Lydia
@coyoteprince
Full time pro artist & death worker of over a decade! they/them, disabled/autistic/queer 💀⚰️🏳️⚧️♿ contains adult subjects. contact: lydia@coyoteprince.com / coyoteprince.com
The gentlemen's chair opposite the lady has been a hot commodity lately too. Can't believe my cat is goth and trans
I walked in on Delia cuddled up to my shuck plush on the Victorian lady's chair 😭
I've been making my own milk paint and realized I had everything to also make gouache to continue art fight with. Also my fancy color wheel. Made the book and the ceramic coyote too
Been a lucky goblin again. I got a ton of Faber Castell tins and old milk glass creme jars for nothing. Time to clean them up and put them into use in my studio
Gay paranormal dog men have been released. Look at my dogs #artfight2026 artfight.net/~Coyoteprinc...
Nearly done with my puppy. Was hoping to get him done in time for art fight
(All photos posted w permission) Getting to care for such a loved individual meant a lot to me. It's been an odd turn of events that after my own beloved girl recently passed, Palaeo is servicing my Kalma in turn. It's been a cherished experience in shared grief, oddity, and connection.
I was given incredible trust to undergo @palaeosinensis.com's retired service dog Oberon funerary care. A year of intricate work later he is finally ready to go home to rest.
Found these and was surprised by how much I like them... a page of silly simplified dinosaurs opposite trying my hardest to guess form off cynodont & synapsid skulls
Cursed but there's rough outs of their bodies too. I don't need these as refined as the faces to help me picture their volumes as I draw so they're on back burner for finishing. I've been using Nomad Sculpt.
Returned to noodling on my comic maquettes; beginning to refine/resculpt parts of the boys and started the rough out of Simon. It's long, fiddly work but meditative #widderwood
With her loving, bossy, eccentric personality we named the dumped kitten Delia. We also learned she likes to lay like a freak
Just fuck my shit up (Disclaimer: Shaved + bathed in cat-specific shampoo for her welfare. The mats were... Bad)
With shelters full up she was going to be released to the street, so TNR person was trying to avoid that. Her affection, malnutrition, tiny size... I doubt she'd last. No one can ever replace my Kalma. But with all the strangeness, I've taken this as a gift or comfort from the divine.
She was found by a local who does TNR two hours after their neighbors noticed strangers hanging around their apartment, right before a big rainstorm. She has no street smarts at all, possibly the most unafraid of human cat I've met so far. My friend thinks she was dumped upon entering her first heat
One of the weird coincidences around Kalma's death: merely hours before she told me it was her time, we were called to and agreed to take in this tiny malnourished cat that was dumped. Yet unnamed, but I've wanted an affectionate long haired black cat for years. She claimed me immediately.
Her body has one more leg of adventure before her story truly ends. I'm unashamed of how much I love her and how grateful I am for her hard won trust, comfort, patience, and now the final gifts she's given me in death. It is painful, but look death in the face. There is something softer behind.
Kalma was by my side since my teens. An unwanted, almost feral barn kitten. She sliced my hand open, making me determined to catch her and creating a running joke of having a blood pact with her. She ended up loving me as hard as I loved her. Untrusting of most, but my personal shadow.
We often allow terminal ends to needlessly draw out suffering, then rush the aftercare. Both an inhumanity. Both traumatic. Allowing yourself time with the body- multiple days with help of cold storage- to look at death as it naturally is is a genuine cure for grief, a gift, an expression of love.
Death has so much to teach you if you are brave enough to listen and look upon it- not shun it away. I've held her body, cleaned the death purge from her nose, and even the croak of air running through her vocal cords as I later moved her for rest was a gift. I got to hear her one last time.