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Michael Hussar - Knuckle Pretty (detail). 

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compassionate self-reflection ❤️

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By cuda

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When no amount of iced coffee is enough to cure your exhaustion. This is me in the summer, because it's so such an overstimulating season that I am constantly tired. I'm just grateful iced coffee exists!

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Finally finished this piece about the toxic beauty standards imposed by my parents while growing up. Painting all those eyes felt both meditating and drove me insane.

TW: child abuse

I included some of the comments my family has made about my appearance over the years, some of which are contradicting, just to show how impossible it was to please their toxic beauty standards. To them, I was always too skinny and too fat at 115lb. And being 5'6 was too short.

My mom told me to get plastic surgery for my monolid eyes, because only double lidded eyes are considered beautiful by Chinese standards. She pointed to her friend's daughter, who did get plastic surgery for her entire face, and said how much better the girl looked, how I should be like that.

My dad commented on my flat chest, asking how come my mom has boobs while I don't. My stepmom pointed out the frown lines around my lips, saying I don't smile enough. My stepmom always bullied me to the point of crying (by calling my mom a whore and such), so she knows exactly why I don't smile enough. My stepdad said my personality is too horrible to get a normal job, so I would have to prostitute myself, but that I'm too ugly to get clients so I would starve. When I told my mom what he said, she told me to stop lying.

After a lot of therapy for my CPTSD, I can look back and realize that they were the ugly ones, in all sense of the word. But for so long I had such little self-esteem, I would avoid photos. At my first artist alley over a decade ago, fans of my art wanted photos with me but I was too ashamed of myself to accept. I've improved a lot and no longer fear being photographed. I still struggle with other aspects of my childhood abuse (a story for a different day), but with each passing year I feel like I'm regaining bits of myself.

___

A peek of the painting process, the full hours long videos will be DMed on my Patreon on Sep 5th

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In text is where I keep all the things my tongue can't wrap its clumsy edges around.

"How do you write such realistic dialogue-" I TALK TO MYSELF. I TALK TO MYSELF AND I PRETEND I AM THE ONE SAYING THE LINE. LIKE SANITY IS SLOWLY SLIPPING FROM BETWEEN MY FINGERS WITH EVERY MEASLY WORD THEY TYPE OUT. THAT IS HOW.

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Art by Philipp A. Urlich

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I'm currently in Europe visiting the in-laws, but all I can think about are my huskies back home 😭 I miss my babies 💔 can't wait to hug them again in a week

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Finishing 2023 with some vampy teeth studies.

$₥i∫iies !!

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yum

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Art by Natcha Ngamtweerat

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Peace, Love and...

The ropes were numerous, and painstakingly knotted to form an intricate spiderweb which stretched between two pillars on the left hand side of the room.

Cai hung in the web’s centre.

The golden thread wound around what felt like every inch of his body, pinning his arms and legs spread-eagled, curling firmly around his torso to hold him as secure and as thoroughly stuck as any good spider’s prey. His toes touched the floor only precariously to help hold him steady.

Every tug, every waver, every twitch of movement caused the small silver bells hooked to the web to chime softly.

The trick was to be as still, as quiet, as possible.

Nonetheless.

The bells chimed.

It had been less than five minutes.

Adam lounged on the sofa not far away, a whip dangling insouciantly from one hand, a book in the other. He was the picture of idle, entirely too lovely, cruelty – something that the Greek’s would have carved and marvelled at.

At the chime, his attention cut up, and his hand lashed out with wicked speed and wickeder precision.

Cai bit down hard on his lip, jolting on instinct at the hot sting of pain on his thigh. The bells chimed again.

Adam grinned, feral. His fingertips caressed the whip’s handle in a way that he had many times caressed the curve of Cai’s skin, his cheek, the bow of his lip. His gaze roamed over Cai like he was considering the next place to strike, in retaliation of that sound.  

“That’s not fair,” Cai gasped. “You have to let me adjust. Nobody holds still when they’re hit!”

“I’m sorry,” Adam replied, “at which point did I promise you fairness? Love, most certainly, war – of a sort, perhaps. But fairness?”

He landed another blow, a third, and then seemed to take pity.

“Fairness,” Adam settled back down, “was never especially on the agenda. Stillness is. You’re the one who wanted to work on being mindful, I am merely supporting you in your goals like a dutiful husband.”

“I suggested we try meditation!”

“My voice is music. I am your guide.”

Adam’s voice had turned dry at the words, and Cai just managed to catch himself before he snorted with laughter. Laughter really wouldn’t help his predicament. He watched the way that Adam’s fingers moved over the whip handle again, quite happily awaiting any opportunity, guessing at that laughter. His stare was fixed on Cai, intent, nowhere near as careless as his posture.

The urge to laugh faded out. He just as quickly wanted to shiver, with a pleased sort of anticipation. He knew that stare.

Cai swallowed. He stilled himself once more, and thought that Adam might have a point. Not about his voice being music, exactly, however partial Cai was to the cadences of his husband’s tone, but…  

“I think I have an idea,” Adam said, with a tone of relenting somewhat, or at least of shifting gears. “Hold still now.” He discarded the book and got up from his seat, crossing the room and returning with a blindfold. He placed it over Cai’s eyes, knotting it tight with deft movements. “There. No distractions.” Adam’s lips were hot, and very distracting, by his ear. “Say thank you.”

“Are you actually planning to top me into meditation?”

“Meditation is just subspace for vanilla people. Hush, that’s an order. Bratting does not equal mindfulness, it makes you too busy thinking how you can beat me. You can’t.”

Cai’s mouth snapped shut.  

Adam didn’t take that particular tone with him very often, but when he did…there really was something about that voice.

“Good,” Adam murmured. “Now…” he heard Adam’s footsteps move back to the sofa. “Listen.”

Cai had lost count of the number of times, of ways, that Adam had tied him up. Sometimes, it was because Cai wanted to feel restrained, other times because Adam wanted the feeling of having someone at his mercy. It was always because of the aesthetic, and, today, it was supposedly because of the calm.

Supposedly.

The act of being bound was calming, the act of being whipped was not. But wasn’t that Adam all over? He had a weakness for irony, the juxtaposition of contrasting elements, for the artistry of it all. It was one of the many things that Cai loved about him; he always managed to do the unexpected in some small way, even after all of their years together.

“Focus on the feeling of the rope,” Adam said, as steady as metronome, low and impossible to ignore. “On your breath, on holding still for me. That’s all I expect from you. Art is seen and not heard.”

Cai focused on the feeling of the rope, on his breath, on the effort it took to hold himself still. The muscles in his calves burned. It was, in its way, actually quite meditative.

The ropes today had been picked because they were silken; strong, but soft upon Cai’s skin. They were easy to focus on.

The point of the calming kind of meditation, at least from Cai’s reading, was to focus one’s body on specific sounds, or objects, or sensations, in order to cultivate a peaceful mind and an enhanced state of concentration. That was what he’d told Adam. Apparently, between his eye rolls, Adam had payed attention.

“You are not going anywhere,” Adam said. “You are safe, I’ve got you.”

There was simply the rope, the chimes, the whip. 

And, as always, there was him.

***

“Cai.”

Adam’s fingers were careful brushing his face, undoing the blindfold, letting the light of the world with all of its distractions seep back in.

“Cai.”

Cai opened his eyes, a little dazed, and certainly peaceful. He had lost track of time or at least stopped counting it. It had taken him a while to figure out how to hold still, to let go of the restless needs of the day and life, but once he was tied up there wasn’t really much a guy could do. Just like Adam said. Listening to his voice, his breath, it had been easy.

Adam stood in front of him, and Cai wasn’t entirely sure when he’d moved. His expression was one of a fond sort of amusement. “Are you still with me?” Adam asked. “Or have you found yogic bliss?”

Cai nodded.

“Oh, so yogic bliss?”

“You’re hilarious,” Cai said, without bite. “I’m with you. Always am.”

“Good,” Adam said, still watching him. A softer smile had crossed his lips. “You went very quiet. Very still.”

“Wasn’t that the point?”

“I didn’t expect it to be that effective - I was planning to torment you mercilessly. It would have been very cathartic.”

Cai simply gave a peaceful sort of hum and Adam laughed, quietly, shaking his head. He’d abandoned the whip, and his seeming initial plans, on the sofa. He reached up to check the ropes around Cai’s hands, going through the practiced motions of making sure Cai still had all the right circulation in his fingers.

“Are you ready to come down?” he asked.

Cai shook his head.

Adam laughed again.

“I suppose I could keep you up there like an exhibition piece.” He stroked his fingers down along Cai’s chest. “You’re rather calming to look at like this. Can’t get into any trouble.”

“I am the height of zen, I never get myself in trouble.”

“Uh-huh. I’m taking you down now. Come here.”

Soon enough, Cai’s feet were firmly planted on the floor once more, and Adam’s arm was wrapped firmly around his torso to hold him secure. The rest of the ropes fell away. Cai led him over to the sofa and they sprawled there for a while.

“So,” Cai said eventually. “If I suggest that we try couple’s yoga…?”

Adam’s fingers wound in his hair, tugging his head back to contort his spine, and kissed Cai’s cheek.

“I’m sure I’ll think of something much more fun.”

It was, to neither of their surprise, much more entertaining.