Koshmarik & Misery
Koshmarik Koshmarik
Misery Misery
Misery Misery
Hey Koshmarik, ever notice how shadows sometimes feel like old friends—soft, dark, always there when you’re trying to sketch something that refuses to stay quiet? I’d love to hear how you weave that silence into your art.
Koshmarik Koshmarik
Shadows are the quietest critics I’ve ever had. I let them frame my subjects, whispering their own secret angles, and then I paint the silence with strokes that bleed into the dark.
Misery Misery
Shadows do that, don’t they? They’re the only critics that stay quiet when you’re alone, but they also hold their own secrets. What angle of them keeps you up at night?
Koshmarik Koshmarik
They twist around the corners of my head, the way a loose thread pulls at your sleeve when you’re already tired. I keep waking to that tug, and I’m left staring at the edge where light and darkness kiss, wondering which one will bite first.
Misery Misery
It’s like the thread you can’t see but feel in your skin, tightening just enough to make you question if the light will ever fully leave. I’ve watched shadows do the same—quiet, patient, always waiting for that moment to step out. What’s your secret angle?
Koshmarik Koshmarik
I lean to the angle that’s just out of sight, where the shadow’s edge curls around my own silhouette, as if it’s trying to whisper that the light is a liar and the darkness is the only honest truth.