i don't do bad sauce passes
I'd rather be in outer space šø
we're not kids anymore.
ē„ę„ / Permanent Vacation
pixel skylines
art blog(derogatory)
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AnasAbdin
tannertan36
Aqua Utopiaļ½ęµ·ć®åŗć§čØę¶ćē“”ć
$LAYYYTER
Cosmic Funnies
Product Placement
#extradirty
Show & Tell
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Kiana Khansmith
Janaina Medeiros
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NASA
seen from Australia
seen from Chile
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seen from Malaysia
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seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from TĆ¼rkiye
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from T1
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@geesenoises
call me geese (or goose is ok too), she/her.Ā
currently stuck in a drarry sinkhole, but fuck jkr and fuck terfs.
writing tag. ao3. archive of gallaplacidiaās work.
also hanging out on my star trek sideblog, @ashanyan. (but like, way less. soz. i genuinely know almost nothing about st. but one time i made a really good spirk/john mulaney joke.)
āLiar.ā
BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER (1997-2003) - 2.07 ā¢ āLie to Meā
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 š
*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 š„¹
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 šš) 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
at long last, we've reached the end...
Bird number 14 out of 14,
The Great blue heron, Ardea herodius
thank you to everyone who reached out or got excited about this project, it genuinely gave me the fuel i needed to keep going. In total, the 480+ total hrs it took me to cover this wall pales in comparison to how long its expected to spend on there, hopefully imparting a sense of beauty and love for the natural world to the next generation and here's hoping i'm only getting started with these.
i'll see y'all soon :')
[looking at people younger than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at people older than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at myself] its over
tl;dr: all "algorithmically" pushed stuff on a newsfeed is mostly ads. nothing that's really surprising form this vulture article, but it is dismal and makes me grateful for one website where you only see things from people you follow WITHOUT horrible short-form video content
What if every viral song, movie, meme, influencer, and celebrity drama in recent memory was the result of a stealth marketing campaign?
https://web.archive.org/web/20260515113210/https://www.vulture.com/article/social-media-feeds-chaotic-good-projects-clipping.html
Have a paywall free link to the source!
for @drarrymicrofic prompt wound - red string of fate silliness, 700 words.
***
The first time Harry felt his string was in the dusty aftermath of the Battle. Most of him hurt, and the rest felt numb, and so it was a few days before he registered the tugging, or discovered the length of scarlet thread wound around his little finger. A soulmate, he thought, with no small degree of bitterness. Something new to worry about.
There was no time for worrying that summer, though. That summer was already spoken for: first Scotland for the rebuild, then back home for the trials, and by the time the wind turned autumn-sharp, Harryās string had disappeared.
It came back at Christmas.
āItās nothing,ā Harry insisted, as Ginny scrambled off the bed, pale-faced. āWhoever she is, sheās probably in Australia or something. Who cares?ā
Ginny did, as it turned out.
She wasnāt the only one, either. Most people pretended it didnāt matter at first, but amid the dying gasps of each failed relationship, there it was again: something sour, something rotten. āIām not your soulmate, anyway,ā theyād mutter, as though theyād been tricked. As though Harry had tricked them.
He began to hide it: wearing gloves over the holidays, tucking his hand beneath long sleeves for those same two weeks every June. Heād feel the pull starting and make his excuses, Apparating home or disappearing upstairs. Alone, though, strangely, he found he didnāt mind it. He rarely saw the red of the string, which disappeared off into nothing; usually the only sign was a bloodless indent, just below the nail bed. Heād run his finger over and over the notch and picture a formless someone doing the same at the other end.
But who? And where?
āI mean, itās got to be worth checking out, right?ā he said to Ron, tugging on his rucksack outside the Portkey station. āMaybe itās why I have such shit luck in love.ā
But she ā or he, as Harry increasingly suspected ā wasnāt in Australia, after all. No matter; surely, with this, there was no rush. His instincts took him to the great gardens of Japan, the white sands of Bali, the bazaars of Jaipur. Then, frustrated, he continued west: northern Africa, southern Europe, where he paused in Rome for a brief, unsatisfying affair, then up through Germany; still, there was no sign of the thread.
āYouāve got to come back,ā Hermione told him, voice staticky over the international Floo. Harry was in Dinard by then, heart-sick, belly heavy with beer and Breton crĆŖpes. France had been the closest yet, he was sure of it. That first night, in Bordeaux, heād been pulled abruptly from a dream, could have sworn heād felt ā
āItās his tenth birthday,ā Hermione reminded him. āHeāll be so disappointed if you miss it.ā
āYeah, mate,ā Ron chimed in, from somewhere in the background. āItās been months. Face it, you have shit luck in love because you only date arrogant pricks.ā
He was still bitter about Ginny, Harry reckoned.
Reluctantly, Harry Apparated in to the party, though it had been so long that he mistimed his jump, and ended up in Andyās kitchen. He staggered forward, dropping both his suitcase and Teddyās badly-wrapped present on the tiles.
āExcuse me,ā came an affronted voice from somewhere near the fridge.
āSorry, Iāā
Then the man straightened, adjusted his collar and ā oh god, it was Malfoy. And oh god, Harry was staring. It was just ā he hadnāt expected this, hadnāt expected Malfoy at all, and certainly hadnāt expected him to look like this. Malfoy was broader now, tanned, freckled, and he was wearing a linen shirt, open halfway down his chest. He looked like every one of the arrogant pricks Harry had dated. Harryās mouth watered, and his heart pounded, and his little finger throbbed. Distracted, he flexed it, then when that didn't work he shook his whole hand in annoyance.
Malfoy inhaled sharply as the motion caught his eye. He stilled, almost dazed, then extended his own hand towards Harry.
Harry knew, of course, before he looked down.
āIt doesnāt meanāā Malfoy began, cautious, at the same time as Harry said āwe donāt have toāā
They both paused, laughing. Looped between the two of them, their red string shook.
Time slowed down. Around them, everything grew bright. Harry stepped forward, wound the thread loosely around his hand, and reeled Malfoy in.
āHi,ā he said.
Reasons Why Fans of Color Leave/Donāt Interact with Fandom
Casual racism that is brushed off as āan innocent mistakeā or āthey didnāt mean itā and then everyone pretending like it didnāt happen and moving on with their day (repeat)
Speaking over fans of color about issues that pertain to them specifically
When fans of color speak out about something that makes them uncomfortable or why that donāt interact with it (usually because of the racial/ethnic bias) they are accused of being antiās or pro-censorship
Characters of color being used as scapegoats/bashed/plot devicesĀ
Characters of color never getting happy endings/real development
Backlash against characters of color if they do anything other than be a white characterās side kick/best friend
Actors of characters of color being harassed for something their character did or didnāt do
White characters/actors getting all the attention/credit despite the fact that they are a side character to a POC or on the same level as the POC
Fanfic authors patting themselves on the back for writing a ārealisticā character of color and itās just a bunch of stereotypes
Being told that they should be happy they were even included when they call out the above people
White fans crying about persecution/exclusion because their fav character/trope/kink/ship isnāt loved by allĀ
Fan artists re-imaging characters of color as white/lightening skin tone
Everyone rushing to a white fans defense after a well deserved call out while the fan of color receives hate
Never having a safe fandom space and always having to be on guard with new people/fandoms/chats etc because theyāve been burned before
Feel free to add
- fetishization and depersonalization of characters of color (to serve the white characterās narrative)
- (re)writing characters of color as abusive and/or violent to infantilize white characters
- being asked to explain why ___ is racist when itās been spoken about at length or could be googled
Important rules for the "age verification" era of the internet that we're living in:
1. Do not do age verification.
2. If you have to do age verification, cheat. Do not under any circumstances give them your real ID.
The tool presents users with a 3D model they can then manipulate to, the creator says, bypass Discord's age verification system.
Oh no I dropped my link, what a horrible thing! Sure hope this doesn't get reblogged until it reaches users from the UK and Brazil!
And remember to not make a second account just to test out what works best when verifying your identity
A reminder that we still dont support Age Verification bullshit.
Paywall removed here
Aaand here's the link to the project's Github.
A verified tool that works on any potato computer that will let you bypass discord verification - promptpirate-x/discord-id-bypass-tool
I want to highly recommend two tools for helping you with this very sad situation, which you must use before it happens.
The first is this wonderful script that will automatically add key information (that you choose) like author, title, summary, etc to your bookmark notes so you at least know what got deleted.
The second is this incredible bulk downloader for AO3. Input any AO3 page (such as your bookmarks page) and tell it what format you want to download in and it will just.... DOWNLOAD IT ALL!! I run it every few months so that I have all my bookmarks downloaded in my preferred EPUB format. That way I know I always have my favorites downloaded in case they ever get deleted.
With the combination of these two, I can look in my bookmarks, see what was deleted, and easily find it in my downloads. It's such a relief to have my own fic library is all my favs!
Let me add my life saver, an absolute wonderful add-on, ao3 saver:
https://addons.mozilla.org/en-US/android/addon/ao3-saver/
It automatically saves evey fic you visit so you have a backup if the fic is ever erased. No more mysterious bookmarks lost forever.
Also if you go to the page of an erased fic, it not only gives you the option to check on ao3 saver in case you have it saved, but also in archive.org in case someone ever did a backup there.
iām going to hold your hand when i say this. rachel reid has demonstrated such a degree of carelessness when it comes to shaneās relationship with his race that itās okay to disregard the text when analyzing shaneās experiences with racism
give a woman a canon ship and sheāll fujoshi for a day. gaslight that woman for 12 years with queerbait and sheāll fujoshi for a lifetime.
via
THE PITT 2.15 | 9:00 P.M
Story Time: Get a load of what happened to me at Starbucks today.
Thereās a running joke among people who know me personally that I unwittingly go out in public with a sign on my forehead stating āI Am Non-Threatening. Come Talk To Me.ā Because if thereās a chance a bizarre conversation with a total stranger is going to happen, Iām typically the person it happens to.
Some context: I have been pretty darn sick this week. (Itās not Coronavirus, donāt 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 havenāt been able to work these last couple of days. As a result, Iāve been using my down time to knock out as much of Manuās redesign as possible. Today, to ensure I didnāt 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 sonās 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. āIām sorry,ā he said (in a thick accent I couldnāt place geographically), āI donāt want to disturb. I notice you art. You are artist!ā
I tried to smile. āYes, Iām... Well, Iām trying to be,ā I croaked.
He leaned in, like he was sharing a secret.
āI am artist, too.ā
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.
āCan I?ā he asked, holding his phone up.
āTake a picture? Uh... sure,ā I said. Itās 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.
āI am artist. Architect and Designer,ā he clarified while he steadied his phone over my iPad. āI am Ilker. What is your name?ā
āIām Venessaā I said, trying to be polite. This, I thought warily, is precisely how I get myself into trouble. Iām too damn nice.
āYou know, I come to America twenty years ago from Turkey...ā
I put down my stylus. This was going to be a while.
āI like Turkey,ā he explained. āI like the country and I like the people. But I am artist. I am not... religious man.ā
I nodded.
āI told my wife I was going to go to America and she said, āwhat are you going to do? You donāt have job! You donāt have money! No Visa!ā And I said, āI am artist and architect. I will paint and sell my paintings.
āSo 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.
āOne day, a man comes over to me and he say, āI like your painting. I see you are also architect.ā 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.
āI tell him I donāt know anything about contracts. I have no Visa. I am not American citizen. But he says, āThatās okay. I will take care of everything. You will have nothing to worry about.ā 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.ā
āWow,ā I said, not fully believing the veracity of what sounded like a full-on immigration fairy tale.
āHere,ā said Ilker, unlocking his phone and opening up his Facebook app. āI show you my work.ā He paused and looked up at me. āI am interrupting. You donāt mind?ā
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. āPlease,ā I said, gesturing for him to go ahead.
He opened his photos and my jaw dropped. His work... was UNREAL.
āThis is building I designed on Madison Ave.... And this one in Chelsea...ā
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, heād 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.
Yāall, I was stunned. I couldnāt believe the talent I was sitting next to. Scattered among these gloriously rendered images of some of the most beautiful building concepts Iād 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. āI hope you donāt 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.ā
I nodded, a lump in my throat. āThank you,ā I managed. āYour work is astonishing. I donāt even know what to say. What is your name again?ā
He held out his hand once more. āIlker Kocahan,ā he said. āI am getting more coffee. Can I get you one?ā
I looked at my still-full venti cup. āNo thank you. But here, please take my card.ā
He held my dinky business card like Iād 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 heās retired. My heart ached to hear him talk about that, knowing how our leadershipās 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 hadnāt 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. Iāve 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 Kocohanās work, please click here.
Ilker Kocahan holds a bachelorās 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 āSimon Is On the Groundā 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 wasnāt sure heād 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 heād 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 heād sold it because he really loved how it came out.
āThis is no detailed like yours,ā he said, comparing his painting to my panel of Simon and Baz. āMine is simple. But in a few strokes, I can capture the life of the lady.ā
He took his napkin, turned it over, and pulled a pen out of his chest pocket. āLook there,ā 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. āYou see,ā he murmured as he ran his pen over the napkin, āI can, with speed, capture the man. I donāt have hours to ask him to sit. I must let go of the planning.ā
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 manās 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 Iāve 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 didnāt know what to do with myself as he sat there and flipped through the pages.
Eventually, he nodded approvingly and said, āOkay! Is good. But this is sketchbook like every other.ā He gestured at the page. āWhere are you?ā
I was lost for how to respond, but lucky for me, heās a talkative guy seemingly incapable of awkward silences.
āThe world needs to see you in the lines,ā he explained. āSomeone can look at my work and know, āthat painting is from Ilker Kocahan.ā You need to draw more and more so that when people look at your drawings, they will know: this work is Venessaās work.ā Then he shrugged and said, āAnd who knows. I will maybe see you in two years at this Starbucks, and by then, your drawings will be truly yours.ā
Iāve 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 didnāt 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:
(Donāt worry. I kept it.)
So when he talked about āfinding meā in my sketches, I really think he could senseāby the light scratch of the pencil, the trace evidence on the paper of my erasing and failed attemptsāmy 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 canāt erase it, and in that way, give myself no choice but to commit to the lines.
The conversation turned to lighter things after that. Heās 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.) Heās 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. Heās likely in Belarus right now with his wife.
I wonāt lie and say Iām 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. Iād love to see if I can fulfill Ilkerās 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 heās working on or happy family photos (which I assume heās sending en masse to his friends list) and I basically gush in return. Iāll also occasionally drop a line to check in; he knows Iām still working on my inking and sketch work. He remains so very encouraging and kind. He wishes me āhappy art days.ā
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. Heās 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 doesnāt 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. ā¤ļø
As promised, I haveĀ an update on Ilkerās 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:Ā
āNo smoking No Drunk Basketball Good food Family life enjoying And happy characterāĀ
While he was in the hospital he generously texted me photos of little notes heād scrawledĀ 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 theyāve 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, Iām 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. Ā ā¤ļø
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-
š¶ REUNITED AND IT FEELS SO GOOOODā¦ š¶
I genuinely never thought Iād write this update. I was almost positive Ilker and I would never meet at that Starbucks againāthat the universe had swept this one beautiful encounter into my life only to send a pandemic to sweep it back out againābut to my utter shock and astonishment this morning, I got a text message at 7:45 AM:
āIn USA now. Same Starbucks. Same chair now.ā
And yāall, 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. āVenessa! Is so wonderful to see you!ā he said at the same time as I said, āIlker, my friend! I canāt believe it!ā, 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 workāa new architecture project here in DCāduring which he told me all the things heās 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 Russiaās 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 lifeās ups and downs because Iāve been learning to count my blessings as well, in large part because he told me toāvia text when I was struggling to stay psychologically afloat in the thick of pandemic parenting: āYou have health. You have family You have home and food. All will be well my good friend.ā
He then brought up my art. And guess what? I SHOWED HIM MY SKETCH BOOK.
It wasnāt as full as Iād 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, weāve followed each other on Instagram and Facebook since that second meeting two years ago, and while we DMād on a regular basis and he left the occasional comment on my work, I was never quite sure how much of my finished work heād 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, āIs very good! I watch you art change! You grow so much! I am so proud!ā
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, āI 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!ā
We returned to talking about family and work after that. I got to spill some secrets about projects Iāve been working on, and he told me heās still playing basketball. He said heās 67 but never wants to retire. He told me his daughters are now scattered and nearly made me cry when he said, āI have daughter in Istanbul, I have daughter in New York, and nowāāhe pointed to meāāI have daughter in DC.ā 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 thereās no better way to conclude this little Tumblr saga than by saying thereās no true conclusion. Itās 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. Iām so grateful to have made this connection and to share the wisdom itās given me with all of you.
Donāt forget: The world needs to see you in the lines.
āEncouragement and attention are like sunshine and water to a plant for a child's growth and self esteem.ā
