It is of my current understanding that it’s an illusion—yet I’ll persist as if it weren’t…for what choice do I have?
A tribute-illustration to Death, Duck & the Tulip by Wolf Erlbruch—one of my favourite books of all time. Inspired by the final page. The fox was modelled off my beloved and deceased pomeranian, Pika. My friend of 11 years. She lived a rich, good life and died well.
Lately I’ve been spotting too many inelegantly-knotted tethers on the end of boisterous dogs. Bad knots either come loose too easily (defeating their purpose) or are too fiddly to untie in an emergency (and everything is a potential emergency through these vet-eyes…soz).
So! If you ever find yourself in a position where you:
Are fit to deem it useful, beneficial, kind and safe, to tether a creature* or non-creature;
Happen to have some good lead or rope on hand, already comfortably and securely attached to the creature;
Need a trusty knot that can also get you out of strife in a jiffy, then…
You want something that is reliably strong, and reliably reversible.
And the Quick Release Knot is your friend.
*Here, I must stress: to be ‘the tetherer’ is a rather odd power and a privilege that we humans have—please wield responsibly, with creature’s best interest at heart. Here are some guidelines for tethering by the RSPCA and Australian Veterinary Association.
My favourite little companion, π, comes in many forms, and as such is an endless muse for drawing practice. Just look at her.
Clutching, looking down, posing, taking, checking, archiving to Outfits Folder. ✌🏼
This has turned into an unintended ritual, performed on the daily without any personal growth or end-goal in mind. It’s an infinite game between just myself and my ego—giving each other hat tips in unison. A quiet moment of appreciation, at least of ‘good enough’. Sometimes a final nod to solitude, before heading out into the world.
Mirrors and selfies are co-evolving and producing apparently ‘1000 selfies per 10 seconds’ at the time of writing. And still, it remains such a novel thing to see the shape of your own self in the mirror, presented as a single individual amidst the 1000 per 10. One version of a self, out of so many possible selves.
So, what did you miss about me?
Instead of answering the question, I drew this. Much of love in the modern day = attention. Does this kind of attention count as love? Even when you are objectifying your love and focusing on his line-work equivalents, nose deep in notebook, rather than attention on the actual-him? At the very least, my real-time neglect has meant that I can repeatedly return to this reminder of the moment and dwell on that kind of love.
It appears to me that frolicking about in the privacy of your own home is exponentially more fun without pants on. At once humbling, and liberating.