Ruby Drawings I'm Never Finishing + Some WIPs I LOVE WIPS I LOVE WIPS

in disco elysium the only satisfying ending is helping ur community. It is not satisfying to put away the murderer, an old revolutionary man who is ill and frail and fallen through the cracks of the centrist government, it is not satisfying to be welcomed back into ur old precinct and rejoin the unfeeling hash and grind of your perpetual violence on the side of the trigger puller, it is not satisfying to interrogate and accost the suspects Klassje or Ruby or the Hardie boys and divide them apart when they are just trying to protect their orphaned own, it is NEVER satisfying to always follow Kim’s advice and it is certainly not satisfying to face down ur own personal ghost of idolization worship and perfection. it is not even satisfying to give up on all of this world and return to the primordial muck.

the only good ending in Disco Elysium is finding a home and musical passion for Andre Egg Noid and Acéle where they would have frozen or drowned in the ice, solving the “mystery” of the doomed commercial area and talking about cockatoos with Billie Mejéan, making sure Anette doesn’t have to stand outside in the cold and Plaisance doesn’t lose her daughter while cooking under the pressures of capitalism, learning about Gaston and René’s life long friendships and loves, cheering on Cuno’s fucking Night City of locusts, knowing the Hardie Boys will be checking on the Pigs, waiting on the swing sets and whistling a tune with your friend. Talking long enough with Little Lily that you feel Lamby pressed to your cheek, redeeming Fortress Accident under Soona’s guidance, spitting poetry with Tommy Le Homme and singing your heart out in the Whirling in Rags to a cafeteria full of townspeople who have only one place to gather at the edge of forgotten Revachol.

The worst part about Disco Elysium is being a cop 👉 hands down. It is an examination of many things, but especially what it means to truly change your Community for the better and how that is absolutely impossible as an agent of the status quo.

“We’ll solve the case. Look at me. Don’t worry”

mwah 🫣

mama du bois

little night sketch

I've kinda been digging drawing with a mouse

men over forty yearn for the wooden floors in abandoned churches

i will share some of thoughts behind the process here too why not! :D

‘first i was generally inspired by thoughts like “what did Kim feel when Harry was shot? how would it impact him, taking care of a barely conscious body for days, all by himself? which thoughts did he reflect on during that time? did he check for pulse from time to time, just to make sure?”. then my mind leaned into making a religiously inspired composition, considered how often Kim is deified by Harry (his portrait being the best example), however a composition that instead of calming and collected would be cracking, bursting. a carefully constructed façade of detachment breaking as Kim is encountered with death again. thus, this “pieta” feels wrong, Kim, who usually consists of warm colours (in og portrait too!), dives his head into the blue — faces the gruesome, cruel and cold. the blues in Harry and around him pierce through the warmth of the deified image, tear it down to the raw, scary reality in which Harry doesn’t *seem* to be alive. the bandages around him resemble cloths used in iconography, however they are unsettlingly soaked in the bright, accumulating blood. and here comes the central element — the bouquet of red carnations (i can’t rlly draw flowers lmao but it’s supposed to be that), the deep hue of which often symbolises blood, sacrifice, and is often used in the depiction of Christ’s blood in that regard. it could also be interpreted as the symbol of love, alongside with martyrdom. the flowers erupt from Harry’s injuries and lean towards Kim, his bright, golden halo, a sun almost. as they grow thicker and blooming, fed on Harry’s blood, they stretch to Kim, reach his halo. dark vines are taking over it, consuming it like a parasite, infest it with red that makes the halo look almost as some sort of organ permeated with capillaries. it cracks like a thin stained glass under the vigorous force of carnations, breaks into sharp shards. Kim can’t uphold to his holiness no more, doesn’t have a stable ground, he instead is absorbed by the horrors injected into him. even the background, dull and golden, was taken over by the destruction, it flakes off and crumbles. for some reason, i felt compelled to name it “His garden”, “garden” to signify the overwhelming scale of bursting flowers, their impact on Kim, and “his” because at the moment it’s Kim’s alone to observe, take care of, he’s the only one to be consumed, captivated and tormented by it. ‘

His garden

the runaways

sketch before i go back to sleep kimharry in trans colours bc hell yea