Skelleton, or in some cases Skellevision, a starving artist: Photography, sculpture, poetry.
Flickr | DeviantART | JPG
My Camera Gear
Nikkor 105mm f/2.8G
Nikkor 50mm f/1.4
Rokinon 8m f/3.5
Nikon Speedlight SB-600
This is an art blog, solely run by me, with the intention of inspiring, motivating, and promoting, artists, and art enthusiasts. I give credit where it is due, and I like to link portfolios to my posts whenever possible. If you stumble upon a post without a name and/or portfolio attached it is because I did not know the information at the time. If you can help fix this issue, by all means message me the post link and the artist's name (and portfolio link if obtainable).
Keep touching lives and raping eyes, my little bone bags. ~Skelleton
I hate long hair (on me), because I well and truly believe that short hair looks best on me. Long hair just hides my features. Long hair is the very essence of my childhood scorn. Long hair is the mask I wore for years, trying to be loved, trying to fit in. I was trying to be what society said I needed to be, to be beautiful, to give my father something nice to say about me. I hated myself, growing up I tried to be everything I wasn’t. Whatever anyone needed, or wanted, me to be.. I became. I was an empty shell of a pathetic child, trying to find a balance, between what felt right, and what got me noticed. All the while falling deeper into depression, and further from myself. I had always been on the cusp of popular, and loser. Everyone knew me in some way, and yet didn’t see me at all. This was before I realized, that what looks good on most, doesn’t mean it looks good on me. I was a projection of everyone’s desires, and I was molded to be almost everything, anyone wanted. I picked up things fast, and I had no real identity of my own.
It has taken me years to break the habit of trying to please others. It has taken me the bulk of my life, to have my own life. My outside finally matches, the inside I’ve locked away for so long. I finally allow myself to be myself, and have a self of my own. I look in the mirror and I see a person. I no longer see a statistic, a robot, a rape victim, a forgotten child. I see an attractive, strong, female, that I can bet on. I see a core that isn’t downloaded, and a foundation that isn’t faulty. I see the essence of beauty, and not the formula for redundant, safe, acceptance. I love myself. I love how I look. I can now appreciate how far I’ve come, to be who I am, to look how I look. I wish more people could see that, but I’m not going to let them shake my reflection, I’m not going to hide again, I’m here to stay. Are you?