oozey mess
Today's Document
DEAR READER
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No title available
occasionally subtle
Jules of Nature
shark vs the universe
i don't do bad sauce passes
wallacepolsom
almost home
YOU ARE THE REASON
todays bird
pixel skylines
Monterey Bay Aquarium
noise dept.
if i look back, i am lost
@theartofmadeline
Sweet Seals For You, Always
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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@agentpennymajere
Hey Guys!
I've finally made a separate blog for my art! My main is @agentpennymajere so you may have seen some of my art there before. I have a ko-fi! -> https://ko-fi.com/jemstonedoesart
More art and commission info can be found on my carrd -> https://jemstonedoesart.carrd.co/# I'm on Bluesky! @ JemstoneDoesArt -> https://bsky.app/profile/jemstonedoesart.bsky.social
Commission are currently OPEN, please see above links for details.
I don't know what is it...
Tumblr ad wishing me a happy pride
I feel like people struggle to understand that my life as an aorace person is not centered around an absence of relationships. There is no romance shaped void that I am trying to live with, or live around, or which my life's purpose is to fill somehow.
I go to university and I go to work and I volunteer in my community and in the in-between moments I drink tea with my friends and I plant tomatoes on my balcony and there is no need for anything else. There is no room for anything else anyway.
When I am asked how I deal with 'the hole in my life' or what I do with 'all my free time', I know these questions are not about me at all. They are a reflection of the person asking.
Its kind of asking how you cope with the lack of parking spaces when someone doesnt own a car
Ooh I love this analogy because not owning a car does come with problems (at least in the US typically), namely that US infrastructure is so reliant on cars that not owning one means that you deal with other problems, like lack of bike lanes, infrequent public transit, people always assuming you can drive places, etc. Aro/ace people do face problems due to amatonormativity in society, such as inaffordability of places to live alone (because it's assumed you'll live with a roommate until you're a "real adult" and live with a partner and also because of capitalism), lack of ways to meet new people that aren't specifically focused on dating, and people always asking when you'll settle down, aren't you lonely, don't you miss having a partner? as OP talked about.
Like, there are problems that one encounters as a carless person, and there are problems I've encountered as an aroace person. But the problem as a carless person isn't lack of parking spaces and the problem as an aroace person isn't lack of a relationship.
Red vs Blue isn’t so much a dead web show but a poison that, once introduced, won’t leave your system and is detrimental for your entire life. Much like Mercury or Agent Orange
Preparing for trouble ✨
qrow doodles... qroodles 🐦
I just wanted to try some brushes... And to draw Dalamar. That's it.💜
!!!Manic in the house!!! (comms are still open :D)
*feeds my fellow manic fans*
ITS THE BOY!!!!
I adore your art so much!!!!
Could we get an F6 Mammon pretty please 🙏
Money pweaaaase? 🥺
(Thank you 💛)
these two were my first RWBY ship btw
Story Time: Get a load of what happened to me at Starbucks today.
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.
Ilker Kocahan holds a bachelor’s degree in Industrial Design with a minor in architecture from the University of Marmara, Faculty of Fine A
UPDATE TO THIS STORY! I would have posted this sooner, but quarantine has had the unexpected effect of zapping all my alone-time...
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:
[UPDATE:] I am absolutely gobsmacked and grateful at the way this post has resonated with so many folks on Tumblr, artists and otherwise. Some have asked whether Ilker and I have kept in touch, and yes, we have! He occasionally messages pictures of building designs he’s working on or happy family photos (which I assume he’s sending en masse to his friends list) and I basically gush in return. I’ll also occasionally drop a line to check in; he knows I’m still working on my inking and sketch work. He remains so very encouraging and kind. He wishes me “happy art days.”
That said, you can imagine how my heart sank when last night he sent a message out to his Facebook friends letting us know he contracted Coronavirus and has been hospitalized. He’s been ill for two weeks now.
I asked for his consent to share this with friends in case it could inspire some good vibes, and he agreed. If you felt moved by his wisdom and kindness in the above posts and feel inclined to send a healing thought his way today, I would be grateful. While I believe his constitution is strong thanks to his being so active, this virus doesn’t discriminate, and the world needs humans like Ilker Kocahan right now. (Or at least, I do.)
Thanks, and I promise to report back with any news. ❤️
As promised, I have an update on Ilker’s condition!
I am happy to report that he is back home from the hospital as of this week and reportedly feeling better. He said he feels extremely lucky and credited his healthy/happy lifestyle for his resilience via text message. I quote:
“No smoking No Drunk Basketball Good food Family life enjoying And happy character”
While he was in the hospital he generously texted me photos of little notes he’d scrawled on paper napkins of his vitals (temperature, blood pressure, blood O2 levels) since I had asked him to keep me posted. Of all the notes he sent, this one was the most interesting, as it shows they’ve been making patients sleep in a prone position with some kind of ventilation over the face, presumably to leverage gravity in opening up the lungs?
Anyway, I’m so grateful to everyone who sent well wishes and look forward to passing along those kind messages to him after this. Thank you, thank you for those good vibes. ❤️
I hope that if and when I ever come down with something scary like COVID, I can handle it with as much grace as this guy right here:
June 16, 2022-
🎶 REUNITED AND IT FEELS SO GOOOOD… 🎶
I genuinely never thought I’d write this update. I was almost positive Ilker and I would never meet at that Starbucks again—that the universe had swept this one beautiful encounter into my life only to send a pandemic to sweep it back out again—but to my utter shock and astonishment this morning, I got a text message at 7:45 AM:
“In USA now. Same Starbucks. Same chair now.”
And y’all, I got my shit together. Tossed my sketchbooks into my canvas bag, herded the kids into the car to bring them to school, then jetted over to that Starbucks with burning eyes and a lump in my throat. As soon as I saw him, he recognized me instantly (even with my mask on) and gave me an enormous heart-exploding hug. “Venessa! Is so wonderful to see you!” he said at the same time as I said, “Ilker, my friend! I can’t believe it!”, and he put his arm around my shoulder and quickly led me to the counter so he could order me my usual cup of tea.
We only had a little more than a half an hour to chat before he had to go to work—a new architecture project here in DC—during which he told me all the things he’s been up to these last couple of years: the sketching classes he taught in Belarus, the Russian exhibition of his artwork (which included a printed translation of THIS VERY TUMBLR POST), his battle against, not one, but two bouts of COVID, and ultimately, the evacuation of his family after Russia’s attack on Ukraine. And as is his way, he spoke of every challenge he and his family have faced together with gratitude for his health, his resilience, and for the small blessings that enabled him to make his way back to the States. I told him how much I appreciated his attitude toward life’s ups and downs because I’ve been learning to count my blessings as well, in large part because he told me to—via text when I was struggling to stay psychologically afloat in the thick of pandemic parenting: “You have health. You have family You have home and food. All will be well my good friend.”
He then brought up my art. And guess what? I SHOWED HIM MY SKETCH BOOK.
It wasn’t as full as I’d hoped it would be by the time I saw him again, and I sheepishly shared how hard it was to maintain a good sketching practice during quarantine when it seemed I was working nonstop thanks to the day job, proctoring Zoom school for the small man, homeschooling the smaller man, and freelance work. But I had done my best, managing to fill up at least 2/3 of it in addition to the finished work I posted to social media.
Now, we’ve followed each other on Instagram and Facebook since that second meeting two years ago, and while we DM’d on a regular basis and he left the occasional comment on my work, I was never quite sure how much of my finished work he’d seen (or even had time to see given he was still working and teaching abroad). But as he flipped through my book (nearly every sketch rendered in ink) he said, “Is very good! I watch you art change! You grow so much! I am so proud!”
When I tell you I could have burst into a rainbow confetti of heart-eye emojis.
Speaking of rainbows: very gently did he ask about the subject matter of my work, which folks who follow my social media accounts know as being mostly representative of LGBTQ+/BIPOC relationships. With trepidation, I told him that I, myself, was a queer BIPOC artist, and that drawing these relationships was a way to validate and love myself, to validate the diverse love of other marginalized groups, and hopefully paint a world into being where such individuals feel seen, comforted, represented, and protected. He nodded along as I explained this, and ultimately put me at ease when he said, “I am man who love woman. But I do not judge on who is gay, who is not gay. Everyone is welcome. As artist, I care about the lines!”
We returned to talking about family and work after that. I got to spill some secrets about projects I’ve been working on, and he told me he’s still playing basketball. He said he’s 67 but never wants to retire. He told me his daughters are now scattered and nearly made me cry when he said, “I have daughter in Istanbul, I have daughter in New York, and now”—he pointed to me—“I have daughter in DC.” When it was time for him to get back to his office, he asked me to see if I could find a local sketching club where we can sign up for figure drawing sessions, and we scheduled a date on the calendar for us to meet back at the Starbucks to draw.
And I suppose there’s no better way to conclude this little Tumblr saga than by saying there’s no true conclusion. It’s like this little miracle showed up in my life at exactly the time I most needed to practice trusting in my ability to grow and adapt, to stay soft during adversity, hold space for new relationships, and above all, embrace where I am in my creative journey. I’m so grateful to have made this connection and to share the wisdom it’s given me with all of you.
Don’t forget: The world needs to see you in the lines.
Peruvian whistling vessels simulating animal calls (some of the oldest found date to c. 500–300 BCE)
ok so, I approached my local library with a proposal to donate a mural as a way to A: build portfolio/gain practical experience and B: give back to a beloved public institution. The director was very enthusiastic about it and i've been working on it since the beginning of March. Come with me as I endeavor to paint what is in all honesty an excessive amount of birds
I wanted the birds to look like they were actually in the space so first thing after doing the draft was to do a lighting study
after that I covered the walls in letters in lieu of a projector/vr headset bc i have neither of those :) Then i take a picture of the section of wall and superimpose the lineart over top of it so I can pencil in the lines
et voila
and that was a whole week on it's own so next comes the paintin' >:)
and now, the birds
Birds 1 and 2/14: Red Winged Blackbird, Male and female, Agelaius phoeniceus
Bird 3/14, American Robin, Turdus migratorius
hoo boy, ok *out of breath*
GIVE IT UP FOR BIRD NUMBUH 5, THE CANADIAN GOOSE, Branta canadensis!!!!
this guy took me about 4 days to completely finish, all of those freakingk coverts were a bear to render
speaking of obnoxious coverts:
bird 5/14, Bluejay, Cyanocitta cristata
the friggin stripes almost got me chat, i may not make it
Madam....
birds 6 and 7: American Goldfinch, Spinus tristis, male and female
pleasantly simple to paint! next is the flickerrrrr
*melts into goo*
BIRD NUMBER 8, (yellow shafted) NORTHERN FLICKERRRRR, Colaptes auratus
genuinely made me start questioning my sanity around day 3, it's half the size the of the goose, WHY did it take me 4 days to finish??
nothing but pain and suffering, i'm sure hope the next bird will be much easier and with FAR less barring :)
in other news, I am losing my mind hairline
SHE'S DONE!!
Bird number 9: Red-tailed hawk, Buteo jamaicensis
my chains are broken i am FREE. although i did have a great deal of fun with this, the barring on the wings itself took me like four days and i am READY to move on
this was a week and a half of continuous work so please excuse me for getting a little emotional in the bg 🙏
*does a little jig*
BIRD NUMBER 10!!! The Male Mallard Duck, Anas platyrhynchos
the male and female ones are gonna be posted separately bc they're taking a lot longer lol but yea! super happy i was able to capture the iridescent green of the head, i found metallic green and blue paint at a craft store that really made his head POP. it looks better in person i promise
ALSO!! As this is the 10th one, BIG announcement. The end is in sight!!!!! I plan to finish within the next 3 weeks and there will be a small dedication ceremony/ unveiling happening at the library to commemorate its completion on the 16th of May. If you live in the Western New York region and want to check it out for yourself shoot me a dm!
Also thank you everyone for your kind words and support throughout this whole process, it's been a genuine treat thinking there are potentially thousands of you out there cheering me on while I paint this 🥹
aaaand another one bites the duck,
we're movin right along with bird numero 11!! The lady Mallard!! Anas platyrhyncos
the 16th is looming in the distance so i'm trying to get thru these as quickly as i can so i can have as much time for the GBH as possible. i still need to do the names next to all of them so i've got about a week and a half to finish everything which is GREAT because i have adhd and nothing gets my ass in gear like a fuckin deadline, let me tell you
power couple that they are, here's bird number 12 and 13,
the Northern Cardinals, Cardinalis cardinalis
and NOW that they are complete, ITS GO TIME, in the next five days (library's closed for mother's day 😭😭) i need to have the GBH fully rendered, the names of the birds vectored, weeded, masked, applied to the wall, and then painted, plus additional cattails throughout. I may be able to get away with just getting the GBH done in time for the unveiling and then just have the names and cattails added later, but i'm gonna really try to get it all done in time. BUT, i have a plan. Part of why i take so long on these is because i really am just figuring it out as I do it lmao. there have been many a time where i am sitting on top of the ladder googling "how to paint birds" but I think if i take the time tomorro to do all that figuring out how to approach it beforehand, this will go a lot faster. I may also recruit some of my artist friends to help with the placing of the names... hrmm we'll see.
Anyways, shout out to the librarian who tracked down exactly the thing i needed so i could figure out where to place the highlights in my birds eyes, ur the real mvp
thanks for the reminder, kid
