I am Hibi, the:
Graphic Designer
Illustrator
Web Designer
Typography & Lettering Enthusiast

This is my personal blog where I reblog things related to my interests,
my personal beliefs and you will see me occasionally spam this with my own artwork.

My ask box is always open.
All Rights Reserved, Porcelain-Pot 2013-14.

  • King of France: and why the fuck would we send money and assistance to those resisting their sovereign??
  • Advisor: well it would be a big 'fuck you' to England
  • King of France: send funds to America

a-creepy-weirdo-has:

bitcheslovemyjingleballs:

a-creepy-weirdo-has:

what do birds do 

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I apologise for my ignorance, birds are important

(via kisetsu-no-sakura)

bunnyfood:

(via togifs:video)

Misadventures in “Contemporary Art”

medievalpoc:

smarterthanyou submitted to medievalpoc:

@swagjohncage is upset because to those of us who work in it, “Contemporary Art” means something different and distinct from fantasy illustration.

It’s a field where people of colour have to fight for recognition as much as any other cultural field, and so recognizing them their specifically is an important thing: aside from barriers to entry, they have to deal with on the one hand the dangers of a broader culture that rejects their ideas (see: continual attacks on the NEA or other institutions over support for artists of colour and queer artists’ work), and a world of big money and privilege on the other that sees “the right kind” of artists able to climb their way up social ladders.

I’m going to publish your submission. But first let’s address your assumption that I don’t know what you and your buddy are getting at. Here’s the post you’re mentioning for reference.

Here’s a decent primer on what “contemporary art” actually means, and “contemporary art” as it tends to be used.

I have to be totally honest. Your weak attempt above to Explain To Me The Thing taps into a font of extremely personal and visceral rage, partially due to the assumption that I am unaware that “artists of color struggle”.

Because I come from that world. I was a working artist for nearly a decade (and the struggle to even get to that point is another tale in itself) before I was forced to change career paths to survive around 2008-2009. The collapse of the economy drove artists who had degrees and previous success as contemporary artists to snap up the jobs I’d been surviving on, and they they were “too good for”, right out from under me. Including fantasy illustration, as well as commissioned portraiture, tattoo design, graphic design, advertising design, you name it.

Because when you need to put food on the table, a job is a job. And when you could hire Mister Had His Own Show in NYC to draw your kids for peanuts, that means Your Humble Narrator’s brown, disabled, queer self gets the new shiny title of Retail Sales Associate.

When I first decided to go back to school, even at my advanced age I was accepted into one of the most prestigious Fine Arts private institutions in the country…and had to turn down the opportunity to “learn how” to do things I had become accustomed to being paid to do for years when it comes with a $58,000/year price tag attached.

You see, the taste of this particular kind of arrogance is nostalgic and familiar, seeing as I got to eat my own arrogance for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, washed down with a glass of poverty and shame, for quite a long time. Something inside you cracks when you’re outside the poetry/art show in a tiny gay bar in downtown Saint Petersburg or Ybor, flushed with drink at 1 o’clock in the morning, and watch an entire homeless family walking by, the five- and two-year-olds holding hands between a mother and father, wandering the 80-degree streets because the police broke up the tent-town last week,or because the newest tent-town won’t accept families.

But it’s the second homeless family that passes by 20 minutes later that finishes breaking you. And it’s the bag of rice in your cupboard that keeps shrinking, the $25 increase in the rent, the “no” on the phone when you ask your mother if you can move back in, the 8-hour wait in the emergency room, and the knowledge that the 1am streets will be your new home too very soon that sends you a thousand miles northward.

Or maybe it has something to do with the most recent hammered millionaire who staggered into your display at your last big show, shattering the glass frame you took an extra day at Big Retail to pay for. He laughed. He didn’t buy anything.

So you run. You run from the tent towns, the tuberculosis outbreaks covered up by the governor, from the gauntlet of starvelings who linger outside your retail job trying to get any piece of the 7.25/hour you’re making. And you run into an entirely new and different kind of struggle…how I got here is another story, for another time.

I started painting again recently for the first time in years. And you know, I’m proud to work in education, as I do now. I’m proud of my writing, and I’m proud of my work in activism. And I’m proud of my art. But these distinctions between “the right kind of artist/art”, “contemporary art”, “REAL art”, and “fantasy illustration”….coming from my experiences, there is a terrible disconnect in what you’ve said about the struggles of artists of color, when you’ve seen even the “right kind of artist” fighting us pigs for the slops. When the “fight for recognition” turns to a fight for survival.

The world of Big Money and Big Privilege that you describe doesn’t only create the danger of being snubbed, having your ideas rejected because of racism, sexism, classism, and a failure to conform to their ideas about what art is “supposed” to be. The danger can be a lot more immediate than that.

I fail to see how you and swagjohncage policing what is and isn’t “real” art is anything but a tool of the elitist world you seem to be criticizing. All I see is a narrowing of the tiny crack that ANY artists of color, whether or not they appeal to your aesthetic preferences in contemporary art OR Contemporary Art, can creep through and try to make a living. We live in a world that crushes our gifts out of us, makes them irrelevant, makes them laughable. “Art??? Why don’t you get a REAL job!” takes on a whole new tone when you come from one of Those Neighborhoods.

We already live in a society that devalues art and artists, frames our work and our struggles as a frivolous choice (“starving artist, ha-HA”), that devalues this especially when coming from artists of color, queer artists, disabled artists, that expresses actual outrage when we use whatever media we can:

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THIS is the world that rejects us. THIS is our struggle. This is being pushed so far into the margins that we practically fall off the edge of the world. Because the work of an Egyptian artist in digital media, challenging our colonized notions of what IS and ISN’T art, is not about breaking into the world of Big Money and Big Privilege so much as it is reaching ourselves.

The rules dictate that we cannot succeed. Honestly, your submission, which I plan to post shortly, highlights that perfectly. So we’re breaking the rules.

I had high hopes, I suppose, that more people would understand that. Seeing this reaction does make my optimism flag, but if I did have an Optimism Flag, as I’ve said before, this might possibly be it:

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[illustration by palaceofposey]

"It seems to me that on one page I recognized a portion of an old diary of mine which mysteriously disappeared shortly after my marriage, and, also, scraps of letters which, though considerably edited, sound to me vaguely familiar. In fact, Mr. Fitzgerald (I believe that is how he spells his name) seems to believe that plagiarism begins at home."

—Zelda Fitzgerald, in a review of her husband’s book in 1922 (via trishahaddad)

Reminder that F. Scott Fitzgerald stole his wife’s writing, many times, while suppressing her works. See “Save Me the Waltz”, which he forced her to revise so that he could use parts of it in his own book “Tender Is the Night”. And which author do we study in school?

(via rubyvroom)

I didn’t know this.

(via alienswithankhs)


He also encouraged her to have affairs so he could use that for inspiration, and when she wanted to leave him for a man she fell in love with, he locked her in their house and wouldn’t let her leave.

When she wanted to publish “Save me the Waltz,” Fitzgerald wrote in his diary about DELIBERATELY trying to TRIGGER her schizophrenic episodes and making her incapable of fighting that battle.

And Fitzgerald scholars KNOW all this.  They write articles about how it was all okay because in the end, it inspired Fitzgerald to write Great Literature.

(via prozacpark)

knife his corpse

(via jhameia)

NEVER READ ANY OF HIS BOOKS AGAIN. AND READ HERS INSTEAD. CONSIGN HIM TO OBLIVION.

(via searchingforknowledge)

Fuck I didn’t know this fuck ugh god why fuck ugh

(via lesbianoutwestinvenice)

Yep. All true. Learned about his trifling ass studying creative writing and English lit. at CSU. Didn’t read ONE of her books on high school, yet we’re taught how amazing and talented he was. Makes me sick. xBx

(via wire-hangers-never-again)

Um. I thought it was common knowledge that he was an asshole?

(via nihilistic-void)

I knew he was an asshole, but not that bad….

(via queerlittlemermaid)

(via kotaline)

bryanchoppertagteam:

magicalmanhattanproject:

if anyone ever calls you a slut just say ‘and yet i still won’t fuck you’ and then blow them a kiss as you saunter away because that’s the closest they’re ever gonna get to your magnificence, o smaug, chiefest and greatest of calamaties

Ladies real talk

(via cageswithoutkeys)

embarrassedpokerface:

i’m not that attracted to sebastian sta-

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well okay, that’s cute but-

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oh my god

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hold on don’t

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wait i’m

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JE SUS  F CUK I SAID WAIT

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i’M

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STOP

(via l3ucky)

"I know Falcon’s suit is going to evolve and I’m hoping it evolves into red spandex,” he said. “I’ve been working really hard on my body and was very disappointed when I didn’t get a copious amount of spandex to wear while shooting this movie."

Anthony Mackie (x)  (via runawaymarbles)

(via l3ucky)

olisaurusrex:

Terry Crews ain’t here for Hollywood bullshit