On September 10th, just a few days before the FCC’s net neutrality comment deadline, internet users and tech companies will unite for the “Internet Slowdown” to show the world what’s at stake if we lose net neutrality, the “First Amendment of the Internet.”
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I’M GONNA BE OKAY I’VE GOT PEOPLE WHO LOVE ME EVEN WHEN I DON’T REALLY DESERVE IT I’VE GOT THINGS TO LOOK FORWARD TO AND PEOPLE TO LOVE AND DOGS TO PET AND RAIN TO LISTEN TO AND I’M GONNA BE OKAY WE’RE GONNA BE OKAY
watching paper man on netflix
"if only everything in the world could be covered in butter. what a world that would be."
"what a buttery world."
As someone who likes to work from life, I really struggle with working from photos. The work seems to come out flat when compared to what I do from life. Your work seems to be so alive; more so than a photo. I feel like the trick is not being a slave to the photo reference as the camera can lie (bleached out lights and overly dark shadows). My brain doesn't know how to paint what's not there. Do you had any tips for working with photos so that it doesn't look like you just painted a photo?
Don’t paint the photo. Paint what’s in the photo.
If you need more information about the thing in the photo, get better photos of the thing. If you need more knowledge about what choices to make, practice and study.
When you’re standing in a meadow with your easel, you have ten gazillion times the amount of information available to you compared to a photo of the same meadow. That means you can make a lot more choices about what you paint. A photo isn’t complete. It’s a mechanically acquired sample. No one stands in a meadow and tries to paint what they think a photo of a meadow would look like.
I mean, you can’t measure a photo on a painting scale. The photo will always come up short. No offense to photographers. It’s apples to oranges, yeah? An apple might taste good compared to other apples, but for an orange, it’s pretty shitty tasting.
That’s why when you try to paint a photo, you end up with something unsatisfying.
It takes a lot of practice to paint the thing and not the photo of the thing. I imagine it will take a lot more practice to get into the habit of separating the two if you’re used to painting from life. But it’s totally doable.
Also, I just realized who you are. Hi. :)
aaah, you should if you ever get the opportunity! they /do/ sound a lot like their albums and marcus is adorably shy, but just hearing all those instruments live is such a joy and they did a beautiful acoustic encore with just one guitar that had the entire stadium dead silent and in awe. do the thing if you can! i promise it's magical and we can all use a little magic once in a while <3 (i'm sorry, this was really random *lol*)
I appreciate the happy random! ♥
hi nell! just curious, but have you ever seen mumford & sons live? if so, what did you think? i'm a huge fan myself and i went to see them when they were on their babel tour. it was easily the best night of my life, oh man! <3
I haven’t, no.
I bet it was really great! I hear they sound very much like their albums even when live - for better or for worse depending on your preferences. :) but yay I’m glad you had such a great night :D
could you maybe tag your destiel, please?
I do. I tag it “serve god love me and mend”.
Castiel is walking through the bunker unawares, his mind working over a particularly cryptic Enochian rock etching when Dean strikes. He comes out of nowhere; the full force of his muscular frame slamming Castiel’s back against the concrete wall so hard it knocks the breath right out of him. His first reaction is a panicked twist in his gut, fists half-clenched as he tries to assess the threat, body reeling from the rough handling.
Before he’s caught his breath, though, rough hands are grabbing at the button on his jeans and trying to untuck his shirt at the same time. Dean’s green gaze is wide and dark and locked on his own. Castiel’s panic subsides to confusion, but he doesn’t have a chance to say anything before Dean’s lips descend on his in a hard, head-spinningly fierce kiss. It’s all so sudden, Dean’s tongue teasing and testing, the kiss stealing away what little air Castiel has managed to hang onto.
The part of Castiel’s brain that’s always on the lookout for danger, the little instinctual compass that points toward what passes for appropriate behavior scratches at the base of his skull, pushing him to try to inch toward the bedroom door with Dean in tow. Dean obviously has other ideas; his thigh is pressed up hard between Castiel’s, grinding against his cock as they share another breathless kiss and then another. Cas doesn’t think he’s ever gotten so hard so fast - as far as he can think, that is.
It’s all over when Dean’s fingers finally slip under Castiel’s shirt; rough-skinned and strong and grabbing at the bare skin of his waist to push him harder into the wall. Without the ability to breathe or think, he reaches up and grabs Dean’s face in both hands, pulling him into a deeper kiss, bitten lips and slowburn tonguefucking and growls of pleasure that never leave the safety of their locked lips. Dean’s fingertips dip below the waistband of Castiel’s jeans, drawing an impatient, choked off little moan from Castiel’s lips.
When Dean breaks off, his lips absent for a scant second before finding Castiel’s neck, Cas is pretty sure he’s gonna explode with the need for relief from the press of Dean’s thigh. His fingers twist in Dean’s hair, the fact that they’re in the middle of the hallway where they could be caught at any moment completely forgotten as he gasps for air and tries to coax Dean to his knees. A sudden flood of desperate need surges up from the pit of Castiel’s stomach when Dean doesn’t budge, lips and tongue instead working at the tender skin of Castiel’s throat until his breath comes in half-voiced whimpers.
Castiel is trembling, pulled tight with anticipation by the time Dean pulls away, struggling to breathe while he straightens his own clothes. He licks his lips, letting his gaze settle on Castiel’s, then smirks and turns to walk away; back off in the direction of the kitchen. Cas stands, dazed and shivering and trying to catch his breath as he watches Dean swagger away, hips swaying distractingly. His cock aches, his underwear is soaked with precome, and his head is still clouded with the desire to drag Dean to the bedroom; but, his legs are too rubbery to follow through.
Just before Dean turns the corner at the end of the hallway, he calls back over his shoulder in a singsong (if completely breathless and wrecked) voice, “That’s repayment for interrupting my shower this morning.”
“I was like, ‘Wait a minute, maybe I can be taken seriously as like a guy who’s one of the baddest dudes in the world,’ you know?” [x]
- Do not forget Michael Brown
- Do not forget how the media dehumanized him and tried to justify his murder
- Do not forget how peaceful protests were painted as savage riots
- Do not forget police armed with military grade weapons terrorized and arrested black civilians
- Do not forget Darren Wilson being awarded over $400,000 in fundraiser donations for murdering an unarmed black child
- Do not forget that this system was not built to defend us, but to control us
- Do not forget Ferguson