life

It's ok to not make sense. It's ok to not follow a pattern. It's ok to be the odd one out. Life is too beautiful, too amazing, to eccentric, too weird to fit inside someone else's tiny little box of an opinion about you. Break free out of that and live your life on your terms.

Ah yes, another hand. I never really realized how expressive hands can be, and I've been drawing them a lot more recently. (I swear I won't only draw hands.) This week has been quite the experience and has made me step back and look at certain things. (Who knew physics could be a metaphor for life?) Anyway, hope everyone is doing well, have a great weekend/week.

"My life vest is in the boat, and I'm in the water." ~ A blackout poem from a recycled page of Riding with the Hides of Hell, a young adult love story now titled Burnout.

Illustrated with Ink and Ink-Pens on Paper. Urh.-Nr:1811955 Copyright

It's crazy to think that we've been in a pandemic for a year or to think we could ever get used to this new way of life. March 13th, 2020 was the day everything stopped for me: it was the last day I went to school and the last day I went to gymnastics for 5 months. The promise of two weeks' time, something I somewhat desperately held onto. Going into this, no one knew what to expect, it was the first time many of us saw life as we know it stop. Quarantine has definitely taught me a lot emotionally, mentally, and how to reach out and work through (and what bad panic attacks feel like :) ). I think it also goes without saying that I got through most of this because of the people around me, and I can't say enough how grateful I am to be surrounded by such amazing people. So, here I am. Life is still pretty rocky, but it's a process. Thank you to everyone who's been along for the ride so far ❤

Often times my work is more about a conversation with my anxieties. I have a deep, conflicting relationship with concepts of existentialism. The following works reflect abstract ideas that I simply don’t have words for.

4" x 4" pen and ink and pencil

This piece captures the essence of country life. The detailed lines and shading bring out the rustic charm of the countryside, with a cozy home nestled amidst lush greenery.

Acrylic on canvas. This was a commission from a friend. This bird is the avian love of his life.

Dark, dead and full of life at the same time.

While Venice has surrendered itself to unadulterated tourism, Lido remains a tiny bastion of slow life. Lounging on the piers, biking on empty roads, sitting for hours in cafes...

Ethel Marjorie Butterscotch had lived a quiet life in the south side of Cobble-Wobbleton, ever since the defenestration of the eelmongers in '38

It's hard to escape emotions. The normal part of life is to be braver when you're depressed. It's like the trapped pigeons. Up in the clouds, longing for freedom.

Made with gel ink pen for a future art book about mediterranean way of life. Here is crowded Istanbul city

New here, lifelong doodler (duh). Enjoying seeing the doodles of others!

Doodle over a 1939 Life magazine cover. I used A permanent black marker and some gel pens for the finish.

A wee sketch of a feather I found, painted with watercolours on Stillman & Birn Zeta paper.

THE SHIELD from Stories for Nighttime and Some for the Day by Ben Loory. "And the remembrance of that place seems to spur him on, and suddenly he’s picking up the pace. Suddenly he’s jogging down the middle of the road, and then he breaks into a run. And then he’s running as fast as he can, and it feels like he’s about to take off. By the time the man gets to the cheap side of town, he’s never felt so good in his life. And he blows right by that dingy apartment and off into wide open space." https://www.instagram.com/p/CguFREoucBj/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

No, I can't get it out of my head, now my whole world is gone for dead. This song has been stuck in my head for a while now, kind of interesting. I apologize for the long ramble of reflection this will be, but here I go. It's been an interesting few weeks, ups and downs, odd mindsets, but here I am. I don't know, quarantine has shifted a lot of things for everyone, and I've noticed a lot of changes in myself. I jokingly say I'm becoming soft, but it's a bit true, in a good way. I'm thankful for so many people in my life, and I'm finally letting those people how much they mean to me. I know I've said this before, but gymnastics has really been getting me through, and I'm proud of all the progress I've been making recently. My coaches make my life better, they're just incredible people and I love them so much. Thank you to the person I had a whole long text conversation with tonight (you know who you are) and for always dealing with my chaotic self. And finally, I've started to accept who I am, and that's a nice feeling. There's still the dark parts, the static still consumes me from time to time, but tonight was a good night. Thank you for all the support from everyone (in and outside of this community!). I genuinely appreciate all of it

One of my favorite pieces I did for Inktober a couple of years ago. The prompt was juicy. I went with an NBC Hannibal aesthetic. You would not believe how much fun I had coloring those pomegranates.

watercolor on paper.

Pen and ink illustration of an old beetle abandoned in the bush!

My sketchbook is full with doodles , i am a doodler for life :)

#koifish #koipond #fish #pond #art #japan #illustration #aquarium #koicarp #carp #koilovers #koifishpond #ikankoi #painting #JoseloRochaArt #KoiLovers #FishKeeping #PondLife #BeautifulFish #AquaticLife #KoiAddict #JapaneseKoi #KoiFishLove #koi

It's crazy to think that 6 years have already flown by since I first moved onto the Xcel gymnastics team, let alone the fact that I've spent 15 years of my life as a gymnast. Tomorrow, August 6th, 2021, marks my last day as a gymnast on the team since I'm officially a college student. I've genuinely been dreading this day, but it's not the ending I expected...in an oddly good way. I know no one expected to spend the past year in a pandemic, and I definitely didn't think gym would shift so much in the following months, but here we are. Gymnastics has taught me more than I ever imagined it could, and my coaches (especially one of them) have become two of the people I'm closest with, words can't describe how grateful I am for everything. This 'ending' doesn't feel like an end, more so a closing to this chapter. Honestly, my love for the sport has only grown, and it feels like I'm finally figuring it all out. So, although my final practice as a team member is tomorrow, my journey is not over yet. "Goodbyes are the hardest part, and this ending has been something I’ve been dreading, although I know it’s time to let go. I’d like to say this isn’t a permanent goodbye to you or the sport, it’s more of a natural conclusion. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for everything you’ve done for me and managed to teach me in this short amount of time, I couldn’t have asked for anyone, or anything, better. Thank you most of all for helping me achieve my dreams and for helping me get to a point in which I can say I’m proud of my journey. All that’s left to say is I care about you, I love you, and take care."

Where do I begin with this one? This is a drawing of my dad and I; the picture was taken back in 2006, a happier time, I suppose. I don't commonly think about my dad, I don't necessarily think about how much I miss him or how I wish I could see him again, so it was odd for me to sit and look through old photos. I don't really know my dad; I do, but I don't. My dad was physically part of my life for 10 years, the second half of those were not the best. Mental illness, self medicating for years, debt, heroin, arguments, threats, uncertainty. I feel like I remember the negative more because I was older, my parents couldn't hide it from me like they used to. At the same time, when he was sober and stable, life was good. Life was great, things felt complete. So here I am, 6 years since he died. I don't want to say his image is fading, but I know less of who he was than I did before. I see the good from some (the ones who praise him, who act like he was a saint), and I see the bad from others (the one who felt the pain). I suppose I no longer see my view, my memories aren't there anymore. I don't necessarily feel sad, the anger has faded, and I can't say I'm happy. Maybe I'll figure it out one day, but, for now, it is what it is.

Giraffe in charcoal