Allison: 21 NYC.
Just some of my stuff
I used to think this scar marked me – the mark of the banished prince, cursed to chase the Avatar forever. But lately, I’ve realized I’m free to determine my own destiny, even if I’ll never be free of my mark.
Prince Zuko became so much more than his father expected.
Illustration for an article on the use of LSD in psychology research through history
Making the most of my travels in Rome (Keats’ grave and the Belvedere torso)
Grograman, The Many Colored Death from Michael Ende’s The Neverending Story carries the desert with him. In this book that I’ve read countless times since childhood, the lion exists in a cycle of rebirth in which he turns to obsidian every evening to let Perilin the Night Forest grow, then wakes every morning to cover the land in sand once more. Grograman is the first creature Bastian encounters after entering the world he had saved, and is in turn his salvation when he finds that he too needs saving. 
Yesterday I took a walk around Hampstead Heath and visited the house where John Keats lived, and met Fanny Brawne. It had been raining constantly for the past week, but as I was walking (and getting my boots completely muddy) the sky opened up quite dramatically, and the clouds in the painting are based off a picture I took then. 

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art— Not in lone splendour hung aloft the nightAnd watching, with eternal lids apart,Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,The moving waters at their priestlike taskOf pure ablution round earth’s human shores,Or gazing on the new soft-fallen maskOf snow upon the mountains and the moors—No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,And so live ever—or else swoon to death. 
-John Keats