welcome to arts, ink.

Joe Leave a comment

Welcome to arts, ink., where our student artists and writers are given a forum to illuminate the Michigan student experience through art. If you want to get a taste of of what arts, ink. has to offer, click on our Summer 2024 Reading List!

If you’re a U-M student from any of U-M’s three campuses, and you’re interested in becoming a weekly contributor, there may be a position available to get paid for your work. We review applications and hire new bloggers twice a year, in September and January. Read more about Blogging Opportunities here!
Email us at arts@umich.edu with questions.

Illy

Micey Leave a comment

Imagine this: Skinless ghost villain dressed in a white suit and who can control rose vines. That’s Illy!

Read more: Illy

This is my attempt in learning how to draw roses.

Her outfit is based off Julia Cotton’s from Hellraiser 2, and Mark Twain. I like the idea of bandages trying to keep out not only blood, but flowers. I think I’ll take the rose vest over the tie and regular vest. When Illy goes unhinged, I imagine she both bleeds through the bandages, and her thorns and roses grow through the fabric

~Sappy Daze~ Day 12

Sappy Leave a comment 
PMS 

Pardon my speech. As a 
poor, malfunctioning soul,
pleasantries might not suffice as I 
pacify this major s*** of a time.

Pre-menstrual symptoms 
popularly include munchies--
pizza and milk-chocolate-coated strawberries. 
Problematically, my sanity is 
progressively missing, so
please my satiations and 
perhaps I might sincerely 
produce my pretty smile.

- Sappy

Capturing Campus: Washing Ritual

EKArts Leave a comment

Content warning: Obsessive compulsive behavior, gore

Washing Ritual

Close the door; lock it for privacy; check again, for privacy; remember to breathe; turn the faucet; let the water pour pour pour into the basin; watch the steam build up; pump the soap; press down one, two, three; like a cloud; scrub the palms and the wrists; the palms again; get the fingers: three, four, five; the frog webs or minor syndactyly—it must be one of the two: three, four, five; dig in the groves and under the fingernails that don’t have dirt under them but maybe they do, they always could: one, two, three, four, five; move to the left hand; one, two, three, four, five; one, two, three, four, five; one, two, three, four—the water should be scalding, just enough to blister, but not enough to regret; scrub hard, scrub very hard; scrape at the holes and the raw patches; rub away the fine lines, the creases, the folds in the flesh; keep going; the blisters will go away in an hour or two—maybe three; another pump: one, two, three; again—the right hand; the left hand; keep going; don’t stop; it burns because it’s working

aSoSS 39 | Suspicion

a-spider-on-state-street Leave a comment

I never know the next time I’ll see you.

I’m always at home.

By the time I come home it’s 2AM!

Well, I’m probably awake…

Weiser Hall, 3:30PM, 10/19/2024

for Edgar Allan Poe, remoteness is a necessary ingredient of literature. we must detach ourselves from reality in order to best portray it. Muñoz Molina writes that he lives through the death of a beautiful cigar girl. He writes a story in which Mary Rogers becomes Marie Rogêt, substituting Paris for Jersey City and the Seine for the Hudson. like an outsider swiveling a telescope, sweeping the curtain aside, peering into the void of human nature from the neighbor’s window. her murder, of course, is never solved.

the cold is a sedative, the snow a sterilizer. you are across the world and only now do i dare to loosen my tongue. i brush your name onto the paper as i once did to the tears across your cheek.

Registering for classes now is wild. Go inside, they have more wifi inside than outside.

More wifi?

Pierpont Commons Outbound, 11:30AM, 12/6/2024

hey, it’s me. yeah, it’s been a long time, huh? i just got your letter, the mailman told me it was a miracle the machine could read it. he said you have the worst handwriting he’s ever seen, haha. there are just piles and piles of stuff in the back of the room that they just can’t send. can you imagine that? terabytes of information is just lost in transit, as if it had never existed in the first place. isn’t that crazy?

hello? is anyone there?

[holding a plate of cucumbers, hummus, and peppers] I like to get creative with my meals.

Yeah, I guess you could call that a meal…

East Quad Dining Hall, 5:00PM, 1/7/2025

the act of eating with someone is perhaps the quickest way to rewire the neurons. do you think our brains misattribute this relief of hunger? your fork vibrates, ever so slightly, attuned to the heartbeat pulsing through your fingertips. there are things we are not in control of and this is one of them. once bitten and twice shy, why do you keep your distance? the stomach rattles its chains.

~Sappy Daze~ Day 11

Sappy Leave a comment 
The  night  I got stranded  in Kyoto,  

the weeping  willows charmed me  more than  the  Sakura. I watched  the streets crawl  out of  bed and  join me  greet the  large crows.  My eyes  nestled on a fluffy one’s matching winter coat.  Led by the screeching subways, I lead the way past the bridge away from a Family Mart’s jingles. The trains filled at 6:40 AM reminded me of the temple night and  day  with  the  club.  The  fleeting  city  trickled  the  compartments  empty.   The  stragglers  tickled my curiosity. Did they wonder about my journey or did  I imposter their lives wandering?  I  questioned my life  cycling in the  ptptptptptptptpt  of rain towards the  fshfshfshfshf  of  waves. The  night ended  with falling off  a bike  hearing  opera. The  day  started  with   falling    asleep.

- Sappy