Tag Archives: drawing



This is one of the center pieces on the body paint I’m working on. It’s a “quetzal”, Guatemalan national bird and Maya sacred bird.

Legend says that during Spain’s invasion to Iximché, the Qui’che fortress city, the brave young prince Tecún Uman was mortally wounded by Spaniard vile general Don Pedro de Alvarado.

When the young prince fell, a beautiful quetzal went to rest over his chest, both died there and since that day, quetzals have their chest painted in bright red. Tainted by the Qui’che Prince’s blood.


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warning: this post is annoyingly personal and contains a lot of the usual lovelylollipop’s drama lol

*sigh*  I’m kind’a back, not really but I feel the need to speak/write something, I have been avoiding it on purpose, mostly out of a huge sentiment of guilt, spiced up with some shame and more guilt 😛

where were we last time?  I think it was when I traveled to Mexico City (I’m from Guatemala) when things started to mix and mess in my real life. Coming back was hard and mostly complex but the change was done and aside of long work hours things were looking okay the first month (october). I came here to fix Zara’s legal status as her dad is mexican and needed to resign custody for me to have the freedom to move around and travel with her… which basically meant she left my country ilegally (dad needed to sign her out of Guatemala but he couldn’t)… we cross the river 😛

anyway, that’s not why I stopped writting/drawing, at first the pause was due to lack of means, I mean, either I had no laptop, or internet acces, then I had no time (two shifts at work) and the lilk time I had, I used to be with family and talk to Leny (text via phone)… but the reason I stopped writting was cuz Leny and I ended up our relationship, and about that, I just have to say that it was all on me and I’m still not over it.

So, I’m sorry about the long pause and I’m even more sorry cuz I’m selfish enough to come back the minute I feel the imperius need to share and write, so feel free to give me the finger and pass over this 😛 seriously I understand and there no harsh feelings 🙂

Zara is great, happy as ever and Lily ended up being a male cat instead of a girl cat as formerly thought, so the cat is huge and he is still named Lily… I’m happy and missing yall as hell.

Lots of hugs to all 🙂


this model will be performed in bodypaint the next May 30 at the 7mo Encuentro de Maquillaje Corporal Fonanbules en el Centro de Mexico Contemporaneo by yours trully. It’s possibly one of the few things I’ve done this past 6 months.  Represents a kite, the theme of the show is “Language ann tongues” and my concept is about the giant kites that are elevated to the sky on Novemeber first in Guatemala, it’s called “Words to the Gods” cuz our kites are used to send “telegrams” either to deities or ancestors in the sky.


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I’ve been up for 41 hours, drawings start to show it up 😛

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no words or just few words

it took it forever for the lil piece of charcoal
to create a shining world, a transparent web made out of tiny fragile beads …
each bead meant a piece of the charcoal, dissolved and carefully crafted,  to make it clear and sweet and beautiful

each bead meant a small but capricious land, 
as if carved out of its own womb, the dark piece of worthless matter, took away from deep inside, minuscule particules, pristine tingling drops of love

on every brush and touch the charcoal tried to conjure all the beauty it never witnessed … on ever bit of salty tears the humble material, tried to give birth to something impossible.

all night was the discardable creature, knitting and singing soft lullabies to the dream it was building, the night was long and the web was somehow magical, the night was protective and the cool of the winds made the strings of tears, dance swiftly and happily

and when the lil humble charcoal was absorbed, fascinated by the gorgeous shine of the dream created, without a single sound, fast and warm as if it wanted to surprise, the morning came and the light destroyed the shivering fantasy in front of the charcoal horrified eyes…

with just a smile the charcoal retreated to its humid cave, because the dream it had dreamt for a summer night, it lasted a second in front of its eyes, but it’ll burn forever in the charcoal’s heart.

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header take 1

header take 1

So I finally made some dvance on the header, this is my first attempt/proposal. I like the vintage feel of the piece.

What do you think?

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First sketch


First sketch half header for new inkfell. Id really appreciate your feedback here 😀

Hopefully I’ll be finishing the header this week, this is just half of it (and just a first idea) … can you guess the missing half? 😛

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“De las aguas mansas líbreme Dios, que de las turbias me libro yo”

“From calmed waters save me God cuz from the turbulence I save myself ”

Old guatemalan proverb

I am calmed water, deceiving 😛

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In the place I call mine, the nation that saw me born I’m invisible, I have been owned and discarded so I’m not longer valuable, not a cherishable asset, just damaged merchandise, outlet material. My hair should be cut short as a sign of my position, not longer a female. My hair is a defiance to tradition and culture, as unwanted /unworthy I dont have the right to wear my hair, as its a symbol of feminity.

Here a different patriarchal system has evolved, the way I look erase away all flaws and errs, a cult of beauty grants me a place as coveted trophy, a piece of status, a soft and empty display of pure decoration. A fashion facade. I’m not invisible or rebellious, my political stance doesn’t matters, my thoughts and ideas overlooked, muffled by tan skin and gypsy eyes.

What do I want to be? Do I worth something without social qualifications? Who gets to measure my worth?

I chose to be defined by his eyes and his heart.

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Deities Artwork

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this is an aggregate/slideshow post which presents various artistic interpretations of the first expression of the heavenly family. who may be expanding in the future.



from the original prompt, the characters characters:

‘father’ sun: long haired guy. solar rays are strands of hair

single-woman moon: short haired girl, with a light side and a darkside. the light side is still caused by the sun, but the light doesn’t really help her. she brings more diversity and nurturing styles to life through effect on the tide

mother earth: classic mother earth, but in the process of giving birth to life, she is impregnated by sun rather than clouds.

father heaven. cloud guy who toils around the world, sweating and physically nurturing the living offspring



… creation …

when she got pregnant, earth swelled in long gestation of hermaphroditic Turmoil. her pores poured to create and shape new oceans. her mountains swelled with skin twisting and rippling from uncontrollable urges. neither heaven nor sun could placate her insatiable need to mother. Eons past with valleys rising from seas. and mounds and mounts erupting from her depths; the baby-kicks of life.

she gave birth in a conflicting euphoria of pain and ecstasy as the culmination of circumstance inevitability brought her a child. sun, moon, and heaven gathered around to witness and celebrate the new addition, lovingly named “Turmoil” but turmoil wasn’t as pleasant as the family hoped.

the child attacked itself. physically self mutilating, and occasionally engaging in self-cannibalism. it literally began to tear itself apart with frighteningly nonsensical sounds. unlike the former family who found themselves to simply be, this child struggled and fought clenching desperately at the thin thread of sanity- of meaning- it could find. harvesting a bit of it’s mother out remarkable force of will to just continue to be.

one of the first fleshy threads torn from Turmoil, became the plant life. Turmoil tore it from self to try to mitigate individual need for resource harvesting. so it tore a barely mindful sliver of self and spread it around the world. in the tear, Turmoil became far more animal than before, ceding and seeding the basal aspect of life as we know it. which mother has helped birth, support, and raise, ever since- an act of recognition and caring for the aspiration’s of her child.

Turmoil was free from allot of the responsibility of divinity at last. it, through plantlife, created the first worshipers who like worshipers today, need divine guidance and nourishment. worshipers to allow (a) greedy thief to abscond with all the caloric wealth.

but eventually with the introspective circumstance caused by the loneliness. it noticed how selfless- and vile the former selfmutilation was. it tore from itself the wrongs of circumstance, psychopathically othering them into a group where one no longer cared about their suffering. there were conflicting identites and perceptions of self- what one is against what one has done. it couldn’t undo the tearing of plants from self. yet it needed to reconcile one’s similarity to divine kind, while simultaneously acting in petulant and needy manner. with recognition of self as a fraud, the character tore deep into itself, trying once again to separate good from evil- or rather pretense from need. the same tool used in the same method- but expecting different results.

it looked into the wavering calm of a forested lake, a gift from heaven. and recognized itself in the reflection. “maybe if i just take some more, i’m so fat and grizzled”

this time it tore in three:

  • herbivores,

  • the predator,

  • the spirit

the herbivores were subconscious beings of fear. they lacked the rigor of the previous trials, the taste for flesh, and any resemblance of higher rational faculties. they were formed from the drops of blood dripping from the now two legged Turmoil.

also Turmoil, in this split, had acquired classical gonads. the male form coming from an uneven tear of skin.

the male retained most of the consciousness of the change and so unlike the female, had more beastial structure. a skull more like that of a crocodile, and the herbivore relatives, than the ‘personal’ female.

still this didn’t fix the internal strife of male turmoil. so he exiled from self the:

  • scavengers, like herbivores, not befitting his ego,

  • dietary preferences/wants/needs in conflict within about what to eat/hunt – in the form of different predatory species.

  • non-necessary wants. exiling the risky and grandiose extravagances, in favor of control.

keeping the best, and most powerful traits for himself. this process was long and painful, and created intense conditioning- soon he forgot about his split gender. in favor of the id’s basal desire to posture and dominate. he forgot that the origin of need of ‘her’ came from need of self to be okay. and that posturing to ‘her’ was just less audible reverberations of the need for cogent integrity.

meanwhile, she wasn’t of less conflict although the struggle was physically less dramatic. she had assumed far greater proportion of self hatred, and with it tied to less tacit traits, and more conflict of perceived equal weight but in opposing directions making the internal disagreements in her mind without finality- without resolution.

so when she similarly tore, much of the tearing was without pattern.

from the conceited love of self came the narcissistic hate of self through frustration towards topical incapacity. “i can’t shine like the sun, love like the moon, care like the earth, or design like the rain; so who/what am i?”

eventually he and she remet. and as one does when they find a complementary form, they were struck first by awe, then love. she was so lovely he didn’t even remember her, and was enchanted by the new character. she had torn herself from earthly form to mysty spirit, a vision and mirage of the former self both sought to reclaim.

but things were not filled with glimmering joy for long. for they only knew how to abuse, how to be predatory. attempting to eliminate weakness and vulnerability as though such fitness was without cost.

he had become beastial terror- Nature himself. while she had become a whispy spirit who had similarly unconsciously honed her capacity to inflict emotional guilt, she had become a banshee culture herself.

because they had been alone for so long, even when previously together and not realizing it, they never learned to care sufficiently for others. so each naturally would exert harm upon the other unintentionally and get surprised when there was recompense.

and so they fight in an eternal ironic conflict:

  • nature against culture,

  • desire against pretense,

  • muscle against emotion


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Icariad Art Work

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Icariad – based upon the tale of Icarus. until the chain is a rehash of the story with some minor symbolic changes. after that the story is original. i’m curious if people prefer this legend/myth hybrid approach to strict and kinda dry myth.

gather round for a story; one from another culture, who half knew what happened.

There was once a proud mighty king who ruled over an island. He needed a sense of divine legitmacy so he summoned the best archetect to build him a special prison of sorts. A labyrinth turned maze to hold within walls a monster beyond the confrontation of doors. A chimeric creature half-man and half bull, crazed into blood lust the personified hunger of the hold.

However the designers the tyrant called for, many of the greatest in all the lands, refused. so he summoned a craftsman criminal of divine ingenuity to build the maze as a reparation of forgiveness for past and foreign grievances, for the immigrant seeking asylum. The criminal Daedalus, was understanding but reluctant, before seeing the spearman’s point. He was escourted with his son to the king, who sensing the master’s reluctance sweetened the deal promising the wealth of a life as well. So again Daedalus reluctantly accepted, and he built a maze-like labyrinth nearly getting lost on the way out.

Still, the king didn’t pay what Daedalus expected. The king in his craftiness moved the pair to a tower, and ordered the inventor to design and build marvelous contraptions. And to one more creation he did, he built sails so fine that the ship using them would out-sail galleys of a thousand oars. But still there was no release.

The next invention was far more confusing to the king. The inventor asked for all manner of things, and because he needed a bigger room to build, the inventor got bigger and more impressive bed rooms, in which he spread out his baubles and broomsticks and tar barrels and fabic- both pillow sleaves and bolts. He even asked for various animals which only his arcane intellect could see value in their arangement.

At first the king visited in wonder, but as the weeks grew to months he grew less patient. Even the guards were forced out of the natural curiousity you have regarding oddities about your job. One remarked “I opened up the door while he was writing and he spilled his ink all over his work, to which he screamed and threw the lot out the window. And he berated me for not ‘knocking’, screaming about how I had ruined his work. Who knocks for a prisoner though?

‘you are not to pester our guest!’ remarked King minos. And I didn’t even do nothing. I… well I must have deserved it. I didn’t make the same mistake for a long time, but one time I just opened up the door after even knocking and the same thing happened cause ‘he didn’t invite me in.’ the nerve.”

little did anyone know but behind the pretense of genius was genuine cause for mistrust. For the father and son team worked together to make magnificent wings of animal skin, and feather, atached to their arms like birds. Soon they set out freeing themselves from their prison of a tower. Quickly the fledgling boy learned control, and his old man instructed him to stay in the middle- fly too high and the wax would melt, fly too low and the waters would wet the feathers and the weight would cause him to flounder and fall.

But the boy was reckless, and after hours of barely restrained content, he soared with excitement and youthful vigor. And as children will do sometimes he soared too high. His asperations outflying his capacity. And here is wear our story differs. It is said, that he soared too high and so the max melted. Which was part true, but not wholly. He flew up and the wax did start to melt, but more importantly it ignited from the heat. And whereas one could merely dive and the air itself would cool the wax back solid, with flame it stoked the coals of Helios, burning hoter still into a glorious but blazing fall.

It is said that he instantly disappeared into the waves, but that isn’t true either. He splated terminally as only the progeny of gods would survive.


it wasn’t so much that Icarus disappeared, as much as he was disappeared. Icarus was grabed by something below. His father swooped down but only saw scarce feathers. He grabed with his feet one long primary-feather unsinged. he wept. Risking himself before the sallavating waves, for that token, reaching with feet like talons fiercely scraping at the indifferent waves. Slowly, he surveyed where the boy had landed, but he gave up wearily flying to a distant shore to rest.

He flew slow with head held low, mourning his nightmarish loss. It was only after the emotional turmoil and weeks of denial, that he started to project blame. Only then did the murmur of hateful “why didn’t he listen” escape his lips. Months more elapsed before he stoped looking, nearly driven mad by the grief.

he watched me get taken away. The wind left me and so did He. He forfieted me to not displease noble vapors uplifting him to freedom. I was a sacrifice, an offering, for freedom. My cries, from the fledgling loss of lift, and he did nothing. A whispy voice of legend resounded “you flew to high, against instruction. We commend your pride; we commend your price. You now enter Poseidon’s realm, dragged by undertow, (granting what you owe,) now overwhelmed.”

“we sirens grant you the gift of soul, now you can breathe, now you are whole. The rusty aspirations of those above, come from the gluttonous sloth respiration; now movement- dance- is your denouement. Keep moving or you will drown.

And so with soul, he descended, ashen wings radiating soot and glow-fading coals. Down to the dark. He was taken through glowing cities of soft loving coral lights. Echo spoke Prometheus’ eternal words “and I, Prometheus, with but a light, ended mankind’s fear of the nigh-” suddenly cut short, a syllable from fear.

Strange fish fed upon their mates to then be absorbed by said mate. Some had celestial lures before barely hidden maw. Giant ancients gulped schools of fish and creatures emerged and imbedded themselves in the sand and when deeper the silt. The non-planar world was a terrific terror, there was no real meaningful up or down, just the direction the bubbles would float like blown kisses in the wind. And sea stars patiently chased one another on the sunken hull of a ship, finally supplanting themselves on mollusks to inject their stomach and ingest their prey inside out.

The depths were ephemeral and chaotic beyond reasoning lightning bolts cascaded up plumes of soot from a variety of vents while others cricked out like writhing semi-taunt snakes. And eternal light, even sense of the existence of the sky, had gone dark. brooding in passion, seething in darkness.

He entered a dark chamber awash in the same neon lights. A pensive and dimly lit Thinker sat upon a coral throne with a few oddly shaped advisers unkempt and bickering around the room. One of the escorts went to the king to inform him what the stranger was doing in his court.

“who are you?”

“I…” said Icarus

“well Aye; what are you doing here?”

“I… I… I…”

“aye?” the character looks spuriously around him to see if any were challenging his authority by understanding.
“Putre- xibalba- valkrie- isis- iris- capricorn – Ekho”

“Iris? what about her?” the character is visibly getting angry

“why can’t I awaken? Why can’t I cry?”

with the terror one of the members of court speaks up, “he is Icarus, son of Daedalus”. the angry god reached for a nearby three pronged ‘candelabra’ it starts shining with light and surging with electrical currents. “You dare impede the sovereignty of the trident? The will of the seas themselves?” suddenly all the other members of court were pushed against the walls, a torus shaped cyclone pushing all of them away from the upstart, and foreigner alike.

The center of the room was now empty of water, as was the fishy siren, now flopping near helplessly on the floor. With the loss of water, came a return of weight and Icarus keeled over like a dirged ship pouring out the water which had been in his lungs. With a bright flash and the cry “i will not suffer insubordination” a wet ringing gasp reverberated from the well waiting wake.

With the new found orientation, and the lesser pressure, the boy was able to stand again. And he with the angry and well armed ruler of the seas were alone in the eye of the torus, which now had settled like molten rippling glass. The trident shone bright as day nearly blinding to the now accustomed eyes.

“why are you here, Aye?” and so the boy told his tale of the king’s search and later imprisonment of him. He ended humbly with a plea of mercy and servitude

the god laughed, “Aye, you can’t let your grasp out extend your reach. But such is the curse of mortals. I am feeling like a benefactor so I offer my patronage, the patronage of a god. If you accept it you will bear my blessing and carry my marks a lieutenant in my rank and file. But if you wonder about what will happen if you refuse it, then in your heart you already have, and you will be judged appropriately.”

and Icarus was reborn Aye (Αε). He stewed in righteous anger over his real father’s perceived discard, which condensed under the sea’s mighty pressure into hyperbolic hatred from envy- of those beyond his new world. Hated of the worldly truths who forsake him. He was honed with prejudiced favor into a mighty champion in his own right. And quotes of familial hatred resounded deeply. Poseidon ranted “waters will froth white with fury. Barnacles will be swept miles inland, cleft from lazing seadogs to the cliffs of Olympus, my brother deserves what our father received.”

Years passed swimming progressively easily in waters thick with mutiny, and yet soon they swam to insure the shore. In his time of arduous training which would even make Spartans cry, he rose to the rank of general, and would command one of the fronts. He was granted the Athenian shore; home.

Memories flooded back to him as the tide recessed beneath him. He remembered his father watching him get dragged down to drown. He remembered his cousin’s tragic death similarly at the hands of his father; Why he had been sent with father to Minos in the first place. A labyrinth unfinished and a maze to boot. Pretense to favor the prodigal son. Like Poseidon and Hades before him, he was cast from the heavenly family, without even failure to redeem due to a trick of his father and Apollo who mockingly razed my wings; conceitedly feeling his path worth more than my life. Maybe it was justice in his eyes for my father’s deeds. “Too coward to kill me but culpable to help me die, what a feeble god.”

he entered a hovel on the countryside above the city, and there was an old man. The old man began crying.

“what is it? Why do you cry but not flea? fool”

“you remind me of a son I lost at sea. When I realized he was in the water I went to check, but I couldn’t see him. The waters were so dark I had no idea where he was. I looked along the surface cause he could swim but I didn’t find him.”

“LIAR, you watched me struggle and sink.” and with his blade he impaled his frail father.

bleeding out the old man coughed “i carried home of you, what I could” and the old man lifted up a single feather necklace.

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