A polka-dotted Octopus

Pet peeves. WIP

This is a hi, a sorry and a thank you.

First of all, sorry about being so slack about replying to comments. I'm about to go on a trip for a few days, but I will get back to everyone as soon as I get back, I promise.

Second: I have to shout a huge THANK YOU to IF and MOO! I took part in their little Easter egg hunt and I won! I have never won anything and now I get a whole bunch of lovely goodies from MOO, including minicards, postcards and stickers! I'm so excited! Once I get back I'll sit down with tea and cheesecake and spend alllll day picking what I'll put on my minicards (psst... there's 100 of them.... hehe!).

I have had my eye on their stuff for a while and now I get it all for freeeee! Yay!!! I have already thanked Penelope and Brianna as well as Alicia from Moo, but here's my official thanks including a happy dance of which I will spare you photographic evidence.

Third, here's my submission for this week's topic 'Pet Peeves'. I would love to say that I was too busy to get it done, but the truth is, I'm a slacker. So here's the WIP, at least I got most of the linework done.
It DOES have to do with pet peeves that extend beyond carousel horses (which I adore btw), but I'll explain the concept once I upload the finished thing.

Happy travels to me. Lovely rest of the week to everyone else!

Stef xx

Liesel {Reclining.}

Meet Liesel, the newest result of my Wacom trial and error experiments.

She's a bit of a tease.
{Psst.... I love how sexy she turned out}

Pose ref can be found here: http://ikate.deviantart.com/art/Rose-80189389 by the amazing iKate ♥
{screensaver sized (if you like) fullview recommended}

Heavy. Peep toes.

You *might* not be able to tell from a pair of peep toes, but this is, in fact, my illustration for IF's heavy. It's part of a series about changes and responsibility. [Watching people react to challenges is really quite fascinating.]

I have had this damn Wacom for over a year now, but I hatehatehate everything I make with it.

This is the first thing that came out somewhat decent.

Did you know I actually have a room for shoes?

[Click for fullview, it looks much better.]

The luxury of working digitally, of course, is being able to tweak the colors etc. But I can't decide whether or not I prefer the orange over the pink.

Peace

Water.

It's 4:30 am and I have to work tomorrow, but I stayed up to watch a documentary about the 2004 tsunami.

We all know the facts and have seen the pictures, but this news channel had footage I personally hadn't seen before. A Thai filmed the wave coming from a safe spot on a peninsula just above the beach. The water pulled back and people started to wade out, fascinated by what was going on. The people on the hill spotted the wave and tried to warn the dozens of people down on the beach, but they didn't hear them.

A few seconds later the wave crashed and swallowed all those people who had stood there a moment before. And the wave didn't stop! It was brown, dirty, so fast and so powerful. It didn't stop. None of those people had run.

My aunt, uncle and little cousin were in Thailand that day. They were at the beach when my aunt saw the water pull back. I don't know if she knew what was happening or if she just sensed something was wrong, but she screamed at my uncle to get the passports while she grabbed my cousin and started to run up a hill.

Along with a few others, they reached a platform on the hill and most people stayed there feeling safe. My aunt, however, didn't and continued to run. My cousin said that the last thing she remembers after feeling her mother drag her up the hill further was seeing the wave swallow said platform along with all those who had felt safe. I don't think they ever saw them again.

I knew that especially my cousin is traumatized and I am eternally grateful that they survived. But until today, I think, I was oblivious to the intensity of the trauma they endured, I had no idea what they saw there. Just watching those pictures for a few hours made me physically ill. 230,000 people. I can't believe how lucky those three were. How lucky I am to still have them in my life.

I have never been a fan of sensationalist photos, but I am not sure this is one of them.

Leap!

A teeny weeny little something for IF: leap.

I am not sure whether or not I like it, but I liked the word and wanted do something, so I threw this together somewhat lovelessly in PS and now I feel guilty for the kitties and kiddies for not being nice to them. :(

I do like the blue though.

Raspberry Ice Cream

Things have been hectic, so now I am indulging in the luxury of doing what I want for a few days.

A hurricane is ranting outside and I am dreaming of summer

Pattern overload? Nah.

An unusual feeling

At the moment, everything is going well. Things are not okay, things are good. There's plenty of little things, lots of school stuff and work and decisions to make and responsibilities and normal life stuff... but things are good. Steady. Constant.

School is great, work is good, my friends are little angels, I am selling prints. My family is good, I have enough time to be there for others... what more could I ask for?

For the first time in years I have a cushion to lean on, I can look back on the work I have done and be content.

Such a relief.

A little doodle to celebrate happiness. And lightness.

Last summer

Was a happy summer.

Idyllic!

The Delights of Morning Coffee

Mmmmh.

I really, really, really want it to be spring. NOW!

Big Brown Bag

Just a quick little something to take my mind off the more important things in life.

Do you remember the innocent days?

Losses.

No matter how hard I try, I keep hating changes. I hate our spelling reform, I still somewhat reject the Euro, I dislike new political coalitions. I hate that they built a new house next door and that my beautiful flower field is gone forever, I hated graduating from school and most of all, I hate losing things.

A friend of mine, S., suddenly stopped talking to me about two years ago. No matter how often I tried to contact her, she simply ignored me, didn't return my calls or respond to my messages. I thought to myself that we are no longer six years old, so if she has a problem with me I will just wait until she feels ready to bring it up. She never did. I still think of her a lot and it hurts so much to know that such a precious friendship was thrown out the window and I don't even effing know why. If she would tell me and give me a chance to explain and apologize for whatever I have apparently done to hurt her feelings, I would be okay and be able to move on, but this?

Can we move out of kindergarten now? Please?

I found old pictures of her today and cried. She was one of not too many precious friends I have, one who carried around with herself secrets I have never shared with anyone else. So do we really have to play pre school? We're both adults, can't we just sit down and talk it out whatever it is?

Gah, it's so frustrating.

Srebrenica

For a few years now, I have been passionate about volunteering for two local non-profits.

I am not going to deny, however, that I have been beyond slack. Sometimes I get caught up so much in my own silly little issues surrounding work and school that I feel bad for not having checked in for a while and end up staying completely under the radar.

But I have been good about getting into it again and have gone to a few meetings recently. Last Thursday, we met to to discuss upcoming projects and one associate of our group decided to show a film he made of a trip about his to Kosovo.

I have read about it. Seen it on the news. Followed the rise and fall of Milosevic. The attempts of prosecuting him before the Tribunal. The elections, the pros and cons of sovereignty. I know what happened in Kosovo and Yugoslavia in general.

But I wasn't prepared for this. I wasn't prepared to see the ruins of houses of people I have met, of toddlers dying of lead poisening in UNHCR camps, of pictures of the green hills around Srebrenica.

It's moments like that when I feel nothing but utterly ashamed of living my life the way I do.

The green hills of Srebrenica.

Memories.

I am so busy right now that I hardly find time to breathe. When you're up till 4 am, working, and lying in bed wide awake by 8 am, you know something has to be wrong. I am trying so desperately to get my life under control again, making plans, sticking to the agenda, trying not to let things slide so the guilt that comes with procrastination doesn't constantly wash over me.

I am running to stay on track and yet it feels like my life is overtaking me and I am just sitting back watching time run out. This past year and the one that has just started are crucial for my future and are a crossroads of sorts, yet I don't give what I could and freeze from panic.

So I live through memories and wish I could run away as far as possible.

Decisions.

How do you know when it's time to move on? Whether it's time to seek closure, just walk away or work through the mess? Is it okay to seek the easiest alternative sometimes? To walk away without looking back?

It always hurts so much to give up something that we know will leave a hole in our hearts. So how do you deal with that?

I had a wonderful day with a friend today and when I took the train home, I decided to save the money for a cab and take the bus home instead. Standing around at the train station, I noticed that the light was on in my old dance studio. So I walked around the corner, telling myself the door would be closed. It was open. I asked a guy who came down carrying some stage equipment whether there was a play upstairs, and he told me they were just cleaning up.

This studio used to mean the world to me. It wasn't my second home, it was my home. I spent at least three days a week there, not only dancing, but hanging out, meeting friends, just living. The first time I walked through the doors was about ten years ago, and I immediately fell in love with the place. It is very vintage, friends of mine have referred to it as 'bohemian', in a not so flattering context. But it is, I guess, it lacks the sterile, distant atmosphere other studios have, it has black and white tiles, wooden floors, orange and pink walls, old posters all over, and everyone is like a family.

Four years ago, the place burned down. It broke my heart. As soon as the fire was extinguished, I went in to help with cleaning up and rescuing things, tech stuff, files, memorabilia.

But using torches because the lights were broken and the now black walls absorbed every tiny ray of light, wearing gas masks and carrying costumes, pictures and barres out to the roof to assess the damage... it no longer felt the same.

It must have been then that I distanced myself from it. I was at crossroads in my life anyway, and after a bad ankle injury that wouldn't heal, my teacher threw me out, telling me she would not continue to instruct me until I would seek medical care and my joints would heal.

That was two years ago. Three? Probably.

So today I went in. I walked into the theatre hall, where I danced every day for so many years. I didn't recognize it. I saw the people I used to walk past every day. They were so busy they didn't see me. So I snuck into the studio, and went into one of my old dance halls. I stood in the doorway for what felt like ages, but wincing every time I heard a sound. So I closed the door, and just stood there, trying to memorize every corner, every bump in the hardwood floors, every reflection of light on the walls. I walked across the room to stand by the window, watching myself in the large ballet window, flashing back to those millions of moments, scrutinizing every one of my moves, from the arched foot to the turned out leg to the pulled in tummy and the perfect neckline.
I stood in the window, much bigger, sadder and less confident than when i was a dancer, and i could no longer see that person. I wish I could have, I want her to come back, but I realized she was gone.
I read a few newspaper clippings and looked at pictures being pinned to the walls, some of my ballet teacher, wiping away a sneaky tear before someone would catch me.

I snuck back out, looking up at the windows from outside, and I knew that I would never go back. It was good to get closure, and I cried over this part of my life being finally over.

But then I thought, why not go back? I know I would never be good again, I would never be asked to dance on stage anymore, but why not do it for me?

I don't know what the right decision is. Go back, maybe clinging to a part of my life that is supposed to be over for good... or just letting go.

I don't know. All I know is that going back after so many years really tore at my heart.

Impressions

I want to get into this, get started somehow, but am unsure how.

So I will just share some old photos... memories of trips, of people, of things my head may forget but my heart won't.

Let's start with this past summer. Cambodia and Thailand.

Do you know those moments where
everything feels light and nothing
matters but the very second?
This was one of those.

Silly cliché, but true.

Welcome to my little world

I'm a student, a wannabe artist, a dreamer, a procrastinator, a pessimist, a caffeine addict, an observer, a girly girl, a smoker, a giggler, an in-the-shower-singer and in-the-car-to-myself-talker, a tomboy, a talker, a McDreamy addict, a traveller, a lover and a friend.

The busier I get the more urgent the necessity becomes to clean the house, lie in the grass and watch clouds, count stars, learn how to make your own soap, find that CD you haven't listened to for 7 years, vacuum on top of the kitchen cabinets, bake a cake and then some waffles, read time magazine, find out how exactly dna replication works, sew a purse from a t shirt, repair the aircon, buy new undies, try to find out with juice tastes best mixed with beer, look at pictures of polar babies, repeat those ballet moves you knew you were capable of and cause yourself excruciating pain in the process, write poetry even though you don't really like poetry, google 'indie bands' and see what google comes up with, decide to join a drama class, make a sculpture that falls off the balcony, make mental note to either no longer make sculptures or build balcony fence, read a b took about the khmer rouge, decide to throw out some purses but end up buying two more.

Welcome to my little world. Not crazier than anyone else's, but mine.