ImagiNation

Antalique | She/Her/Hers | Digital painter

[antalique]

Liminal

Asian-American. Not Asian. Not American. Asian-American. We exist in this hyphen, this liminal space where we cannot fit fully into either identity, where we float between being both but also neither. My parents are Vietnamese boat refugees, and I was born in Southern Califonia. I wanted this piece to represent how it felt to grow up in both cultures. The figure stretches between lotus flowers and golden poppies, reaching to both but unable to touch either. We possess a sense of agency but simultaneously lack full control over our identities. That liminal space is what being Asian-American is. Not Asian. Not American. Both and none, synchronously.

[antalique]

Anniversary photo!

[sixpenceee]

Sculpture by artist Emil Melmoth. Of his work Melmoth says “Death is living forever on my mind, a self-portrait of so many changes I had recently and how I see myself inside.”

[antalique]

No one:

Substitute teacher: “I have eyes on the back of my skull”

[antalique]

[antalique]

“T-Rex.” Commissioned dog portrait.

[antalique]

“Family”

Kanji tattoo

[antalique]

Drawing for the Yale Scientific Magazine article, "To Mourn a Star."

[antalique]

The Psychiatrist and the Patient

"Seems weird but I can have two voices in my head, a personal dialogue, with one hysterical patient and one rational psychiatrist. But sometimes the psychiatrist doesn't want to work. Or the hysterical patient doesn't want to listen. Or both. So I'm left with the psychiatrist knowing there's something wrong and how to fix it, but the patient unwilling to take a step forward. Or even the psychiatrist just wanting to back off, to let the streams run their course." The patient and the psychiatrist exist simultaneously as a yin and a yang. The waves lap endlessly at the patient's feet while the psychiatrist chills with her feet up. Water calms me - the pitter patter of rain, the warmth of late night showers, the (inadvisable) taste of snow - while nature grounds me - the rustling of tree leaves, the chilled winter air, the flying dandelion seeds. These senses help to wash over the feelings of failure, doubt, distrust, emotional aching. Emotions and thoughts do not exist alone - many conflict but also interplay. Combining the cools with the warms, the ground with the sea, the patient with the psychiatrist hopefully conveys the sense of the duality that accompanies depression.

[antalique]

Magic Touch. Merch here

[antalique]

Tattoo commission

[antalique]

Friend tattoos

[antalique]

Drawing for the Yale Scientific Magazine article, "Light Reading: Researchers Use Electron Science to Write Data in Photonic Memory"

[antalique]

Commissioned portrait

[antalique]

Lotus Tattoo for a close friend

[antalique]

Jacques and GusGus reimagined to be more humanoid

[antalique]

Renewal

Waves push and pull the body back and forth. Physical and mental exhaustion settle in as the legs, lungs, and mind work endlessly to keep afloat. Though it never truly stops, the sea calms down every now and then, and resurfacing gifts tranquility. The thoughts quell, the body relaxes, and the mind can finally concentrate on something other than simply surviving. I swim in a sea of my thoughts every day, and for a while I was hit repeatedly with one wave of anxiousness and depression after another. That sea has calmed some, and so I go out more, partake in more extracurriculars, communicate more to others that I had been pushing away… basically reclaiming my life. I hope that my surreal digital painting not only captures some of that wondrous feeling—the feeling of resurfacing and getting in that breath of air, the feeling of not just seeing sunlight but being the light itself, and mostly, the feeling of renewal—but also conveys that rebirth is not always permanent. The waves will be in turmoil again, and the body will be forced under. Each cycle brings strength, though, and that is what I hold onto.

[antalique]

Tigress

Everyone, instantaneously: Tiger mom. Yes, but also no. Growing up, my career path has been strongly influenced by what my parents saw as success. My parents were never the strict definition of tiger parents. I always felt an internal need to get A’s, but I was never punished for getting lower grades. It was the anticipated disappointment that drove me. I wanted to be like whom they admired; they often talked of their friends’ kids who were pediatricians, ophthalmologists, anesthesiologists, so on. And as the years passed by, I became my own tiger mom. I watched over myself, dedicating myself to improvement and pushing myself to my limits. It’s tiring though. The friction between my tiger self and my corporeal body wears me down. “Just one more pset!” “But it’s not due until tomorrow evening!” “But whAT IF YOU DON’T FINISH?” “u rite u rite” The tiger self usually wins out. The anticipated disappointment—not meeting a deadline, not presenting my best work, not preparing well enough for a test—drives me, sometimes beyond what is mentally healthy. But I am beginning to learn that success is not defined by the lack of sleep or the looming stress. That friction is a good driving force, but it does not always need to exist. The tigress must put down the strings at some point, for the puppeteer and the marionette have a show tomorrow too.​