Do you know that Covatar adores people with any kind of features? Like wow, you have freckles? Little scar under the eye? Birthmarks? Jeez, it's amazing! Any of your insecurities can be turned into an advantage! You have no idea how much others can love your special features
My next monkey watercolor -well, mostly - there is a touch of acrylic paint on the eyes. I do not know why they are called red-handed - since they seem to have yellow hands.
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?
One year towards autumn a geologist was living in the pilots' hut. He couldn't speak either Finnish ow Swedish, he just smiled and flashed his black eyes. He would look at people and immediately make them feel how surprised and happy he was to meet them at last and then he just walked on with his hammer and hammered a rock here and there. His name was Jeremiah.
- Sculptor's Daughter by Tove Jansson
#dailydrawing #tovejansson
I decided to draw a teddy bear today I try to draw the inseam of the sewing of the bear on top of its eyes but now it kind of just looks angry, mistake made less than learned
I kept my eyes on it the whole time. Now it was moving so slowly that you couldn't really see whether it was coming towards you or not. Occasionally its shape changed just slightly and its black tummy swept over the concrete floor. I could hardly breathe. I knew that I ought to run away and hide bur I just couldn't. Now it moved diagonally again towards the wall and wasn't to be seen any longer. It was in the pile of junk behind the modelling stand, it was somewhere behind the sacks of plaster and might appear again just anywhere.
It was getting dark in the studio. I knew that it was me who had let the creature out and I couldn't capture it and lock it up again.
- Sculptor's Daughter by Tove Jansson
Father's (https://www.doodleaddicts.com/uploads/68546/cosmic-horror/) crooked hand, with six fingers (one looks like a fang) of different weird lengths (because He doesn't understand human anatomy well), holding a Gotham snow globe. And of course, the eyes. He loves eyes.
It still needs a lot of improvements. I uploaded it anyway because I want to deal with this art account as my sketchbook, I want you to see my progress along the way.
There is a theory that Universe is a consciousness. To find what is out there we have to find what is in our own consciousness. So thats a zoomed in eye and the interstellar spaceship going in the space that exist within us.
God lived on the hill above the rock-garden and there was a forbidden cart up there. At sunset he spread out like a mist over the house and the field. He could make himself quite small and creep in everywhere in order to see what one was doing and sometimes he was only a great big eye. Moreover he looked just like Grandfather.
We raised our voices in the wilderness and were continually disobedient because God so likes to forgive sinners. God forbade us to gather manna under the laburnum tree but we did all the same. Then he sent worms up from the earth to eat up the manna. But we went on being disobedient and we still raised our voices.
- Sculptor's Daughter by Tove Jansson
#dailydrawing #tovejansson
I drew this for my sons bedroom wall, it’s inspired by the Beatles yellow submarine and includes an all seeing eye in keeping with the surreal nature of the 70s animation.
My latest sketch using Corel Painter 2021 on PC with digital pencil. The Tufted Titmouse (Baeolophus bicolor) is a small, grey-plumed songbird, easily recognized for the crest of grey feathers atop its head, its big black eyes, black forehead, and its rust-coloured flanks. They are quite common throughout the eastern part of North America, so if you're in that geographical region and want to catch a glimpse of a Tufted Titmouse, it may not be that difficult to find.
A very rough sketch of my Ingellvar (I' not happy with it). I'll take this opportunity to talk about my headcanons:
Her name is Isida (once it was Isseya, but I renamed her).
She's an introvert. So leading a whole team to save the world is hard for her than for my other planned Rooks.
Her eye was damaged in a fight with Baron Van Markham, which really hurt her as an archer. Luckily, Varric taught her some tricks and gave her a second wind. She's back in action.
I don't know if it's mentioned in the game, but for now I'm headcanoning that she got the name Rook from Varric, who became like a father to her. So she prefers to be called Rook than Isida Ingellvar.
Sometimes she yearns for her elven roots, but still prefers Nevarra and Necropolis.
Hopefully, she will get me back into art.
