Monday, September 2, 2013
23
Actually, you SHOULDN'T have seen it. And you never will. Rest easy, I got a grip.
Here is picture. Manda make it. Lookit.
Stripy Shirt Man Drawy Thingy
And then the pencil, feeble and malnourished, rolled out of its case with a pitiful cough. "Peh... pehhhh," it croaked in a paper-thin voice. "Just... one... drawww... ii... i... ingggaahhhhh..." A speck of dust alighted upon the pencil's dull and degraded plastic body. The decrepit utensil splintered on impact. "Get back in the bag!" snarled Amanda. She turned away and rejoined her marker friends. They told jokes and spoke of life and had a jolly good time well into the night. The pencil fell behind the dresser into a tangle of cobwebs and pet hair.
Be True to Your Tears, more like
I don't see the bleakness in Moz. Well, I do. I just mean that, "I wear black on the outside because black is how I feel on the inside," is downright cheery coming off those pipes into these ears. (You want a real Negative Nancy, pin the tail on Ian Curtis or somebody.) Still when I need weepiness solidarity, B. Wilson and co. are a touch more benign on my fragile psyche.
Alchemy
. . .
Haven't yet executed large format coloured-penciling to my full satisfaction. And across the board I've begun addressing definite edges and ends. That's right, my floating hands and heads and intimated eyes are a COP OUT! Wooooaah, aren't you shocked! Okay, it's a stylistic choice and not a cop out. Still, I must cleanse the palate. And let's talk about backgrounds. Let's talk about backgrounds until the end of time because that's when I'll find the formula.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)