Sometimes, all of the words in the world aren't enough to express feelings in a way that they deserve.

Regular programming will resume soon, with any luck. Until then, thank you all for your continued support.

I'm currently flying back home from a stay in the States to attend BFC. It was wonderful, and I'm excited to be back home where I can put my newfound energy to good use and make all sorts of new and fun things for y'all.

During the internal flight back from the con to my little sweetheart Fae, where I was staying for a while, my playlist landed on the song "Mother, I'm Here," which resonated with me powerfully (and is essential to the enjoyment of this piece), to the point of tears. It inspired an idea, as music is wont to do, but I didn't have the time or energy to tackle it at the time.

On the transatlantic flight to my layover in Amsterdam - which is where I'm preparing this post - the song came up again, and I was not about to let inspiration pass me by a second time. Luckily, I had my new sketching kit with me, and an empty seat beside me, so I set myself up to draw.

I hastily scrawled the lyrics down, fruitlessly attempting to choke back my tears again, and split the song up into pictures to go with each stanza.

My dearest Mommy Garnet was certainly at the forefront of my mind when I first heard the song, given the pointed lyrics and the fact that I have a room set aside for me to stay in at hers, but there are so many people in my life now who are eager to welcome me "back home," despite how far away or long I've gone. This is why I changed "Mother" to "Lover" in the sequence, as she is also very much that to me, too.

This gift I now have is, in no uncertain terms, something that I have sought out for my entire life, and as hard as it is to say goodbye each time I leave one home to return to another, the fact that I can do this at all is something that I cherish and value in ways that words cannot do justice.

And that is why I spent a couple of hours on my flight home feverishly drawing this, and uncontrollably crying nearly the entire time.

I took the photos on the plane to add the sense of immediacy and context of travel to the final piece, almost as if it were a performance in itself. However, this did make the sketches a little harder to read, so here are some clearer shots of each page to try and help with legibility.

My latest return home has once again proven challenging to me, and last night was especially difficult. I decided to stream and work on some art that came to mind while I was struggling, and I'm both very pleased with the results and feeling better for having made them all.

First we have one that sums up my issues with pursuing what it is I want for myself. I struggle with asking for things in the first place, so when it becomes a problem then I don't even know where to start.

One stylistic detail that ended up being a little too subtle in the final piece to easily notice is that I used a different brush for the linework in either half - I felt like they helped further convey the feelings held within me that the dialogue and posing might not have on their own. I also realized halfway through the process that I actually hadn't drawn kid chocolate exactly on model, and looks more like a midpoint between the two of us. I didn't bother "fixing" it since that has plenty of implications that I think elevate the piece even further.

Next is this one, which captured the vibe of more recent experiences, such as this weekend's.

Given the above context, I think it should speak for itself.

A while back I rediscovered one of my favourite music artists Louis Cole, who has already inspired me to create one of my favourite pieces of art to date, and discovered that he released a whole new album in a remarkably Louis Cole sort of way.

Among those songs was one of the first that found me, and frankly remains my favourite from the entire album; "These Dreams are Killing Me." From the title I thought it was going to be about something quite different, so the whiplash when I listened to it was swift and pronounced. Even still, the subversion of expectation, however unintentional, inspired me greatly.

While the song itself certainly made its mark and I found myself resonating with it, it still left me a little wanting.

While my musical prowess is still no more than a far-off wish, I've always enjoyed writing, especially poetry; so I wove a few verses together to express what I thought the song was going to be about by the title alone, and what I was (and have been) struggling with myself for a while.

These dreams of mine they do persist
And so insist on willing me
To venture on and strive for more.
I pray don't falter, tarry or fail
Lest those same dreams should then change tack
And strive for killing me.

I was originally going to publish this in some way as a standalone piece, but it conjured up a very clear image in my mind that would serve as an excellent backdrop for it. It simmered there for a while, going through my usual stages of reluctance and and apprehension of taking on a project with any sort of ambition, even sitting as an empty canvas in my Unfinished Projects folder for about a week. Somewhat appropriately, really.

I then ran a vent stream, which is when I made Immanence, and later while combing through that folder I figured I had little to lose, and got it done in a single sitting. I went at it a little rougher than I might've liked to, but I'm happier with it being done rather than perfect - and likely never even attempted as a result.

I've actually dreamt of reciting this at an open mic night somewhere close by. Maybe someday.

This weekend I had an exceptionally difficult time with myself and my art, with several weeks of slow-mounting, self inflicted pressure coming to a head.

One morning, I got hit by a sense of clarity regarding a recurring issue I've been dealing with for a very long time now. Something that I've talked about in the past, but which I realize has grown more chronic and pervasive across various aspects of my life, especially as of late.

It led to an idea of how I might be able to express this issue in a compelling way through my art. I started workshopping it in my head while I was still in bed, but as I progressed the more I realized this wouldn't be easy at all for me to pull off. The pervasive dread of committing to such a large project started to loom, all the while the unbearable need to get this intensely personal art out of my system continued to mount.

Within an hour I was being held in my friend Plushie's arms, crying out of sheer frustration that I felt with myself.

After some well-needed TLC, I was left alone to tend to myself, and I tried to face my fears and start working on the project. Planning and storyboarding only further magnified my apprehension of working on something considerably beyond my comfort zone, and it genuinely felt like I couldn't get the art out of my system quickly enough to sate my need for it.

At that moment, I remembered something I'd watched months ago that had clearly left its mark on me, and in a frenzy I set aside that pressing task to start on another. This one.

As gruesome as it may seem, I think it's a perfect illustration of how it's felt lately to be so completely immersed in so much potential for creation for so long. Writing down all my ideas, browsing social media where I've curated my feed to be absolutely packed with other artists' amazing work, thinking constantly about what I could make, and should be making... I'm entertaining and surrounding myself in so many viable, attractive, and wonderful ideas that it's overwhelmed my system; leaving me unable to harness any of them - let alone all of them - or let them out of my system in any positive or constructive way.

It makes me feel stuck; full of untapped artwork that will never be made, languishing until I grow increasingly impatient, frustrated, and unwell.

As uncomfortable as that moment of clarity was for me, getting this out of my system (pun intended) was intensely cathartic and healthy for me, to say the least. I hadn't intended to make it, but now, I'm glad that I did.

That having been said, this pattern of behaviour has been going on for quite a while now, much as any of my closer friends will attest to, and it's not something I can so easily shrug off and stop subjecting myself to. It's an awful confluence of a lot of bad mental habits, each playing a different part in exacerbating what would otherwise be a simple problem to fix:

Perfectionism making me unable to make things with ease,
High expectations I set for myself to perform consistently, if not constantly,
Being unreasonably ambitious without focusing on follow-through,
Impatience with achieving results above all else,
Fear of failure making me apprehensive of trying in the first place,
Comparing myself with others to an almost obsessive degree,

And perhaps even more besides, but you get the point.

I'm doing my best to keep my head above the surface while working on breaking those patterns, so it doesn't have to be this difficult throughout my day-to-day. Several years of therapy will attest to that much at least. It's easy to fall back into old habits and coping mechanisms though - especially when I've got a lot on my plate - and that's why I've struggled to stay afloat as of late.

As I prepare to post this up for all to see, I worry about coming across as complaining about a good thing. Being entirely fair to myself though, I feel this way because I know what I've got, and I'm scared of losing it due to my mistakes.

Thank you for taking the time to read this.

Sometimes, the tears just come, and they won't stop until they're done.

I haven't been that great. I'm okay as of posting this, but not all that much lately.

I drew this yesterday. I'm doing better today, but it's definitely still a vibe.

"Thank you for being there for me and holding onto the tiny spark of hope that gets smothered by my fear."

This was recently inspired from a moment of clarity, following a stressful situation that a close friend helped talk me through, and reassure me while I was on the verge of spiraling.

A while back, I had a session with my therapist in which she urged me to spend some time acknowledging my journey and successes over the past year or so. It just so happened that the day before, I was scrolling through my chatlogs with another friend, where I rediscovered a message I'd sent them when I was at one of the lowest points of my depression.

"I don't know how I'm going to get better" was the gist of it.

Thinking about that literally, if I genuinely believed that I didn't have a path to recovery… Well, let's just say I can only conclude that even at the time, I still had some tiny spark of hope that I would get better. The alternative isn't worth considering. Talking it through with my therapist really drove that fact home, and it was quite the realization.

This represents the help I got with holding onto that glimmer I had deep down inside, even if I couldn't see it then.