#I went from art rut to freedom to rut to freedom to rut again I’m so confused what is happening | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

avengerscompound · 5 years

Text

Making Sense - 5. Sound

Making Sense: A Hulkeye Fanfic

Series Masterlist Previous //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bruce Banner x Clint Barton x F!Reader

Word Count: 2170

Rating: E

Warnings: Angst, Smut (Bi MMF threesome, oral sex, handjobs, anal sex, vaginal sex, Dom/Sub, switching, bondage, praise kink, rough sex, gentle sex, anal play, kinbaku, come play, ice play, erotic massage, sensory deprivation, mutual masturbation).

Synopsis: When Hulk starts making it difficult for Bruce to live his day to day life, Bruce starts pulling away from everyone. You and Clint take it upon yourselves to help the two of them to work more together better and Bruce to become more comfortable in his own skin.

5. Sound

“Thank you for giving him space last night.” You said rubbing your palm in a slow random pattern over the top of the Hulk’s large hand.

You, Clint and the Hulk sat together in the sun. Bruce had only just let him take control for the day and you wanted to get the talk out of the way first thing. That way the Hulk could spend the rest of the day just enjoying his last bit of freedom before returning to the tower.

Hulk huffed and nodded his head. “Hulk said he’d give Banner space.”

“Bruce has said he’ll agree to your terms.” You said. “If you can let him have room to be Bruce and not push on him, he agreed that once a month we can come out here and have at least a weekend. And if you both find it’s working like that, he’ll start letting you out back at the compound too.”

Hulk grunted. “Not always smash.”

“No. Just time to find out who you really are.” You agreed. “Does that sound good?”

“What about dog?” Hulk asked.

Clint laughed and patted Hulk on the arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll get a dog.”

The grin on Hulks face was huge and he clapped his hands.

“Alright. Enough talk. Let’s enjoy this last day.” Clint said jumping up, he tapped Hulk on the elbow. “Tag. You’re it.”

Hulk clambered to his feet as Clint shot up a tree and disappeared into the canopy of the forest. Hulk scooped you up and put you on his shoulders before taking after Clint. The rest of the day was spent doing most of the things you had already done. Clint and Hulk played their hunting/tag game for an hour or so before you all made your way to the waterfall and swam for a few hours. You had then gone back to the cabin and lit a big fire and cooked over it together. Hulk had really enjoyed burying potatoes wrapped in foil in the coals and was completely delighted to make smores. You had painted together and play fought.

By the end of the day, you were worn out but happy and sat under the tree watching the deer return to the field to graze.

“Hulk liked this week.” Hulk rumbled as he sat between you and Clint.

“Thanks, buddy. So did we.” Clint said, patting Hulk on the forearm.

Hulk made a deep contented rumbling sound deep in his chest. “Hulk love little bird and bossy girl.” He said, making the sign for I love you at the same time.

“Aww, buddy we love you too,” Clint said hugging Hulk.

You hugged him too and he placed a large hand on your back. “Yeah, love you too, Big Guy.”

Hulk hummed. “See you soon.” He said and shifted back into Bruce so you and Clint were hugging him as he took control again.

He hummed and nuzzled into you both. “I wish that’s how it happened every time.”

You and Clint both hummed in agreement, running your hands over him. “Definitely have to do it like this more often.”

Over dinner you, Bruce and Clint talked about how well the week went. How he’d been feeling more and more relaxed. How you and Clint now had zero doubts that the Hulk would ever hurt either of you. How Bruce was getting more and more comfortable and adventurous with his sex life even in the five days you’d spent here. You’d talked about other things he might want to try and had been too scared of. Things he wasn’t willing to do yet, and things he was willing to attempt given how calm and settled his mind was.

That’s how you ended up with Bruce naked on the bed while you and Clint carefully bound him using hemp rope. You were pretty good with a rope. Clint actually really liked being bound. He felt secure with the pressure of it against his skin. Safe. But while you were decent with bondage Clint was next level. He had a lot of hidden talents and knotwork was apparently one of them. Where yours was practical his also had an art too it. So when Bruce was fully bound, knees propped up, arms crossed over his chest, he looked beautiful.

The two of you ran your hands over him, creating pressure against him as you checked the ropes weren’t too tight or too loose. Unlike Clint, Bruce normally balked at being bound. It was something he was curious about but normally when you went to actually do it he freaked out about the Hulk and you’d have to abandon the entire thing and just go straight into aftercare. Not that you minded, cuddling and drinking tea together was nice too. It just meant that the fact you had already gotten to this stage was a testament to how much he trusted himself.

“How’s it feeling? Not rubbing?” You asked as you rubbed his chest in a deep deliberate motion. He moaned and flexed against the cords, his eyes already hooded in that sleepy, blissed out way he got as the endorphins began to kick in.

“No. Feels good.” He hummed.

“You’re positive you want to do this?” You asked.

“Mmm yeah… yes.” He replied.

“And you remember your safe words?” You asked.

“Amber to get you to back off but not stop. Red is to stop the whole thing.” He answered.

“You make sure you use them, B. You’re safe here with us.” You said.

“Yes, ma’am.” He said and you slipped on his blindfold. Clint grabbed the noise canceling headphones and you gave him a small nod and he slipped them over Bruce’s ears so that all he could hear was the sound of classical music.

You leaned over Bruce and kissed Clint deeply. He hummed happily as your lips moved with yours. You pulled away and nodded again and he smirked and began ghosting his fingers over Bruce’s body just so he tickled the hairs.

As Clint did that you picked up the cool steel buttplug from the collection of items you had planned to use tonight and began coating it in lube. It was medium sized. Big enough that it would stretch him but not so much he needed a lot of prep to take it. You moved between his legs and the soft whimpers he was making as Clint teased him turned into a long, deep moan as you coated his asshole in lube. He tried to raise his hips, pulling against the ropes and his cock jumped and leaked precome. You ran your hand down his hips and used the ropes to tug him into place. Seeing him like this was a huge turn on. It was unlikely you were going to come tonight but your arousal was enough. It dripped from you, soaking through your panties.

You pressed the plug against his asshole and slowly eased it into place. Bruce gasped and jerked up again. You rubbed his hips in soothing circles until he relaxed back down as best he could, continuing to whimper at Clint’s touch.

Clint moaned softly and you looked over at him and smirked. “Sounds good, huh?” You said picking up a feather and beginning to run it up the inside of Bruce’s thigh.

Clint hummed. “Is this what you get out of it? Getting to hear us like this?”

You nodded as you watched Bruce’s muscles twitch under the feather. You ran it up under his balls and they tensed and his cock jumped. “Oh god, please.” Bruce whimpered straining against the bonds.

“Pretty much. I’m not a sadist. That’s why I don’t use pain. Neither of you would enjoy that. But this… this fucking does it for me. The fact you trust me. Getting to see you enjoy it.” You explained as you ran the feather up Bruce’s stomach and teased his nipples with it. “You should feel how wet I am right now.”

Clint smirked and reached over pushing his hands between your legs and stroking his fingers along your pussy. He hummed and pulled his fingers away sticking them in his mouth. He picked up an ice cube from a bowl on the counter and teased it over Bruce’s lips. Bruce moan and his lips parted. “You ever want to be on the receiving end.”

You ran the feather up Bruce’s throat and watched as his nipples hardened. Clint ran the ice down Bruce’s throat and down his sternum. “Maybe,” You said eventually. “I’m not against it. But not if you and Bruce get put into a position you don’t like.”

Clint ran the ice over Bruce’s nipple and Bruce made a deep guttural moan. His hands opened and closed against him, each time making his muscles strain a little against his bonds. You put the feather down and ran your hands over him getting him to relax again as Clint continued to tease him with the ice. Clint moaned again and his hand went to his own cock stroking it to give himself some slight relief. Bruce’s cock was throbbing. A sticky smear of precum clumped the hair of his stomach together. “Please. Oh god, please.” He whimpered, rutting his hips as much as he could in their bonds.

You poured lube onto your palm and you began to stroke his cock. Bruce jerked violently on his bonds and groaned loudly his head falling back. Clint put his hands on Bruce’s shoulders moaning himself. “Oh fuck.” Clint hissed as he tried to soothe Bruce with his hands.

“Wait until you’re fucking him.” You teased. “You’ll be glad we are in a cabin in the middle of nowhere.” Clint made an impatient whine. “We’ll get there, little bird. Don’t worry. He’s already looking really close now.”

You teased your hand between Bruce’s legs, dancing them over his perineum to the end of the plug. You wriggled it inside him and started gently fucking him with it.

“Fuck! Oh god! God!” Bruce cried out bucking up again.

You hummed and leaned down, licking the head of his cock, the salty taste of his precome coating your taste buds. “I think you might be up, Barton.” You said pulling the plug free. You moved up beside them both as Clint moved between Bruce’s legs. You leaned over Bruce and began kissing along his collarbone and neck, placing each kiss between the ropes. You sucked on his throat as Clint grabbed hold of the ropes at Bruce’s chest and teased the head of his cock over Bruce’s asshole as he slicked it with lube.

“Please. Please. Clint. I need it. Please.” Bruce pleaded, twisting as much as the ropes allowed.

You kissed up along Bruce’s jaw and he tilted his head, lips parted, silently pleading for your lips on his. You kissed him, slowly and deeply and as Clint enter him he moaned and then pulled back groaning loudly. You kept kissing and running your hands over him, going between just ghosting your fingers and pressing hard with the palms of your hands.

Bruce got louder and louder. Clint’s moans joined them. Neither man holding back in expressing the pleasure they were experiencing. You reached between your legs, running your thumb over your clit and shoving two fingers inside of you to try and relieve the pressure you were feeling in your cunt. Their sounds were cutting right through you and it was like you were getting high on it.

Bruce jerked suddenly, his whole body seizing up and he came in ribbons on his stomach. Clint made a deep groan as he watched him and with a snap of his hips he came too, filling Bruce. You sat up and pulled your hand from your cunt. You ran your hands up up Bruce’s chest and along his neck before you removed his headset.

“Hey, B. You did so well. How are you doing, baby?” You said softly.

He hummed in that high far away way that let you know he was high on adrenaline and endorphins. “Yeah…”

You slipped the blindfold off and he blinked up at you slowly, his eyelids heavy. “You need anything? You asked.

“Mmm… thirsty.” You grabbed the carton of juice you had ready on the bedside table and offered it to him. He drank and you looked down at Clint who was wiping Bruce down and undoing knots.

“You okay, Clint?” You asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. Kinda weird being on this end.”

You rubbed his hip. “Alright, how about we get Bruce untied and get in the bath?”

He smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

You looked back at Bruce. “Still you, B.”

He nodded. “Mm… all me. This was good. Feel safe.”

You hummed and began untying his bonds rubbing his muscles as you did so they wouldn’t seize up. You knew Bruce was always going to struggle with the Hulk, but for now, at least you knew you had him back with you.

~ END ~

#clint barton #bruce banner #clint barton x reader #bruce banner x reader #hulkeye #hawkeye #hulk #hawkeye fanfic #hulk fanfic #bruce banner x clint barton #bruce banner x clint barton x reader #hulkeye x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #making sense #sound

49 notes · View notes

hl-secret-santa-2020 · 5 years

Text

Black Mesa Christmas

( @lapestelareste I’m your secret Santa! )

Gordon’s indifference to the cold environment and robotic announcements of Black Mesa was offset by his astonishment toward the experiments and his generally amiable colleagues. Not so much the other scientists, however, where they lost their patience for Gordon’s active and odd tendencies. He instead managed to have a better time talking with the security guards, who appreciated his benignly chaotic behavior for killing the boredom and being less uptight than the researchers.

Even so, there was little he could talk to them about. Their knowledge of physics was varied, but most tended to have only a high school level of understanding. Gordon’s own shyness to starting casual conversations made that gap of interests daunting to him.

During one of his breaks, he was about to go his locker when he saw someone’s open. It was from a B. Calhoun, a security guard he had met who mentioned wanting a beer in ear-shot of the administrator. While he’d feel bad peeping at private belongings, his curiosity tempted him to go for a quick one second look. His eyes widened when he saw a collection of books that had conspiracy theories about aliens living on Earth. He must be into science fiction! That’s something they could bond over!

Despite his stilted way of talking, Gordon was clearly trying to befriend Calhoun, who had introduced himself as Barney. He was more confident in speaking despite his odd interests, and he was able to chat it up with Gordon over aliens, which would then transform into more mundane talks about their backgrounds and other hobbies.

Barney once talked about growing up as a latch-key kid, and he would use his freedom to roam the neighborhood for adventures and finding weird things from obscure music records to substances only adults knew about. During one of these times, Barney said he found a video cassette that proved aliens were out there. The footage was a very grainy recording of a small, lanky humanoid roaming a wooded hill. There was no music and the only sounds were the sound of leaves being crumbled under its feet. Gordon was suspicious of this but played along. He could not deny either that such a visual would be burned into his own memory if he saw it at a young age.

“Here’s the thing, Gordon,” Barney looked at him with serious conviction. “I can’t tell for sure if that was an incredibly weird looking guy in a suit. But that’s an awful lot of good effects to waste on a student film.”

Gordon tried to say something but ended up making an expression of uncertainty.

“Either way, I know you probably think I’m gullible ‘cause I don’t have a PhD or anything fancy.” Gordon shook his head quickly in a neurotic display of sympathy. “Just wanted to tell you that since you don’t look like you’d shrug off that kind of stuff. Hell, I don’t think I told anyone else about that.”

Gordon smiled and reassured him that his secret was safe with them.

“Good,” Barney replied laconically. “And if I ever do find that thing again, you bet your ass I’m gonna catch him. I’ve practiced karate every day of my life.” Barney prepared some stock martial arts movements as Gordon reflexively put his hand to cover his face. Gordon lowered his hand and said that he’d pay Barney a beer if the alien was ever found, to which Barney grinned with acceptance and shook his hand.

As the holiday season was approaching, Gordon had anxiety over what to gift his new best buddy. He knew Barney liked to talk about “the truth”, whatever that meant. Aliens were another thing, but he was pretty sure aliens would be too hard to find. Think Gordon, think!

Doing what any other man would do in a tricky situation, he crawled into the facility’s air-vents to peek through the other rooms to get ideas. The other personnel were initially frightened by this rat-like human prowling above them and waiting to fall at any time, but they grew used to it after a few weeks. He could not find anything sticking out to him, however, only finding scientists in Santa hats and some holiday decorations scattered across the hydraulic robots and experimental teleporters.

Overhead he could hear and then see several scientists bicker over whether they could locate Santa Claus in another dimension and bring him here. All while wearing elf and reindeer clothing. Gordon tried to stifle his laughing to remain being stealthy, as though the metallic echoes of his hands and knees were silent. He stopped briefly after a surprise announcement by the automatic VOX that said “Ho. Ho. Ho. Merry. Christmas.”

Gordon’s ideas were not getting anywhere, and his mind was stuck in a rut. He was not good at creating gifts, but he did not want to buy a generic gift to a new friend. He was growing more impatient and disappointed in himself for not knowing what to do, thinking he was taking the friendship for granted.

In the moment of frustration, he thought back to the story Barney talked about with the weird tape. If there was a way to use that as a gift, Gordon thought, he would be giving a great Christmas present. But figuring how to turn something like that into a gift would be tricky. He did not want to pretend to see the alien as he was a poor liar, and he was not good at making costumes or directing movies.

While lost n thought, he heard another sudden sound. Instead of the VOX, however, it was the teleporter he could see behind the air vent’s bars. The orange ethereal light had shot out something unusual. A football-sized creature with stubby legs and much longer forelegs. It had no features on its surface other than a light brown skin. It lunged out, exposing a toothy hole on its underside, which was only stopped by the glass cage containing it.

Gordon was awe-struck at this, and we was not sure if this was a real honest-to-God alien or an advanced machine prop. Either way, he thought that showing this to Barney would be a fantastic gift. A bizarre creature like this had to be what the holidays were for! But Gordon had to be careful. Security personnel were not allowed to see the experiments, and he did not have a camera on him.

He traversed his way back to Barney to tell him about the newfound organism. Barney was surprisingly very skeptical, in contrast to how Gordon thought he would react. Even with his frantic gesturing, Gordon couldn’t convince him.

“Hell, Gordon, you know I’m not even supposed to be near the scientists. That’s just asking for a dent in my paycheck.” Gordon put his finger on his chin and pondered how to convince him without too many risks. Grinning, Gordon pointed to the ventilation shaft and explained how to see the creature without rousing suspicion.

“Uh-uh. Gordon. That thing shouldn’t even hold one person. There is no way I’m going to be huddled in there just to see an alien.

Moments later, Barney found himself following Gordon through the air vents. His frown aside, Barney followed Gordon despite his pessimism. Gordon’s own enthusiastic smile, like a kid opening up a large present, was enough to guile him. Along the way, Barney talked about what Gordon’s background was like to pass the time.

Gordon was hesitant, and his mood lowered in response, causing Barney to change the subject. Gordon conceded anyway to explain. Gordon said his childhood was not rough and he did grow up in a loving family, but that a lot of times during school were full of isolation because of his eccentric behavior. He resumed by saying he didn’t have many close friends, and that was why he didn’t want to disappoint Barney.

“Sorry to hear that, buddy. But as far as friends go, you found one of the best, so it’ll take more than a few weird things like… whatever we’re doing now… to stop that.”

Gordon nodded softly and went on as he neared the part that was overhead of the creature, which he would describe in vague terms about its size and legs. Barney was not convinced, but he enjoyed the novel way he was traveling as they talked. Gordon peeked through the bars to get a better look at the strange animal, but he found an empty glass cage in its place.

His voice was strained, and he struggled to find any words, instead being baffled and saying that he swore he saw the alien in that spot. He started to ramble about how maybe a scientist took it away, or that maybe it escaped, which only increased his fear. He was holding onto his hair and scratching his head out of confusion until Barney put his hand on his shoulder.

“Woah hang on there. Look, I don’t know if you were pulling my leg or if you really saw something, but it’s not worth having a breakdown over.” Gordon slowed his breathing and looked back at Barney. “This was a hell of an adventure anyway, and it was just fun going through this weird maze. You could hear everyone talking about science stuff that doesn’t matter.” Gordon nodded and gave a bit of a smile after that pun Barney made, whether he realized it or not.

“Honestly, I don’t even celebrate Christmas that much. Too much focus on commercialized crap.” This prodded Gordon to ask what he usually celebrated on this holiday season.

“Festivus!”

Gordon stared at him with a stoic look before cracking up, his sudden giddy laughter echoing through the halls and startling all the scientists. Barney became confused and asked what was so funny. After getting no answers from the still-laughing scientist, he shrugged and let Gordon do his thing as he started to smile too.

#hlsecretsanta2k18 #submission

14 notes · View notes

coffeeandcalligraphy · 7 years

Note

Hi, there! I don't know if you've ever had this problem, but hopefully you can bestow some knowledge on me either way. I'm in the midsts of a terrible creative dry spell - I have very few ideas, and even fewer that feel good enough to write. I'm just not excited to write, or even read anything, for that matter. It's been months and I don't know how to pull myself out of this rut. Help would be greatly appreciated :)

First off, I’m really sorry you’ve been going through this for so long now. :( These slumps are by no means fun, and if it helps, I have had this problem, and I did eventually resolve it. I talk about it in THIS ask (there’s also a ton of links to other posts of mine involving this issue), so if you want to check that out as well, that might also be helpful. :)

Creative ruts are honestly the worst, and I completely understand how you feel, so you’re totally not alone. I’m going to list a few things you can think of doing to start stirring the creative pot in your head again.

1. Watch a television show or movie with similar content to what you’re writing.

This has been a huge piece of advice I feel like I don’t talk enough about on here, but it’s something I find almost always works. I’ve been in a bit of a creative ‘bleh’ spot lately, but while driving from Toronto to Pennsylvania, my family and I binge watched a ton of episodes from Criminal Minds, and holy inspiration. Sometimes watching something that’s similar to what you’re currently writing can really help in churning out ideas, and stimulating your creativity.

When I went through this for a couple months like you are now, I watched a film featuring an actor who looked like one of my characters, and that same night, I wrote something for the first time in two months. That’s something I do, so maybe that could help! (Of course, this could turn into a huge form of procrastination, so take all of this in moderation.)

2. Test different methods out.

If you aren’t getting excited about your ideas, maybe trying a different method of storytelling could help. I guess this would be more for if you’re planning, but could also just help you garner some excitement for your story ideas. You could create physical character profiles with inspiration pictures and index cards, or try dictating your writing instead, or even writing by hand. Something that’ll work other parts of your creativity might help. I find using my hands is helpful!

3. Exercise your other creative abilities.

This is totally subjective, but if you have any other creative outlets you take part in (like drawing, painting, photography, film, graphic design, etc), maybe working more on that kind of stuff can just help re-stimulate your creative drive. This depends on how much time you have and what your other hobbies are, but sometimes taking a break from writing is kind of the only way through. I know I work a ton on my art when I’m not writing and it actually helps me get back into a creative mode.

4. New places are great.

I find when I go on walks or drives, my mind has a little more freedom to wander. Sometimes you kinda need a quiet place just to think. I find kicking back and just chilling out for a bit can help me creatively since there are no distractions, and my mind can just run its course.

5. Work on other things!

If you can take one of those ideas you have and try to write something, that could potentially help you get out of the rut. I figure you’ve already tried this since you said it’s been months, but I just wanted to mention this anyway! Going along as it happens is one way to leave a rut (and that’s totally okay, I do this a lot, sometimes we all need breaks), but pushing through can also help. I don’t like giving the advice to just sit down and write anyway because I know it’s hard when in such a rut. It’s draining, and I’m really sorry if you feel that way too.

I know I tried writing from different POVs, writing other projects (even if it’s just a couple hundred words based off a writing prompt which are allllll over Pinterest), editing old projects etc, and they really acted as a boost in the right direction.

Writing slumps are no fun. :( But I hope this helped somewhat. If you need anymore help, feel free to reach out again! I believe in you, anon. :)

–Rachel

#asks

12 notes · View notes

boelterdesignco · 5 years

Text

5 Ways to Overcome and Use Creative Block Effectively

What Is Creative Block?

Creative block is when you feel like you are in a rut with your art. You can be outputting art regularly and one day just feels like you’re stuck. It’s like you forgot how to create art and feel bored with what you’re creating. It’s a feeling of total loss while everyone else around you is excited about creating wonderful works of art. You feel like you lost an ability. A sense of dissatisfaction with what you create or what you think you can create. These feelings are okay as an artist. It’s okay because it happens to us all. Picasso, Matisse, Pollack. — All of these artists have most likely gone through a creative block which impacted the work they created. You can tell because their work changed over their span of life. Picasso went from having a blue period to cubism. Matisse went from colorful still life and Fauvism to modern pieces that only used one color. Pollock went from abstract expressionism to the more infamous contemporary drip paintings he is now known for. We tend to think the creative block is a negative, but maybe we need to shine a positive light and begin thinking it’s a way our art is about to evolve.

Helpful Ways To Overcome & Use Creative Block Effectively

1. Start sketching and doodling in a personal sketchbook

Keeping a personal sketchbook by your side is a great way to keep your pencil active while your brain or heart isn’t. The first thing I pick up when I have creative block is my sketchbook. I don’t have to show my work to anyone but myself, and I don’t have to worry about what I put down on that paper. It can be a doodle, a quick sketch, a still life. It’s freedom from critique, and I can be free to go back to basics with just drawing shapes. I’m also able to pick up other mediums like different colored pens, inks, pencils, pastels, charcoal, or even lay down some collage. Not only do you leave the criticism aside, but a sketchbook is the best way to get your creativity sparked because you forget about the cost of paper. A sketchbook is a cheaper source to free your mind from using an expensive piece of canvas or paper. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve looked at a blank canvas and felt lost on what to create. Sometimes a new canvas or expensive piece of watercolor paper can create my creative block because I worry about the cost too much. When this happens, find your sketchbook. It might lead to your next great painting.

2. Visit museums and gardens for inspiration

Creative block can be a great excuse to get yourself outdoors and explore. Removing yourself from your creative space and studio can help ease your mind from thinking about the need to create. A great place to visit is the museum. I like to visit a museum to find inspiration and educate myself on other artists, color, imagery, mediums, and more. It’s a good way to keep your brain actively thinking about your art without the stress of creating at the moment. Being outdoors is a good way to find inspiration. Everywhere you look is color and shape. You can look at a building or landscape and think about what you're looking at to see if anything sparks your creativity. Switch it up and visit a botanical garden. Botanical gardens are therapeutic and relaxing while being very inspiring with loads of color, landscape, and shapes. While in Phoenix, Arizona, I visited the Desert Botanical Garden and left with loads of pictures and inspiration. I went home and painted tons of cacti and landscapes. Whenever I feel like I get a bit of creative block coming, I look back in my photo album from that trip and it gets me excited to paint.

3. Take a trip to the art store and seek out new mediums/materials

Not only will visiting the art store spark some creativity but coming home with a bunch of new supplies will get you excited to create. If you’re still feeling lost while in the art store, you can always pick up a new medium or paper product. As artists, we have so many different mediums at our disposal. Last year, I went through a creative block while I was painting with watercolors. I had seen some artists using gouache as a medium and I really wanted to give it a try. I was a bit torn about spending more money on a new medium but I’m so happy I did. I have found a new medium that I’m in love with, and if I never gave it a shot I think I could be going through more cycles of creative block. If you’re unsure what type of medium to switch to, a good source of inspiration can be found on Instagram and Pinterest. You can always look at an artists social page to see what products they tag or click on their website to see if they have a section that lists the products they use. Don’t be shy to ask the artist. I’ve had many people ask me what type of paint I use, and I always tell them. I also have a list of products I use and recommend that you can find here.

4. Play with line, shape and color

Another good way to battle the creative block is taking a step back and playing with line, shape, and color. It can be fun and less stressful when you allow yourself to play around. Often, even when I don’t have a creative block, I like to sit down and paint different colors on paper. This not only helps me see what my paint will look like when it’s dry but also gives me a sense of what colors look great next to each other. This might set you up with a future palette that you’ll want to try out with an old drawing or painting. Drawing senseless shapes and lines are also a good way to let your mind be at ease. Try drawing shapes and lines on a piece of paper while allowing your mind to be stress-free. Don’t think about the lines and shapes you create. After it dries, go back and use colors to fill the spaces. Another way to ease your mind on creating but staying active is by creating a color wheel. You can create a variety of color wheels using different colors you might have. Try creating a color wheel with colored pencils, gouache paints, acrylics, oils, or watercolors. All of these color wheels will help you in the future when you find that boost back into creating.

5. Take a break

Sometimes, you just need to take a break altogether. It’s okay to take a break. Especially if it will help you forget that you even have creators block. You’re mind and heart will let you know when it’s time to create again. I once took a year or more off while I was in college, but there was always something within myself that made me have an urge to create a piece of art. Whether it was creating a large collage on canvas or a simple sketch — the urge of creating has never left my mind. While taking a break, spend some time cleaning out your art supplies, organizing your art bins, and archiving old artwork into archival storage boxes. You might come across a pen, a tube of paint, or a piece of paper that will excite you to create something. During your break, take a class such as a cooking class, learn how to give a massage, or try a new workout studio to keep your mind active. I’ve taken mixology classes that are very interactive and you can be creative while creating a drink. These can be fun and less stressful while being creative. While you’re at it, you can invite a friend or have a fun date night.

Conclusion

I hope these tips on overcoming and using creative block effectively are useful. I know it’s never easy battling creative block, but if you can find any positivity through it, then you might just find a new artistic style or hobby. Whether it’s taking a new class, playing with colors, taking a trip to the art store, or visiting the museum; I hope that you keep your mind actively seeking creativity.

My personal feeling: Recently, I’ve been battling with my own creative block. I have spent time painting different shades of gouache in several shapes to see what palettes I love, I picked up new art supplies (oil paint sticks) at the art store, and started a passion project creating different patterns of color and geometric shapes to create different styles of packaging. These have helped me tremendously and I have felt a new spark of creativity.

#creative block #blog

0 notes

stars-forever-dwell-blog1 · 7 years

Text

Blinded by the Light: Part One

So I just got back from vacation, and one of the places we spent a bit of time was the coast in British Columbia, a place I frequented when I was 17 and had just moved out of my mother’s house. And it got me thinking back to that time, which is something I have steadfastly and consistently not done since that time in my life ended, which was when I was 19, which was in early 2001. Because the truth is, it scared me. It scared me that I could become so lost, that I could have been so naïve, that I could have put myself in the face of such dangerous and violating circumstances and still have such a hard time saying no, that the nice-girl smile was so firmly smeared on my face. It scared me that there were people as fucked up as the ones I had met in the world. Yes, my sheltered suburban childhood was abruptly shattered when I went looking for utopia.

So, like many other things I write about in my blog, it’s probably a good thing to talk about, face, process, learn from, and let go of. And also, like many other things I write about in my blog, I’m going to do all that here. So grab your patchouli oil, your tie-dye, your hemp and your bong, and take this cringing walk down memory rut with me.

The beginning-beginning of this story is actually way before the actual beginning, but I need to tell it from here so you understand why it all happened the way it did.

As I’ve mentioned before, my parents are divorced and I have never gotten along well with my mother. After my dad moved out and it was just our mom, my older sister and I, my sister was sort of the buffer zone between my mother and I. If she was gone, the room became palpably tense. If she was there, all was laughter and ease. So when she announced one day that she was getting on a Greyhound with nothing but her backpack, bound for the wild blue yonder with no fixed plans and no intention on arriving, the shock and “Oh crap” moment was multi-layered. I was fifteen, she was nineteen, and she was my world. Maybe because my dad was “gone” and my mother wasn’t “there” for me, but her leaving totally crushed me, yet in retrospect, it was one of the best things that ever happened to me, because I was forced to define my own personality, something I had avoided doing up until that moment. I worshiped her, so being her was good enough for me. It was uncomfortable, but much needed. This rose was long past due blooming.

So she left that summer, and my mother and I barely spoke anymore, and it only got worse as high school progressed. So the following spring break, when I was sixteen and my sister had been landed in the mountain/snowboarding town of Whistler for a while and asked me if I wanted to visit her, it’s pretty obvious that I said yes. My mind was about to be opened to hitherto unknown horizons of possibility.

My sis picked me up from the airport in Vancouver, where I was still dancing-eyed from my first flight ever (it was a cloudy night, a solid blanket of cloud, and once the plane was above them, the crescent moon lit the grey blanket to silver, and the stars were brighter than I’d ever seen. It was a new planet. I had a window seat.) We stayed the night in a hostel in Vancouver, then took the bus to Whistler the following morning. She wanted me to experience the ride, the transition from ocean to deep mountains, and damn, did I ever experience it. My eyes were opened.

From town we hitch hiked north, then walked onto a logging road where she told me with an evil grin we would be hiking up a mountain. I had a massive travel bag with me, so this was extra fun. But it was well worth it when we arrived. Understatement of the last eight millennium.

She was living in a tiny log cabin with a wood burning stove, on the side of a mountain, no electricity. There were still patches of snow on the ground, and lots of firewood. Candles to read by, battery-powered speakers for music, paper and pens and books and little pieces of art everywhere you looked. An eight sided window over the bed showed a sky I had never seen. And silence. A silence that’s indescribable when you’ve only lived in a houses that are always filled with hummings, beepings, clickings, distractions. A silence that’s closer to real peace.

And so there I stayed for ten days. My clothes quickly became saturated with the heavenly smell of woodsmoke, I explored the town and found treasures everywhere. People smiled knowing smiles and their eyes sparkled with secrets that I somehow knew too.I listened to new music and met people who, if you glanced at them quickly enough, you were sure were really gnomes, dwarves or faeries concealing themselves from you beneath their hood. And when it was time to go home, I cried like a baby.

That summer, and the following spring break, I went out and visited her again, and gradually a dream grew in my heart: that when I graduated high school, I would move out to B.C. permanently. One way flight. A new home. I couldn’t wait.

So I graduated in June of 1999, and I was still seventeen, being born in August. But I was determined to go. I worked for a few weeks prior to grad to save up enough for a plane ticket, and I was set. I thought.

My mother, obviously, had serious misgivings about me leaving when I was only seventeen, and I was a young seventeen if you know what I mean. So very, very naïve. But I was bound and determined, and I don’t think I would have stayed even if she had said I had to. In my mind, my hometown of Winnipeg was over, done, and paradise awaited me. I remember cleaning out my room, blithely throwing away things that had huge sentimental value to me then, thinking breezily that I was becoming a new person, that the old me was dead. I honestly thought that I would get out there and all my problems, my bad habits, anything that hurt or was less than perfect, would just magically disappear. Little did I realize back then that, as the Buddhists say, wherever you go, there you are. And I wish I’d kept those sentimental things. I’m just glad I didn’t throw away everything.

I planned my flight so I left on the new moon, July 12th, 1999. New beginning. My mom drove me to the airport in silence, a silence that I realize now was filled with her fear for her seriously naïve, young daughter who was sailing off into the Blue with no money and no life experience. My sister was meeting me at the airport on the other end, something my mom probably insisted upon.

My dad and a couple of my friends were there to see me off, and I remember feeling their sadness and being kind of baffled by it. I was too excited to be sad, and back then I don’t think I really knew the value of a true friend. I was looking ahead, not back.

So I flew and I landed and I almost exploded with excitement, but finally my feet were on the “soil” of “home” as I thought of it then. My sister met me at baggage claim and we hugged and she said, “Hello,” like I was a baby, fresh and new to the world. I totally was.

We hung around Van for a day, and at one point she asked me, “What do you want to do?” I think that was the first moment that I saw the other side (the shadow side?) of freedom: responsibility. I wasn’t in high school anymore, with everyone else making all the decisions about my time, my energy, my life. And I must admit, I didn’t have an answer for her. I had just sort of assumed that once I got out there, my “path” would just sort of unfold before my feet, the Universe (as I saw the Divine at the time) directing me to where I needed to be, who I needed to meet, with no conscious volition on my part. At the time I would have told you that that was the most enlightened way to live. Looking back, I see that I was just a girl who was shit scared to make any real decisions, and I was serenely covering it up under a thin veneer of “spirituality.” (I was soon to meet many, many other people who bullshitted their way through their lives in much the same way. . .and the reflection wasn’t pretty. But we’ll get to that.)

So I followed my sister back up to Whistler, partly because I actually wanted to, and partly because I was way too scared to be on my own. We hung out there for a couple weeks, swimming naked in Lost Lake, this amazing place (the nudey dock was on the opposite side of the lake to the touristy beach; they couldn’t see us, which amused us) and being forest dwellers, which I loved. The full moon approaching, we hitch hiked back to the city, hopped the ferry, and headed to Sombrio Beach on Vancouver Island for our very first Rainbow Gathering.

[Excerpt from The Oxford Hippie Dictionary:

A Rainbow Gathering (reyn-boh gath-er-ing) is a gathering of people, usually self-proclaimed neo hippies, held on the three days leading up to, the day and night of, then the three days leading away from, the full moon in the months of July and August. The Gatherings can range anywhere from a handful of people to the hundreds, sometimes the thousands in the larger gatherings in the US, and are usually held on a large public beach that is not frequented by the public. Many speculations exist as to why this is, one of the most common being that it is to curb the stench of unwashed bodies which is prevalent at large gatherings of neo-hippies. Sometimes tea tree oil just doesn’t cut it.

A communal kitchen serves everyone three meals a day, generally consisting of certified organic, healthy food, which many of the neo hippies are quite happy to eat on a piece of bark with a stick serving as a utensil. This food is often a bland beige in colour with a taste to match. Whether the majority of the neo-hippies are just pretending to like it, or that their taste buds have somehow been damaged by an unknown plague that afflicts them all remains a mystery. Kitchen helpers are all volunteers, as no money is ever officially exchanged at the Gatherings.

Nudity is accepted among both women and men, and a general “do whatever you want as long as you’re not hurting anyone” attitude is pervasive. Hallucinogenics such as mushrooms and LSD are common, as is marijuana, hashish, and other mind-altering substances, mostly of the “natural” persuasion.

Alcohol is not as common.

The majority of the neo hippies pitch tents as their shelter of choice, but some will brings campers or fifth wheels, and of course the presence of VW microbuses from the 1960’s is always prevalent. Some of the more die-hard among those at the Gatherings will simply string a tarp between a few trees and sleep under it, while others won’t bring any shelter at all, trusting in “the Universe,” “Gaia,” or “Jah” to provide for them. (Luckily for them, their comrades are more often than not willing to share everything they have, including shelter. And if not, well, the hospital is only a four hour drive away, after you’ve bushwhacked through the rainforest for two hours to get to the highway with an acute case of pneumonia or exposure.)

Side note: “The Universe” as used in this context does not refer to ‘the totality of known or supposed objects and phenomena throughout space’ (from http://www.dictionary.com) as most people think of it, but rather a benign, sexless spiritual force that is constantly guiding, but never forcing, humankind to their various destinies; Gaia is a reference to the ancient Greek mother goddess of earth; Jah refers to the Rastafarian singular male God or the Holy Trinity, being Father, Son and Holy Ghost (Psalms 68:4, King James Bible.) The fact that most of the neo-hippies at Rainbow Gatherings are not astronomers, Greek or Rastafarian doesn’t seem to bother them.

There are not many widely organized activities at the Gatherings beyond the three standard daily meals and the nightly “drum circle.”

The aforementioned drum circle unofficially starts around sunset each night, and consists of everyone who owns a hand drum making a circle around the large central bonfire and drumming spontaneously together until the late hours. Unchoreographed dancing and fire spinning often accompany this activity.

Beyond these described activities, the neo-hippies generally keep to their own smaller groups and do whatever they please. Meeting other neo-hippies, bartering for handmade clothing, jewellery, drums and other instruments such as didgeridoos (an Australian aborigine wind instrument) is also a common practice.

Many times during a Gathering you will hear the unified cry of “Leave only your footprints behind!” no doubt as a respectful nod to Gaia. To any newcomers to the group, “Welcome home!” is often called out, meaning that at the Rainbow Gathering, everyone is loved unconditionally and wholly welcome. The pretentiousness of this saying appears to go largely unnoticed.]

So we hit up this hippie gathering, and yes, I am ashamed to say, I was one of the people eating their gruel off a piece of bark with a stick. It added some flavour to it, if nothing else.

I should probably state here that, despite my all-consuming sarcasm and rather excessive cynicism, there were some cool experience I had at these gatherings that still make me smile and think and wonder when I recall them today.

For example, at the first one we went to in July, on the first night that I heard the drumming, I was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. I can’t explain why, but something in me heard those deep bass tones and just went, “Yeah.” So I was sitting there in the firelight, listening to the rhythm, the pounding, feeling it in my bones and my blood, struggling to overcome my shyness and actually ask someone if I could try their djembe, wondering if it would be alright to ask that. I mean, would it be like asking someone if I could make love with their partner? I can attest that the bond between a person and their instrument (or an instrument and their person?) can be deep. So as I’m sitting there, I gradually started eavesdropping on a conversation between a girl around my age and a guy who was slightly older that were sitting near me. The girl was passionately explaining that she believes that when someone chooses to follow their desire, their passion, their “calling,” it’s not a selfish choice, but rather a gift to everyone around them as well as themselves. I sat pondering this for a few minutes, kind of struck by the irony that she was talking about exactly what I was struggling to do, and then the guy she had been talking to got up and left. I steeled myself and spoke up, telling her that I really liked what she had been saying. She immediately and effusively began talking about it again, reiterating what she had been saying to the guy a few minutes before. She paused then, and asked me, “What do you really want to do?”

I kind of sat there for a minute, struggling against all the self-doubt, then I blurted out, “I want to drum!”

She looked right into my eyes, smiled, and said, “I’ll be right back!”

She came back a moment later with a huge djembe, the exact kind I had been wanting to play, and handed it to me.

I hesitantly took it from her, but as I swung it around so it was facing the fire and I could straddle it like I had seen the other players do, it was like something I’ve done a million times before, as comfortable and natural as breathing. I just sort of started improvising along with the “song” that everyone else was already playing, not even really able to tell if I sounded good. But I found myself slip into it and become part of it, and what it sounded like didn’t really matter after a few minutes.

The drum jams at Rainbow Gatherings just sort of start and finish as they do; nothing is planned, it all just kind of flows, kind of like strawberry jam. As if to complete all of the synchronicities of the whole experience, when I stopped drumming I noticed a guy on the other side of the circle, who I had never met before, stand up and look directly at me. I looked back at him, flushed and elated, and he bowed and said, “Thank you.” I don’t think he had heard my conversation with the girl.

Other noteworthy experiences? At that particular gathering, I remember one, and it was small and doesn’t sound like anything when I retell it, but I think it was one of my first experiences in opening up to nature – really opening up.

I was sitting on a rock by the ocean, and back then the ocean was still a complete marvel to me (it still is, really), because I had barely ever been around it. I was transfixed by how powerful it was and yet how gentle, by the feminine beauty of it, yet the raw power it holds that can be terrifying (go figure). By the way that alone, a drop in the ocean is “weak”; yet when combined with millions and millions of other drops, the power of water can destroy stone, brick, whole cities. Interestingly enough, I read the exact meaning of what I was struggling to grasp several years later in the Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu, which is a book of wisdom:

Under heaven nothing is more soft and yielding than water. Yet for attacking the solid and strong, nothing is better; It has no equal. The weak can overcome the strong; The supple can overcome the stiff. Under heaven everyone knows this, Yet no one puts it into practice. Therefore the sage says: He who takes upon himself the humiliation of the people is fit to rule them. He who takes upon himself the country’s disasters deserves to be king of the universe. The truth often seems paradoxical.

I’ve always been really, really bad at expressing the things most close to my heart.

So anyhoo, I was sitting on this rock, gazing at the ocean, feeling the ocean (not physically), and I just remember feeling myself start to expand outside of my former borders, like I was being initiated into something bigger than anything I had previously known. Druids will know what I’m talking about.

Being a Virgo sun sign with Virgo rising and Virgo in Mercury, I really, really love (need?) the earth and the solidity of it, and I have to say that to this day, the ocean and I don’t really get along. It feels too wavey, too shifty, too unsolid energetically. It overwhelms me the way a wave crashing over your head and filling your nose up with salt water might overwhelm you. I can visit her, have an amazing conversation with her, learn from her, humble myself before her, but then I gallop back to my mountains and gleefully dig my roots in deep again before the stars come out. (Well, maybe a bit later than that, sometimes.)

Now, the dark side of Rainbow Gatherings – yes, there is a darkness beyond the gross food and lack of showers. Some people go to them searching for something they can’t exactly describe, and in that searching, they somehow lose themselves. Sometimes it’s from doing too many hallucinogenics. Sometimes it’s from not being mentally stable enough to do even a little bit of hallucinogenics (more about this later). Sometimes it’s from being really, really gullible and naïve and, maybe, not strong?

One of the last ones I ever went to was held at a huge, deep lake in the Kootenay mountain range, and a guy got really high on mushrooms and somehow decided that the meaning of life was on the other side of it. He swam out into the middle of it, and no one ever saw him again.

At this same gathering, two of my friends were told by a woman who claimed to be a shaman and had taken a name for herself from Aboriginal history even though she was white (side note: in my opinion, being a shaman is something you just are. If you have to call yourself one so you can convince other people, something isn’t adding up) that they were soul mates, and they were promptly attacked by a pack of dogs. It turned out later that they weren’t soul mates.

And the interesting thing is, when that Gathering was starting, all of my friends and I had a bad feeling about it. You know that CCR song “Bad Moon Rising”? Well, that about sums it up.

So my first summer was spent at Gatherings, in Whistler having awkward sexual interludes that never actually amounted to anything, and on the nude beach my sister introduced me to in Vancouver, which is called Wreck Beach. An interesting experience, but after careful consideration, I decided that I will not be naked in public places anymore, whether they’re officially called “nude friendly” or not. I don’t care if you call yourself a hippie or a nudist or an enlightened being or what-have-you; humans are still human, and men still stare, and it’s really hard to ignore their huge erections when they’re not wearing any clothes. Ew.

Wild blackberries grow all around on the coast where I first flew in that summer, and I think they were the main staple of my diet. Nothing bought in a grocery store will ever compare to that. Ever.

I remember that summer a friend asking me once, “How are you eating every day if you don’t have a job and you don’t have any money?” I smiled a glazed kind of smile and blathered something about the Universe providing, but in actuality, I have no idea how I ate on a regular basis that summer. Well, I did go through a short “damn-the-man” period in which I was stealing lots and lots of groceries from the huge grocery store (the fact that a huge corporation owned it justified the theft in my mind back then). It earned me the nickname Belly Jean Sticky Fingers (the first half of which needs explaining, but we’re getting there) and it ended after I got caught and arrested (we’re getting there too.)

Still, even though I look back now and shake my head at some of the beliefs I held back then (or at least grabbed, tossed back and forth a few times, then replaced), there were still moments in which I really had to question what I thought I knew about reality, and ultimately have made me a more open minded person. Because do any of us really know?

Example: I was hitch hiking one day, and it was a long journey; I don’t remember where I was going, but it was hot and I was thirsty, and all of a sudden I got a craving for an apple and ginger ale. The thought came and went, and I got a ride about ten minutes later. I hopped in the guy’s car, and after the usual “Hey, how’s it going? How far are you going?” he turns to me and says, “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Have an apple and some ginger ale.”

I shit you not.

Another time I was at the nudey dock in Whistler, hanging out with a mutual friend of mine and my sister’s for the afternoon. Among our conversations, we both said how our favourite “beach food” is bagels with hummus, purple grapes and cheese. About half an hour later my sister showed up, sat down, and opened her bag to produce. . .yup, bagels, hummus, purple grapes and cheese.

Maybe the Universe (?) does provide if you believe it will.

0 notes