Slowly and surely pruning out the unnecessary, the emotionally exhausting, and the excesses of my life. Will end the year smaller but stronger.

How have you been?



Science-inspired necklaces from the Delftia Etsy store

(via scientificillustration)

I recently went through the WHOLE (goddamn) Sandman series like how I would eat triple chocolate cake: quickly, forcibly, and in a daze. Now that the ~*dream*~ is over, I fill my time drawing Morpheus on old unwanted books.

If you like the Dream lord like I do, then we’re automatically blood brothers… or just friends… no pressure.



Chloe Early (b.1980, Ireland)

Working in oils on linen and aluminium panel, Cork-born artist Chloe Early has developed a unique style that is simultaneously lush and raw. The romantic and the gritty meet in her paintings, which tease out a distinctively poetic worldview through the juxtaposition of extremes. At their core is a sensitivity to lyrical feelings and themes - love, beauty, innocence and softness - which collide with more worldly symbols of aggression and degradation, such as bullets, bombs, urban refuse and ruins. Graduated from NCAD in Dublin in 2003, Chloe moved to London in 2004 where she has lived and worked since. Her paintings have been exhibited worldwide with group and solo shows.

Solo show Suspended @ The Outsiders London

© All images courtesy the artist

[more Chloe Early | artist found at Juxtapoz]


Artist on Tumblr

Hsiao-Ron Cheng | hsiaoron on Tumblr (b.1986, Taiwan)

Taiwanese digital artist/illustrator Hsiao-Ron Cheng started to work as a freelance illustrator in 2012 and soon get international attention. In the same year, her work has been shortlisted for Young Illustrator Award. Hsiao-Ron’s clients range from fashion brand to design agencies worldwide. Other experiences include a digital painting of 8ft mural for a Sidney based coffee shop.

[more Hsiao-Ron Cheng | artist found at septagonstudios]


Ben Foster (New Zealand)

"My works are a culmination of the natural and the manmade - a careful balance of form and motion." Kaikoura, New Zealand-based sculptor Ben Foster creates modern, inorganic renderings of animals that boast a geometric design. Each sculpture in his portfolio, whether it be a seal balancing an invisible ball, a horse standing in place, or a dog howling at the moon, blurs the lines between the real and abstract. They also each incite spectators to shift their positions to get the full visual spectrum of their complex shape. (src: My Modern Met)

[more Ben Foster | artist found at My Modern Met]

Observancy is a dying art. The essence of dramatic form is to let an idea come over people without it being plainly stated.
By Stanley Kubrick (via blue-voids)

(Source: somenotesonfilm, via blue-voids)





She’s a joyful, jubilant, glowing 27-year old, and she tells me that just 12 weeks ago she received the best news of her life.

“You are pregnant! You are going to be a mother!”

I wasn’t there, but I close my eyes to imagine the excitement.  I imagine the physician coming back with the results of the urine pregnancy test, and I imagine her clenching her husband’s hand until its red, white, and blue, like Raynaud’s phenomenon.  I imagine them as they hold their breath to listen, so that not even a whisper of air can distract from this moment.  I imagine the tension, the electricity, the anticipation, the anxiety.

Just 12 weeks ago, they had plans of bringing a baby into this world.

Just 12 weeks ago, they began to think of names.

And just 2 weeks ago, she began to feel the ‘fetus’ move, and she became even more aware that a baby, complete with 23 maternal and 23 paternal chromosomes, was growing inside of her uterus.  It had a heart beat.  It had life.  It had a name.

She visits the clinic – alone – at 18 weeks gestation for her routine prenatal checkup.  She tells the doctor and me that, recently, she hasn’t been feeling the baby move as much.  And even more concerning, she had an episode of bleeding two nights ago.  And she’s worried.

She’s worried.  And she’s alone.

The doctor tells her that she needs to check-in to the hospital to get a non-stress test done to assess for fetal reactivity.  She agrees.  I know she’s worried, so I tell her that I would be at the hospital in the afternoon, and that I will check on her.  She’s thankful.

When I get there in the afternoon, she is just getting to the hospital.  I walk in, and we chat.  We talk about the snowstorm that we are supposed to be getting over the weekend.  She jokes that meteorologists are always wrong, and that we probably won’t get more than an inch.  We joke and laugh, as the nurse begins to set up the doppler and tocodynamometer.  I decide to step out and allow her to finish setting up the non-stress test. 

I walk to the nurses’ station, and, oddly, the nurse follows behind me.  She tells another nurse to call the doctor in the clinic.

Something is off. 

A few minutes pass, and I get up to go to the bathroom.  As I exit the bathroom, I hear a shriek from the other end of the hallway, the type of shriek that’s filled with passion and pain, the type of shriek I’ve only heard once before in my life.  And in that moment, I remember that’s the noise my father made at his grandmother’s funeral.  

I walk into her room to see her balled up on the hospital bed, with the doctor holding her hand.  And somehow, I know what has happened.  I take one look at her eyes - filled with grief, pain, anguish, agony – and one solitary tear gently runs down my cheek onto her sheets.

The doctor holds her hand, and tells her that there is nothing she could’ve done to prevent this from happening.  He explains what is going to happen next.  He tells her that most of the time, it is due to anomalies that are incompatible with life.  She asks questions, and he takes his time to leave none unanswered.  She’s tearful, and asks if she can call her husband.  We leave the room to give her privacy.

After a while, she is wheeled down to the OR to ‘evacuate the products of conception’ – a phrase that I utterly despise.  To her, it is more than a ‘product of conception’.  To her, it is more than just a ‘fetus’.

To her, it was her baby.  It had a name.  It had a life.

And just then, I become disgusted with some of the medical terminology we often use in our notes.  We often dehumanize and assign expressions based on legalities and constitutionality, rather than emotions and humanism.

The ‘pregnancy’ is ‘viable,’ as to not imply life.

The ‘fetus’ is not yet a baby, as to avoid an emotional attachment.

We wheel her out of the OR, and her eyes speak an indescribable pain.  A pain, that if she had read my post-operative note calling her baby an ‘aborted fetus’, she probably would’ve spit in my face.  And I would not blame her.

I take one look at her eyes, and I can’t stomach what I just wrote in the chart.  I feel dirty, unclean, dishonest, deceitful.  And I want to take my post-operative note and rip it out of the chart.  And I want to tell the resident and attending that I will not refer to her baby as an ‘aborted fetus’, and that I demand that we start using terms that illustrate the emotions that this woman is experiencing for her lost baby.

But I don’t.

I don’t.

And I don’t know why.