Aart

Illustrator+aspiring silversmith. She loves facial scars, big coats, and gals with short hair. Baltimore. Portfolio Personal Blog StoreCommissions Twitter Insta

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In the fields…

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Yojimbo screenshot redraw from… 2019??

(Kinda want this as a tattoo)

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“Hajnalka, martyred for the healing springs”

They hung a tapestry on the wall where Hajnalka had been immured. Five red loops were hooked on five big masonry nails wedged between stones. Woven from glittering silk thread was a lion hiding from the hunt, it’s hide bloodied with golden arrows. Above the cowering beast were tall oaks whose branches cradled jewel-colored birds. They looked down upon the lion with bland faces made of countless, tiny knots. Between trunks peered the gazes and noses of hounds and up a hill in the distance were the mounted riders with their harried horses, eyes rolling and bit chomping.

Anytime someone walked past, the textile would ripple with slight breeze. Piroska was reminded of Hajnalka’s last martyred breaths as air shivered fringe. It made her feel sick.

It was after breakfast on a mid autumn morning when Piroska was summoned to the head nun’s quarters. She had to pass through that long stone hallway with its single tapestry to get there. Its rich colors waved as Piroska passed and it inspired pause.

Hajnalka had been a year older than Piroska with frightening hazel eyes and red, curly hair. The orphan of poor farming parents, it had been written in the will that the child be sent to monastery and their modest estate was donated to the church. Piroska visited the orchards that once belonged Hajnalka’s family every June to harvest the stone fruit that grew there. Soft, round white peaches and vibrant sour cherries would fill her wicker basket, and the nuns would turn blind eyes to the children as they indulged in the ripe fruit. Hajnalka would always vanish between those gnarled trunks and branches, gone until Piroska found them hunched in the sweet earth at a tree’s roots, wiping their eyes. She remembers sitting beside Hajnalka in the dappled light as the flies that ate at fallen fruit flesh made the air around thick with humming.

“My mother and father live in these trees.” They said after a while. The cherry Piroska had just bitten into felt suddenly over-sour. She forwent spitting out the pit by picking it gracelessly from her mouth and said a measly “I’m sorry.”

Piroska never met her parents. Her birth placed her right into the hands of the church, slid straight from the womb into her vestments. Only little glimpses of the outside world hinted at an existence beyond scriptures and daily prayer. Hajnalka was cut from the white cloth of peasants who came in from the fields to Mass, linen with little darned holes, embroidered red hems, and wide bell sleeves.

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A Csillagszemű Juhász

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Wind down

Mixed media on paper 2020

(Decided to post my work on this site again. Check it out if you’d like!)

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Hi @noximillion !!! You might be able to tell that I had a really great time making a gift for you for the #lupingiftexchange !!! I hope you like this comic! Have a awesome rest of your holidays and I hope that 2019 treats you well!! 

(also happy birthday to our boy Zenigata!!)

-Csipo

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Hi since tumblr is self-destructing follow me on Twitter!

I’m @steviejorbss

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Cool shoes!!!! //////////////////// Take a break, Pops man! (Tried posting this like... 9 times out in the wilderness)

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thoughts on cowboy bebop?

I’m ashamed to say that I’ve only seen like the first two episodes... it’s on my list I swear!

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homestuck?

Nah. Not really my thing!

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Searching! for an imposter!/Seeing straight through an imposter!!

Mysterious funky tunes (warning for blood n violence)

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More for you!

(here’s thief n inspector version of “Jarry and Thom”)

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This has become Loopzoop only blog

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loooooopzoooooop...........

Here ya go!!

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This boy is on the fast track to martyrdom.

Visit me tweeter @steviejorbss 

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Fiatal nyár... Régi tavasz... Amikor fecskék szed meg a mák.

Hey everyone. Please just follow me on twitter!! https://twitter.com/steviejorbss

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At once, I met a beast and I met Virgil, the poet trapped and at once, the hope within me kindled and waned, for my Virgil did not banish the beast. My Virgil, who's heart was a Szekler's gate, kept the beast in sight and it circled us like water about a drain.