nikita imafidon

nikita. this is the strange world i inhabit.

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art nouveau msr

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quilted i want to believe design that combines my love of textile work with the x-files

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mushy embroidered banana patch

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finished this cross stitch and beaded quilt postcard recently. i like how the texture looks in the light.

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alligator tears

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i had this old “hell is for heroes” sketch in my mind for a while now, so i drew it again in my updated style

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sketchbook pages inspired by gunk baby by jamie marina lau and the song cool by [redacted]

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finished kate bush postcard embroidery. i added a little beading and embroidered details in the landscape

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progress pics of my kate bush-inspired postcard embroidery

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the love of your life isn't thinking about you // 7.3.18

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a quick zine about missed connections (6/29)

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6/24/2018

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thoughts from 6.25.18

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Death became safe, a fallback plan. And she became more aware of Herself. Not the one she saw when she looked in mirrors, but the one that burrowed Herself between her eyes and deep into her bowels. She no longer cared for chance unless it involved half-baked dreams. She would vomit her guts and pray that she was cleansed, that she could start anew. existence became a new kind of fear.

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ubiaja, nigeria

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faces in acrylics

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My floor will be dirty

profit or prophets which word starts art is it anger, jealousy, drawers of seeds meant for sprouting our most profound fears

without sunlight

our hands form in a fluid made of prenatal pills and hope that we will not be corrupted before we even see our first teat

we are tainted by our desire for girls to read our words and know it’s art love funneled into poems shaken in a frosted metal mixer with confidence and a drained bank account

we are tainted by Mary and St. Whoever Hoping the art on the walls of our family church is salvation loving on our knees in the back instead of by the cross refusing to eat God’s body in attempts to perfect our own redefining art in our head to mean European

we are tainted by the fear of too many wads of paper on the ground are too messy we don’t write at all and our floor stays clean

our success measured by the absence of dust

we are tainted by every movie we see that reminds us that the protagonist will be right profits over prophets He will change He will beat someone bloody but save The Daughter later He will prove his goodness between acts of violent racism

trying to convince us that art begins with the idea of forgiveness

He will call me a dyke, and i will paint him flowers later when He remembers my birthday for once

they will say violence is wrong because it is what they used to do still do, will do but don’t worry, they say,

they will listen this time

But i will begin my art in anger as they speak over me I will begin my art with mistakes I will begin my art in confession even after the priest leaves I will begin my art in the dark during the movie As the man is proven innocent I will condemn him