But For Me, It Was Tuesday

So when I was about half way through this painting, it occurred to me that being depicted as a Merman With Wings (TM) was not exactly the kind of thing that floats people's boats. In fact, if I was to hazard a guess, I would say that witnessing one's image being distorted in such a manner would likely attribute to their boat being met with an earlier and possibly more devastating end. Functionally, this painting has more in common with your average high yield nautical explosive than any form of caricature. I got the idea from a conversion in our Tuesday Pound Resign Texture, and that's all I've got on the subject.

Yeah, and once again, all these sketches are from Thursday, which seems to be the only day that I can clock in consecutive hours of sketching time. I don't think I even touch my sketchbook on any other day. I meant to have two more paintings ready for this post, but with schoolwork being what it is, both of those paintings currently have about as much form and compositional clarity as a tiled roof covered in pigeon crap...or a Pollock painting (ZING!).

And then there's this. I messed up a lot of the timing towards the end, and went really lax with detailing the splashes. The entire cycle is, on twos, barely two seconds long, which means everything feels rushed. Some of the motion keys don't read at all, and the entire sequence leading from the splash to the repeat is just sloppy as all hell, with all kinds of weird distortions. I wish I had more time to work out the timing issues, but really, c'est la vie.

Urg the MAGNIFICENT

For he is the mightiest of the Orc-lords, unchallenged and supreme in his sovereignty. His followers cower beneath the weight of his majesty, and his enemies invariably become opulent feasts for scavengers. He is the conqueror of the men in the northern plains, the bane of the dwarfs under the western hills, and ravager of the elves in their southern forests. With a blood lust and brutality far surpassing even the vilest of his kin, there is no other whose name is whispered with as much fear, whose approach inspires such absolute dread. There is also no other who would put on lingerie war paint, but really, who's going to argue with him?

Anyway, writing meaningless crap like this is incredibly therapeutic for me. It takes my mind off of the heavier burdens in life, like animating waves, failing at storyboards, and other assorted first world problems. On an unrelated note, Urg is apparently one of the more popular monosyllables that people use to name their orcs. Bummer.

The sketches are basically all from Emslie's class about the contrapposto stance. Speaking of which, I also got this kickass caricature from the man himself. It's like he took a photograph of my soul with a col-erase pencil. Totally my new avatar.

"Chanson" is a genre of french music that seems to cover everything that has singing in the French language, but in modernity refers mostly to Sarkozy's-wife type songs (I actually don't know what the hell I'm talking about). There's a diverse range and a unique infusion of culture (like Bossa Nova), with a fine mix of velvety contraltos and satiny sopranos, all backed by Parisian accordions. It's about four clicks from the Cowboy Bebop Wikipedia article, and was a questionable way to spend the evening instead of animating.

Breaking EveN

I am hooked on a show about drugs, which I guess puts me only a hair's breadth away from watching a documentary about rehabs. 

I haven't done any homework these past few days, mostly cause the wave animation is just kicking my ass. I can't...wrap my mind around it? It's this conundrum that would eat up all my motivation the second I step into a room with anything even remotely resembling a light table. I suppose it'll work itself out eventually, but right now "eventually" has this "in the wee hours of the morning before the assignment is due" kinda ring to it.  

Here's that bear dragon. I'm still working on a way to fit Tim in here, but I'm pretty sure the perspective is off.

The mental patient is my character design for the Spangled Pandemonium, which is inspired (Wait, sorry, what's this "originality" thing you keep jiving on about? Is it some kind of pilates?)

by the Fred Bonaparte design from Psychonauts, in the sense that being bug eyed, lanky and straitjacketed usually invites discriminatory glances from the so called "sane". 

And layouts from the sketchbook. Sort of. Man I can't even pronounce perspective, cut me some slack. 

Merrily Merrily Merrily Merrily

I spent most of my time abroad this summer, meaning I didn't actually get much drawing done. I brought sketchbooks and pencils and pens and everything, but anyone who's ever tried drawing on a sight seeing boat with 3000 other people loses their interest in art real, real fast. I did, however, discover the fun and exciting way that all the groovy hep cats are reading nowadays: by giving books the electronic middle finger. I think I learned more about Westeros than China this summer, which is just ridiculous.

I did draw some stuff though.

Some sort of Bird Rock Turtle

Henry Kissinger and Stephen Colbert

Some kind of Bat Dinosaur

Random characters

Caricatures of my cousins

An unnecessarily complicated robot

Sorta...messy sketches

Sketches on a Plane

That's So "iPhotographer With No Sense of Composition"

I officially have no academic obligations for the rest of the summer. I've also tailor made a full Paragon save with cross game loyalty to everyone's favorite cerulean waifu in Mass Effect. With these (my two biggest time sinks) out of the way, I can finally finish one of my goddamn paintings/animations/bust of John Wayne. More time to post stuff too. At the moment though, there's a bit of a shortage of things to post, which is why I'm posting these awful iPhotographs, as filler to keep regularity.

I'm no photographer, but you could still kill someone with a blunt knife if you tried hard enough. That is to say, even though all I've got is the smudged lens of my iCamera, I've been lucky enough to sit through a number of breathtaking skylines, capturing them with all the finesse of a syphilitic Bonobo.

These are from Silent Hill appreciation weekend. I tried to come to terms with the psychological anguish of being an over-stressed art student, but I had a painting due. 

They are of particularly awful quality, but if I could photoshop creepy stuff into them later on, it would be totally worth it.

And most of these are just from walking home. Despite its residents' daily attempts to fertilize the pavement with dog poop, Oakville still gets some great skies. It's got some damn liberal pet restrictions though. Seriously.