everything inspiring

8

I decided to become an artist when I was about your age. I liked to draw so much, I almost hated to go to bed. And then one day, all of a sudden, I couldn’t draw anything. Everything I drew, I didn’t like. I realized that my art up to then was a copy of someone else, things I had seen somewhere. I decided I had to discover my own style. It’s still difficult. But then, the results… They seem to be a little better than before. It’s nice to be a witch, isn’t it? I like the idea - to be a witch, to be an artist, to be a baker… It’s an energy bestowed by the gods or someone, right? Though thanks to it, we do have to suffer at times.

All of this is temporary.
All of this is temporary.
All of this is temporary.
All of this is temporary.
All of this is temporary.
All of this is temporary.
All of this is temporary.
All of this is temporary.
All of this is temporary.
All of this is temporary.
All of this is temporary.
All of this is temporary.
All of this is temporary.
All of this is temporary.
All of this is temporary.

2

Inarizaki

dont put too much pressure on yourself. everything will be okay.

10

HOW TO GET OVER COMMON CREATIVE FEARS (MAYBE)

an updated version of this post appears in my book THINGS ARE WHAT YOU MAKE OF THEM! 13 full-color chapters of illustrated essays like this for creative people of all kinds. you can get it here for $10.

little things to remember

because everything is going to be alright, love

-          Smiling at strangers and watching them smile back

-          Dogs resting their heads on your lap

-          Being shown around the house of a brand new friend

-          Remembering your favourite scene from an old movie

-          Childhood friends

-          Soft new socks

-          Finishing a favourite book and thinking it over

-          The soft glow of the microwave as you heat up a midnight snack

-          Being the last one awake at a sleepover and the comfort from being                with your friends

10

“Although I made such a decision, there is absolutely no regret in my skating life. It is a big decision for me, but I take it as a milestone of my life. Moving forward, I will find my new dream and goal, I will keep smiling, and I will keep moving on.” #ThankYouMao

it’s ok to not feel happy and positive all the time. we all have bad days. just remember it won’t be like this forever. it will get better i promise.

I don’t think people appreciate enough in les mis how the people threw their furniture out the window to build the barricade shut back in the day to poor people furniture was the most important thing they were the literal manifestation of all their savings, what you sold in hard times to make ends meet because credit wasn’t a thing yet and the furniture was worth a lot of money, so people throwing their chairs out the window was how people who couldn’t fight in the revolution gave their everything and people should recognize that more

2

Be patient. You got this :))

James Potter: seventeen, hair got struck by lightning at age four and hasn’t sat down since, knuckles that jut out, holds his wand between his teeth to impress girls- to impress the girl, doesn’t own one pair of matching socks, the kind of attractive that fills the ribs, fills the shoulder blades, fills the heart, Sirius painted his nails once and he kept the polish on all week, sees the girl before registering anyone else in the room, young organs pumping young blood, wired to himself, to his boys, to the girl, can tell what you’re about to say before you say it, he’s just sort of like that, has a habit of leaning arms on peoples shoulders, starts the trust fall before anyone realises they’re  meant to be catching him

Sirius Black: seventeen, eats whipped cream by the fork full, rolls up the sleeves of his robes, begins most conversations with: you absolute fuck, column of his throat running down the neck like water, leaves his text books all over school, made of gut feeling, of instinct, of starting before you know how to finish, a part of him still stuck in that house, with the door slamming, with his mother yelling, with the world ending,  he is the bomb going off in the swimming pool, he has probably made a bomb go off in the swimming pool, smoking just outside the door- look- you can see the smoke, you can see the shaking hands.

Remus Lupin: seventeen,  jumpy, long eyelashes, the sullen quiet of fog in winter, scars up the arms, round the neck, across the chest, eyes that stare as if they are waiting for permission, plays the same records until he’s mouthing the words in his sleep, gives out flowers for gifts, sarcasm that could stop the heart, soft, like the skin above your collar bone, like stained glass windows with light through them, like seeing a star in a textbook, knowing that  something that good is out there even if it is far away, often has wind billowing through his baggy t-shirts, pulls out his bottom lip when thinking, at night wakes up sweating, dreaming of blood in his mouth, the kind you get when you rip an arm off, when you lick the bone clean.

 

Peter Pettigrew: seventeen, socks right to the knee, eating an ice cream, has a sore neck from always looking up, raw fingernails- bitten to the cuticles, full of fear, oozing fear, could fill cathedrals with this fear, burns books for no reason, unmade bed, the flush of a cheek that is bloated, a mound of blood, sits on the floor because there is no room at the table, counts on his fingers, pulled a muscle when walking up the fourth staircase, shuts his eyes, opens them, realises he is still in his own skin, pale, a stick of white, unassuming, like flowers, or the moment the ground gives way, all at once, as if it was going to all along