Pi Why

Four weeks in. On LinkedIn, they say that like it means something. A critical milestone. From new hire to contributing team member. Barf. Still a long way from feeling completely at ease.Whatever being at ease means. I don't know anymore. Did I ever actually? The work-life balance. the dissociating equilibrium, when what you do is not what completes you. Like it's a scale you could balance. But you can't . It's a sieve. You pour water in it and try to drink it before it all disappears . Sysiphic. I'm thirsty. I haven't hustled this hard for this little since... Christ. A long time. When I was younger and dumber and thought poverty was a stance against the system. So not too long ago I guess. But when I earned just a bit of money I'd spend it. Mostly on things I still have though. Collecting is not just boring. It's mostly boring. But there's something in the boredom. A clearing. A weight to remember me by. So I bought colours. Not paint, just colours. The kind you use to fill things up. Felt tips. Markers. I sat down and coloured in And the feeling of it. The drag of the nib on the paper. The smell, f*** love this smell. It did something. It chemically something to me, I'm sure of it. I still smell it. I used them on an old drawing. Lying there. Half-buried. I don't remember finishing it. Probably didn't. Most things don't get finished here. They get abandoned in layers. Like cairn, like bodies left on top of each other. Projects stacked on projects. Guilt on guilt. Souvenir on souvenir. I put the colours on it. Just to see. To give it life. Again. To do something with my hands that wasn't typing. Wasn't thinking. Wasn't smiling. Wasn't the endless churn. More of that? Why not. #drawing #drawingincoulours #psychedelicart #rambling

Tell me what you see in this. #digitalart #abstractart #abstract

Poster variations crafted for @authorandpunisher and @fangesludge , specifically for their highly anticipated appearance at @badbonnkilbi on the 17th of April. These visual representations aim to encapsulate the essence of their distinctive sound and evoking their profound atmosphere. Immersing thyself in the raw, guttural power of metal or the thick, sludgy depths of the genre, vivid images of ancient, primeval landscapes are conjured. I often envision a world steeped in medieval lore, where the air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying flora, reminiscent of a forgotten, swampy horror. This visceral experience often brings forth a rich tapestry of associations, something that lies uncannily in between the dark mystique of NOLA voodoo, within intricate rituals and shadowy bayous, rough-hewn aesthetic of redneck culture, its characteristic tattoos, sipping on the comforting burn of whiskey bourbon, and drawn by the tantalizing allure of mysterious artifacts. Relics, unearthed from stepping deep within the tangled root systems of ancient, submerged trees, surfaces encrusted with centuries of sediment and secrets. The music itself, an astonishing weight, a profound, almost geological ans mineral density. Heavy felt, utterly pervasive, unseen ghosts and lingering echoes hiding perpetually between the myriad layers of dirt and compacted earth beneath our very feet. It’s a sound vibrating of untold stories, savage, untamed narratives that nature itself, raw, could whisper or scream into the listener's ear. Primeval roars of forgotten beasts, the silent battles waged by flora and fauna, relentless march of geological time, All distilled into a sonic landscape. Did I get it? #digitalart #vectorink #metalsludge #heavymetal

By Way of Making Own existence came to, flawed, misunderstood. This is not a speculation. The ground beneath tiny feet. The first worst uttered to my ears. Not here, non-existent. Wanted, expected, but unrecognized. The mind then, built its cage. By way of influence, by way of wanting only to belong. A labyrinth chosen, created with no exit, walls of thought that close in tighter. Corridors walked until the path became a knot, over a knot, over a knot. A Gordian challenge. Waiting for its great release. Fear at both ends—fear of succeeding, fear of failing—and between them, just air. This is the trap. The hand knows what the mind forgets. Before intention, before calculation, it moves along the way The finger draws. Shape follows shape. Layer upon layer. And within that movement, release. Not escape. Release. The walls do not disappear. But for moments, inside them. Between one mark and the next. The labyrinth remains no longer a cage. Acceptance it is. Artistic endeavor is no distraction. It is the only ground on which I allow myself to stand. Not because the world changes, but because in the act, I am. Trapped, then freed. Freed, then made. Call this madness? Again. Letting go of intention. Again. Takinf up the brush. Again. Stepping into the void and making a mark. Again. There's my only proof. That is my release today. With different results. #vectorart #vectorink #snapseed

I have no words.

Third iteration for the next Scene Aux Vices at @lezoo_usine by @djvideusedesalle . Evolving from the start. The first sketch rose from the scales and skin, a primitive heat cutting through the paper, sticking it to the audience. The second was a statement. Bold and heavy. Typography as a brick wall. The signal was in the static, and in the boom tube. So, new idea was to strip it back. Returningto the source material : drawing in b&w. I took the raw drawing and gave it breath after tying too much to change it through PS. So, I brought back the black, digitized the line, pixel by pixel, creating depth, relief, and a new kind of gravity. The conversation then became color: Green for the glow of the underground. Pink for the pulse. This is the sound of the eye dissolving. Find the signal. Lose yourself on the floor.

I usually don't do colours. I'm always afraid it'll mess up the lines I'm "so good" at. But, I wanted to explore a bit of blue, thinking about how ice,cold as ever, touching water, between air and snow, can be the lightest and deepest blue at the same time. Somehow it made me dream of the coldest place, where ice cracks when breathing, holding life within its stillness. Sharp and smooth, crisp and hot to a burning point, completely contradictory. I'll see it on the other side again I hope. Closing my eyes but it hear it talk. KRRRRRRAAAAAA WHOOOOOOO OOOOOO GRRRRKKK KRAKK KRAK SHHHRRRRRRRAAAAAA WHUMMM THOOM KRRRRAAAK TCHAK TCHAK HOOOOOOOOOO GLRRRRRRRKRRRK WHOOOOOOOooooOooo

Here, hear. Believe it, or do not, these are hours that demand a deeper seeing, for something gathers beyond the edge of dawn. Some seek it in the turn of cards, others in the flight of crows cutting black paths through a crimson morning. Some read the future in warm entrails, blood still steaming from a loved beast, a sacrifice made not for glory, but for quieting the mind, for dulling the ache of what is coming. We offer flesh and omen to soften the blow of prejudice yet unborn, to excuse the ignominy unfolding openly, shamelessly, before our eyes. For truth is not always meant for common hands. It passes instead through those marked by touch and burden, gifted, or cursed, often both. They carry a weight heavier than crowns. They listen when the earth itself laments, sifting sense from the long idiocy of ages, finding meaning where time would rather forget. Blessed are they, for they know. And cursed, for knowing changes nothing. #drawingprocess #fromsketchtodigital #inkdrawing #linework #photoshopart digitalcoloring handdrawn illustrationart contemporaryillustration artistsoninstagram independentartist graphicdrawing visualstorytelling rawdrawing undergroundart blacklines

I love public transport. It’s the only place where intimacy is optional and unavoidable at the same time. You don’t talk. You breathe each other. Cheap perfume, damp coats, yesterday’s night still hanging in the air. Faces slide past behind sunglasses, black mirrors reflecting nothing but tired thoughts. Magic boxes glow in their hands, little altars where they pray not to be seen. For a few stops you steal their lives— a woman clutching a bag like it owes her money, a man rehearsing arguments he’ll never finish, someone already late for something that already failed. We’re trapped together in a metal thought, moving without going anywhere, each of us aiming for a name on a map that means everything for five minutes. Seats warm, then cold. Sometimes they leave something behind. a scarf, a silence, a fart ( most times)a trace of having been here. In motion. Sometimes they don’t leave at all. Space opens. Bodies shift closer. Strangers touch without touching. They’re on their way. I’m on mine. art #drawing #abstractart #sketchbook #sanstractdrawing #blackandwhitedrawíng #sciencefiction #SciFiArt #Cyberpunk #BlackAndWhiteArt #Monochrome #InkDrawing

Something old but anew, Something that drew me back. Wanting to explore the page and my own capacity to create from nothing but sheer imagination. No borders no nations. Most rules we've been taught have been blown up lately while there are still many people in the sea. Trying to reach safe haven, hoping for a safer and greener life. Suffice to say, looking at the sky and the stars expecting a Deus ex machina never coming. Sleepless Nights. art #drawing #abstractart #noborsersnonations #sketchbook #abstractdrawing #blackandwhitedrawíng

Sometimes the format dictates where the drawing goes. There's a leporello I started sometime last year and put away for some reason. It somehow managed to come back under my pen. The term leporello refers to printed material folded into an accordion-pleat style. There could be no end to it as far as I'm concerned. But sometimes the pages do stop on. Also sometimes known as a concertina fold, it is a method of parallel folding with the folds alternating between front and back, allowing it to unfold horizontally for continuous viewing, storytelling, or panoramic display The name likely comes from the manservant, Leporello, in Mozart's opera Don Giovanni. Used one side as dialogue between two large horizontal Used the other one as a sketchbook and automatic drawing. Small, it fits in a backpocket. Still, it expanded large within the lines. Lines, lines, lines. #art #drawing #abstractart #sketchbook #sketchbookdrawing #leporello #blackandwhitedrawíng