Some more stylized withered versions of the Altitone band members, Elizabeth (on the left) and Altor (on the right). Elizabeth has ears but no cameras (which are usually located somewhere on the head (look at stylized withered Preistor for context)), so she is blind. Altor has no ears but a camera (which has been broken off and now sits loose in Altor's disembodied head), so he's deaf. Before version 2 of these guys, Preistor was maroon (once again, look at stylized withered Preistor for context), Elizabeth was teal, and Altor was yellow-green (mostly yellow). They roam the halls in Jester's workshop. Drawn with FireAlpaca.
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.
"Where your pleasure is, there is your treasure: where your treasure, there your heart; where your heart, there your happiness." ~ St Augustine of Hippo
Tread - That time when Meera and Jojen Reed follow the treads of Hodor, Osha, and Rickon to find Bran Stark so they can take him north of the Wall. Bran would sometimes warg into Summer and/or Hodor and follow their treads.
-
I love the Reed siblings- they left all the warmth of their home to travel north to find Bran and to take him even further north to find the Three-eyed Raven. Meera is the unsung hero who kept Bran safe throughout the entire journey. It’s too bad how things were left off between Bran and Meera at the end.
Before getting to this result, I never a actually drew a full fledge skeleton before. So rather than take on the entire thing at once, I took it upon myself to only focus on the upper half of the body. I’m still practicing human anatomy for drawing but I hope overtime, it only improves. :)
As a teacher, I see the full range of work ethic and value choices. Tatum works while Melanie sleeps. I do not judge because everyone is fighting a battle. I provide a safe place for students to create and breathe and sleep and be. I create a non-judgmental space that often accomodates students and adults who feel free to voice thier opinions... which can often be judgmental. We are fighting battles and we are on our own journies of self awareness. Peace.
Joseph Cornell (1903–1972)
Cornell worked nights at the kitchen table, sorting and assembling materials for his boxes. It was not easy going. Some nights he felt too fatigued from his day job to concentrate on his art and would sit up reading instead, switching on the oven for warmth. In the mornings, his quarrelsome mother would scold him about the mess he’d left at the kitchen table; without a proper workroom, Cornell was forced to store his growing collection of magazine clippings and dime-store baubles out in the garage.
In 1940 Cornell finally mustered the courage to quit his job and pursue his art full-time—and even then his habits changed little. He still worked nights at the kitchen table, while his mother and brother slept upstairs. In the late morning he would head downtown for breakfast at his local Bickford’s restaurant, often satisfying his sweet tooth with a Danish or a slice of pie (and lovingly cataloging these indulgences in his diary).
- From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey
#dailyrituals #inktober #JosephCornell @masoncurrey
The little lady wants to go into the pond. Getting a bit damp is not a trouble. The trouble settles on the dark cat, who is getting rather interested with the butterfly. (Spoiler alert: of course, the little lady fell...)
An animatronic I made in Minecraft --- I know it sounds a little cringe, but I constantly build pizzerias, add armor stands to act as animatronics, and make a FNaF map. I'd then invite friends and have them sit in the office, while I move the armor stands. This animatronic is named "Dijon", sort of like the mustard. I only drew Dijon, but there's another animatronic, "Dijona", who has a lighter suit color. These guys are sort of like the Fredbear and Spring bonnie of the pizzerias I've made. I might draw more later. Drawn with FireAlpaca (and I play on the Nintendo Switch).
This is my uncles young blood hound. Her name is Rusty Rolls. She actually looks nothing like a typical bloodhound. She is a shiny rusty color with white paws and a few other white markings. She was the only one in her litter that looks this was and one of the most unique dogs i’ve ever seen
"It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Polka dots on a pitcher. She could picture the summer picnics and alfresco lunches. But autumn was here and the buyers remorse was real." - Tammar Stein
I wanted to do a simple pen sketch, where if I mess up it is permanent. The one drawing type robots can't replace. #DOWN WITH THE ROBOTS, ROBOTS SUCK!!!!#
Pintu is wishing you a wonderful day and wants to give you a little reminder that you aare absolutly brilliant :) My aunt gave me a beautiful pink cup as a present and I wanted to integrate it in this drawing hihi. I absolutly love that cup. (There is a integrated straw in it and it looks amazing and ahh it makes me so happy) okay. Soo wish you a good day!
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?
