Children's Book Illustrations

Collage Illustrations

This video clip is gameplay from a Visual Novel game test created using the program Renpy. You play as a character on a quest into "The Wilds" the untamed forest on the edge of the world! Meeting new characters along the way and building relationships.

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About Me

Blinking illustrative gif, bright orange and yellow

Hi I'm Lillian and I'm an Illustration student in NYC. I’m constantly enchanted with new and exciting stories. I love sharing, creating, and adding to them both as an artist and as a writer.Some themes in my work include nature, fantasy, and magic. I’m most drawn to bold colors and bold lines. I work in a variety of mediums both traditional and digital. I am an avid sketchbook keeper and I do most of my experimenting with new mediums there. I’m also well versed in 3D modeling and find that I enjoy working in 3D in tandem with my more traditional mediums.
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Those who Live in the Light

Humans are attracted to the light, though that’s probably because of their aversion to the dark. They say that the dark, the shadows are dangerous, full of things that will distort everything that you are. Take your crystal image and shatter it into tiny little glittering shards. And yet, Haven has found that the truly dangerous things are the ones that live in the light. And their fiery anger. She never fit in with them. With their skin that covers their bones completely. Or their sharp words, screamed so loudly that she can still hear the echo of their voices even now so far away from them. They thought that because they could see the shadow of her skeleton that she was weak. That they could pluck them out of her skin. They loved to throw the story of how they found her in her face. Serrated words meant to cut her in places that they couldn’t see with their eyes. They told her that she was unwanted, a mistake.But Ma told it differently. Ma said they found her under the silvery light of a full moon. Floating in a pond, cradled by rippling chrome water. She said that she had never seen something so peaceful. Ma swore that Haven came from the moon herself. A drop that fell so far, far down before being caught gently by the watery hands of the pond. And Ma said that was the reason why her skin seemed to glow against the night. That night Ma had waded into the middle of the pond to rescue the little glowing baby. Before wrapping her up in the shawl from her shoulders and taking her home. Since then, it had only ever been Haven and Ma against the world from their little life on the edge of town.Ma liked to joke that they were meant to be family because of their matching white hair. But now Ma was gone and Haven would no longer ever be just a drop of moonlight. She was alone in a place with people who thought she was a creature, a beast.Ma had warned her about what might happen after she died. How the others, the ones from town, that used to scream terrible things at her when she was at the market with Ma, would come. Ma warned her what to look for when they did, the sound of voices on the breeze, or suns on sticks lined up like light bugs. They came for her in the night, in her safe space. When Haven saw the little fabricated suns bouncing closer across the darkness, she knew what they were. She packed according to Ma’s instructions and covered her hair before escaping into the darkness through the back door.The tree branches raked their fingers across her body as she ran and if her heart had not been beating so loudly she might have heard their whispered directions. To a place in the night that she once knew. She found her way there alone, through low hanging branches and over rolling curling roots. To the clearing with the pond. The water seemed to ripple in welcome. The very night air seemed to remember her. Haven and the moon had matching glows.

A Pile of Ruffles and Lace

My home is in the inbetween. The sky here feels like rose petals across your face. There’s a constant echo of rippling sound but if you looked for the origin it would scamper away from you into the clawing thicket, just out of reach. It is a place of war and violence. The ground is hollow and has a drumming heartbeat. The steps you take bounce against the other side of the world and come back to push against the soles of your feet. They whisper about their journey. Rivers of spilt blood run beneath the dirt. The people who live there are see through, their skin like wet tissue paper pulled tight against their golden silver bones. They have thin curved claws and their teeth are never flat. Their gangly bodies hide amongst the landscape, in the oxblood forests and the serrateing grasses. The trees here bleed black blood when you carve names into their skin.The tar tree on the edge of the clearing behind the azure barn has grown into the scar of our names, me and my brothers. Its height is twice what it once was and its trunk so big that I can no longer wrap my arms around it. I can still trace my finger into the lines of our names. It feels wrong to stand in front of it now when I am the only name left. The last one left yesterday. I remember his last breath against my skin. The way that his eyes stopped seeing.I crave silence, that hollow sound, because his memory is too loud. Not just his, they all are, each of my brothers. I don’t know why I came here. I don’t know how I got here. I can't remember.The absence of air hurts in my lungs. My knees collapse and I land in the soft silvery moss. My hands now a dried copper are a contrast against it. It seems that all of a sudden my very existence has been plucked from the plane. I feel nothing, that's just on the edge of everything. I don’t fight it, this pull, this gift wrapping of myself. My eyes only see the ground in front of my face. My mind speaks nothing.I remember why I came here, to this scarred tree on the edge of a clearing. A place holder in memory. Far enough away from the battlefield that the echoing sound is no longer just the screams. Here I can pretend that I am not the last one. I can pretend that my youngest brothers will appear peering down amongst the tallest branches. I can pretend that I will hear the howls of my fathers hunting party. Here I can still feel the biting bruises that my eldest brother gave to me while trying to teach me how to master the sword. I can still pretend that he saw me do it.For a while I exist as a shell, as if someone has scooped the insides out of me with a spoon. I hope that my skin will calcify and I will turn to stone. Wishing to be rescued by one of us as if there is another one left. The sky turns dark and the night awakes. I can see the glow of the will o wisps against the silver moss. Making It look like rolling water. Still I do not move.
The first real breath I take is a struggle like pouring acid in an open wound. It all comes flooding back to me. The memories of everything and suddenly I can no longer pretend. It's a crushing pressure knowing that I am alone. I can not move. I’m not sure how long I lay there, I am too focused on remembering how to breathe to keep track. I hear them first, a woman and two men. Calling out my name I think. I can feel the tension of their voices grating against my skin. The woman gets to me first. She glows against the night. She kneels onto the ground, her ornate pink dress billowing around her legs. She leans over, her orange hair tickling against my skin. She places her hand on my arm as if to check if I’m still warm. She’s speaking, but I can’t seem to hear what she's saying. The tears roll off her cheeks onto the moss and me. She pulls my body away from the ground and into her arms. My head is now cradled in her lap, in a pile of ruffles and lace. Soft hands brush away my hair from my face. She leans down pressing her forehead into mine and her voice gets quieter as if it's only for us. I can see the sky now and it is lovely.