#foolstemper

That said, this also means you totally don’t have to tip! I won’t tell you not to, but I raised them in part so people feel less like they need to tip. I always appreciate it, of course, but I like that people won’t feel that pressure, especially considering commissions are expensive in general.

A big reason I changed them was because I am facing homelessness and getting the amounts I was before was a lot of work for not enough money. I know, logically, that I don’t have to explain myself, but I feel terrible about it and explaining things helps calm me.

Basically, I don’t have anywhere I can paint the way I’d like - but someday I will. And to say that, because I have a backspace button (cause erasing your mistakes doesn’t exist in traditional formats, right?), that it makes my digital art less respectable than traditional is madness.

If you don’t know how to draw on paper, there’s gonna be a learning curve. If you don’t know how to draw digitally, there’s gonna be a learning curve. If you don’t know how to draw at all, there’s gonna be a learning curve. Now stop arguing and just accept that all art is real, requires skill and is deserving of respect.

Decided to potentially wreck my shit by recording my voice while frantically searching for my medication because I accidentally recorded myself in the first clip and thought, “is my voice…? Could it be? Dare I say it? Is it… Deeper?” And it is! Still gots a ways to go but stoked I don’t sound like a squeaky toy anymore. I even sound deeper than usual in my jokey ha ha voice (when I say gotteeeem - always had a problem with my voice sky rocketing with elongated e’s). Super cool. My voice is still dysphoria inducing but not as bad as it once was.

The 2022/2023 sketchbook.

I ache for Seattle. I call for Iceland. Home. I’ve never been home. And I fear I’ll never have them. I get fucked up thinking about how I may always be a rough fragment of grander existence that never finds home. I am a jagged rock on a footpath. Unfinished. Unpolished. And while the rocks in the nearby riverbeds, smoothed over by the years, may have mega annum on me, I still wish it to be the ocean waves that take me. Dragging me down to the ocean floor. My body feeding something in the depths. It’d be nice. Quiet. I wouldn’t know it - I’d be dead - but I’d have finally contributed to something great. Something I love. Eternal sleeping to whale songs - lovely. Finding home after death is still finding home.