"Coppertone"...having fun with shadows, absences, metallics, subtlety, and history.
trying on a metaphor
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

Origami Around
Three Goblin Art
will byers stan first human second
One Nice Bug Per Day
Xuebing Du

Andulka
Keni
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Show & Tell
art blog(derogatory)
NASA

shark vs the universe
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Cosimo Galluzzi

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Claire Keane
Peter Solarz

seen from Malaysia

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seen from United States
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seen from Italy

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@stoxxgaleriaderte
"Coppertone"...having fun with shadows, absences, metallics, subtlety, and history.
Nilha's newest release...written and composed by Kevin Stock. Official AI video. Stop by and smash the "subscribe" and "like" buttons, it will help create better videos of future releases. Check out Nilha's past releases while you're there.
"Love…Departed The Station"
Repainted my digitally traditional "Cake" painting as a traditional oil on canvas painting…not my favorite, but not bad either when compared to my first few. @definegodliness
Eureka!
If I let the veil come round like this, I think we might be done. Well, globally aesthetically. But the rest of the work is only minor details, compared.
"Bella" the ballerina.
One of my latest pieces, "Sage & Wheat".
"Kiko"
"Eliza"…stages.
"Sage and Wheat"
"King Kat"
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE AI Singer-Songwriter Nilha Announces Debut Album: A Sun-Drenched Journey Through Acoustic Folk-Pop Rising artist Nilha
Had some time to be creative...decided to write, record and produce an AI album of some of my old poems turned to lyrics and now songs. Give a listen if you enjoy singer/songwriter style, uplifting songs in the Cobly Caillat vein.
I've always wondered where The Grinch came from. Why was he so different than the other Whos? I have always enjoyed the classic stop motion movie. Then came the 2018 animated film with Benedict Cumberbatch. Making him an abandoned orphan is just lazy writing. So I thought, maybe I'll write a prequel. But apparently you can't do that because of copyright stuff. Fanfiction? Blah. So I'm just going to share the idea here and release it to the aether. Oh and somewhere in there he gets a dog and turns green (maybe from an industrial accident involving Christmas dye).
Grinchmas Day — Synopsis
Grinwald was the man who loved Christmas more than anyone alive... until the day it refused to end.
Morning bells, carols in the square, gifts, laughter… then midnight... and the same morning again. At first, it felt like a miracle. Then a curiosity. Then a quiet, creeping dread.
The town never changed. The people never remembered. Only Grinwald carried the weight of yesterday... of every yesterday.
To break the loop, he tried something unthinkable: he ruined a single Who's Christmas. Just one thread pulled from the pattern. But the day reset. So he pulled another. And another. Each attempt sharper, darker, more desperate.
Years passed for him alone. Thirty years. 10,950 identical Christmas mornings.
The cheer became noise. The joy, a taunt. The season he once loved curdled into something unbearable.
Now he’s done with small acts. Done with experiments. Done with hope.
Tomorrow, he won’t ruin just one Christmas.
He will end Christmas... for all of Whoville.
- purplemonkeysexgod 04/30/2026
Chapter II — The Color That Would Not Wash Away
Long before the Christmas loops began, before mornings repeated like a broken music box, Grinwald was known as the brightest spirit in all of Whoville. If a ribbon needed tying, he tied it twice. If a tree needed trimming, he climbed to the very tip. He did not just love Christmas...he improved it.
And one year, determined to make the grandest celebration the Whos had ever seen, Grinwald took it upon himself to create something new: a shimmering, radiant Christmas dye. Not just any dye...this one would make every banner glow, every stocking gleam, every snowfall sparkle green like enchanted pine.
He worked for weeks in a small workshop perched above the square. Bottles clinked. Cauldrons bubbled. Strange ingredients. Peppermint resin, crushed holly berries, whispers of magic borrowed from old, dusty books were stirred into a single massive vat.
A vat of glowing, swirling, emerald brilliance.
The townsfolk were delighted. “Oh, Grinwald!” they cheered. “It will be the brightest Christmas ever!”
And oh, how he beamed.
On Christmas Eve, as the bells began their soft, anticipatory toll, Grinwald stood atop a ladder beside the great vat, preparing to unveil his masterpiece. Snow fell lightly. The Who's gathered below, their voices rising in song.
Everything was perfect.
Until it wasn’t.
A single misstep. A rung slick with frost. A hand grasping at air instead of wood.
And then...
He fell.
Not gracefully. Not slowly. But all at once, crashing into the vat with a splash that drowned out the carols.
The square went silent.
For a moment, nothing moved but the rippling surface of that glowing green liquid.
Then Grinwald emerged.
Changed.
The dye clung to him...not like paint, but like something alive. It seeped into his skin, his hair, his very being. His face, once warm and bright, now shimmered an unnatural green. His eyes burned with something sharper, something fractured.
The Who's gasped.
Not out of concern, not at first.
But surprise.
Then confusion.
Then… laughter.
“Oh dear!” one said, trying not to smile. “He’s… festive!” another giggled. “How very… green,” whispered a third.
Grinwald stood there, dripping, trembling. Waiting.
Waiting for someone to help him. To reach out. To say his name with kindness instead of amusement.
But the laughter grew.
Not cruel, perhaps. Not intentionally so. But to a man who had given everything to their joy, it cut deeper than any blade.
The dye would not wash off. Not that night. Not the next day. Not ever.
Doctors were called. Scrubbing was attempted. Magic was reversed, then reversed again. Nothing worked. The green remained...bright, permanent, impossible to ignore.
And something else remained too.
A quiet fracture inside Grinwald.
At first, he tried to laugh along. He even leaned into it—wore brighter scarves, stood further back in photos. But the whispers followed him. The glances lingered just a moment too long. Children pointed. Songs faltered when he passed.
He was no longer the maker of Christmas.
He was its mistake.
So Grinwald left.
Grinwald became...the mean one...Mr. GRINCH!!
High above Whoville, where the songs softened into distant echoes, he built himself a crooked little refuge. There, surrounded by silence instead of cheer, he watched the town below continue without him.
Year after year.
Christmas after Christmas.
Without him.
And slowly, steadily, something in him turned.
Not all at once. Not dramatically. But like a candle burning down to smoke.
The love he once felt did not disappear...it twisted. Curled inward. Hardened.
Because every bell that rang below reminded him of that night.
Every laugh echoed the ones that followed his fall.
Every bright, shining celebration glowed the same terrible shade of green.
And though he did not yet know it
That color would follow him into the loop.
Into the years that repeated.
Into the man he would become.
Because when Christmaseseses began to repeat…
Grinwald...eh hem...THE GRINCH did not see a miracle.
He saw a prison.
And its walls were painted the color he could never escape.