030117 — Sketch

020117 — Sketch

Another day. Another sketch. 

020117 — Sketch

Some traditional sketches after like 10,000 years! Just to get things started this year. I am so excited with all the plans! 

010117 — Sketch

010117: Fun sketch to start the year and have some fun.

— Keep on keeping on!

The First Firmament!

Pure pulsating energy sank from one end of itself, to be realised at the other. The nature of symmetry. All things overlap each other. But in this exchange, by chance, the energy was entangled.

And this was the first entanglement. 

As the entanglement broke the symmetry it caused the first realisation.

And this was comprehension. 

When the great void was contemplated for the first time. 

And this was the first and last moment. Time — Infinite and echoing.

Within this infinitude was the first image.

And the Image called itself Nora.

The first shell. 

Vessel of all knowledge.

Nora.

And this was the first consciousness.

[The Plains of Nora — NR—ST01DR01—311216]

Diamonds Fall Over The Skin

There was what they call, a foggy silence. Dense. Slow. Moving. silence. 

Some of them were sipping on their whiskey, while the rest were huddled around the mahogany table. Dresses and uniforms. Their family sigils embroidered on their shoulders and pockets. The women carried purses and gloves. White gloves and black. They were drinking wine. The best that could be found in all the lands. 

— But this is PREPOSTEROUS! Young Luke, looking at everyone, turned. A faint ray of light through the fog. Silence again. Stern. Strange. Scared. Silence. 

 Luke was younger than the rest of the masks that had huddled in this grand mahogany chamber. He was a fresh 24. The age when the mind and speech should be divorced.

But...

— Is it? Dolomer asked still looking at the paper in front of him. Is it young man? You think what I have to say is preposterous?

The ladies shrank a little in their seats and shoes. Whiskey glasses wanted to slip and drop. Anything would be a good distraction. Some suits trembled in their bones. Luke, the son of Genmah, knew little. He met all the eyes and was oblivious. He stood there trying to understand. Looking and waiting. 

— Is it young master? He asked again. Slowly looking up from under his eyebrows. A faint smile on his lips. Preposterous? is it? 

Luke turned. Facing Dolomer again.

— A little bit? he said sheepishly.

A faint laugh. Very faint. As if in the other room behind the door. But it came again. Louder. And louder.

His old head fell backwards as Dolomer started laughing to everyone’s surprise. He laughed a full laugh. The surety of humour. Not a sinner’s laugh but the devils'. Laughter.

Pause. 

Silence.

— And what is your opinion on walking in the garden young master? Dolomer asked still amused.

Lady Dee’s fingers touched the back of Genmah’s hand form under her wrap. Disguise. A diamond slid from her eyes. On a different chair a vertebrate shivered.

Eventuality.

— Mr. Dolomer, Sir! I love walking. All earnest.

[The Plains of Nora — SK — ST02DR01–261216]

When The Little Girl Asketh

— Pap'paaaaa! 

The faint echo of small footsteps trickled through the curated cracks in the door. The incessant sounds of innocence. A good breakfasts excitement rang in the young voice. Fresh bread, eggs, milk, butter and jam. 

The door sprang open as she ran into the study. Dressed in her morning dress. White. Glowing. She knew where he would be sitting. It had been rehearsed over and over again. Straight and a little to the right. The oak study table and the leather chair were for the other days. When important uncles and aunts came over, the only times she was not allowed inside. Not even to peak. But not today. This was a good morning

— Pap'paaa! Pap'paaa! She repeated in short bursts matching the beats of her footsteps. Did you have breakfast? 

Closer and closer she slows her pace to climb on his lap. The youngest flower in the garden. The Jewel in the crown. A dream he called her. A dream she was. A dream. A nightmare. 

— No little dream. I haven’t. Did you? Without your pap'paa? He pinches her cheeks in adoration.

His voice was always so gentle toward her. He had never raised his voice at her. Even when she had plucked his moustache out of his face. He was hurt..and amused. But not angry. The deep crimson coloured people that served the house had watched the episode aghast. The little tamer of horses they called her. One day she would bring peace to all. Some day. 

— But then why are you still drinking? She gets out of his lap, and runs toward the door again in one sweeping motion. Giggling and dancing. I will get you the best bread, and jam, and tea. 

Her voice rose and fell as she hopped on the Wooden floor. Her dress flowing in the bright light from the windows. Swishing through the air, getting lost in the dance, and rushing past her hands.

She stops still.

— Oh! Nooo! She exclaims in exaggeration. Hands hanging lose on the side, chin hanging.

— What little one? A groan heavy with whiskey and waking. Concerned yet long gone in the far depths of the night. His eyes are open but he sleeps.

— Mother will be very angry. She whispers to herself. Soft. The rushing of birds, her voice. Mother will be very very angry.

She turns on her heels and points to the blood on her dress. 

— Blood again. Mother will be very angry. Frozen expression.

Dropping the whip from his hand, he takes his emerald stick and gets up from the wooden chair. Slow...ly. His knees are not as good as they were. Slow...ly. Age. Catches on. Slow…ly. Between the space of the ribs and the arm he finds space to park his stick. Climbs over the unmoving sack of bones and comes to get his dream. She flies in his arms. He holds. 

— You can say it was me. And a kiss on the soft red cheek  

She giggles.

[The Plains of Nora —SK — ST01DR01–131216]