If fursonas are metaphor for who we are or who we want to be, I've spent the past year examining my own history and keep coming back to the concept that I am livestock gone feral.

Before I was allowing myself to "waste" supplies on practice (if it's fun it's not work therefore I did not deserve it [internalized ableism]), I was losing time to Fallout 76. I didn't mind the game so much until recreating the economy was The Plot. I suppose I was becoming more media literate and critical of the stories I consumed--and I began to notice that much of the fanbase would rather people like me didn't exist.

And yet, when I needed a prop in this painting for this feral glowing spore boar to be shoving across the counter, what came to mind was a ziploc full of bottlecaps. As feral as I have become, as much of my old piggy life I've tried to discard, capitalism still influences everything I am and every possibility of what I can dream to be within my lifetime. As a disabled person I am aware that my safety nets can break at any time. I don't look forward to my final chapter.

But for now I can paint.

acrylic gouache 5.5 x 8.5"