dark

Acrylic on wood

Ink, charcoal and carbon pencil on paper

Inktober 26 - Dark

a simple floral pattern on a dark background

A character concept drawing of a pirate vampire character I created for a collab writing project that died. His clothing and even his hair borrowed aspects from various jelly fish as inspiration. " The snap of inky sails catching the wind punctuated the subtle wooden creaks of the Sea Nettle as it slid over glossy black waves. The night was oppressive. With the moon obscured by clouds, the ship, with its doused lamps and its dark wood was nearly invisible as she crept closer to her prize. Tallis stood on the forecastle, one foot propped against the railing, his hands supporting a spyglass. He drifted the lens between the lights below deck, counting each of them and making note of any movement on the upper deck and in the rigging. A single sailor was at the helm. Another was lazily standing beside him, possibly engaged in conversation that distracted him from his watch. This was to be expected, not many would dare to disturb such a well-equipped vessel of the Luthen royal fleet. Nettie's crew was lesser in numbers, but they were experts in what few on the high seas could manage. Tonight, would be a quiet strike. Open combat spelled unnecessary danger for his crew."

World gone to hell Sons duaghters leaving their families homes, dying of a new and namles plague. Where are the gods? And what has become of my hero? I am king, but no more subjects are under my command. A kingdom falls. A new age dawns, the illest omens herald its bitter arrival . God preserve us. We have forasken god, they do not forasake us. This is why we must be stricken with sickness. . . .. … … Weep for me. Weep for all our brothers and sisters. And now every uncreative poet and halfwit bard seeks to make drama of our troubles. We are their muse, their grand epic to tell the children. Fear the virus, dont look away, disturb the dead, praise us for our lies to you. They lead the masses to slay each out of fear. Cry. Yes, cry Cry for your fallen. They will not be returning for you soon. But you are still alive, and for that you shall become stronger. Onward We cannot always bury the dead. Today , time is against us. We move foward, we carry the sorrow, but the ultimate goal is to defeat sorrow. Whatever form this darkess takes, we face it. Unafraid. And unrelenting. Forge on into the night. Not gently and quiet shall be our passing. For, if i am to end, and you likewise, we plant our flag atop the highest hill. We scream our battle cry and let none forget our actions . The very mountains will shake, and echo our last breath. This is my promise. If i shall die, i die as i am now A man. I have decided. So, i die ….. https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCKXBKF6a2BWVDy_SgMvk8GQ?view_as=subscriber

Kirby Krackle. Don't know much about Darth talon, but the color scheme is similar. i think it looks cool

Erik Satie (1866–1925) In 1898, Satie moved from Paris’s Montmartre district to the working-class suburb of Arcueil, where he would live for the rest of his life. Most mornings, however, the composer returned to the city on foot, walking a distance of about six miles to his former neighborhood, stopping at his favorite cafés along the way. According to one observer, Satie “walked slowly, taking small steps, his umbrella held tight under his arm. When talking he would stop, bend one knee a little, adjust his pince-nez and place his fist on his hip. Then he would take off once more, with small deliberate steps.” His dress was also distinctive: the same year that he moved to Arcueil, Satie received a small inheritance, which he used to purchase a dozen identical chestnut-colored velvet suits, with the same number of matching bowler hats. Locals who saw him pass by each day soon began calling him the Velvet Gentleman. The last train back to Arcueil left at 1:00 A.M., but Satie frequently missed it. Then he would walk the several miles home, sometimes not arriving until the sun was about to rise. Nevertheless, as soon as the next morning dawned, he would set off to Paris once more. The scholar Roger Shattuck once proposed that Satie’s unique sense of musical beat, and his appreciation of “the possibility of variation within repetition,” could be traced to this “endless walking back and forth across the same landscape day after day.” Indeed, Satie was observed stopping to jot down ideas during his walks, pausing under a streetlamp if it was dark. During the war the streetlamps were often extinguished, and rumor had it that Satie’s productivity dropped as a result. - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey

Illustrated with Ink and Ink-Pens. Inktober 2020 Urh.-Nr:1811955 Copyright by Carolina Matthes

Pencil Drawing

A rererework I finally liked. Opinions are welcome. Done with Kuretake brushes and gel pens. I used a photo from Girli as a reference.

Pencil Drawing

Nitescape. The mysterious going city across the great ocean, far away from Nornwan and far forgotten, but they have not forgotten. They still have hints of the old world in their dome of cyber charged pessimism. Older painting, for a Nitescape cyberpunk project, the following link is to my friend's bizarre video adventure that takes place sometime in the dark and dreary city of Nitescape! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AnfgqkhL_yE

Dark Side of Spring. Lots of murder going on in springtime, it's not just flowers.

Acrylic on wood

Pencil Drawing

I used soft charcoal and a large sheet of newprint to depict this model in a life drawing class. He exuded a deep sadness and his poses seemed natural to his countenance. He was also very thin. “The bright side of the planet moves toward darkness And the cities are falling asleep, each in its hour, And for me, now as then, it is too much. There is too much world.” ― Czesław Miłosz, The Separate Notebooks

https://www.doodleaddicts.com/uploads/31187/bernard-2019/

Luminary Festival - Auren Farkis (Digital Portrait I did as a colour study) Crisp reverberating strings danced through the evening. Notes twisted and echoed up through the emerald, velvet tiers of Ridgedow Gardens. Dusk’s veil had long since darkened to a diamond-encrusted black, and Clarglow was alive with activity. Footpaths were choked with revellers that formed a river of light that coursed and pulsed through the park. Will-o-whisp spots of light also glowed among the neatly trimmed hedgerows and statues. Their magic-addled voices rose up, joining in with the music of the Luminary Festival. A young man, no more than a quarter of a century old, glowed brightest of all. A soft orange radiated from his eyes, and his veins pulsed a brilliant red. He was dripping in gold and gems. Over an outfit that somehow managed to be heavily layered and revealing at the same time, he wore a sheer cape, which was heavily embroidered with blood-red crystals that refracted his own light around him in dazzling, concentrated rays. It was such a dangerous colour of magic, but his expression was soft and dreamy. Excited laughter rose up as a clustered group shot metallic confetti skyward. Gold flake drifted down and settled into his silver hair, cheeks, and shoulders. No doubt he would discover the remnants of this festival in his home weeks from now. He increased his pace, stepping off the cobbled path to overtake the group, when one of their number split from the group. The coils of her dark hair were so saturated with gold that she looked like she belonged on a pedestal next to the other statues. She intercepted him, matching his pace. She snaked a long, slender arm around his waist and pulled him closer. She pressed her lips against his neck, leaving a wake of golden kisses up to his earlobe, where she leaned closer to whisper. — “Aurie, Luv, I know that look. Don’t tell me you’re headed home. The eve has only just begun. “ Her glowing eyes Locked with Auren’s, her grip tightening, slowing the both of them to a stop, causing a temporary blockage in the flow of people. “Overdid myself Mel.. you’ll have to –” –” Come with us to the reflecting pool.” She cooed, meeting his lips in an off-center kiss, smearing his inky wine lipstick. Momentarily, he allowed himself to relax. He considered saying yes. His heart pounding, he dipped his friend backwards gracefully, resenting that he had to leave. An itch in his left arm reminded his fuzzy brain that he was in danger. Gasping softly, he gently lifted Mella upright and spun her out towards her friends, who were growing impatient. He couldn’t make out their faces in the fuzz of the evening. “I can’t, I’m sorry Mel! We’ll talk later.” Before she could protest, he danced, spinning forward in a brilliant display of speed that ended in a stumble as he met a set of steep steps that coiled sharply upwards out of the park and onto the pink brick streets overlooking Ridgedow Gardens. The glazed windows facing the street were empty and blank… their occupants elsewhere, enjoying the festival. The empty buildings were like faces, judging him for his lack of zeal. Auren wound his way through streets and side streets, his pace increasing as he grew more and more alone. Finally, he was climbing a set of steps to his own front door. Smirking at the sight of it he reached down into the front of the bodice that held together the layers of his outfit pulling free a loop of keys that were on a long chain looped around his neck. Aligning it to the keyhole he struggled with the lock, cursing softly under his breath as it initially failed to cooperate with him. In the quiet black of his foyer, he latched the door behind him and stumbled forward, tearing at the ribbon that held the gleaming cape that draped from his bare shoulders. He let it drop on a black lacquered table. He reached up to unclasp an elaborate choker and tore his single, crimson glove down from his elbow. He pressed a gilded fingernail against a band of red ink encroached upon by a spreading corruption. Marginally extending beyond the band were sinews of mismatched muscle and skin; even his hair had begun to glow red. Pulse rising, he wrenched his rings from his fingers, casting them into the ever-darkening room. Precious jewellery piled under him until only the dimmest glow from his own veins remained.. Slumping onto the steps, he tightened his grip on his arm and twisted it ninety degrees. A sharp click of crystal against porcelain met his ears. The room was enveloped in black as his final stone slid away from his arm, rendering the prosthesis inert. He slid to his side, the sounds of the party below overtaken by his own gasping breaths, panic refusing to subside alongside his magic.

Silly old mother Gertrude and her dead mans brains.

The prompt word toward the end of October- ominous. Ravens are known to bring ominous news! Although that may be influenced from Game of Thrones (I miss that show!), 'Dark wings, dark words", as Old Nan used to say! Check out the rest of my Inktober posts on IG: @dittofunkysketch123 ! :D I am now participating in Inktober 52, so new adventures for Kitty and Buddy. teepublic.com/user/sketchcadet for some of these series on products! :D

the sea goes dark, the lights go up

Autumn is a peculiar time, I suppose. It's one of the prettiest times of the year (in my opinion) and one of the most mysterious. I'm not sure what it is that leads to it, but my mental state always shifts dramatically during this time, not always in the best way. I don't know. The transition is darker and murkier.

They say Prometheus brought fire from the sun concealed in a hollow fennel stalk. They say tarragon came to be when a flax seed was pushed into the pierced root of a sea onion and planted after dark. The Minotaur simply likes the smell of chopped herbs.” - Steven Sherrill For some reason out of all of my drawings, this one went viral on Tumblr. So when I got to the Minotaur on the list of hybrid creatures, I had to (re)make this one. The sentence is from “Minotaur takes a cigarette break” by Steven Sherrill. It’s wonderful.

Illustrated with Ink and/or Ink-Pens on Paper. Urh.-Nr:1811955 Copyright  by Carolina Matthes

the Jack of the Lantern. He stalks through the night on his broom of flame. Laughing all the way to unholy Hell. He takes what he pleases, he takes many souls. And he vanishes into the darkest of the shadows.

Pencil Drawing