also here on my DeviantArt
In what has become sort of a tradition for this blog during the month of July, today’s post will be a Loki artwork post.
First up, is one of my newest favorites – a digital piece subtitled
The Fire God says Hello…
(AKA Loke-Spam #2) by Striped Smoker on DeviantArt.
Another digital piece…
Loki, as Beast, by QuickReaver on DA.
I love that feral glint in His eye, the tousled mess of His hair…and of course, that jaunty tilt of His top-hat.
I am struck by something primal and dangerous in His facial expression
…and whatever that is, this image reminds me of Malcolm MacDowell from ‘A Clockwork Orange.’
Unfortunately as much as I really *lovelovelove* this image – and it is referred to all over the web as being ‘Norse Loki’ – I have absolutely no artist information/credit for this artwork.
When Googling this image, one is liable to come up with dozens of Pinterest hits and a few links back to a missing/deleted page on tumblr (media.24.tumblr), but other than that – there seems to be nothing more.
I’m sharing it in hopes that someone – anyone — has any leads for this artwork.
Please let me know – I’d love to give credit where credit is due! Thanks!
And finally, in the realm of Pop Culture Paganism…
Here is Sergey Razumovsky.
So I went searching for more of this artist through Google, and I kept finding some really interesting stuff…in Russian.
Translated, it turns out that this is fan art associated with Bubble Comics’ Major Grom/Major Thunder the Citizen comics.
This character is named Sergey Razumovsky. He is an orphan, a brilliant hacker, an Entrepreneur of social networking, a philanthropist, and a rather engaging and flirtatious fellow.
He is quite possibly Bubble Comic’s most popular character, according to http://bubblecomicsarehere.tumblr.com/
Sergey is similar to Loki in many ways, both in looks and attitude…and there are some subtle yet unmistakable similarities with the lore between Odin and Loki in a few story arcs of the comic as well. O.o
I don’t know how much of that is intentional on the part of the
original artist (who seems to be named Phobs.)
(The first image is fan art; the second is an original from the Major Thunder the Citizen story arc, by ‘Phobs‘)
Hail Loki, I love Your face ❤
I was talking with a friend about an hour ago, regarding an article that someone else had posted concerning how – theoretically – if one were to consider structures in nature as ‘order’ (the natural order of things in a system) then attempts by humans to impose their own concepts or systems of ‘order’ upon natural structures by other means (by sorting, categorizing, or classifying) is therefore a form of ‘disorder,’ because such imposition is creating artificial (unnatural) systems:
I ❤ this graphic. Artificial order imposed upon systems *is* chaos because they’re useless to anybody BUT those utilizing the artificial order system.
To the greater system itself? It’s meaningless. Piles? Columns? Sorting by type? That’s all concessions to the limitations of our cognitive systems.
Sure, our cognitive systems are natural too – even the artificial/natural distinction isn’t “quite” right.
But in the greater scheme, the one where humans are optional, those piles and sorting is chaotic and meaningless.
I’d never thought of order or disorder as being defined this way, and yet, I have been thinking of the relation between the concepts of ‘order’ and ‘disorder’ a lot lately. It began, as most things do, with a simple conversation in a Rokkatru group concerning someone’s UPG of the Aesir representing ‘order’ and ‘civilization’ in the cosmos while the Rokkr represent ‘nature’ and a ‘natural sort of disorder.’ Of course, there was discussion of how nature has its own sense of ‘order’ – but how, from the point of view of ‘civilization,’ nature’s sense of order is random and therefore, considered by civilization to be ‘disorder.’ As well, others discussed the concepts of open and closed systems and how a closed system eventually falls apart because it can’t self-sustain and whatnot, and things quickly became rather meta.
And being a Rokkatru group, of course, this discussion wound its way towards discussion of Ragnarok, and the role of Loki, Fenrir, and Surtr in bringing on the end of the world. The world is a closed system and the role of the Rokkatru is to bring about the destruction of this closed system in order to make way for a new (and perhaps more open) system.
And so, it’s odd but not surprising to me that that conversation gave me a headache…because chaos theory usually does.
But then, there I was again tonight, having a conversation about order and disorder again, but this time, it was on a smaller scale.
I was talking to my friend about how Loki has laughed at me concerning my OCD need to arrange the items in a specific configuration on His altar, or my habit of overthinking that is a hallmark of my social anxiety, or my inability to let things go and/or trust the process.
I have no problem admitting that I am sort of control freak regarding several aspects of my life and practice. And my friend agreed that she has some of those issues too.
And then, she said a funny-strange but interesting thing that hit me like a ton of bricks:
She said that her life as a child was hellish and the only way that she could have control over her environment was to draw. The only world that she could control could be found at the end of a pencil. So she drew pictures and created stories. She created worlds. She told me how Loki told her that her best artwork seemed to come when she experienced personal turmoil. How He has asked her why she would draw, and she told Him it made her happy. But the truth was that she was often unhappy/angry/miserable while drawing. (And, of course, He noticed that.)
Well, that reminded me of my own artistic coping strategies.
Honestly, I suppose that it’s nothing new, but I wrote and drew my way through a miserable childhood…and adolescence…and fuck, I *still do.*
And yeah, that realization, of how I tried to make sense of confusing experiences by filling up notebooks, and drawing my imaginary friends, and how much it shocks me to think that it wasn’t just me being escapist.
That art was …that art is a rather dysfunctional coping mechanism for me.
I don’t make money with it.
It doesn’t make me happy.
Things still pile up in my head, and writing them, drawing them doesn’t serve to make me any more sane or stable.
And it sure as hell doesn’t help me or my loved ones to understand me any better than before.
It’s just another method I hide behind. (Funny -autocorrect suggests that the word ‘method’ should actually be ‘met God’ over and over. No, I’ve never met God by writing or drawing. Psht. I should be living.)
Perhaps my incessant writing and drawing are what I do to keep myself from meaningfully engaging with others.
I hemmed and hawed about writing this post, as yesterday was a meaningful date in my personal history.
On the evening of Friday, 19 October 2007, my father died.
I would not find out about until the next day – Saturday – as my mother called me almost 8 hours later, leaving a four-word message on the home answering machine, to inform me that my father had passed.
My husband, my sons, and I had returned from a local skate tournament to see that little flashing light notifying us of an incoming call that we had received earlier that afternoon from an unfamiliar number.
I had been estranged from my parents for several years at that point. To put it bluntly, my mother had ‘disowned’ me in 2005 over something so incredibly petty that I am ashamed to admit now that I honored her wishes for nearly 2 years. And, unfortunately, my father did, too.
But I remember that last conversation that I’d had with my father in early October 2005.
Cancer had returned – malignant melanoma – but my father had insisted that it wasn’t such a big deal.
We danced around the subject of the impending surgery that would require the loss of his right eye, and, in typical form, my father joked about his options upon coming to terms with the reality that he’d probably have to wear an eyepatch.
He insisted that he couldn’t decide if he should tell people that he’d become a pirate, or if he should tell people that he’d given his eye to Odin, for knowledge.
I didn’t know what to say; I was just pleased to be speaking to my father, and I told him that I would be delighted to support him in either choice. In a roundabout way, I was trying to comfort him, but honestly, I would have agreed to support him in any way that I could, even if most of the time my support of him simply required that I cheerfully go along with his jokes.
That was my father. That’s the way that he coped best with adversity – through joking about it.
Though I didn’t want to discuss our own adversity — that elephant in the room — concerning how he missed me, and how he hoped that my mother and I ‘could somehow work things out’ so that he would be ‘allowed to talk to [me] again.’
I was inwardly furious that he felt like he had to sneak around – while my mother was not home – just to talk to me. (Of course, I was too stubborn to look the other way concerning my mother’s obviously toxic and controlling behavior. I was well aware of what a rare occurrence it was that my mother was not at home.)
Despite this, I truly thought that my father and I would speak again.
But we didn’t.
After my father died, my brother told me that the cancer had spread rather fast – but my father was overly proud man and it surprised no one that my father insisted on downplaying the debilitating effects on his quality of life – but as a result, my father refused to allow anyone to contact me concerning this reality.
I’ve no doubt that my father thought that he’d live forever, as long as he could joke about it, but he told my brother that he was even more ashamed to be seen as sickly or frail by anyone, let alone, his daughters.
Please let them remember me the way that I was was what I was told that he had said.
It turned out that my older sister -who was also estranged, also ‘disowned’ by my mother – didn’t even know that he’d died until two months after the funeral. While I am grateful that at least I had been informed in time to actually attend his funeral, I’m ashamed to admit that I was told that she knew but that she just didn’t show.
I regret that I didn’t question that further.
But, my dysfunctional family aside, I miss my father dearly, even now, even today, eight years later.
So what do I do to honor my father?
I will hold a ‘silent supper’ for him this week, wherein I provide him offerings of his favorite foods. Steak and potatoes. Blueberry pie. Sardines. Figs.
As well, it is likely that I will go to McDonald’s today. I will order – and mindfully consume – a Big Mac and a strawberry milkshake. It was the meal that my father loved, the ‘last meal’ that I was told that my father would often insist that he wanted – and then insist upon eating – even though I’d imagine that his body could scarcely have handled digesting such ‘junk food’ towards the end of his life. (Though that wouldn’t have deterred him, however.)
But I will enjoy it, as he would have wanted to enjoy it. (I mean, what the hell, I can imagine him arguing, I’m dying. I don’t worry about nutrition now. Fuck that. I want McDonald’s.)
As well, I have a playlist of his favorite songs that I will allow myself to listen to, and it is very likely that I will have a good cry over this one:
Perhaps I will read him Philip Levine’s poem, ‘Starlight’
(This is the poet, Philip Levine, reading ‘Starlight’)
This is a photo-booth photo of my father and I from 1974ish or so.
It is one of my favorite photos that I have of my father.
This is a photo of a self-portrait that my father painted in early 2007.
I miss you.
I love you, Dad.
Well, here we are, almost the end of July.
There were some posts that I’d meant to write that I never gotten around to actually finish writing much less posting, such as
* That much promised post on polyamory and jealousy that I’d left and come back to so often that its length has grown to over a dozen handwritten pages in my notebook. The other day, I joked with a friend that if I ever cut it down enough to post it in its entirety, I’m still going to title it TL;DR
* A post concerning reluctance, runes, and shadow work.
*A requested follow-up concerning devotional tattoos.
As well, there were posts that I finished writing but I could not bring myself to post for various reasons. These still sit in a digital folder on the hard drive, concerning:
* A particular example of how I often get pushed out of my comfort zones. This was also by request.
* A personal background post about a spiritual re- connection that I’d made in April 2008 that followed the near-death experience of a family member.
* A poem of heiti and slippery metaphors.
One could say that I didn’t intend to post about this, but when I consider the particular requests and topics with which I’d begun the month, this topic is cake* in comparison.
What I’m about to write about is loads more pleasant and easier to discuss that some of the other requests.
Speaking of requests, I have started working on a series of drawings which are intended preparation for a much bigger project.
I love to draw, and I have been getting a lot of sketching practice, mostly with charcoals, pencil, and ink.
I was content to just keep on with the pencil sketches. Patterns started developing with my sketching, and I even started putting aside the sketches that I was more than slightly pleased with to post on my DeviantArt account.
As you may have read in one of my earlier blog posts this month, I’ve long had a preference for drawing Loki. About a year ago, this began to extend towards drawing His family too – I started drawing Angrboda, Hela, Fenrir, Sigyn, and Sleipnir. Some of my better drawings of these can be seen on my DA account.
But then I started noticing some synchronicity in what was coming up whenever I was working on new face and body studies to draw.
I’m a pretty avid people-watcher, and I started seeing a lot of ‘odd couplings’ during my walks:
– I’ve had several sightings of a pair of construction workers – a much older man with a longish greying beard and a middle-aged redhead – working at the ever-increasing construction site that has sprung up two blocks from my home. (With the extension being added to an existing hospital, and a huge new entertainment complex being built all within a mile of my house, you can imagine that I may see a lot of construction workers, but still…)
– A large grey-black fluffy wolf-like dog being pursued by several children (which reminded me of this)
(above comic created by JellyVampire on DeviantArt.)
– A tall man walking along the sidewalk, who stopped me, and asked to pet my dog. He had the most interesting light brown eyes that I’d ever seen. His eyes appeared to be almost gold.
And then the dream-visual related to this song:
…which got me to thinking about Odin and Loki catching sight of each other on the huge plain at Vigrid where Ragnarok will be fought…
And I have been visualizing that scene every time I hear Schism ever since
And for some reason, this project, this vision is growing into more than a sketch.
Perhaps it will become a painting.
Not that I am well-versed in painting, but I’ll let you know how it goes.
I was sketching Loki the other day, and it got me to thinking about how other aspects of Him were showing up in my life back when I was a kid, and yet how a lot of the pieces didn’t fall into place until 2012-2013 or so.
And I got to thinking about what I did after the SitD left (around age 9), and I was thinking about how I used to draw…a lot. I briefly touched upon the subject of those drawings in a post on this blog back in early 2013, but I never wrote out my thoughts as I intended.
Here are those thoughts from my notebook…
(From 27 February 2013)
Something occurred to me this morning that I wanted to write about.
I had a brief visual/sensory upload – an unbidden visual/sensory upload while I was awake – of a man standing in front of me, holding my face in his hands. He is holding my face in his hands as if to make sure that I am making eye contact with him, and he is leaning forward, preparing to whisper into my left ear.
And this visual that I had made me wish that I could sketch out what I saw. I mean, I can draw, but I am not so skilled that I can sketch things out as quickly or as deftly as I would like. Rather I am more likely to get hung up on agonizing over every detail in my sketch so much so that I often lose the flow of the imagery and it fades quickly away before I’ve finished sketching it out.
So I was wishing that I could convey the shifting color of his eyes and the unshaven whiskers on his chin. I wish that I could convey that I had looked down at his feet, and he was wearing dirty black canvas Chuck Taylors, with laces untied and loose. He was wearing faded jeans, a t-shirt, and a shabby cotton overshirt. I remember seeing the silver glint of an earring in his ear, and I noticed the way that his russet hair curled over the collar of his shirt, and how his hair turned a darker auburn toward the ends. I remember noticing the smattering of freckles on the backs of his hands and along his fingers, and how his hands felt slightly calloused but pleasantly warm, holding my face. I remember the trace of his grin, and the way that he slowly blinked and tilted his head, as those light-colored and impossibly bright eyes of his flickered with…satisfaction? Relief? I’m not certain what word I am looking for but when I looked into his eyes, all I could think of was laughter and warmth and…home.
And I wish that I could have drawn that – the image of both my standing there with him and somehow standing outside of myself watching the exchange and the slow dawning of my recognition of who he was.
But I don’t have the skills. I cannot sketch this fast enough or well enough for you to see the vision as I saw it.
And I remembered. I realize it now. I am seeing a face that I have tried to draw before, and my heart skips a beat to think of it. Can it be?
When I was younger — younger like 11 or 12 years old – I used to draw the face of a man that I did not know. Or rather, he wasn’t anyone that solidly existed, that could easily be pinned down. Sometimes I thought that I’d made him up, that he was simply an amalgam of pretty facial features — a young man with long, light-colored hair, with larger than average, strikingly bright-colored eyes, an aquiline nose, finely arched eyebrows, and a smile that I wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a flirtatious grin or a sarcastic smirk. Most of the time I would draw him clean-shaven, but sometimes I would practice drawing facial hair – usually a well-groomed goatee or a Van Dyke beard. I’d always envisioned his ears being pierced (even though in the late 70’s/early 80’s, it was still considered rather bold and overly flamboyant for a man to have pierced ears, especially in the right ear…)
But nonetheless, this man had jewelry and his face was a mixture of traditionally masculine features (angular jaw, an Adam’s apple, whiskers/facial hair) and feminine features (long eyelashes, high cheekbones, thinly arched eyebrows). He was, to put it mildly, a very pretty man, and I often drew him in either medieval clothing or casual, almost hippie style clothing. I would always draw him into background settings, surrounded by woodlands, mountains or snow.
Over and over, I drew this man, thinking that someday I would fall in love with a man that had this face, or something close to it. Sometimes I would find myself comparing someone’s chin or someone’s eyes or the color of their hair to this man’s face, this man’s features. And I can tell you right now, that face, those features never changed. No, this man had a particular face that I loved, but never could quite find in reality. So I just kept drawing him, perfecting that face as it could be seen from a variety of angles, expressing a variety of moods.
My siblings used to tease me, that I was drawing my invisible friend.
Sometimes I would imagine him saying all sorts of clever, wonderful things to me, all the words that I’d hoped someday that somebody might say: what a friend, a lover, a confidante would say. Sometimes I would write him into stories, and they were often stories about learning and doing various activities – things I hadn’t yet learned how to do, such as how to ride a horse, or swim, or climb a tree. Sometimes I would walk in the woods, and I would imagine delightful, fantastic possibilities, almost visualizing that I might find him further along the path, sitting on a tree stump, or fishing in the river, or laying in the grass, watching the clouds.
I remember when I first experimented with smoking, oddly enough, it was easy to imagine that he smoked too. He did seem to have this smoky, fragrant scent about him that was entirely his — though I could never draw his hands holding a cigarette very well (aside of the fact that hands are notoriously difficult to draw, especially hands holding things that cast light and shadow.)
I cannot deny that I drew him so often that it seemed as if I drew him into existence somehow.
He was not simply a masculine version of myself, unless he was perhaps a part of me that I wish that I could have been.
And for many years, I drew him just so I could see his face.
It hits me like a ton of bricks today to realize that whenever I draw Loki’s face, I am drawing him; I am drawing an old friend.
And whenever I visualize Loki, I realize that I am seeing him, the handsome face of my old friend.
And I never made that connection until today.
Hail to Loki, my sweetest friend ❤
A year or so after I wrote this notebook entry, I received a message from Him, that I suspect may have been intended to make me smile:
You didn’t make Me up; rather it is that I made *you* up.
In what has become sort of a tradition for this blog during the month of July, today’s post will be a Loki artwork post.
First up, is DeviantArtisan Toradh‘s piece, titled ‘Mr. L’:
When I first saw this, I immediately thought of Loki – and that is most likely because its subject does closely resemble how I’ve seen Loki a few times in the past.
As well, I have been known to refer to Himself as Mr. L — so you can imagine my surprise when I read Toradh’s description of this piece to discover that this was not intended to depict Loki at all, but rather a progressive metal/rock musician named Arjen Anthony Lucassen – and Toradh is a fan of his music.
So the fact that one of the main reasons that I was drawn to this piece was simply because of the ‘Mr. L’ title does strike me as an interesting coincidence 🙂
Meanwhile, this is actually how Toradh depicts Loki:
(See? Not even remotely similar…but nonetheless, this is another piece of artwork that I love from Toradh as well, titled All the World Ablaze.)
Here is another piece from DeviantArt
What I like most about this artwork is how the artist has conveyed that sly, side-long glance of His, the positioning of His hands, the tousled hair, and His sharp almost elven features.
(Whenever I doodle Loki’s face, the result is often inspired by this artwork particularly because this was likely one of the first images that I added to my DeviantArt folder of Loki art, and I am just as delighted and awed by its simplicity as I was three years ago when I joined DA.)
Speaking of inspirations, here is another piece of Loki artwork that I fell in love with back when I first went searching for more modern artistic renditions of Loki:
This is Loki’s Way by Piotr Cieslinski.
This! Now this piece is so full of delightful details that I just can’t even…
I love that Loki is lighting a Lucky Strike cigarette.
I love Loki is depicted sporting a Mjölnir pendant.
I love the fact that He is carrying a teddy bear in His backpack.
I love how the runes are embossed on the silencer of the rifle.
I think it’s a sweet touch that He has ‘I ❤ Norway’ pin on His jacket, even though the artist is Polish.
This artwork was commissioned for the initial cover for the first novel in a series of novels titled Klamca Loki, by Jakub Cwiek about 5 years ago.
While the book was considered a rather disappointing read by many reviewers, if one does a Google image search of Klamca Loki, one cannot help but notice that there is an amazingly wide variety of Loki artwork inspired by this particular piece of Cieslinski’s, with Loki imagined as some sort of badass assassin with gorgeous rockstar hair dressed in black leather, motorcycle boots, and carrying lots of high-powered weaponry.
In that, much like Marvel’s Loki, I think this piece was the inspiration for a lot of the ‘Loki in black leather’ imagery that one can find on the Internet today.
And to be honest, much like Marvel!Loki, I don’t think that Loki minds at all that so many have become inspired to envision Him in that way either 😉
Hail to Loki – Trickster, God and Rock Star ❤