Date in the wrong city

Do you ever run out of your house in a frenzy, almost late, after checking you've got everything you need, only to remember you forgot something when you're just too far not to want to go back again?

I don't date much, but I'm trying to see what more than art (& family) I can appreciate in life. Anyway, I had a date, we were supposed to meet at the train station, and when I was halfway there, I realized I had forgotten my shoes and socks.

When I arrived at the train station, I felt a million eyes on my feet (there were probably none, if not only a few.) I was on time, and when I looked at my phone, I noticed a message from my date; they had arrived and asked where to go.

In this case, straight ahead of oneself, does, in fact, take one very far, or at least far enough to where they needed to go. 

So, their question confused me. They told me we should meet at the cafe, but when I arrived it was closed, they confusedly told me it really wasn't.

As my anxiety was peaking higher than ever thought possible, I felt the world slipping, looked around for cameras to make sure I wasn't in a prank show of some kind, then got a message from my date; they had mistyped the name of Den Bosch and had accidentally gone to Den Haag instead.

So all by myself, I walked through Den Bosch on now cold feet, carrying me to the beautiful places I had seen a thousand times, thinking: maybe there is no need to explore any further than this.

Anxious dissociation

We all know that the universe, and life in general, is bizarre. There's no way to talk about it without repeating what billions of others have thought and without sounding pretentious.

And worst of all, it doesn't seem like anything meaningful is ever actually discussed when talking about it. So I won't bother.

Anyway, so one day, while I was walking through Den Bosch, or perhaps while I was sitting at home, it doesn't matter. I was lost in thought, thinking very deeply about something simple.

But I could not wrap my mind around it, which scared me. How could something so straightforward be incomprehensible?

I felt like if even something like that didn't make sense anymore, how could anything else? I'm not sure how long I felt like this, but at some point, I continued walking through the beautiful city while sitting in my apartment, accepting that the most bizarre thing seems true -- it's all just real & normal.

State stole my bike

Unlike most Dutch people, who own 5-10 (one for each workday, perhaps a weekend, a vacation, or a birthday one, with some local regions having their own, admittedly weird habits too), I only owned one bike.

So here's the story of how I neglected her and eventually, due to that neglect, lost her at the hands of the state. 

However, this is not a story about how I miss her or advice for you on what not to do. Those feelings and that strategy are my secrets to keep.

Complaining is life's greatest pleasure, and complaining about an authority, like the state, is beautiful, but I'm not complaining here. Yes, they stole my bike, but I'm happy that they take care of the abused in this country.

That might not be true -- maybe walking is life's greatest pleasure, though I feel it's not as universally appreciated. However, what do I know? 

Anyway, I neglected her, mostly because I love walking. I'd walk everywhere instead of using her while she slowly rotted away over time due to the weather.

(Also, her tire was flat, and I didn't want to be bothered to fix it.)

Then, one day, the yellow mark of death appeared on her. Something I didn't understand and had to research, which took me a while to do, and even then, I didn't bother taking action.

I don't remember when it happened, but at some point, when I walked past where she used to be, I noticed she was gone. Only then did I fully realize the implications of the yellow mark; I would never see her again.

Caffeine High

There you are, after your fifth black coffee, feeling high & well, seriously on edge, exactly how you like it, looking at another cup standing on the coffee table in your room.

You're unsure what you're thinking about when you snap out of it and realize you don't own a coffee table. You like to live that way, lean, nothing that isn't strictly necessary.

Afraid that this is it -- you're finally losing your mind, you look outside the window and notice another room, which is mostly empty, with only a lamp, a carpet, and, of course, another window.

Nice, minimal, exactly how you like it, which calms you down enough to look back. When you do, you notice a door, which you decide to inch towards to try and reach the tableless room, but the door doesn't feel like opening right now. 

So with nothing else to do, you continue losing your mind, going in loops in your mind, again and again about how you're losing it, until finally:

You stand up from the couch in a tableless room, exclaiming: 'And that's why I stopped drinking coffee,' which you did after just starting again four weeks ago.

It seems like the whole thing was just in your mind; perhaps it was a daydream, whatever that means. For some reason, you're scared that if you had continued drinking too much coffee, you'd lose your mind, which is ridiculous, primarily because -- I think you already have.

Grandma's ring

Some memories are questionable: is it something you honestly remember, or is it a story told to you so frequently that it starts to feel like you do?

But this story is about memories that are as authentic as any other.

I remember standing in this large room with tall ceilings, a friendly home, in front of a closet. 
I wanted something from that closet, but this large, aged woman would not allow me to get it until I did something that scared me -- ask for it.
When my desire for sweets overcame that anxiety, I finally asked for and received my candy.

Recently, that memory changed a bit, but I'm still sure it's authentic.

So, instead of a closet full of candy, my grandma is handing over a ring with a red gemstone. She tells me I'll have to grow to fit into the ring as it's too large for my tiny fingers.

Even now, 19 years later, that ring is still too large, and it's unlikely for my fingers to grow. Perhaps she meant that for me to grow would mean overwinning the anxiety of having the ring be made smaller.

But she probably didn't, as I assume she was only human.

We'll never know, as not long after the memory, she died. Any day now, I'll have known the ring she gave me longer than I ever knew her.

I wore that too-large ring anyway and broke it before ever really using it, and now, in my memories, there's no candy, and she's handing over a broken ring, as it always seemed to have been.

Shadow Master

When I stand up from lying on the floor, I may engage in what was once one of my favorite activities, which has now become a challenge to entertain: going on a walk.

And if I'm lucky, the sun will shine, and I quickly may again learn why I once fell in love. Looking around will expose too many perspectives worthy of being painted than I have time to paint.

I'll walk a similar enough route to allow me to fall in love with the surroundings, yet different enough to keep me from getting bored.

One time, while standing in front of these beautifully boring buildings, I did something absurd. I'm still not sure what got into me, but while standing in the hot sun, I looked down, and you'll never believe me when I tell you what I saw -- my shadow. 

But it wasn't just my shadow. Instead of the shadow following me, I felt like I was following my shadow. Devastated by this realization, but knowing I had no choice, I walked the route I was supposed to walk, getting inspired by the perspectives that were supposed to inspire me while thinking about who was leading who.

Lazybones

Looking up from the floor is a mesmerizing perspective. You get to witness this part of the room that you frequently see but rarely pay attention to.

The otherwise unappealing sight has recently become a big part of my entertainment. Once in a while, I lay there for half an hour or so, often at least once a day.

And I could not tell you what I did while laying there -- though, of course, I know because there isn't anything to do.

I've become the laziest person on earth, hopefully having my recent medication to blame. Because the alternative is something I don't think I can accept currently.

Even making my art is something I have to force myself to do, but maybe this has always been more true than I'd like to think now.

At least I'm a little less anxious, and social interactions are less dreadful.

Waiting for the call

I feel anxious about whether I'm actually anxious or not, and I'm not even sure about the authenticity of that feeling.

I've always experienced anxiety, but the feeling used to be predictable. Recently (it's already been more than half a year), it has become part of my regular experience -- making art about being hungry might have me feeling off.

It took me a while to talk to my GP. It took us longer to figure out it probably wasn't physical, which led to me getting referred to a mental health clinic, which is taking even longer to call back.

They told me I'd be on the waiting list for 72 days. When I had waited those days, and they hadn't called me, I assumed they didn't count weekends and vacations. When even accounting for that, the days had passed without a call; I became anxious about whether I did something wrong. 

I know I should call them to confirm, but I'm sure I've become very fond of waiting for the call. Maybe I am actually anxious, but it's just another hobby to fill my empty time.

Slave to impulses

Whenever I've got any semblance of a good idea, which often is just something to complain about, I've got a tendency to express it multiple times in a short period. 

So, this is just another piece complaining about being hungry but then disguised by something more abstract to not bore you or me with a stale story (and to appear more intelligent).

Impulses drive everything you've ever done and ever will do. Which I don't think is much of a problem most of the time, but some of those impulses will be for things you know you shouldn't do. 

You may give in, suffering the consequences you knew would exist, then later complain about those, or you can, and will often, not.

Maybe you'll try very hard never to submit, you'll get none of the drawbacks and none of the dopamine, and now you're bored; is this even a life worth living?

And once again, you'll go back to a hedonistic lifestyle that'll at least keep you entertained while you're capable of it: this is happiness.

Boy in skirt

Vaguely, I remember a boy in a skirt at one point, lying on a couch, sleeping, sucking his thumb. I don't and can't know if it's true, but lying there, he looks so unbothered by it all, just living his life exactly how he wants, at least as far as a child can do whatever he wants.

My parents try to make me believe that I used to be that boy, but I know that can't be true. I've never been so chill, not even while I'm sleeping, or at least it's hard to imagine.

I also couldn't imagine wanting to wear a skirt, but my parents tell me it's true. There's really no issue here. I don't want to wear skirts anymore, if I did, I would. 

Except that I'm scared that they took that decision from me and that I wouldn't want to, even if I tried, and if I did want to, I wouldn't do it.

But it's easier to not think about it and to do what I enjoy. It's not like I'm that normal anyway.

The keymaker

The apartment building I moved to has an electronic lock that needs a keyfob to open. I only received one, a fact that irritated me the day I moved in, but the rent is cheap, so it's hard to complain.

One day, when I came home from a walk, the front door didn't open anymore, so I went to another that didn't open either. 

I've never felt so vulnerable. Of course, I assumed that my keyfob was the problem, and anxiously I called a keymaker to replace it, who told me I had to come over, which I did.

Surrounded by many large keys, the keymaker skeptically asked me what was in front of my apartment building. I assumed to figure out whether I lived there, and nervously, I thought and, after a minute, crying, I said I didn't know.

The keymaker, now confused, asked me why I was crying, to which I again responded I didn't know before the keymaker told me they ordered my key and I could go. So humiliated, I walked back home to a locked apartment complex.

Desiring Something You Don't Want

It's so easy, maybe too easy, to talk when I'm not thinking about it; words, sentences, and stories quickly and without restraint come out of me.

Sometimes, I have to think about what to say. Then, I understand how the Buddhist monks do it -- because, it feels like, not even a letter or number comes to mind.

There seems to be nothing more difficult in this world than having to think about conversation.

I can only assume that people desire to be among others much, seeing all the boring high-effort things they don't care about, they do to achieve it. 

Perhaps it's easier for them. Or maybe they don't know how to entertain themselves.

Occasionally, I also have a desire for social attention. When that happens, I might do something tiresome I don't care about, talking to strangers.

And when that's easy, it can be fun, but it quickly reminds me of why I spend so much time alone. It's not that the people are inadequate -- maybe they are, but it's hard to get to know them. 

No, I'm alone because it costs so much effort to do a tedious task for something I probably wouldn't want anyway.

Bad Year Can't Complain

Comparing your state of mind from year to year seems nearly impossible. 

Last year might've been the worst year of my life (so far) because of some anxiety problems that now constantly seem present. 

It wouldn't surprise me if it were, but I'm uncertain how I could compare how I felt like as a 4, or 12-year-old. 

So, I'll settle for calling it just a bad year.

Maybe one of the worst things about it is that I've got it good in many ways; I work on so much satisfying art, live comfortably, and have little stress in my daily life. 

That may not sound bad to you, but it is -- now I feel like a loser when complaining. 

And complaining is one of the most fun things you can do.

Another Lonely New Year

It's almost 12. I look outside and see groups of people coming from their apartments. Out of nowhere, I feel lonely. 

The feeling wasn't wrong; I had been alone all day, if not all week, but I usually don't feel like it.

Seeing those people reminded me of the parties I had been to in the past -- which I mostly hated going to. I didn't go to many.

People who like parties are faking it. At least, I can't understand it, other than it being an excuse for getting high (which, when I still got high, I had no trouble doing on my own).

I think I feel lonely, not because I'm not around people, but because I don't want to be.

Are They Looking At You?

It's not paranoia, but whenever I'm out for a walk, it always feels like everyone is looking at me. 

I'm not the most normal-looking person, but I'm sure I'm not that special either. 

Then I start debating myself about whether what I'm feeling is normal. I can't be the only one who feels like people are watching, but that reality wouldn't be acceptable. 

Because it makes me feel so uncomfortable, maybe anxious, even, and if this is normal, well, it couldn't be helped. If it's not, there might be something I can do to prevent it.

Stressful dreams

Anxiety is my only friend that follows me anywhere I go. Whenever I have to do something social that I haven't done before (or just not in a while), like the heroic task of going to an unfamiliar store or calling someone I don't know, there's this familiar but forever unpleasant, anxious feeling.

But recently, for seemingly no reason, this anxious feeling is constantly present. Any stress is more stressful, and any otherwise relaxing moments, I'm still on edge, feeling like I forgot something crucial.

When it started, every time I went to bed, I hoped I would wake up the next day feeling normal again.

However, in recent nights, there hasn't been much hope, just fighting my brain to get to sleep. When I finally win the debate and doze off, the anxiety follows me, even in my dreams.

The GP

People who accurately understand how they're feeling are geniuses. I'm never sure how I feel, and often, I'm sure I don't know, which drives me crazy. 

One day, I woke up, and I just felt weird. Generally, I hate dealing with people and being in situations that I'm not familiar with, so it took me two weeks to call and go to the GP. 

Unfortunately, at first, I assumed that it was some stomach problem, maybe that I had poisoned myself, as I still relatively recently went to live on my own and, admittedly, some of my health habits were awful.

For two and a half months, the GP and I explored and did tests to understand what it could be. We concluded that it might be something mental.

And I appreciate the GP. When talking to her, I very much felt listened to, although sometimes I'm not sure if she fully got what I said. 

But now, and this will probably take years to understand, I don't know whether to be thankful for her help or upset about how long it took to come to such an obvious conclusion.

Balloon In Tree

"Another cold day. It's not even that late, and the sun is gone already. The sun hides away before the day even starts this time of year. It's pretty peaceful out here. 

It was a Thursday, so I ate with my parents. My baby nephew, who they care for, was as loud as always. I taught him some guitar today, but I don't think he gets it yet. 

Finding what to say to my parents when I'm there is always hard. Seeing them makes me happy anyway, but sometimes it's easier to talk about nothing to strangers than to my parents. Maybe it's because I don't want to waste time on stupid topics with my parents, which doesn't leave much else.

Walking is great. Wherever I go, as long as it's reasonable, I walk. My bike also doesn't work, and public transport isn't for me, so I don't have a choice but to love it either.

So, with everything on my mind, I walked back home in the peaceful, cold, sunless world. I was almost home and pretty tired when I decided to look up, where I noticed two balloons in a tree. 

Can you imagine being one of those balloons? All you want to do is go up and travel great distances, but there you are, stuck, until maybe the wind helps you out, too far up for anyone else to reasonably get you out."

What if your sister was the Sky and so that any time you'd look at her, she'd be very different?

It means that some days, she'd be so calm, sweet, and sometimes, if you're lucky, even genius. But frequently, she would be more angry and destructive than anything else really can be in your life, destroying anything she wants to, seemingly for no reason. Would you be able to look back and appreciate the genius?

You think you know that she tries her best to be regular and often doesn't remember doing anything wrong, suffering more than anyone else could, from more than she even outwardly shows.

But it's hard to be compassionate because you have in the past, and it never works out great, even though you know that maybe you should and that you're selfish for not wanting to try.

You might have difficulties understanding who she is. It could take you decades to slightly comprehend that she is just what she happens to be that day, depending on the state of the world. Maybe some aspects are pretty familiar from day to day, but are those elements what make a person if everything else changes? 

Perhaps you'll find yourself in a loop, thinking about it all over and over, never reaching a new conclusion, only to realize that there is no final conclusion, and it feels like it's not even worth thinking about anymore. 

Could you stop yourself from disliking her, especially seeing the problems she still, and maybe will forever cause? But even that, you might realize, is pointless because she's not, maybe unfortunately so, a monster.

You can imagine that it would be difficult to trust people in general, seeing as you wouldn't even be able to trust your sister to be the same person the next time you see her, let alone be reasonable or friendly. You might learn to deal with stress weirdly, conceivably contributing to some general anxiety. 

What an easy topic to make "meaningful" art about, though. I'm confident I wouldn't trade in all my art to have grown up without her.

Art piece capturing the depths of anxiety and self-reflection. A portrayal of personal struggles amidst life's uncertainties. Does the title truly match the feeling?

Unending Anxiety

Anxiety has plagued my life, maybe more than is normal for a person. How could I know? It's possible now this is more true than ever. I definitely feel like I'm anxious consistently, with no end in sight. 

It's not a terrible life compared to many, maybe even most, people, but it's probably been the worst couple of months of my life. That might be a testament to how good I've got it, or maybe it's just that I don't want to feel like a loser.

Maybe it's just a stomach bug, then the title would be wrong, but the painting could still fit.

Zen Dageraad's evocative painting, inspired by Velvet Underground, depicts the internal struggle between emotion and reason in a captivating visual tableau.

Between Thought And Expression

Inspired by a poignant lyric from the Velvet Underground's "Some Kinda Love", Zen Dageraad brings to life the internal conflict many face between thought and outward expression. This evocative piece captures the struggle of navigating a dualistic mind: one part calm and rational, the other driven by anxiety. At the center, an intense purple head, filled with fiery red expression, confronts the viewer. Contrasted against this visceral emotion is a delicate pink heart cradled within the mind, hinting at the pure intentions often clouded by anxiety. This arresting tableau is set against a tranquil green-blue backdrop, resembling an enclosed space or 'room'. Through this, Zen Dageraad encapsulates the notion that while our thoughts and emotions may conflict, they are all housed within the same mental space.

Zen Dageraad's artwork captures a poignant moment of a blue figure having its blood drawn. Evocative green shades set the tone for this personal narrative.

Stealing My Blood

In Zen Dageraad's evocative piece, a vibrant blue figure extends its arm in the bottom left, revealing vivid red veins leading to the bottom right. The poignancy is palpable as a blue hand emerges from the top right, grasping a needle that draws blood from the character. The contrast between the blue of the figure and the striking red of the blood is intensified against a background palette of varying green shades, representing a room with a singular window. The painting was borne from Zen Dageraad's personal experience, during a time when he was unwell for two months and underwent a blood test. Although the results indicated no health concerns, there existed an underlying sentiment of having blood taken seemingly in vain – a feeling of theft, perhaps, yet tinged with relief.

Explore Zen Dageraad's poignant portrayal of enduring sickness, capturing the yearning for past vitality and the disquiet of bodily alienation.

Unpleasant body

In a profound reflection of enduring physical ailment, Zen Dageraad translates his disquiet into visual form. The painting materializes after two grueling months of illness, embodying the alienation and desperate yearning for prior vitality. It’s an earnest confrontation with the body, a domicile now unfamiliar and uncomfortable. A dissonance depicted through a purple figure, seated despondently above a green blob, symbolic perhaps of malaise or distorted self-image. The background cradles a lighter green square amidst a soothing pink, a stark contrast that might denote longing and the ceaseless confines of physicality.

The imagery resonates with the universal sentiment of longing for escape from a fleshly prison during lingering sickness, yet being inescapably tethered to it. Through an evocative palette and simple yet emotive shapes, Zen invites viewers into a visceral narrative, unveiling not just personal vulnerability but the shared, human endeavor to find ease amidst dis-ease.

Experience Zen Dageraad’s visceral representation of self-inflicted negligence in a piece portraying a poignant reality of common human oversight.

Poisoning Myself?

Reflecting on a period of illness, Zen Dageraad delves into a self-inflicted theory through his expressive art piece. The narrative reveals an emotional confrontation; despite not literally poisoning himself, the artist acknowledges a negligence akin to self-harm, portraying this realization through an evocative color palette and surreal imagery. Within a purple room, a blue figure is depicted in the act of unwitting self-poisoning—a metaphor for consuming spoiled food. The figure’s large hand guides a green spoon towards red lips, while simultaneously introducing a green bottle of poison into a bowl resting on a yellow table.

This profound portrayal not only touches on self-reflection but encapsulates a common human folly—ignorance towards one's well-being due to mundane distractions. The raw candidness of this artwork invites viewers to confront their own missteps, thus igniting a dialogue on self-awareness and consequence.

Experience Zen Dageraad's depiction of overcoming unsettling times in his artwork, encapsulating a narrative of endurance amidst a personal health struggle.

Endless Bad Trip

Embarked on an arduous journey, the artwork captures the essence of an enduring tumult encapsulated by Zen Dageraad's recent health battle. Over a span of one and a half months, a relentless ailment gripped the artist, paving the way for this creation. The piece is an embodiment of the vexing feeling likened to an unending bad trip with an obscured finish line.

Central to this narrative is a pink figure, an embodiment of Zen, with distinctive blue hair, striding along a winding yellow path. This figure, with a hand placed contemplatively behind the head, advances forward, depicting an onward march amidst adversities. The vivid depiction doesn’t dive into deeper metaphorical trenches but narrates a straightforward tale of enduring unsettling times.

The surrounding presents a stark contrast with its dark-green field. It is accentuated by diminishing red circles spreading into the distance, perhaps metaphorical ripples of the enduring turmoil. This piece doesn’t seek to journey into profound depths but to narrate a simple, relatable chronicle of enduring and moving ahead, despite the unsettling phase.

Delve into Zen Dageraad's visual narrative on hope's comforting embrace amidst adversity, portrayed through a vibrant tree under a radiant sun, evoking depth and emotion.

Hope Is Everything

Exploring the profound theme of hope amidst adversity, Zen Dageraad creates a stirring narrative through a vibrant visual metaphor. The art encapsulates the artist's journey through illness and the comforting warmth of hope that eased his voyage, albeit devoid of the anticipated recovery. The piece immerses viewers in a realm where the green tree stands tall with uniquely shaped leaves in varying shades, symbolizing life and resilience, orchestrating a serene dance with depth and perception.

The ground below, illustrated with different shapes and shades of orange, holds the tree steadfast, providing a contrasting warm palette that symbolizes the bittersweet reality. Above, a sun radiates beams of light amidst a purple sky, embodying the nurturing essence of hope that propels life forward. The technique of color variance and shape diversity utilized by Zen Dageraad creates an enthralling visual depth, drawing observers into the narrative, enlightening them on the indispensable virtue of hope, which unveils a comforting perspective amidst life's unpredictable journey.

Explore Zen Dageraad's artwork capturing the struggle of joy amidst prolonged sickness. Dual windows depict time's swift passage in vibrant hues.

Too Sick To Be Happy

In Zen Dageraad's evocative artwork, the central figure – portrayed green with striking red hair – stands in stark contrast to a room adorned with hues of pink intermingling with green-blue walls. The figure's evident frown echoes the challenge of finding joy after battling illness for an extended period. The dichotomy of the room's two windows offers a poignant commentary on the fleeting nature of time. To the left, a window frames the solemn moon, twinkling stars, and a brooding night sky; to the right, a window reveals the radiant sun against a bright backdrop. Both serve as reminders of time's relentless march, even when one feels stagnant. The choice of a purple floor, grounding the entire piece, further amplifies the internal turmoil Zen experienced during a prolonged period of ill health.

Experience Zen Dageraad's art: A brilliant portrayal of anxiety in a gentle encounter. Colors and lines blend, revealing vulnerability's nuanced narrative.

Still Anxiety

Immerse yourself in Zen Dageraad's exquisite exploration of human vulnerability and anxiety, encapsulated through this remarkable artwork. The narrative unfolds on a simple path, where two entities cross; a cheerful figure greets with a wave and a smile, mirrored in hues of light to dark blue. A seeming non-threat, yet this interaction invokes an unsettling response in the other figure.

The second character's reaction embodies the artist's personal interpretation of anxiety, expressed as a Scream-inspired visage; light blue terror morphing into darker tones of dread, magnifying the metaphorical punch that transforms a smile into a source of anxiety.

The path they tread, starting from the bottom right, sways left before a rightward curve, disappearing into a deep purple forest. An orange sign, adorned with a forward-pointing arrow, accentuates the singular direction of their journey. Surrounding this path, you'll find three trees with teal leaves and two distinctive purple lakes, adding serene complexity to the vivid tableau.

The striking color palette continues with the sky and ground, brushed in gradients of red, complemented by the outlines in bold yellow, adding a profound sense of depth. Zen Dageraad's ingenuity is reflected in his ability to transform a peaceful scenario into a vivid depiction of distress, prompting a profound introspection on how the seemingly benign can sometimes be a source of disquiet.

Experience Zen Dageraad's artistic vision of his solitary confinement in his studio, brought to life with vibrant colors and intriguing symbolism.

Trapped In Studio

In Zen Dageraad's vivid interpretation of his week-long solitude, one feels the intensity of confinement. Bounded by yellow-outlined walls adorned with whimsical purple sketches, he brings his creations to life, echoing a feeling of being besieged. His artistry transforms the corners of the room into separate entities; the bottom left and top right walls cloaked in a midnight blue hue.

The centerpiece, slightly shifted to the left, is an eye painted in shades of azure, perched upon a contrasting green chair. The seat, casting a shadow of deep blue, seems to radiate an uncanny sentient aura. The eye, amidst the confinement, glows with anticipation and curious exploration.

To the right, an overhead lamp spills soft pink light across the room, playing on the chair, the diligent eye, and a table angled distinctively from the seat. This table, tinted with the same blue as the top-left wall, hosts a variety of brushes dipped in vibrant colors—pink, green, yellow, purple, and blue. They symbolize the artist's coping mechanism, creating amidst isolation, hinting at the brushes' role in manifesting this 'in-studio' entrapment.

Against the light blue backdrop of the floor, the shadowed furniture and multi-hued palette brings forth a tableau of immersive creativity birthed out of solitude and illness. Thus, Zen Dageraad's artwork captures the relentlessness of his own creations, a testimony of the artist confined, yet defiant in his own studio-museum.

Explore Zen Dageraad's captivating art piece, illustrating an awkward encounter through vivid colors and expressive caricatures.

Somebody Touched My Hair

The essence of an awkward encounter through an imaginative blend of visuals and text. The artwork captures the innocent act of grocery shopping being interrupted by a stranger’s unwarranted touch. Zen Dageraad employs an expressive caricature with light blue hues, enhanced by the striking contrast of a dark blue border, to convey the protagonist's emotions. Red blush on the caricature’s face and the lengthening of four exaggerated brown hairs suggest both surprise and discomfort.

Another arm, belonging to the intrusive lady, extends from the left, caressing the protagonist's hair. This interaction takes place under an unconventional light source, depicted in an arresting green with purple borders, casting green highlights and shadows on the figures and objects. The light also plays with the depth perception by interacting with the three yellow-tinted edges in the background. Zen Dageraad's use of color, shadow, and lines lends the piece an engaging depth, making a simple interaction profoundly resonant.

Discover Zen Dageraad's stunning interpretation of Mac Demarco's 'You're Out', an artwork laden with emotional depth, vibrancy, and a tale of regret's futility.

You're out

Delve into the exquisite visual narrative crafted by Zen Dageraad, an embodiment of Mac Demarco's song 'You're Out.' Focusing on the theme of regret's futility, Zen Dageraad brings to life an emotionally charged scene. A lone figure, ensconced in a bed of layered green hues, stares into oblivion. Their surrounding environment, a bedroom painted in variegated shades of red, sets the mood for deep introspection. The poignant details of purple bed lines and orange drawers, encased within bold red borders, provide a stunning contrast.

In the corner of the room, a window serves as the canvas for a larger, piercing eye, its blue-green panes reflecting an exterior world. Through the strokes of Zen Dageraad's brush, an element of voyeurism comes alive as the eye gazes upon the scene, intensifying the melancholy. The presence of a nearby lamp casting yellow light subtly adds depth, bathing all in its warm glow and outlining the existing elements.

The brilliance of Zen Dageraad's work lies in its ability to portray an ordinary moment with extraordinary emotion and depth, echoing the poignant words, 'you’re out, you might as well face it & take it lying down.' Each color, shade, and line in the artwork furthers the narrative of the scene, making it a heartrending visual poem of acceptance, regret, and quiet introspection.

Symbols

This piece showcases the power of symbols, employing them to narrate a compelling story in a simple yet profound manner.

Imagine the celestial Luna shedding tears, brilliantly juxtaposed with clouds, a manifestation of the boundless sky. These elements are not just visually enticing, but also imbue the artwork with a sense of depth and mystery. Each symbol tells a tale, and together, they weave an enchanting saga.

Venture further into the scene to discover a road, its destination shrouded in ambiguity as indicated by the sign. Is it a metaphor for life's uncertainties, or perhaps, a commentary on our collective journey? A figure, conspicuously located in the lower left corner, looks away from the road, seemingly detached from its directionless path.

Lastly, a modest chair and a tree are positioned, invitingly hinting at respite. But these aren't ordinary objects, they are symbols of comfort and tranquility, acting as a metaphorical invitation to 'sit down in the shade'.

Accompanying this visual narrative is a poem, whispering an invitation to simplicity and tranquility. The verses are a conversation, a seemingly innocent dialogue about pretending, about observing, and about embracing the ordinary. 'Have you met my sisters?', it asks, leaving us in contemplation.

This artwork is a testament to the transformative power of symbols, beautifully demonstrating how they allow art to communicate complex emotions and ideas in an easily graspable way. An intriguing blend of poetry and symbolism, it draws you in, encouraging you to delve deeper into its narrative layers.

10 Minute Wait

A captivating art piece that vividly depicts the fleeting nature of time and the anxiety that often accompanies anticipation. Rendered in a palette restricted to three primary colors - yellow, red, and blue - along with additional shades of dark blue and orange-pink, this piece is a visual representation of an individual’s struggle with time. The dark blue figure, ostensibly agitated, is seated on an orange-pink chair that casts a subtle shadow, suggesting the presence and passage of time.

At the core of this art is a poignant poem that resonates with the painting, encompassing the essence of the frustrating, yet sometimes zen-like moments of waiting.

In essence, #511 10 Minute Wait is an ode to the internal conflict that arises when the mind is torn between the present and the impending future.