An affair.

I think my heart is having an affair with the observational drawing. yee.

In the snowland.

I'm at my parent's house and everything around me has something magical in it: all these books from their library room, old and new, with illustrations and without, my old good piano, notebooks, pictures, my sister's violins, little sculptures, stamp collections, all grandmum's boxes, saucers and cups collections with this feel of lace and history to it, even wallpaper patterns, and a huge mirror in the bathroom, all the endless snowing outside.
And there are stars glowing in the dark on the ceiling of my room.

Frosty paper.

If you glue a piece of tracing paper onto the black cardboard with a glue stick, the surface looks frosted.*

Snowing !

music: Will I Avenge or Revenge? by Monsters Build Mean Robots.

It's snowing like in an elfland!*-*
The morning was pretty emptying and now, as the darkness has arrived, everything's got this magic touch to it, everything's mysterious and beautiful, full of stories and deep unexplored spaces of lacy darkness.
Nearly finished with printing my Ice Mirrors illustration on different pieces of tracing paper for cards and greeting notes, all gifts are wrapped (!)and snowflakes cut out, got to start->finish packing and then work on the book cover, tattoo design and my investigation project. I've calculated that in order to finish with the book in time I need to do a new illustration every 1,8 days. 9.6

Star Wars are great. I just had to put this down.

Can't you see the skies are breaking .

Sophie had another wicked thought while I was hanging around while she was shelving: " ..and you can create a hand-bound book with 15-20 illustrations representing each day or situation. That's what they need in illustration world, right?".

Ollie's and Jem's house.

Ollie's and Jem's house is an incredibly inspiring place. As soon as I enter their living room I get this urgent need to draw patterns. This is a result of the last time I had dinner at theirs.

Everything changes.

Just found this drawing of mine finished a while ago when it was at its best in making sense. Now all the pieces are struggling to come together in my head. I thought I'd wait for the day I'd feel like giving this away to him, the day I'd wake up and my heart would feel right just like back in the early days, but the day had never come until the moment everything ended. I might be seeing him one to one for the last time today, so hopefully he accepts this as a goodbye present since it belongs to him in a way. It doesn't belong here in my room any more anyways.

The way through the cemetery down along the river.

A church with a celtic cross if you look though the window.

Howard Phillips Lovecraft.

Howard Phillips Lovecraft (August 20, 1890 – March 15, 1937) was an American author of horror, fantasy, and science fiction, known then simply as weird fiction. Lovecraft's major inspiration and invention was cosmic horror, the idea that life is incomprehensible to human minds and that the universe is fundamentally alien. Those who genuinely reason, like his protagonists, gamble with sanity. His works were deeply pessimistic and cynical, challenging the values of the Enlightenment, Romanticism, and Christian humanism.

When a few hours ago the pretty odd pluming system outside my bedroom window was about to drive me absolutely mad ( the old good method of torture to freak the crap out of a human mind) and the magical pills (x4 -every 30, 15, 2, 2 minutes) didn’t help and the sounds from the outside of my head started to disperse into lines and and winds-like-materia creating coordinates in dark space of my mind, I decided to draw something and here's the result:

Oh boy, tonight I'm going out with Max P., and not Max Payne (who is sexy too), but a real superhero.

He did archery for 7 years! I was amazed all over from the inside, like my mind was sparkled with some silvery moonbeam dust. It's rare you meet people who have an elfish touch to them and who have done archery in their lives.