the fact that nearly every response to neglecting mx. connect's album cover i've seen essentially boils down to "HAHA HER ASS IS OUT" proves exactly the point i am trying to make by centering casual nudity in my art. we've got a long road ahead of us if even a 'tasteful' painting of a nude character walking through nature is still able to provoke such a kneejerk reaction. wait until these people find out they're sitting on an ass right now! granted, i would imagine the ass in question belonging to a furry character played a nontrivial role in that reception, but this too only proves the necessity of my continued shamelessness, in pursuit of both Normalization and Filtering. furry ass will only hurt you if you allow it to.

Navigation Drools

following in the footsteps of my hero Clayton Counts, i feel compelled to address the musings of an amateur internet critic, albeit without directly naming & shaming, because although i respect on some level the audacity of him totally breaking the social barriers between Artist and Hater, it is not something i wish to replicate 1:1. this segment is better thought of as a Curious Analysis than a Dramatic Takedown.

i recently came across a fascinating review of Navigation Rules, at once glowing & scathing, a vindication of the film itself and an attempted indictment of everything i've made since then. in a way it's flattering, seeing how my body of work is apparently well-established enough to have defined Eras that some may specifically favor over all others; at last, the all-encompassing Radclyffe Region i've always imagined is coming to fruition, living up to its promise of containing at least one special Something for Everyone. at the same time, it's comical seeing such a backhanded compliment in action, how someone can go from delicately articulating the impact of their favorite work to reductively decrying all that followed it as worthless, likening an album about finding beauty in physical mundanity, grief, and love to little more than "sissy hypno", a quip i sincerely doubt would've still been made if the album wasn't attributed to a trans woman. "unfortunately, the days of roxy making abstract horror like this are long gone", this reviewer bemoans, whilst i am quite literally in the process of doing exactly that, producing MyRoad Away-Ahead, my next most ambitious take on the surrealist digital discomfort explored in their beloved Navigation Rules. bound by the shortsighted presumption that 1 Album You Didn't Like is indicative of an entire "shtick" going forward — a bold stance, considering the radical variance between RJR projects up to this point, which has no end in sight — The Reviewer remains tragically oblivious to a near future they very well may have loved to see. their chosen narrative has already been set in stone. "the story told here will never be beaten by anything roxy tells."

it is moments like this that remind me of why i have so little respect for media criticism as an artform, and have no qualms with openly antagonizing it in my work. too often critics simply reek of entitlement, insisting they know what's best for the artist they scrutinize from afar, no matter the bigger picture they could so easily be missing. internet anonymity only exacerbates this dynamic, of course; who else but an online critic could complain with a straight face that an artist's "shtick" is now "meeting with her girlfriend to fuck and do other shit"? my actual real-life relationship — or at least what an outsider imagines it to be — is Bad Content, and that's all there is to say on the matter. perhaps if roxy's personal life had simply stopped improving after 2023, then she would still be making Good Content. the parasocial consumer-as-critic can only dream.