The Feral- Charcoal Drawing

I completed this drawing yesterday.

When you try to grab random flying images in your head and merge them you end up with something like this…I decided to name it “The Feral”.

And when you try to write something about your such drawing you end up with 4 incomplete posts on the same subject… and it’s annoying trust me.

I don’t understand the measurement of beauty by the degree of human-invented finesse and Superficial criteria of perfection.

Aren’t animals way more naturally elegant than us?? Just watch them walk.. they don’t train on a ramp.

We all have our feral side that we suppress just to blend into this chaotic mess of people made of plastics, veiled in thousands of layers of deceit, constantly trying to fool themselves that shedding their skin and replacing it with cheap paper mache and tacky plastics is the way to blend in.

Even worse when they choose a ridiculously expensive metal cast as a replacement of skin that enslaves them for the rest of their lives and constricts their organic growth.

One has to surrender natural instinct to look more human…which is just an inhumane concept that is turning us all into ruthless machines, devoid of our elemental nature.

I find veins in a piece of wood mesmerizing

Fire intimidates me and empowers me at the same time

I love the smell of damp Earth.. I love the humble texture of clay

Water..water is life..from teardrop to ocean..water is life!

Whenever people try to unleash their feral side this stupid materialistic world slaps them hard and locks them in a dark closet until they learn to come out as a sturdy lifeless plastic doll that will sustain hundreds of years on earth, polluting it, just occupying space where generations could thrive.

Everyday I ask myself the same question “can I run away and start living on a secluded island??”

But the question remained unanswered..

Because being the coward humans we are…we always choose comfort over freedom.

Valuable over natural

Fake over feral

No matter what we read, what we watch what we experience, in the end we prefer so called comfort.

Every morning we wake up feral, pure, like fresh out of womb. Every dawn give us a new life a new chance that hasn’t seen infiltration of the entire day to come.

But as the needles of the clock keep rotating…as the sky, keeps changing colour reminding us of passing time. The world adds layers on us. Of plastics, papers mache, metals, lies, smothering our exuberant untamed soul.

In the end we sleep as just another lifeless doll.

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