Imagine you’re resting at the very bottom of the oceans, watching
falling pieces after piece of plastic garbage on your home all the
frigging time, and you knew this pollution comes from the hairless
monkeys above.
Won’t you be mad? Mad enough to send dreams and manipulate the monkeys to reduce pollution? Or to extinguishes themselves?
Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook
A nice place to rest, with friends all around.Rain has stopped and scents are bloomingI laid myself down, bare feet on the groundAnd decided to to produce a little drawing.
Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook
London, Hitchcock’s manor. 1925.February the 21th
Soundtrack : Layers of Fear OST, main theme
Awnya words were kind, but the news was too heavy for Harold’s sensible artistic mind.
James is dead.
He
is no more. Departed. Gone. Not with us anymore.The reality of the
situation hit him hard. He wanted to face it, to revolt against the
entire world, to howl and scream, but his body wouldn’t respond. He
struggled to keep some coherency in his mind, but his thoughts has gone
numb. As he felt into slumber, he saw a trace of guilt in Awnya’s
beautiful face and understand the strange taste in the infusion she made
earlier… Awnya gazed for while at Harold’s
face, slowly stroking his long hair. At least he would rest, and maybe
the narcotic will dilute the pain. She knew how important James was to
him, maybe she should lay down with him, and ease him into consciousness
in the morning. Yes, it would be a good way to…
Harold’s eyes opens suddenly.
She
gasped. Franticly, she searched for her words, surprised by this sudden
awakening. As she mumbled a quick excuse, she realized something was
off. The face of Harold was blank, as if its mind was too. He stood up
brusquely, made a few steps and stood still, staring at the painting of
Aleister on the mantle chimney. Awnya tried to talk to him but he didn’t
respond to her. After a few attempts to attract his attention, he
started walking again, and goes to the stairs. As she followed him, she
noticed his usual sluggishness was gone. He climbed up to his room,
stared at his luggages, and with swift and precise movements, started to
unpack his painting tools.
Awnya lay
herself on his bed and watched him dressing the easel. She saw him paint
before, slow gentle touch of color. This was different, the strokes
were quick and violent, spaying drops of paint everywhere. The silence
were oppressing, heavy, tense. She had to break it. Without knowing if
Harold could hear her, she started to tell everything. What happened in
New-york, the Bloody tongue cults, the escape to London, and the
Damocles sword upon James. The possession, Silas’ shadow, the arrival to
the manor and the ritual, The Dreamlands, the cats of Ulthar, The
Nightgaunts, Nodens… Her sister’s taking away.
One
by one, everything she told to Harold was painted, Soon the canvas was
filled by a giant juxtaposition of scenes and portraits, and then the
walls and furnitures around too were sprayed too with drops of colors,
suggestively arranged. Hours by hours, this giant mandala grew larger
and larger, but she still couldn’t see what he draw in the center. What
was the nexus, the central piece that liked all the others.
Her raging curiosity was devouring her, but she had to finish her story first.
It has to be told. To be painted.
Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook
Excerpt from an ongoing run of Call of Cthulhu Campaign : The Masks of Nyarlathotep (London arc)
So I had the strangest dream this weekend and nobody understands me so I need to share it with you because you might. Press J to skip this post if you can’t deal, I will accept this.
In my dream I was standing on the back deck of a rural cabin that overlooked a beautiful Vermont/Scottish Highlands landscape of unspoiled wilderness. It was a crisp, perfect autumn morning. I held a cup of cooling coffee in my hands as I leaned against the railing and scanned the perfect rolling hills in the midground, behind which the great patterned mountains with their snowcaps marched on until they blended with the horizon: #aesthetic
As I gazed at a distant meadow clearing in the trees, a pair of brightly coloured humanoid creatures emerged from the woods and began to dance for each other. It was an esoteric, beautiful mating dance, a strange combination of instinct and choreography. I felt awe washing over me. I marvelled. I felt a deep sense of wonder and peace as I observed this vanishingly rare encounter that I had never thought to observe in person. These animals were instantly recognisable but had never been studied in the wild. I felt incredibly humbled and privileged to witness this behaviour – I knew that I was the first human witness to observe this behaviour – and I reached for my phone, wondering if I should film it, so it could join the scholarly record, where it NEEDED to be. This could change everything. But then I held back – something told me “no,” to let the creatures have their privacy.
Ok, I can’t go any further without telling you that they were Teletubbies.
A red one and a yellow one. I know. I know. Stay with me here.
The cryptids melted back into the woods. My subconscious drew a discreet veil over the rest of their mating ritual, but I knew instinctively that this had been a dance of courtship. I was busy pondering the implications, because they were critical. You see, although the creatures were instantly recognisable as Teletubbies, as I had studied them, even at a distance, I had an incredible realisation.
They were adult Teletubbies.
This realisation dawned on me and in my dream I understood it fully. The ones that we know of – the captive ones that we have seen on television – are juveniles. In fact, they are the equivalent of toddlers. When you see the adults this becomes obvious. The garbled speech and silly movements of the four captive Teletubbies we know are the babbles of babyhood, a private primal toddler-language brewed up between sentient beings who have never encountered an adult of their own kind.
The adult Teletubbies have more branching, complex antlers and shaggy coats. They are less brightly coloured. They are terrifyingly large. Their strangely human faces, emerging from the thick fur, are unquestionably adult; remote, serene, reproachful. Their television screens are glitchy, esoteric and unknowable. They are cryptids whose public exploitation has undermined their rarity and their strange, alien dignity.
In my dream my feelings of awe and peace turned to great sadness at the fate of the captive toddler Teletubbies. I realised that I had to be the scientist who brought this discovery to the world and raised awareness of their plight. And I also questioned: are Teletubbies like axolotls? Do they exhibit neoteny? (Axolotls, the cute aquarium pets with flaring gills, are actually juveniles of an amphibious species – if given the right conditions they’ll grow up into land-dwelling black newts. But they can breed in their aquatic juvenile form, and most spend their whole lives in this form. Deprived of their wild potential, will the Teletubbies ever mature? Or are they merely experiencing a long childhood, natural for a species that is unimaginably long-lived?)
So in my dream my husband came out onto the back deck and I began to share these discoveries with him and before I could even bring up the axolotls he just said “what the fucking fuck” and went away again.
I woke up disgruntled and unable to capture the feeling of peace and sadness. I then tried to explain this to my husband in the waking world, and he said “what the fucking fuck” and walked away before I even got to the explanation of the Teletubbies being toddlers, which just goes to show that you never know someone as well as you think you do.
Anyway I’m sure you guys will join me in this knowledge. And also I’ve googled it and apparently the Teletubbies reboot features infant Teletubbies, so clearly they are getting more from somewhere and the time to question this is NOW
That is a wonderful dream. So weird, so poetic. Thank for sharing it! You inspired me this dreadful yet strangely sensual doodle.
Mermay is coming to an end, so this is my last minute submission to an overall quite pleasant event.
Starry
Crown has a secret. She knows a spell that no other seapony knows. She
learned it by listening to the songs of the deep sea, but she’s afraid
to tell the others, for they would find it quite silly to hear voices
from the abysses. There is no pony there !
They
are right. But when she cast the magic spell, when she chant it in this
old and forgotten tongue, then a beautiful orb of light appears.And when she goes to the verge of the deep seas, near the precipice, then it appears. Massive, scaly and strong tentacles emerge from the darkness, attracted by the strange light of the Orb. At first it seems scary, but she knows it is quite playful, tender and funny.
That is Starry’s friend from the deep. Remember : it’s a secret !
Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook
Breathing fire, living fire,
Blazing wrath so dire,
Scorching earth with its ire,
Setting the world on fire.
Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook
First actual mermaid for my project 💎 Get the HD version and PNG on my Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/claireblehaut
So cuuuuute !
Quite happy about this pearl for my mermay project 💎 Get the transparent PNG on my Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/claireblehaut
That is reflexion mastering
My digital painting: The Hermit. Get the HD on my Patreon 😇
https://www.patreon.com/claireblehaut
