Sigmund Freud (1856–1939)
“I cannot imagine life without work as really comfortable,” Freud wrote to a friend in 1910. With his wife, Martha, to efficiently manage the household—she laid out Freud’s clothes, chose his handkerchiefs, and even put toothpaste on his toothbrush—the founder of psychoanalysis was able to maintain a single-minded devotion to his work throughout his long career.
Freud’s long workdays were mitigated by two luxuries. First, there were his beloved cigars, which he smoked continually, going through as many as twenty a day from his mid-twenties until near the end of his life, despite several warnings from doctors and the increasingly dire health problems that dogged him throughout his later years. (When his seventeen-year-old nephew once refused a cigarette, Freud told him,
From Daily rituals by Mason Currey
#dailyrituals #inktober #sigmundFreud @masoncurrey
An abstract manifestation of my mind undergoing an "unblocking" to recover the spring of creativity. Putting it in more concrete and psychological terms, a projection of illegible thought processess that free mental binds that have been plagueing my mind for the past year or two.
(Gel Fineliner on A5 Paper) The central image is small because it is that small (about 4cm). It's the first of five which represents that point every artist gets to where they say to themselves: "I really CAN'T BE ARSED doing this!" and casually knock out anything. I thought it was apt for the "encouraging" nature of Inktober ;P
Emma Stone Portrait Color Sketch by Oz Galeano
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This poignant black and white pencil and ink drawing captures the essence of a dark, broken man with sand slipping through his fingers, symbolizing the passage of time and lost hopes. A hole in his chest reveals his heart, while beside him stands a similarly broken woman. In the foreground, withered flowers and a shattered hourglass accentuate the theme of decay and loss. The background features a forgotten playground, representing the loss of innocence, and a swirling vortex with lightning in the sky that engulfs the man's illusion of reality. This artwork speaks to the emotional turmoil and fragility of the human experience.
Jane Austen (1775–1817)
Austen never lived alone and had little expectation of solitude in her daily life. Her final home, a cottage in the village of Chawton, England, was no exception: she lived there with her mother, her sister, a close friend, and three servants, and there was a steady stream of visitors, often unannounced.
...
Austen wrote in the family sitting room, “subject to all kinds of casual interruptions,” her nephew recalled. She was careful that her occupation should not be suspected by servants, or visitors, or any persons beyond her own family party. She wrote upon small sheets of paper which could easily be put away, or covered with a piece of blotting paper. There was, between the front door and the offices, a swing door which creaked when it was opened; but she objected to having this little inconvenience remedied, because it gave her notice when anyone was coming.
“Composition seems to me impossible with a head full of joints of mutton & doses of rhubarb.”
From Daily rituals by Mason Currey
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Benjamin Franklin (Part 2)
The plan worked, up to a point. After following the course several times in a row, he found it necessary to go through just one course in a year, and then one every few years. But the virtue of order—“Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time”—appears to have eluded his grasp. Franklin was not naturally inclined to keep his papers and other possessions organized, and he found the effort so vexing that he almost quit in frustration.
This timetable was formulated before Franklin adopted a favorite habit of his later years—his daily “air bath.” At the time, baths in cold water were considered a tonic, but Franklin believed the cold was too much of a shock to the system. He wrote in a letter: I have found it much more agreeable to my constitution to bathe in another element, I mean cold air. With this view I rise early almost every morning, and sit in my chamber without any clothes whatever, half an hour or an hour, according to the season, either reading or writing. This practice is not in the least painful, but on the contrary, agreeable; and if I return to bed afterwards, before I dress myself, as sometimes happens, I make a supplement to my night’s rest, of one or two hours of the most pleasing sleep that can be imagined.
From Daily rituals by Mason Currey
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para el día 17 de Inktober hoy toca a diario
para este día se me ocurrió dibujar a glurt quién le lleva un diario a Glomp aunque cubierto un poco con su baba
para el día 16 de Inktober hoy toca sucio
para este día se me ocurrió dibujar a Mario hugo a quién se le ocurrió jugar un poco en el barro pero sin saber no terminó mucha Juan Carlos por accidente
para el día 10 de Inktober hoy toca a nomadic
para este día se me ocurrió dibujar a el cavernícola tigre dientes de sable sisck quién está viajando de manera nómada junto a su garrote a otra zona.
꧁༒♛C•Ꭿ•₸♛༒꧂/ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\꧁༒♛C•Ꭿ•₸♛༒꧂/ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\
For day 10 of Inktober today is nomadic's turn
For this day I came up with the idea of drawing the caveman saber-toothed tiger Sisck who is traveling nomadically with his club to another area..
para el día 9 de Inktober hoy toca a sol
para este día se me ocurrió dibujar a tsunoplet quién está encima de una roca tomando un poco de sol ☀️.
(。◕ ∀ ◕｡)(▽◕ ᴥ ◕▽)(。◕ ∀ ◕｡)(▽◕ ᴥ ◕▽)
For the 9th day of Inktober today is the day of the sun
For this day I thought of drawing Tsunoplet who is on a rock getting some sun ☀️
