New Skills

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Reflection

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Blog Posts

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Sketches

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New Skills + Reflection + Blog Posts + Sketches +

Drawing + Processes

Pencil sketch of a young man with short, tousled hair, wearing a collared shirt and jacket, resting his head on his arm with eyes closed.

Process Looks

Sketches

Highlights

A delicate pastel drawing of a woman with short hair surrounded by flowers.

A painted metal tray, bottle of paint, and painting tools on a messy floor. The tray reflects a window, and there's a cardboard box with paint bottles nearby.

Watercolor painting of ocean waves, with a signature 'Piotr Cotrel 2020' in the bottom right corner.

Writing

Processes in Action

Longer Looks

Featured

Jun 19, 2019

Marbling: A beginners experience

Jun 19, 2019

It all begins with an idea.

Jun 19, 2019

Short Process Highlights

Featured

Golden Ozzymandria

Papercut Rhinos

Sketch of a woman with flowing hair, closed eyes, and delicate features, surrounded by abstract lines.

Inspiration + Process + Reflection

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11.29.23, 11:05 am Earthquakes come and go… Can I stand better than before? Insisting ripping; sand shifts as waves pull away and my feet fall deeper in. I’ll lose my balance like this, trying to stand, but I’m so tired of running and I know Future lies at the edge. So where do I go? Or not? I’ll lick my wounds again. I always do, I always can. And the salt sting that laps at a fallen body might heal me in the rest. Just don’t let sand in, don’t let sand in. Don’t grit me. Be soft like a body in water. Why isn’t it softer? How can I be any softer? Without bleeding, soul running like blood. And these earthquakes, they always seem to come. I can’t be any closer to the ground. I can’t be any surer in myself, surely. I know my body is real, and all the most being of me will never break. But exhaustion is always still there. Two things I can count on; being and shakes. I wish I could count on more. No. I can. I won’t forget this in the sand. Plovers run in the waves, clams breathe from the deep, light dances on water, and clouds hold it all. Grass breathes in and out, the sun comes up and down. No, the sun is always there. It is I who turns, sidelong with everything else. Grit, grit in me, sidelong on the beach. Turning, nauseous, dire hopes of sleep. I’m back again. Why do the earthquakes always come? Do they come from inside me? Do they reset my bones? My broken bones… Broken again and again, since long, long ago. And all I’ve wanted to be is softer. A body is scary without bones. Did I ask for this? Maybe that’s the hardest part— and I remember before I was broken on the shore, a time I know hurt more. Does hurting never stop? —insisting on my life, so many violent drops— I know it doesn’t. “Through every regret a regret-less life built”. This is all I’ve ever asked for. I dare not utter the words that come to mind: “surely it is easier to die”. But, look, where the ocean meets the sky… the most beautiful immaterial line. There’s only one way to see all that continues, awaits on the ever turning tides. Staying alive, keeping my reason, believing in time. There are more reasons to live than die. Sidelong on the beach, how do I go from here?

7/09/23 Persistent on my mind, I fill all the quiet moments with words for you; Answers to the birdsong, remarks upon the undergrowth… The negative space of my life blooms as much as my living. I keep it all to myself; sometimes things have no use being said. Sometimes things mean more in the private corners of our hearts— A secret pool that waters my being; and people ask where does my smile grow… It springs from a vision of you. I live the best way I know how and learn how to every day, Yet I teeter on a reticence I’ve worked so hard to unlearn. Knowing what I know within me, the ways I’ve learned to see, I cannot help but fear I’m waiting, I cannot help but wonder which moments are meant to stay. You cannot cup an ocean, but I worry how many pass me by in the standing, Freeing those who won’t seem to remain. Am I supposed to be trying? The most I’ve suffered: years of pulling thorny strung fear, wrapped through every part of me, the cutting in the unweave… My body still remembers this. And I suppose that’s why I still fear something. But I find you in all these spaces I’ve made; Unthinkingly, my world is drenched with you. I once met a woman in an un-grown garden; She walked out to meet me from the rising sun. I didn’t know her as she took me in her arms, but in her hold and in her eyes I saw she was the best of who I was. As she turned away I was left with a cup, and from that single drink a well was sprung; Rediscovered, reclaimed, a different strength of love. And then in you… something seemed the same. In the mess of time new shrouds set in, that spring was forgotten again… You brought another meaning; that joy is as necessary as the mission; I cannot live the world in pain, I cannot breathe when mirth breeds shame; Willing laughter melts sorrowed chains… So where am I left waiting? Thinking of someone who never asked to come. But I’m grateful anyway— Accepting truth in this madness; the only way the truth feels sane.

It’s too late to go back, But it’s not too late to change how we go forward.

Sometimes I’m so afraid that I’ll have nothing to say, that I forget I don’t need to say anything at all.

I've decided to share again: Things I left unposted, Things I kept for myself, Words tucked into my chest. I have a lot of photos from the last few years... And a lot of thoughts. This will be gradual. There won't be any logic to this. I may date some things, others I may not. Photos and any accompanying writing will probably not come from the same day, month, or even year. The writing will be a mix: poetry, journaling, letters, excerpts, dreams... all personal reflection. The photos will all be from my phone albums. Enjoy what you will, I guess …. September, 2020

〰️A poem for you on your third birthday. I’m so glad to be your aunt, baby boy〰️ There is much in this world that seems savage, May you find all the gentle in just. May your trails wander woods like the rabbits, May your dreams prance like deer through the frost. May the world turn you always in wonder As the seconds flick on through the days. See how time tastes in color and feeling? May you feel them in deep, in all ways. And the sad, it will sometimes hit harder Than you think you could ever withstand, But remember my words in your darkness And to plant your feet soft in the land; It’s in contrast there’s sense in this living, There is only breath in with breath out, And so hope shall taste sweet in the shadows, And light so much stronger from doubt. May the thrills and the peace draw you forward, And the ground may you always see new The joy of wide worlds, words, and wonders This— my sweet dream wish for you.

You cannot make things heal; you have to let them. Sometimes doing is delay. Set the wound, clean the wound, let the wound. Don’t tear holes looking for something more. Have some nature sounds. Swipe for dappled light —>

I first had this thought in January, as I turned a shadowy corner: Around every bend the sun. It was followed by more words, and I turned them into a promise to myself. And as the year went on, they became more and more important to me, relevant in wholly unexpected ways. I started repeating them daily, and now I call back to them in moments of stress, of calm, and of joy as well: ~ Always a new day, Around every bend the sun; I sit patient in my impatience, And resolute in my ideals; I drip drain cruelty from my body, Feed tenderness alone. Perhaps this ground of me is the only context I need. ~ I posted them once, broken among multiple posts, but I want to put them here as a whole. I want them to be here in case someone else can use them. . There is always a tomorrow, another end and a beginning; Be patient in your growth and with your hurry; Stay steady in your heart and your values; Clear out the meanness and defense within; Tend to the soft and kind; You do not rely on others to know, define, or be who you are; And you do not need to prove it to anyone; The bad never lasts, and the good is never over. . .

These paths shall always change— the wind blows and nothing’s the same. Even with our own breaths, body’s exchange, new and old in constant trade. Revolution, evolution, transition, conclusion. And it always carries on.