I guess...I'm going to facebook. I hate tumblr by the way, too many spammers and idiots. I can't even enjoy it without someone trying....WAIT...I'll just make a panel about how much I hate them.
I kept my eyes on it the whole time. Now it was moving so slowly that you couldn't really see whether it was coming towards you or not. Occasionally its shape changed just slightly and its black tummy swept over the concrete floor. I could hardly breathe. I knew that I ought to run away and hide bur I just couldn't. Now it moved diagonally again towards the wall and wasn't to be seen any longer. It was in the pile of junk behind the modelling stand, it was somewhere behind the sacks of plaster and might appear again just anywhere.
It was getting dark in the studio. I knew that it was me who had let the creature out and I couldn't capture it and lock it up again.
- Sculptor's Daughter by Tove Jansson
Last spring we had nineteen canaries. I must tell you, once and for all, that canaries are very virulent birds.
It starts with the mother bird and the father bird.
They have babies. And before the babies get a single feather on their bodies they have to leave home and the father bird sings again and the mother bird lays new eggs. That's how things go with canaries.
- Sculptor's Daughter by Tove Jansson
#dailydrawing #tovejansson
Look I give my cats when they pee or break something. It's like why? You have boxes and why you need to be breaking things? Half the time you don't want me. I don't own cats...they own me. I should have known this.
Words something so simple but yet so destructive. They become your inner voice, your torment they become the demons you try to appease. But when there is one that shines brighter than the others. It becomes charming, alluring, but yet the most destructive one of all. All you do...is feed it.
I made my golden calf in the arbour because it was a pagan place and a circle is always a good setting for sculpture.
It was very difficult to get the legs to stay upright but in the end they did and I nailed them to the socle just to make sure. Sometimes I stood still, listening for the first rumble of the wrath of God. But so far he had said nothing. His great eye just looked right down into the arbour through the hole between the tops of the spruce trees. At last I had got him to show some interest.
- Sculptor's Daughter by Tove Jansson
#dailydrawing #tovejansson
A solitary rowboat drifts across a muted, restless surface, unanchored and unattended. Rendered in charcoal, ink, and subtle white highlights, the vessel exists in a quiet state of motion—moving, yet going nowhere. The surrounding water is suggested through loose, rhythmic lines, emphasizing atmosphere and isolation over realism.
The boat is sharply defined against the hazy background, its dark contours and interior shadows contrasting with the soft, unsettled environment. Oars rest unevenly, implying recent human presence while reinforcing absence. The name Perditas—Latin for “lost”—is affixed to the hull, anchoring the emotional weight of the piece without explanation.
This work explores themes of solitude, uncertainty, and endurance. With no shoreline or destination in sight, Perditas becomes a reflection on drifting—physically, mentally, and emotionally—inviting the viewer to confront their own sense of direction within an undefined space.
