he warmly offered the seat beside him.

While I settled in, he told me that his project was being delayed and that he was going to leave the area and fly home before COVID-19 could make it impossible to travel. The hat was for his wife, whose only understanding of Starbucks was that Ilker really liked the coffee.

As one might expect, we immediately fell into another conversation about art, except this time, I eagerly abandoned my work to hear him talk.

And friends, did I ever get a master class.

He pulled up a painting on his phone which he’d sold for $800. It was a life drawing in ink and watercolor of a woman in a demure gesture, barely detailed and colored in but for her rose-tinted lips and the shadow cast across her neck. He said he felt sad that he’d sold it because he really loved how it came out.

“This is no detailed like yours,” he said, comparing his painting to my panel of Simon and Baz. “Mine is simple. But in a few strokes, I can capture the life of the lady.”

He took his napkin, turned it over, and pulled a pen out of his chest pocket. “Look there,” he said, pointing to a man sitting a few tables away. He began to scribble away on the napkin, lines and lines and more lines. “You see,” he murmured as he ran his pen over the napkin, “I can, with speed, capture the man. I don’t have hours to ask him to sit. I must let go of the planning.”

In seconds, the man across the room took shape on the napkin in a series of confident if also messy lines. It was incredible to watch.

I could instantly see what he meant. He had not produced a photorealistic version of this person on the napkin. But he had captured the man’s essence. The aura of a real person sitting contemplatively with his coffee while reading the Washington Post. I could feel the life of the drawing radiate from the paper.

(When he was done, to my horror, he crumpled up the napkin.)

I shyly mentioned that I’ve been working hard on my own gesture drawing, but had a long way to go, so he asked to see my sketchbook.

I mean... is there even a word in the English language to describe the combination of dread and embarrassment that precedes showing an art master your crap-ass sketchbook that no one sees but you? I didn’t know what to do with myself as he sat there and flipped through the pages.

Eventually, he nodded approvingly and said, “Okay! Is good. But this is sketchbook like every other.” He gestured at the page. “Where are you?”

I was lost for how to respond, but lucky for me, he’s a talkative guy seemingly incapable of awkward silences.

“The world needs to see you in the lines,” he explained. “Someone can look at my work and know, ‘that painting is from Ilker Kocahan.’ You need to draw more and more so that when people look at your drawings, they will know: this work is Venessa’s work.” Then he shrugged and said, “And who knows. I will maybe see you in two years at this Starbucks, and by then, your drawings will be truly yours.”

I’ve shared this story with some close friends who took mild offense on my behalf at his observations, but I really think it took sitting there watching him draw to understand exactly what he was talking about.

Ilker Kocahan has no imposter syndrome. He is supremely confident in every possible way where his art is concerned. The lines that flowed from his pen were fueled by his soul, not his brain. I didn’t think artists like him existed anymore until I was sitting there looking over his shoulder while he scribbled a man into existence, like it was nothing. When I asked if he plots out the perspective on his building sketches in advance, he shook his head no and doodled this on my cake pop wrapper while he rambled on about the components he likes to include in his architecture concepts:

(Don’t worry. I kept it.)

So when he talked about “finding me” in my sketches, I really think he could sense—by the light scratch of the pencil, the trace evidence on the paper of my erasing and failed attempts—my own lack of confidence, my second guessing and self-doubt. My desire to be as good as other artists instead of my desire to express myself.

And in that sense, everything he was saying about my sketchbook was correct. He urged me to get off the iPad as often as possible. To sketch with ink, which is riskier because you can’t erase it, and in that way, give myself no choice but to commit to the lines.

The conversation turned to lighter things after that. He’s apparently an extremely talented basketball player who loves hanging out with his wife and kids. His daughters are both designers. He thinks quirky viral videos are the best thing about the internet. (I agreed.) He’s weak for New York pizza.

Eventually, he bought me a refill for my tea and asked if I would meet him again in a couple of days so he could talk to me about my artwork and help me with my sketching. He even added me as a Facebook friend. When I left the Starbucks to pick up Colin, I was so excited and overwhelmed and grateful to the universe for bringing me into his acquaintance, I texted everyone in my family about it.

But as fate would have it, that night, the local government released its mandate regarding social distancing. He’s likely in Belarus right now with his wife.

I won’t lie and say I’m not devastated that I lost the chance to be his student for an afternoon. But the impression these coffee shop chats left on me was profound. I think about it all the time. For one who struggles with feeling like the artist version of Pinocchio waiting around for permission to be a real boy, it makes all the difference in the world to linger in the huge, unstoppable energy of someone who lives without an inner critic.

I hope I get to see him again after the quarantine is over. I’d love to see if I can fulfill Ilker’s prophecy and meet back at that Starbucks in two years with a different sketchbook in tow. One that I can hand over knowing without doubt or trepidation that anyone looking for me in the work need look no further than the bold stroke of my hand.

Taken the last time we chatted:

kaitlyncrossing’s New Horizons Giveaway!!  

Since we are FINALLY getting the game we have waited so long for, it’s time for a giveaway!!  The winner will receive:

A copy of Animal Crossing: New Horizons

A Hydro Flask & Hydro Flask straw lid (to match the special joy-cons!)

Resetti amiibo

Lottie amiibo

Assorted Animal Crossing stickers

2 small towels

a set of Re-Tail themed reusable plastic bags

a Blathers/Museum themed luggage tag

AND a K.K. Slider pin & Animal Crossing stickers created by @birduyen 

Rules!

no giveaway blogs

must be 18+ or have parental/guardian permission

you may reblog once and like once for 2 entries!

you DO NOT have to be following me, but I’m an Animal Crossing blog, if you’re interested!

Other Info

I am paying for shipping, and ship from the U.S.!  I am willing to ship worldwide!!  This is the North American copy of the game, for reference!  

Ritual Candles

Anita Apothecary Shop on Etsy

Basic search:

Get off Tumblr. (I know, it’s hard.)

Direct your browser to Google.com.

Choose the main keywords of your question. For example, “what is calendula good for in witchcraft?” might be parsed as “calendula witchcraft magickal correspondences”.

Hit enter.

For more in depth research, try these sites:

JSTOR.org, if you have access to it.

Online public library catalogs to find books. (Search your county and “public library.”)

Amazon Kindle. It can be put on your computer for free, there is a Cloud Reader online and a free smartphone app. Filter by price and you can find witchcraft and occult ebooks for free through a few simple searches.

Google Books for the same purpose. (There is a shit ton here, btw, I use it all the time.)

Scribd.com for the same purpose.

Cornell University online witchcraft collection.

Hermetic.com for public domain magick texts.

Sacred-texts.com for all sorts of neat shit.

Alchemy-works.com for magickal lore on plants.

Search your county’s website for weed/plant information to get a list of things growing in your area.

Some tips to aid in research:

Use your browser’s bookmarks.

Use the Amazon wishlist to keep track of titles, or to keep an eye on titles that are occasionally offered for free on Kindle.

Look around on publishers, like LuLu, Immanion Press, etc, for self-published material.

Cross reference with lots of sources to keep on top of the BS.

Take good notes.

Dirty experience/field work is better than reading/book work.

I don’t mind answering your questions, but why should I go to the effort of explaining the basics when you haven’t gone to the effort of researching it yourself?

Instead of asking “how do I be a witch”, do some of your own research, and come back and ask me “I’ve found some conflicting information on X, and this is what I think. What is your opinion?”

I also think it’s incredibly important to note that Google.com will offer Wikipedia as a first result for witchcraft sources. Search engines aren’t always reliable. Also, new witches don’t know what sources may or may not be trustworthy or accurate- then they get blamed and criticized for using problematic sources. Furthermore, trying to figure out a foundation in this craft when every source offers immense amounts of information that more often conflicts than not… it’s a huge, huge undertaking. It can be overwhelming and confusing. 

Another thought is that often new witches may be coming to you specifically because you’re a witch they’ve seen as someone they admire or trust, and can direct them in the right way as opposed to blindly following the teachings of the internet. 

It might be important to note that in a lot of traditional witchcraft, a witch held apprentices- meaning young witches had a real, human, personal source to base their research from someone they trust. This is a practice long lost. 

I mean, basically it’s the same concept as why some students can do really well with independent studies or online curriculum, and some students really need that person-to-person dynamic for things to stick. This very idea is why some teachers will tell students that “there is no such thing as a stupid question.”

I understand and respect the idea of this post, of course it can become tedious to answer something like “what’s a pendulum?” when that really is … simple. i just think it can be counter-productive to lump all inexperienced witches together and say “go figure out the “basics” (which usually don’t seem very basic to someone new) by yourself and only then will you deserve guidance.” 

Everyone has their own path in the craft. I believe it’s incredibly important to help keep witchcraft alive and well, keep people informed, the more visible the witch community can be, the less “scary” it will seem to outsiders. But I realize not everyone feels the way I do.

*Wear velvet, silk, fine fabrics

*Take long baths with milk, honey, and olive oil

*Wear perfume with frankincense or rose or myrrh or neroli

*Wear gold and pearls and precious stones

*Paint your nails red or gold

*Put lavender satchels in your drawers

*Have good posture

*Give yourself a facial massage

*Speak with confidence–no one has the right to overpower your voice

*Rub a body oil into your skin when you get out of the bath

*Use a face oil with your moisturizer

*Wear a watch and be punctual

*Listen to those in need

*Clean and declutter your space

*Smile–but only when you want to

*Braid your hair

*Read novels or folklore/myth or poetry

*Be kind to children–have no sympathy for those who would hurt them

*Use cosmetics with pearl powder

*Go to bed early

Midas’ Hand Oil

“Everything you touch Shall turn into gold.”

In a base of sunflower oil, blend together : - 1 bay leaf (“laurels of victory” it is + prosperity, protection) - 1 drop of honey (precious gold in liquid form + to sweeten the minds) - 1 gold piece (coin, gold scraps, gold leaf powder, a ring…) - 1 pinch of nutmeg (luck and success) - 3 cloves (to open all paths, to clear all ways + success, courage, strength) - 1 zest of orange, or its peel, or 7 drops of essential oil (orange was once a rarity and therefore treasurable + success, prosperity, joy: traditionally, so that people are happy to do according to your will) - cinnamon, at will (energetic and magical boost, for charisma)

Anoint the mouth (so as to speak well), the temples (where sits the “crown” + so as to think well), the third eye (so as to see well), the hands (so that your actions are successful and flourishing)

They have four shelves in their house, for their books and jars and things they need for spells.

One of these shelves is stuffed full of books. The books are thick, fat, heavy. If the wood had a voice, it would speak in a groan. Half of them are soft, brown leather, with gold traced in plantlike designs on the spine. Half of them are black, heavy and cracked, with bookmark ribbons the color of blood and pentagrams on the covers. There are plants tucked into the corners. Some trail green fingers across the ledges. Some reach with thorns.

Another of the shelves is full of jars and bottles. Some of these jars are filled with potions that glow a dim yellow, or swirl a cheerful green. Some of the jars are filled with blood or crushed bits of bone. Some of the smaller bottles are full of dried clippings of rare plants. Some of the bottles hold things that move. But each jar has a neat little label, with the same gentle writing.

The third shelf is by a window, and it holds plants of various sizes. Most of them are small and green, meticulously watered and trimmed. But there are a few, scattered amongst the green, that have thorns longer than thorns should be, or leaves a bit too dark, too shiny.

The last shelf is full of bones. Cat bones. Dog bones. Bird bones. A skull. Fish bones. Wishbones. Snake’s fangs. Sometimes the bones move. Sometimes they don’t.

They have two tables. One holds a mortar and pestle, a small cauldron, bandages, some crystals. One of them has bones perched on the corners and a pentagram etched in the middle.

Dried herbs hang from the ceiling, and there is a box of litter on the floor.

They have two hearths; one for cooking, one for magic.

The walls are a deep green, the floor a wooden brown. The windows are large and lined with plants. The rooms are lit with floating crystals.

Everyone fears their house, but nearly everyone has gone inside. What is it, the healer asks, and her eyes are kind. What do you need?

A pain reliever. A bone set. An illness cured. A child delivered.

What do you need, she asks, but sometimes the answer is nothing. There isn’t anything to heal. So the healer nods, steps aside, and gestures to her wife, the necromancer.

aries: the warmth and smell of campfires in the summer, drinking coca-cola from a cold, glass bottle; walking downtown on a saturday evening, wearing blush, red and orange sunsets, cigarette smoke, the feeling of laughing so hard your stomach hurts.

taurus: mementos you want to throw away but have too much sentiment, the smell of linen, pearl earrings, blurry photos, silver jewelry, drawing a smiley face next to your signature; ballet shoes, coconuts, the taste of homemade cookies, faint smiles.

gemini: fountain pens and bullet-point journals, the cold breeze in early spring, the spaciousness of a big, quiet library; marble pillars and greek architecture, graceful movement, long, glossy nails, mint gum, the smell of green tea, loud laughter and sparkling eyes.

cancer: soft, fluffy pillows and silk bedsheets, seeing the flowery trees in spring, peach iced tea, the salty smell of the ocean and collecting seashells, soft eyes, dewy skin; chandeliers, taking a peaceful snooze to wind down, warm hugs and care for the ones you love, summertime air, the taste of sweet fruit.

leo: fields of tall sunflowers, summer tans and freckles, old black and white movies, singing as loud as you can in an open room, the smell of guava juice and sunscreen, tap dancing and smiles worn only for the camera; brightly colored hair and walls, leather jackets and sneakers.

virgo: the smell of clean laundry, singing softly to yourself; calligraphy pens and wool sweaters, gold necklaces, calmness in solitude, vanilla milkshakes, the hum of moving bikes, writing poetry about the changing of seasons, sitting in a meadow in the early morning to clear your head.

libra: talking so much your throat gets raspy, giggling about your crush, drinking fruity iced tea, wearing oversized clothes, getting your nails done, palm trees and tropical flowers; the smell of makeup, wearing bikinis and pushing your friends into the pool, face masks, red or pink lip gloss.

scorpio: listening to synthy music late at night, streetlights, dark colored clothes and staying up until sunrise, doc martens; plaid skirts, dancing like nobody’s watching, the smell of chlorine, disco lights, the clicking of high heels, quiet downtown streets late at night.

sagittarius: big coats, polaroids, taking random roadtrips to the southwest; 70’s music, red lipstick, arizona tea, comfortable silences, cracking your knuckles when you get nervous, getting up early enough to watch the sun rise, hiking through the mountains, glittering smiles, golden retrievers.

capricorn: earth tones, grassy meadows and rushing lakes, cocker spaniels, picnics under an old tree; planting your own vegetables and fruit, owning a sunhat, painting with watercolors; drinking black coffee early in the mornings, loving and thriving off of your routine.

aquarius: looking at saturn’s rings through a telescope, going to art museums; the smell of lilac, riding your bike through an unfamiliar part of town, old maps, vintage telephones, listening to music with the windows down, buying your clothes at thrift stores, bubblegum, cool tones.