#inpencil

[hochman-]

A tattoo someone had asked me to draw for them #tattoo #sketch #sketching #draw #drawing #pencilshading #inpencil #shading #art #artwork #anotherone #freehand #moretocome

[hochman-]

#goku #supersaiyan #dragonballz #dbz #art #artwork #drawing #sketch #draw #kamehameha #inpencil #pencilshading #anotherone #shading #moretocome

[hochman-]

#art #artwork #drawing #sketch #sketching #anotherone #dragon #inpencil #pencilshading #shading #moretocome

[hochman-]

#art #artwork #sketch #drawing #freehand #inpencil #pencilshading #shading #moretocome

[chelushkin]

#myart#art#inpencil#myworld#september#autumn#2017 (at Odessa, Ukraine)

[inpencil-blog1]

Introducing the Cast of Characters

My life has turned into a rom-com. Is it art imitating life? Or life imitating art? Is there any art left to rom-coms anyway? These are the questions that currently distress me.

Last Friday night I found myself teary eyed on a subway platform, when the realization hit me. I had just had a perfect evening out with friends. R had accompanied me and, sweet as ever, walked me to the train after I refused to let him get us a cab home. On the steps to the station he gave me a sweet kiss goodbye.

In my rom-com he is the “perfect guy” character. A structural engineer of Midwestern charm, who just happens to be really tall and blond and spend a lot of time at the gym. All my friends like him and are of the opinion that he is just what I need. R brings me surprise coffee and a bagel when he knows that I am too busy to hang out.

So on Friday night, on that subway platform, in true rom-com fashion, I texted J. J is the antithesis of R. Cold where the other is warm, dark where he is light. Small too, by comparison.

“Any chance you’re in the neighborhood?” my text said. “I’m headed that way and I’ve had a strange night. Could use a drink...”

“You ok?” he replied. “I’m not yet. Heading back in an hour or so.”

“I’m fine. That was more of a booty call than a distress call,” I confessed. “Hope that’s not insulting.”

“No, that’s not insulting. Will be back in 1 hour or so. Let me know if you’re still up.”

So J is that character. None of my friends have met him, save for an awkward encounter wit my roommate, and they all disapprove. I am drawn to him, moth to the flame, good girls and bad boys, all the clichés. Oh yeah, and a British accent to make him just that much more easy to hate.

I came home to my fourth floor walk up in the slightly more industrial looking part of Williamsburg. There I live with my zany roommate character, who works at a healing center, from where she brings home crystals and rituals. She reads my astrological chart and pulls tarot cards to answer questions about or love lives. They are all strangely accurate. She’s the perfect character, down to the silk kimonos and colorful outfits she wears.

Then there’s my Ex-turned-friend, who is nothing but supportive of all my endeavors. My relationship with him is great until some young girl he slept with makes herself known to me by liking a bunch of my Instagram photos.This makes me inexplicably angry and I confront him about it on impulse. He says he’s just told her he’s not over me.

If this were a true rom-com we would either break into the third act, with me plunging into a dark night of the soul type sequence, or he would kiss me in the rain and the credits would roll. But real life doesn’t wrap stories up in a neat little bow.

[minoka1248-blog]

#seahorse #drawing #inpencil #art #sealife

[inpencil-blog1]

Keys in drawers

I still have keys to the apartment my ex and I shared. For weeks I carried around what looked and sounded like a janitor’s key set: four keys for the new apartment, three for the old, two for a client’s office, one for my bike lock. A cacophony of little pieces of metal would sound out anytime I opened a door or took my coat off.

Las weekend I was feeling optimistic. I bought a new keychain. It’s minimal, with a pretty blue stone that’s supposed to mean something about being a sagittarius. I put only the new keys on it and my Regal Crown Club Card and it’s so light that it gets lost in my pocket.

Yesterday I went over to my old apartment. My ex left to go see a show and I stayed behind for a bit. I took the opportunity to gather some of my stragglers, pieces of underwear, a pair of leggings. There are still so many things of mine left behind, in mostly empty drawers.

From there I moved on to other drawers. In one was the little box containing the engagement ring, no longer on the window sill where it lived for months. I opened another drawer. Without precisely admitting it to myself I knew what I was searching for.

There, in the top bathroom drawer, in a little mesh travel pouch that contained his contact lenses, were a few condoms in their wrappers, of two different kinds and less than a full pack. We hadn’t used any for years. In fact, he recently made a big deal of throwing away the ones that had been gathering dust in a cabinet. He didn’t need them, he said. Those were expired, the ones in front of me were not.

I gathered my things and let myself out, locking the door behind me with the keys he refused to take back, which are now on a separate ring, in the back corner of a drawer, in my new place.