Daniel. A blog for my art.

Anonymous asked: ever think about killing yourself?

only when I’m really bored.

There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth.

— Friedrich Nietzsche (via henretta84)

Let people feel the weight of who you are and let them deal with it.

— John Eldridge  (via mau-gli)
Print off my copper plate. Taking it slow and just adding small things. 

I like to be funny to cover the deep, powerful pain, the miserable insecurity.

Paul Mazursky, comedian and director of Moscow on the Hudson, Harry and Tonto, and Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice 

Mazurksy passed away last week at 84. 

(via darksilenceinsuburbia)

The wind rushing all around, my eyes slowly opened,

everything started coming into view in such a hurry.

my body felt weightless and my clothes pressed against me.

I turned over and reached out,

but there was nothing there, as birds flew by and I saw

your face looking down and you retreated back

away from the cliff.

then everything came to a halt,

and with a smile, i knew i was flying.

Those who escape hell, however, never talk about it. And nothing much bothers them after that.

Charles Bukowski  (via darksilenceinsuburbia)

The universe doesn’t allow perfection.

— Stephen Hawking (via darksilenceinsuburbia)

Being an artist, well at least a happy artist is…

I’ll start a canvas, blindly start painting, trying to create something from nothingness, look at in disgust and then paint over it and start over again. I do this constantly. I never paint anything I’m happy with, and I kinda feel like this reflects on my life..

More bad things than good things have happened in the last 6 years. Nothing has really changed for the better. More lies than truths have been told. Makes me question existence, especially my own. Realizing a conscience is definitely odd. Realizing the life of a human is odd.

When you don’t know what you’re living for, you don’t care how you live from one day to the next. You’re happy the day has passed and the night has come, and in your sleep you bury the tedious question of what you lived for that day and what you’re going to live for tomorrow.

— Oblomov, Ivan Goncharov. (via ivankaramazovs)