ā ļøPLEASE READ IF YOU ARE HERE TO VIEW THE ARTISTSā WORK ā ļø
explicit, sensitive, triggering content are heavy themes here, viewer discretion is advised.
Who runs this account? Zombieprince does, although we no longer go by or affiliate currently with that title/user.
Why do this? Might as well! whatās already been uploaded has been said and done. I want to do this archive as a means to āfixā my own work and reframe/reshape what Iāve currently made, and my future projects. Iād like to also show my process. Iād rather be the one to do it than someone else speak for me/my work.
Wasnāt zombieprince super awful and problematic? Yes, we were. I acknowledge it, and I want to continuously bring it up in my work, writing and in general because I donāt want our bad behaviour to be brushed off. I seek not forgiveness, I just want to express what itās like to have been us through my art and Iāve tangled my personal life and issues with the internet. I share this art as vulnerability and it includes all the awful things about my story/me and not just the parts that are āappealingā. My actions have been toxic, unhealthy, erratic, and I am lucky to be and have been in consistent trauma therapy now. Iāll talk about this more as time goes on because itās incredibly important.. ā ļø
Not sure how to word this? But Iād like to be transparent about as much as possible. In reference to the paragraph above, Iād like to include some of the things associated with my art/surnames, that being the awful stuff, so I can own it and address it the best of my ability. Weāve drawn some really distasteful, shocking, disgusting things (sexually explicit artwork of trauma, taboo things). I could write essays talking more in depth about it, but Iāll do that another time. I have been an evasive, avoidant, erratic mess and I have been defensive and lacked critical skills. I crushed opportunities for growth because I couldnāt escape the grasp of familiar chaos. I suffer the consequences and I am okay with that. I feel better not hiding from that as I have and just being brutally vulnerable/honest. Please feel free to ask questions and confront me about this, the ask box IS open!
..About the artist..
Iām an adult, in my 20ās and Iāve been around the emo/sparkledog scene since I was an elementary kid watching YouTube speed paints of anime emo wolves on the family computer. I have suffered my own insanities and I want to understand that pain through abstract means, I need intensity, darkness, but after so long of what I exposed myself to/was exposed to forcefully already, I shifted to how I receive my relief and how I perceive it/everything. āEmo anime wolvesā makes the edge of such a sharp, cruel knife, even just the tiniest bit dull..
Pronouns? Names?
Call us zombie if youāre referring to here, otherwise we go by too many different names to give just one š booo tomato š sorreyy.. š š š
Pronouns? It/its, they/them, or he/him. Youāll call us whatever you first think of anyways so itās ok just pick whatever, at the end of the day it wonāt change who I am/we are but thank you for respecting us and what we wish to be called :]
Would you let me pay for a complete archive of your work? It wouldnt be posted anywhere, just for my own personal collection of sparkledog artists
I wouldnāt feel comfortable with that, no. As of right now, Iām not ready and my collection of my work needs me to desperately organize it; which I have no idea how long will take me ā¦ š
The order goes from top left, tilā bottom right.
1- September 2024
2- July 2024
3- July 2024
4- July 2024
These pieces arenāt that bad, so why not re-upload them? Thatās what Iām telling myself now, but Iāll probably feel really embarrassed after posting like I always do and wished I never posted or even drew anything in the first place. Can I consider this a form of exposure therapy for myself? Lol
Shaken, dissociated, desensitized. What complex trauma we wished to express, to expel it out of us, like a pipe full of pressure. How can we be understood? How can we make peace with what happened? What it felt like? Feels like? How do we do so in a ātastefulā fashion? I donāt know yet. Iām still looking to find the sweet spot, to balance a way how vulnerable and uncomfortable it is to live inside of this traumatized vessel, but a way to do so that it doesnāt only come off as some sort of porn, fetish, romanticization. To reach out to others who have gone through the same, through short and long distance. As an artist, I have obligations. But as a survivor, I still feel lost.
This is a moment, during a moment. Something so wretched and awful, it digs under your skin and doesnāt let go. Itās a parasite and it consumes your everything. Iāve grown tired, of being flesh. Of the world only being a battle of predator vs prey. Where those who are vulnerable, fragile, are used to fulfill those who are hungry and never satisfied. We are seen as moments to them, for us, it is a lifetime. Of pain. For them, it was a night of bliss. They can move onto to the next, hungry for MORE.
All the text within the drawing is super triggering, the only way to get through those moments, is to no longer mentally be there. Shut the brain off, body goes limp, and now things are on autopilot.
The internet immortalizes our accomplishments and mistakes, growing tension between the lack of privacy and user, is a complicated topic. What you post and choose to say always has consequence. If you chose to do it in the first place, analyze how you could even be capable?
āWe previously posted content that was of sexually traumatic nature to an audience interested in porn. We curated an audience within some sort of a ācommunityā, intentional or not. Wanting to fit in, but having nowhere to go? We chose a flawed path. Extremely, flawed.
Leaning into discomforts, forcing exposure, and gutting the self.
It wasnāt right. Not right of me. We did not make educated, forward thinking choices. How we went about representing our vulnerability, we fetishized. Because romanticizing our suffering has been a way to for us to survive.
How we spoke, represented us as an artist, was immature, embarrassing, & inappropriate.
Loss and the unhealthy avoidance I have towards grief.
Lost a lot of really important things, friends, people, & pets as a child and had to grow an incredibly thick layer of disconnection around death because of it. But this death in particular, it pushed me out of ānumbnessā and forced confrontation. I couldnāt look away, I couldnāt hold back my tears anymore and I embraced that. I love you, I wish I couldāve done more. The day you passed away, the sky was so grey. The clouds cried with me. But I got to see sun rays bursting through in the distance, warming up the melancholy in the air. I felt like it was you. I just had to believe it was you. Words mean nothing when all I can think of is ways to have done things differently. But I hope you know how special and important you always were and will be.
My disgust turns inward instead of where it rightfully deserves to be. Accountability vanishes, vile acts are kept secret because I convinced myself I am to be afraid of someone elseās consequence. I am the secret I hide, I kept quiet to keep you out of trouble, because if I was honest, you promised Iād receive a far worse punishment than that of which I already received.
Just pure agony with no where safe to put it. No where.. so I resorted to posting online. A yearn for community, sanction, support, understanding, reflection, lots of things.
I got so lost, was exposed to and exposed myself to pretty vile things. But after only feeling the same 5 emotions of fear, misery, sadness, confusion, and yearning, I just couldnāt imagine or involve myself in anything hopeful or peaceful. I belonged to this and always had. I knew nothing but this anyways. I wanted to study it and myself, by drawing and expressing how painful, vulnerable, and awful it so uncomfortably is. To feel and endure, while being so hyper aware.. itās a fucking curse.
āDrawings like this are just, vents. Venting out the frustrations and confusions. Because I donāt know where to put all of this? Where else do I put it? All of my trauma? But onto myself and through art, the only means I know how. š¶
Used to pray to god, to show me he existed by giving me some kind of justice in either of those forms. By saving me, or killing me. He never answered. I never really felt a strong connection to him to begin with, he seemed like a voice I was pressured to believe I was supposed to be hearing. Or something far worse. I was told he existed inside of me, in my chest and in my stomach. That always really made me uncomfortable. But I wanted to relate it to how people talk about dead loved ones. It still didnāt make much sense to me at the time. But I did everything to look for signs, that maybe there could be hope. Somewhere.. out there. But for now, it hurts and I cannot be anything more than what the pain has shaped me into.
Itās been 3 years since this was drawn and a lot of progress has been made but I still donāt feel like Iāve fully escaped the hell that is my trauma and what itās done to me. There is no escape actually, it just is a part of my life forever. Yeah idk. It takes me too long to process this shit
