I kept getting hospital vibes from the shelf in my fridge with meds in it, and I kept getting annoyed needing to collect different things for shots. Now I have all my stuff organized and it’s nice to look at. Bespoke!

Lately it’s been feeling powerful to give a little spirit to meds and my other Sick Person things. Inviting this life to have beauty as it is.

I'm terrified of ending up like Chris Chan. My art is not good, but it's the only way I can express how I feel right now.

I struggle with bipolar disorder. Over a year ago, I had a major collapse. I should not go into too much detail, so I'll try to condense it, but I have a tendency to be wordy. I understand if it's too long. If it is, the title is self explanatory as to what the two sculptures represent. There's a year of hard mental health work between the two.

My first manic episode happened around my 21st birthday, leading to my bipolar diagnosis. From then until now, I went through multiple horrific experiences, triggering underlying, older pain as well, followed by losing my father unexpectedly in a matter of five weeks, about three years ago now. After losing my father, I went into a very dark mental space and through more painful, damaging experiences. When I couldn't function anymore, I found unhealthy ways to cope until even those no longer worked for me and not only my mind but also my body could no longer function. I collapsed again and went into a severe depression combined with extreme fear, panic attacks, anxiety and all the physical symptoms that come with those feelings.

At my lowest, in art therapy, I made a bird sculpture, to symbolize how I felt inside, as well as what my biggest needs were then. I felt small, vunlerable, alone and closed-off from the world and people around me (the egg). What I felt I needed was safety, protection, security, self-compassion and warmth (the bird embracing the egg). And also to allow myself all the time needed to find those. It was my first time getting to try working with clay and through that, I found some joy in realizing I was good at something.

Now, a year later, also in art therapy, I made another bird sculpture, to reflect on how far I've come since my first. It reflects rediscovering (realistic) hopes and dreams and how I hope to feel from now on: as (care-)free as I can realistically be, to fly with momentum and some wind beneath my wings, to consciously experience those moments when I get to glide without constant effort and to be able to look ahead, but with a safe distance, observing from a birds-eye view. To always try to find a new perspective and when I can't, to stick around long enough until I'm able to again. To be brave enough to venture in to unknown teritory, to hopefully discover new things and realize I do have potential.

Last week, I took my second bird home and when I got there, I put the two sculptures next to each other. I cried because they really look like they belong together, but also because I'm now actually at a point where I feel like they're both allowed to exist. Like they need each other and they can help each other when life gets hard again. I'm so proud of these two works and my journey so far and so I wanted to share.

Photos 1: then

Photos 2: now

Photo 3: then and now

Photos 4-5: process pics, before firing

Photos 6-7: different angles of the finished works

Note: I did not tag NSFW for trauma, since I left out all details surrounding it. Hope that's okay, otherwise please tell me and I'll add it.

Lyrics are from Eddie Vedder by Local H it’s been stuck in my head recently haha

ive been struggling with my disabilities recently and making art to express how i feel <3

TW: slight self harm

By each relationship I've been “adorned" by the memories that haunt me everyday- and the conclusion of each is scarred onto my arms. I avoid to protect myself. It's safer to avoid and remain alone, instead of in the audience adorned. And after a little while, I've completely lost interest. I completely want to be alone. Despite how sick the nurses believe my desire is. If this was love I don’t want to be loved.

I know your love is false.

“I love you"

“I don't know you."

Unleash your honesty

Playing around with a new colour blocking style and it’s helping me work through some stuff as it’s painstaking and takes forever (almost like my own colouring in pages that I make).

Modeled after a reconstruction of Homo Longii, kinda (but not really) humans v 0.8, in SE Asia.

The Drawing~
drawn on phone because I can't get up and sit at my pc with my normal tablet, its nice going back to what I used to use, though it does take more time and effort

(made w ibis paint)

I'm not really happy with the lighting or texturing, but its fine enough for a tool I'm not used to using anymore

---

Personal Thoughts / vent?~
I have recently started wanting to draw the guy I use to represent me with a cane, I've never done it before and it feels.. fake? idk logically I wouldn't judge others for it but because it isn't a constant necessity for me it feels like lying ig

like I should represent myself as not broken because I should want to see myself as not broken, but there is some kind of comfort in seeing him with disability items

this is probably also linked with the fact that my mobility has just gotten so much worse as of recent, I used to be able to move somewhat freely so somewhere in my head I have it that its not my "normal", even though more and more often I am having to use my cane

thanks for listening to all that lol, i appriciate any time given

I hope you all are your preferred temperature <3

If looks could kill,
I’d be wearing a rope of rubies.
There sits your stale, day-old toast.
You spent last night pasting your life together
with glossy photos from your trip to Europe.
Now you’re wearing it like a medal,
bragging over breakfast.
I can’t breathe it in, all that greasy air.
Said ‘I can’t stand,’ my head’s somewhere else
You slip into your familiar pattern of nagging
I feel myself droop into a chair
And there I go crash landing against my skull.

And just as I fell—
a grey plunge toward my death—
I knew you couldn’t tell what I was thinking.
Cold bells.
They went on singing.
Singing that the floor
is a comforting friend.
Singing that the floor
is a comfortable end.