If Our Colours Would Mix
[491 words]
He ascends from above, approaches from behind. Like something that keeps to the blindspot, the Artist creeps up on the unsuspecting audience. Once they notice that he is there, once he is moving to the front - of the room, of the stage, of their minds - his presence is already taking over the room. The Artist is like something that cannot be ignored, something that cannot be denied, something that cannot be avoided.
Something like love.
On a canvas of white, of emptiness, of purity, the performers await the Artist. As he picks up red paint, they start to move. They throw themselves at each other, arms reaching, hands pulling. The Artist splatters them with red passion, red strength, red power, and their bodies clash and collide. They heave themselves through the air, crash to the floor, tear at one another, overcome with red heat, covering themselves in red rage, dangerously close to drawing real, red blood. And then-
Blue.
The Artist splatters it over the performers. It runs down an arm and covers a hand that touches a cheek. Blue calm slows their movements; blue peace guides their embrace. In blue loyalty, one lifts the other who in blue trust lets themself be held up high, higher than they could ever have reached on their own.
As the performers move, the red and blue mix. Luxurious purple blooms, rich and mature. Splatters of yellow from the Artist’s paintbrush mix with blue. Green springs to life, the green of growth, of health, of prosperity. The performers hold one another, unbreakable, unstoppable, inseparable. But then…
Yellow.
At first, friendly and cheerful. Yellow warmth and yellow joy. The performers skip, they twirl, they dance. Then, as more yellow joins the mix, as more blue turns green and the green changes hue…
Yellow sickness, yellow madness, yellow danger.
Green envy, spreading like poison, corrupting.
Some red that remains gets into the yellow and green. Orange, for a moment, the orange that the venerable monks wear, the orange of a burning sunset, of ruin. The performers move, more frantic now, reaching for eachother yet moving further apart. Their white clothes of innocence are stained with their story, stained with their love. Beneath their feet, the paint on the canvas mixes as they move, their feet dragging through the paint and the colours mix, mix and mix. They mix until they can no longer be separated, until they have become indistinguishable, until they have turned to brown.
Brown, steady and reliable.
Brown, like the earth from which new life grows.
Brown, like the earth in which graves are dug and bodies laid to rest.
The performers have fallen. Lying in the brown, still reaching for eachother, arms stretched out, they are too far apart. The distance between them, a distance of brown, is too great. They cannot touch, and will not touch again.
Into that brown distance, the Artist pours black.
Black death.
Black mourning.
Black end.
This scene is like a piece of almond stuck between my teeth that I can't help but poke with my tongue. I want to get it out, if only so that I can chew it and have some of that sweet flavour. So I started googling the meanings of colours, and wondered - what if the colours mixed, creating new colours, new meanings? I know they don't seem to do that in the scene (presumably because of what paint is used?) so this'll probably not make it into Held (though I might use bits and pieces) which is why I thought - why not just throw it up on Tumblr, add it to the ecosystem, see what happens? So here we are. Tell me what you think?
3 notes
·
View notes
The thing I think a lot of bughead ppl have accepted or are starting to accept is that regardless of what extent we see bughead in season 7, it’s not going to deliver what we really want from the show. The writers aren’t going to address the thorns of the past two seasons, and they aren’t going to make it worth it to have drudged through it waiting for these things to be addressed.
There’s a lot of questions about if there will be bughead in s7, and I really don’t have any doubt that there will be. There was bughead in s6, and even if it only showed up sporadically, when it was done it was given considerable gravitas.
Since the pivot during s5, I’ve generally had the approach that if the riverdale writers want my time, they’ll have to get my attention. But tbh, the content that we really want? Unfortunately, we’re going to have to make it ourselves.
49 notes
·
View notes
first part of my WCI Zoro AU comic!
sorry Sanji not only am I late for your birthday but also all you get is pain shdjjd
01 02
I really wanna draw a happy birthdayboy Sanji all smiley and wobbly 💗💗💗 but cant sketch anything new rn and cleaning the comic is much easier, no thoughts, head empty
Anyway, ramble time
I don't have much experience with making comics, the żabka AU one being the one I roughed out first, but it was much less complicated. I dont recall making a serious comic effort before that... I now have a newfound admiration for drawing fight scenes, found it extremely hard lmao Generally I keep second guessing myself, always thinking I should have added more panels to make what's happening more clear, not sure if the flow of it is right. Even though I already moved onto cleaning I still keep making changes to the sketched out panels that were supposed to be final lol I also second guess the plot I'd planned, maybe I didn't think this characterization through enough? What if people dislike it?
But! If I keep tweaking and overthinking it I'll end up never posting it and I don't want that. And if I focus on other people's judgement I won't find joy in making art and I don't want that either.
So here's to sharing art! Regardless of mistakes and doubts 💗
3K notes
·
View notes