Jump to content

What's Your Talent / Passion?


stefanyoshovski

Recommended Posts

Hi everyone,

All of us have skills used to earn money, but our mind still needs its own time and space for other activities.

What’s that passion you really feel peaceful with, in your free time?
It could be Dancing, Drawing, Playing an Instrument, Photography, Videography, Sport and so on…

Whatever works for you after a stressful day to free your mind.

Here are two of my favourite self-portrait photos.

image.jpg.13316f0cb9c74bbb20fbb37ab54d19dc.jpg
image743×495 138 KB

image.jpg.2cab630b2b9e786fe7579d3cc1e89b34.jpg
image974×546 88.3 KB

P.S: I usually don’t put watermarks, but in this case, I did it just for safety. If you want to do it too, I suggest this website: https://watermarkly.com/ or any other you find on the internet.

  • Like 21
Link to comment
Share on other sites

I love to read sci-fi and drawing with pencil/ink and sometimes with software - I use the latter to creating fractals.
I’d spend some time next week surfing the internet for info about lettering. Perhaps it’ll be my next hobby, who knows!

  • Like 8
Link to comment
Share on other sites

In my free time I’ve begun a traveling journal that logs the experiences of my lawyer, Shifty Horowitz. Aside from being an expert journeyman, Shifty is also a sort of dingbat theoretician.

Being that you’re interested, I’d like to share a passage from one of our travels:

*Aug ‘19 *

Shifty greased his car seat back and struggled to find the perfect notch. The chair shook violently as he jolted it back and forth. He kept one hand firmly on the wheel but it provided me little comfort as his head was fixed downward and his anger grew at every jerk of his uncomfortable seated exchange.

He was suddenly calm and his eyes locked forward into the blazing sun through our rental car window.

“Comfort can’t be purchased…” he began. His voice was reserved and easy. He sounded like a man cruising at 45 on a sleepy town Main Street. I wasn’t doing as well and my reaction reflected the fear of chasing 90 miles per hour in the danger of our open road.

“What!” I yelled over the cruel noise of Tom Petty on the radio.

“Comfort,” he restarted, “it lives in your bedroom. It’s the right pillow. It’s the place on the floor where the chair sits perfectly. I’m talking about comfort Mooch.”

Shifty’s tone was clear. It was as though the Heartbreakers knew not to play loudly over the top of him. *

“Yeah? Comfort. So?” I batted away his unjustified annoyance.

“Comfort dude. Comfort…” More agitated now, “ We live in this strange time of safe spaces and worried speech. Every mistake is tabulated. Nothing is a growth moment. No one can have a learning experience. We demand change and we condemn people for past actions after the fact. We pitch all this uncertainty and sadness and fear … all in the name of comfort. But we ain’t got no comfort! We make it complicated. Life and death. Right and wrong…”*

Speeding uncontrollably now. The car flinching from the lines.

“…that ain’t comfort hoss. That ain’t comfort and it won’t be. Comfort is the shirt you thought you’d lost. Comfort is the way she smiles in your dreams. How she used to. Comfort is a song you forgot about. It’s the towel that’s always soft. It’s free. Comfort can’t be bought in a luxury car. It can’t be cashed from emotional extortion…”

Suddenly, we were spinning. Awful screams poured out of our tires

And then silence.

Shifty didn’t motion. His hands were relaxed on the wheel and his eyes expressed no surprise behind his midnight dark glasses.

“Comfort.” He muttered to no one.

Shifty opened the door and escaped the vehicle - I assumed to check on the health of his battered rental. As he surveyed the damage I couldn’t help but feel confused. What was it all about? How could it matter that deeply? It was ugly. Brutal and deranged.

Suddenly Shifty appeared at the drivers side door and fired sickening shots deep into the cushions of his empty seat. He shrieked wildly, as he fired, and his face twisted into a lifelike Munchian nightmare.

In the heat we let the insanity pass above us, until the air was still and the moment was gone.

“Comfort.” Swiftly stated. An amused expression played over his visage and soon we would be back into the thick air from which we came…

Anyways. So - just journaling and stuff. Hanging out. No biggie.

  • Like 12
Link to comment
Share on other sites

In my free time I’ve begun a traveling journal that logs the experiences of my lawyer, Shifty Horowitz. Aside from being an expert journeyman, Shifty is also a sort of dingbat theoretician.

Being that you’re interested, I’d like to share a passage from one of our travels:

*Aug ‘19 *

Shifty greased his car seat back and struggled to find the perfect notch. The chair shook violently as he jolted it back and forth. He kept one hand firmly on the wheel but it provided me little comfort as his head was fixed downward and his anger grew at every jerk of his uncomfortable seated exchange.

He was suddenly calm and his eyes locked forward into the blazing sun through our rental car window.

“Comfort can’t be purchased…” he began. His voice was reserved and easy. He sounded like a man cruising at 45 on a sleepy town Main Street. I wasn’t doing as well and my reaction reflected the fear of chasing 90 miles per hour in the danger of our open road.

“What!” I yelled over the cruel noise of Tom Petty on the radio.

“Comfort,” he restarted, “it lives in your bedroom. It’s the right pillow. It’s the place on the floor where the chair sits perfectly. I’m talking about comfort Mooch.”

Shifty’s tone was clear. It was as though the Heartbreakers knew not to play loudly over the top of him. *

“Yeah? Comfort. So?” I batted away his unjustified annoyance.

“Comfort dude. Comfort…” More agitated now, “ We live in this strange time of safe spaces and worried speech. Every mistake is tabulated. Nothing is a growth moment. No one can have a learning experience. We demand change and we condemn people for past actions after the fact. We pitch all this uncertainty and sadness and fear … all in the name of comfort. But we ain’t got no comfort! We make it complicated. Life and death. Right and wrong…”*

Speeding uncontrollably now. The car flinching from the lines.

“…that ain’t comfort hoss. That ain’t comfort and it won’t be. Comfort is the shirt you thought you’d lost. Comfort is the way she smiles in your dreams. How she used to. Comfort is a song you forgot about. It’s the towel that’s always soft. It’s free. Comfort can’t be bought in a luxury car. It can’t be cashed from emotional extortion…”

Suddenly, we were spinning. Awful screams poured out of our tires

And then silence.

Shifty didn’t motion. His hands were relaxed on the wheel and his eyes expressed no surprise behind his midnight dark glasses.

“Comfort.” He muttered to no one.

Shifty opened the door and escaped the vehicle - I assumed to check on the health of his battered rental. As he surveyed the damage I couldn’t help but feel confused. What was it all about? How could it matter that deeply? It was ugly. Brutal and deranged.

Suddenly Shifty appeared at the drivers side door and fired sickening shots deep into the cushions of his empty seat. He shrieked wildly, as he fired, and his face twisted into a lifelike Munchian nightmare.

In the heat we let the insanity pass above us, until the air was still and the moment was gone.

“Comfort.” Swiftly stated. An amused expression played over his visage and soon we would be back into the thick air from which we came…

Anyways. So - just journaling and stuff. Hanging out. No biggie.

Do you also write bed time stories for your children?

  • Like 7
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Do you also write bed time stories for your children?

write bed time stories for your children?

Firstly, let’s not disparage the honor of writing by labeling my free-associative, forum verbal fire as anything other than a strange pastime.

But I do harbor weirdly noble, almost aristocratic ideas about professional writing like; writers write. Regardless of being a professional songwriter - I sort of subscribe to this moral belief that my job is to decipher any text, any narrative or any assignment and learn the rhythm because professional writing should extend to every medium… and I assign that task to any person proclaiming themselves to be of professional quality. All the pro songwriters I know consider themselves “pro writers.”

All that said, as a father I’m big on reading. There’s so much material of prominence to distribute to your children, in such short time. Material that’s lost to time and political theater. Even the materials that were once required are now high brow conversation starters for literary circles and the culturally elite; as they’ve been pushed aside and deemed “insensitive,” or “too risky” for young minds.

There’s so much to get to. The greatest way to teach them craft is to teach the masters.

  • Like 10
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Cool shots Stefan.

I like playing the guitar, taking pictures of every day life and writing treatments for imaginary sitcoms. 🙂

Cool shots Stefan.

I like playing the guitar, taking pictures of everyday life and writing treatments for imaginary sitcoms.

Thank you Frank. Great passions you have. The writing seems really interesting!

Chess is something I picked up during lockdown and have become addicted.

It’s a great way to build your strategy skills. I learnt how to play chess only during lockdown as I was curious about it after watching “Queen’s Gambit”

Those photos are awesome! Usually, I just play the piano, do puzzles, and walk outside if I have a moment.

Thank you! I see that many of you can play an instrument. I’ve always wanted to learn but sometimes time just flies. Did you begin learning when you were a child or there is always a chance to be able to learn how to play an instrument?

Being that you’re interested, I’d like to share a passage from one of our travels:

It was nice of you to share this. When I have time, I love reading and I love writing too. However, it’s just a way to free my thoughts and I rarely have shown anything to anyone.

I like the style of your writing and how the story engages with the readers and makes you think about it.

  • Like 9
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Cool shots Stefan.

I like playing the guitar, taking pictures of everyday life and writing treatments for imaginary sitcoms.

Thank you Frank. Great passions you have. The writing seems really interesting!

Chess is something I picked up during lockdown and have become addicted.

It’s a great way to build your strategy skills. I learnt how to play chess only during lockdown as I was curious about it after watching “Queen’s Gambit”

Those photos are awesome! Usually, I just play the piano, do puzzles, and walk outside if I have a moment.

Thank you! I see that many of you can play an instrument. I’ve always wanted to learn but sometimes time just flies. Did you begin learning when you were a child or there is always a chance to be able to learn how to play an instrument?

Being that you’re interested, I’d like to share a passage from one of our travels:

It was nice of you to share this. When I have time, I love reading and I love writing too. However, it’s just a way to free my thoughts and I rarely have shown anything to anyone.

I like the style of your writing and how the story engages with the readers and makes you think about it.

I was 14 when I started learning, and I’ve only played it for four years. I’m already at an advanced piano playing level, so yes, you can definitely play even if you’re older. Especially if you’re not aiming to become a professional player, you can start at any age. It’s very rewarding!

  • Like 9
Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • 1 year later...

Please sign in to comment

You will be able to leave a comment after signing in



Sign In Now
×
×
  • Create New...