Pixel Brush


Hey guys! A lot of you are asking about my recent textures and how to do them. I’m normally a cardboard-photo-texture-set-to-overlay-on-a-layer-above-your-drawing kinda gal, but lately I’ve been messing around with new grittier stuff.

so here’s my hard pixel airbrush made in photoshop. It’s super fun.



Load the image in photoshop. Select the whole canvas and go to Edit> Define Brush Preset. Select this brush from your brush menu.

Now go to brush settings and use these settings:




I would just upload the brush file itself but I don’t know how to do that. I ain’t a wizard. I don’t know how all the world works! Whatever! Learn how to make brushes yourself!! It’s very useful!

This brush is best used in high resolution (always work in high res!) It looks like soft grit when zoomed out, but when you get up close, you can see all the hard pixels.


penelope staring towards the sky, contemplating existence




this is accurate on so many levels - including the frequency of which my skin turns that color.


I’ve been meaning to do this for awhile since I’ve gotten so many people asking me what I use to make Avialae. I say *toolbox* but really these are just the pens I use to ink this specific comic with…I have…so many pens…

There are captions with the images explaining the tools.

01. Kuretake Disposable Pocket Brush Pen - Extra Fine
I use this pen the most. It makes a nice clean line that doesn’t budge with water.

02. Kuretake Disposable Pocket Brush Pen - Medium
Same as #01, but a much bigger tip—good for filling in blacks.

03. Uni Pin Pen 02
I use this pen the second most. I like a finer line and more control when inking faces and smaller details, so this does the trick for that.

04. Uni Pin Pen 01
For the tiny tiny details.

05. Kuretake No. 40 Fountain Sable Hair Brush Pen
I don’t use this pen much for this comic but it’s my favorite to ink with. I use it more for larger illustrations.

06. Pilot Color Eno .07mm - Soft Blue
My dedicated bluelines pencil! I like the Eno lead because it doesn’t break easily when I draw with my meaty claws.

07. Uni-ball Signo White Gel Pen
For fuckups and cutting back into lines. (This is not waterproof, so I usually use this last.)

08. Kuretake Fudebiyori Pocket Color Brush Pen - Light Gray
I use this for freckles. That’s it. That’s the only purpose.

09. Kuretake Fudejokochi Brush Pen - Gray Ink
Darker freckles.

10. Akashiya Sai Watercolor Brush Pen - Mouse Gray
his pen is kinda cool b/c you can dip it in water and it acts as a pigmented watercolor pen. Of course I blindly disregard that and use it as a base for darker gray fills.

11. Pentel Brush Pen w/ Gray Ink Cartridge
Similar to the Akashiya, but it doesn’t react with water as much.

12. Pentel Aquash Watercolor Brush Pen - Light Black
Dark gray fills/darker shadows.

13. Sumo Grip .5mm Mechanical Pencil
I don’t use this so much with Avialae, but I do all my sketching with this chunky ass mechanical pencil. It’s easier to hold??? Idk. It’s blue.

14. Uni Boxy Eraser
Yooo this eraser is awesome. It erases even my blue lines and it doesn’t leave an obscene amount of eraser shit.

15. J. Herbin Fountain Pen Ink - Gris Nuage
Gray ink! I use this in combination with my waterbrush pens to do most of the values in Avialae. It layers nicely and using gray ink helps me from making values too dark.

16. Kuretake Waterbrush - Medium
You fill these with water and squeeze them to keep the brush wet. I keep this one clean to do light values.

17. Kuretake Waterbrush - Large
I fill this one with diluted gray ink to do darker values.

18. Kuretake Waterbrush - Flat Head
Big ‘ol waterbrush to do big washes with.

I also do a lot of editing in Photoshop b/c I do most of Avialae while on a large amount of sleep medication*~*~*~

I’m so indecisive that I hesitate (to the point of unwillingness) to label myself as a personality type that is stereotyped as being indecisive. hmn.

Shared 1 day ago + reblog
# typology  # personal 


Ashley Mackenzie: The Philosophical Illustrations

artist on Tumblr

Ashley Mackenzie tackles complex questions about the relationship between mind and body, creating conceptual, illustrative works that stand at the cross-section of the philosophy of the mind and neuroscience. “As our knowledge of the brain becomes more comprehensive, it seems like the idea of the soul exists only in the gaps of our understanding,” Mackenzie writes on her website. Bodies melt like pools of liquid in these placid, sparsely-detailed illustrations as they visualize the inner workings of the mind.

I’m surprised at how different the definitions of ‘artifice’ and ‘artificer’ are.

'Artifice' is related to deception and clever trickery.

One would assume that ‘artificer’ means ‘one who uses artifice’ … but the definition seems to be more specific than that.

'Artificer' refers to a skilled crafter. While it could be said that being able to craft well requires a degree of talent, the original cunning implied by the term ‘artifice’ has been lost.


Shared 1 day ago + reblog
# status  # personal  # araiia  # mesmer 


(( On my way to steal yo girl…. boy…….. girl…… both?

Jumping on the bandwagon… with both sides. ;) ))

please elaborate on how you got a substitute teacher to quit within one day. I'm genuinely curious.



all right everyone sit down, shut up and listen closely because I’m about to tell y’all the tale of Ms. Mormino.

Seventh grade is a time most people don’t look back on fondly. I know I sure don’t—I tend to regard that era as nothing more than an unpleasant, acne-filled haze of fall out boy and poor attempts at pseudo-zooey deschanel fashions. But enough about me. Let’s talk about my math teacher. 

Ms. Isom. Poor old Ms. Isom. Well in her 60’s, always plagued with some illness or injury, she was hardly ever even at school. Since many of her absences were the result of short-notice incidents—“falling down the stairs” was popularly cited— it wasn’t all that uncommon to not have a substitute on hand. Being a smartass honors class, we’d gotten away with several successful evasions of administration, walking cavalierly into class  to pass the next 48 minutes doing just about nothing. Hell, for good measure, we’d sometimes even toss in a friendly “hey, Ms. Isom!” if any administrators were anywhere within earshot. So incredibly anti-establishment, you could basically call it another Project Mayhem, except instead of Brad Pitt and Ed Norton concocting homemade bombs, it was a bunch of tweenyboppers with iPhone 3’s and Justin Bieber 2009 haircuts. 

 We got pretty accustomed to our own little self-governing system that rolled around every second period, so we naturally weren’t exactly thrilled when administration caught on to our little Anarchy Act and strictly enforced the presence of a substitute every day. 

Most of our subs weren’t terrible—most were friendly, gave us participation grades, and didn’t object to the independent attitude of our class (which, mind you, only had about ten students in it) 

That is, until Ms. Mormino came along. 

Four feet, ten inches of raw, undiluted evil, Ms. Mormino walked into class with a scowl on her face and a chip on her shoulder. When the girl behind me sneezed, Ms. Mormino’s immediate response was “NO INAPPROPRIATE NOISES!” 

 Although we all suppressed our laughter, we all knew from that moment on that, try as she might with her despotism and her draconian anti-sneeze policy, Ms. Mormino didn’t stand a chance. 

 The arguable beginning of the end for Ms. Mormino’s all-too-brief reign of terror was the moment I asked for a calculator; mine was broken. Mormino asserted that I could only borrow a calculator if I loaned her something of mine; at that moment, the girl next to me chimed in, saying she, too, needed a calculator. “I have a folder I can give you,” I offered. “I have a highlighter,” added the other girl. 

 At that moment, a puberty-creaking voice from the back of the room piped up. 


We all know certain people have certain gifts. Michelangelo saw angels in every block of marble and devoted his life to setting them free; Einstein had a mind which saw the potential of the entire universe; F. Scott Fitzgerald wove intricate tales of decadence and depravity. Max, however, had a different kind of gift: he could make anything—anything at all—into a “that’s what she said” joke. More on that later, though. 

Max pried off a Nike sneaker and held it proudly in the air, like a coveted trophy. 

"I have a shoe." 

Tottering in one-shoe-one-sock, Max dumped the sneaker on Ms. Mormino’s desk, retrieved a calculator, then tottered back to his own desk, a sort of smirk playing on his face. And, as to be expected—the rest of us quickly followed suit. 

 A small pile of shoes on her desk, Ms. Mormino grit her teeth and glared at us as we all sat back down, quietly victorious, a calculator in each of our hands. It wasn’t long, however, until we all began to silently plot our next act of minor mayhem. 

"Can I go to the bathroom?" asked Tyler, who, despite being in seventh grade, was approaching his sixteenth birthday. In a combination of verism and admiration of Tyler’s devil-may-care boldness, we unequivocally accepted him as our leader. For reasons unknown, Ms. Mormino denied his request. Tyler, much like his Fight Club namesake, heeded no rules but his own and left anyway—Ms. Mormino, furious, locked the door behind him and smugly insisted that "administration will take care of him." 

Tyler, however, was not one to be caught, and stayed close by, appearing in the window of the door whenever Ms. Mormino wasn’t looking. Waving, smiling, laughing, making faces and obscene gestures, Tyler had us all in stitches, but cleverly avoided Ms. Mormino’s sight—when she asked us what was so funny, we all refused to give Tyler away. 

A girl asked to go to the bathroom, stating she “really really really” needed to go. Ms. Mormino, again, denied her request. Ms. Mormino, however, seemed to be uninformed about the side door—leading right outside, always locked from the outside but always open from the inside. 

"Well, I’ll go myself," the girl responded, and took off, hurdling three desks and darting out the door. Right behind her, two other students took off, pursuing freedom. The door slammed behind all three students, and they were gone. 

 Six of us were left. Among us, importantly, was Chris. 

Chris was thirteen, but looked half his age; scrawny, wiry, he probably measured in at about four-foot-three, but no taller. “Late Bloomer” are words that come to mind. 

Despite his diminutive size, Chris possessed the gall of someone like Tyler.

"I have to use the bathroom," said Chris, standing. 

 ”Do you think I’m going to allow you to go to the bathroom?” snapped Ms. Mormino. 

 ”It’s an emergency!” Chris pleaded. 

"Sit down," Ms. Mormino growled. 

Meanwhile, the entire class borders on hysteria. We have tears in our eyes, almost suffocating from choking back laughter. 

"It’s an emergency," repeated Chris, but it sounded more like a warning.


Silence. Silence, Silence and more silence, until we all began to notice a dark stain on Chris’s khakis. The stain grew. And grew. And grew.

 Fists at his sides, stoicism in his face, and a cold, proud, triumphant glint in his eye, Chris locked eye contact with Ms. Mormino. 

And pissed right in his pants. 

The entire class erupted into a laugh only comparable to the detonation of a bomb. 

We laughed so hard for the next five, ten, fifteen minutes straight that Ms. Mormino gave up. Surrendering, putting her head on her desk, she waited until the hysteria finally subsided. 

Finally looking up, defeated, pathetic, Ms. Mormino glared at us all and wailed: 

 ”This is too much, this is too hard, too hard, Jesus Christ, this is too much for me!” 

 A lone voice sounded from the back of the room. Guess whose it was.

"That’s what she said."

Ms. Mormino officially retired from teaching that afternoon.




My husband is an INFP, and although he can be extremely logical when making arguments, he gets extremely defensive and illogical when subject to criticism. After an incident today, it dawned on me that the only way I can get him to actually listen during an argument is to get really emotional (crying).

Crying is a breaking point for me. It means I’ve given up hope of making any headway with logical arguments. He’s finally ready to listen at the time I’m done talking. I shut down. I know I should talk but I can’t. Because at that point I’m through. I wasn’t being taken seriously then and I figure I won’t be taken seriously now. So even though I want to discuss the issue I can’t. We’ve traversed from logical to emotional and I’m not comfortable with the latter.

Since finding out my type he’s repeatedly made comments about my “lack of emotions,” which is absolutely ludicrous. I finally told him that just because he doesn’t see anything outwardly doesn’t mean there’s nothing going in inside, and that if something actually gets to the point where I’m  crying that means it’s really fucking bad. It should not have to get that far for the issue to be taken seriously.