Qasaherim and Elvarelyn two of my female demon characters I have created years ago (especially the one on the right i created her when I was 10).one is a spiteful rebel the other is a domineering termagent,can you guess which one?Such old artwork dates back I think 2018?hence the notebook paper.i know uploading old art is stale and repetitive,today is probably the last day I will upload irrelevant junk.
Done for a friend for a new writing idea featuring her character (the baby), and mine - because I haven’t written anything in over a year and was running low on motivation on that front until this. Also, babies are hard to draw
I’ve been doing ink doodles somewhat like this since the early 80s but I have to give a shout-out to Visoth Kakvei for greatly influencing my style the last couple of years.
I wanted to do something with some deep shading because I hadn't done it before and she turned out a tad bit creepier than I had intended but the outcome was good in the end. I really like how her hair came out because painting hair is the bane of my existence. I think she came out great.
I finaly finished this painting. I started it two years ago and then forgot about it for a big while. I am very happy I did it.
https://www.facebook.com/Amelyalatelier/photos/a.210485196527749/332000904376177/?type=3&theater
Here's the latest I've been working on, Illustration A0110. I've been messing with a cool Linocut brush I found for Procreate. Also digging the new text feature they added to the app! Made with Apple Pencil + iPad, tracked time: 7 hours and 30 minutes.
I have a lot of cats living in my neighborhood now. I want to hug them all.
Doodle made with iPad Pro, Apple Pencil, and Procreate. Tracked time: 3 hours & 55 minutes.
Artwork on "the other side" - playing with the bleed-through from the watercolor and intuitiviely allowing the shapes to arise. Created using watercolor, coffee, ink, graphic pens and unipen
An article/rant/annotation to an illustration. A #Hackney bar and its flies.
This picture is not as sad and blue as it might at first seem, I promise.
It is early in the week and the pub becomes the territory of the most outspoken drinkers. Raised somewhere between Churchill and Harold MacMillan, a night such as this is time for them to spin out a yarn of nostalgic fantasy. Encouraged by the lack of a crowd and with space to fill, statements start to fly.
In the opening rounds the barman athletically hits back with factual blocks and reality-check haymakers; statistics and personal experiences are given. Two histories cross examined, one where 1982 means Thatcher and the Falklands, the other renders Reagan and the AIDS crisis. Stoicism and national pride vs mental health and realism.
In the latter rounds the barman is fatigued, swaying on the backbar, glasses begin to stack up as form begins to drop. The older men seem stronger than ever.
The barflies come in close now, they scrutinise his generations work ethic and make wild political comments on poverty, immigrants and the minimum wage.
The barman is close to sheer bloody despair, he maintains his defence and focuses on breathing while maintaining his professional stance.
But at the end of the night the barman knows HE will ring that bell, they will politely leave and they will return again in a week and maybe, just maybe there will be a change, common ground or maybe at least polite silence.
But what these interactions have given despite the salt in the eye is community and an exchange between generations, culture and class of those participating. No home is ever straight forward, no relative without their good and bad traits and in a world where we often slide into echo chambers online or in our physical environments, the pub is still a place where society is family, face to face, pint to pint. Or maybe it's just a room with alcohol on tap?
My vision of the character ‘Smaug’ from J.R.R. Tolkien’s ‘The Hobbit’.
Pencil sketch, coloured digitally on IbisPaint X.
Here is a passage from The Hobbit describing Smaug’s appearance: “There he lay, a vast red-golden dragon, fast asleep; thrumming came from his jaws and nostrils, and wisps of smoke, but his fires were low in slumber. Beneath him, under all his limbs and his huge coiled tail, and about him on all sides stretching away across the unseen floors, lay countless piles of precious things, gold wrought and unwrought, gems and jewels, and silver red-stained in the ruddy light. Smaug lay, with wings folded like an immeasurable bat, turned partly on one side, so that the hobbit could see his underparts and his long pale belly crusted with gems and fragments of gold from his long lying on his costly bed.”
