sold
one of my plates framed by one of my grandma’s quilts
this is my 'what if jackalopes got their antlers by wandering through a deer's rib cage?' piece
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As fearsome and deadly as the adult manticore is rumored to be, there’s no escaping that awkward adolescent phase.
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Unicorn Statue - Mirabellgarten, Salzburg [x]
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It's THE year to be doodling kirins and dragons non-stop 🐉 🐉 🐉
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"Laguna"
The green red combination is classic for a reason. Though one very famous mermaid is rockin it, I found it to good not to borrow.
This illustration is part of my Siren Song 3 artzine. The pre order campaign is running till 18 September 18:30 CET on Kickstarter.
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Unicorns in icy climates manage to make do with thick, warm coats and a can-do attitude, but boy those hooves can be a bit slippy.
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Imagin witnessing a giant dying. This massive creature of the land that's been here for generations. He looks like a massive human, as tall a skyscraper, his shoulders sprouting plants and his back covered in vines, his body its own ecosystem as birds make their nests in their beard.
He is old. He was here when the first humans came to this land from across the bering strait. He's seen great cities grow, great cities burn, seen empires fall, seen empires rise. His kind's lifespans are far longer than humanity's, but they are limited, as all creatures of flesh and blood are thus limited.
When you first talk to him you ask him what he thinks of your era. He ponders for a moment. You wish for him to condemn all of humanity or all of your generation for a moment. Yet he does not. He speaks of things you wouldn't think to, songs barely heard, festivals of lost woods, and creatures beyond humanity. And when he tells you about humanity's destruction, of the loss of life, he does not blame the commoners but the rulers. And he tells you not to grieve for an extinction that has not yet come to pass.
When you ask him if he fears death he tells you he does not. He wonders why humans do, perhaps for how ephemeral you are. He has lived a long life. And he will die as his ancestors did, and as his decedents someday will. He tells you he does not know where beings are to go upon their death, but that it does not matter, for it will not prevent that final moment.
He tells you that you must wish he was the last of his kind, but he is not. You must wish his death was humanity's story, that it could be a tragedy or a triumph for humanity, but it is not. He is merely sinking into one of nature's many cycles, one that humans tend to fear too much in your era.
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Two good daily sketches in a row? Very sus. Here's a mallard griffon.
(Slap your thighs rapidly with both hands alternating-that's the sound of him running)
-2451
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