I’ve been thinking about that vampire lady who lies a lot, and thinking about the look for her world. Basically it’d be doing the same trick Frank Miller does in the Sin City books – stark B&W noir, plus a key color for one character – except each vampire would have a key color of their own. I’d put more effort into it than this but maybe not necessarily too much more.
It’s got something like three years to simmer, I can afford to dabble for a while.
I’m sorry, sir. Saying “hey, hey wassup red hair” while grabbing your crotch is not the proper way to greet a lady such as myself. Thank you for trying, though.
Stay classy, Pioneer Square.
Back in the muck days, Peganthyrus had a cute little niece named Khasubinox, or Subi for short. I guess she’s not so little any more.
I felt like being ultra-precise with this one; a lot more of it is done with the pen tool than normal. I think I spent about three hours being super anal about a lot of the figure, which is why I didn’t bother with a background here – I’ve spent enough time on a drawing that exists solely to fulfill the urge to draw a dragon that is Not Me for a change.
I felt lazy and worked off of something from my ‘pornspiration’ directory; if you’re curious it’s here. I had that open on one desktop, with Illustrator on another, and flipped back and forth while working out the pose, so I got something that was kind of a caricature of the reference image instead of tracing it, slapping a dragon head and tail on it, and calling it a day.
Also yes it is completely intentional that her tailtip points right at her boob.
Also I have this brief desire to pay some of my artist friends to draw her doing various things of various ratings…
I felt weird drawing my animal-person self for my birthday and not drawing my ex-with-benefits for his birthday, which is two days before mine.
He came over yesterday, and we went out to dinner at Liam’s, partially on my mom – she’d sent me some money and said “go have a nice dinner with Nick”. After that we sat around listening to music, falling into the visualizer, and generally Having Benefits with each other. It was a pretty damn good birthday.
Self-portrait as dragon, on the occasion of turning forty-three tomorrow. About two hours of work.
The background is a bunch of ‘abstract techy-looking junk’ brushes, with varying amounts of blur applied. I like how it turned out; I may have to do more of that.
All the fireworks today are in celebration of the impending anniversary of MY ARRIVAL ON THIS PLANET. Plan accordingly.
Tomorrow you will have shared this planet with my Magnificence for FORTY THREE YEARS.
(Historically I have not celebrated my birthday, or made much noise about it, what with my present for my twelfth one being “a dead father”. But I’ve now lived longer than he did and let go of most of that pain. Maybe it’s time to consider actually doing something for it.)
A recent comment of a page of Rita got me thinking about how that whole story has become a constant dance between telling enough of the story to make sense, while simultaneously fragmenting and disconnecting it to create just enough discombobulation in the reader to sympathize with the way Rita is constantly struggling to make sense of her broken reality.
And to be honest it also makes me realize that this is a constant theme in much of my work: Five Glasses of Absinthe has a (not well-telegraphed yet) metanarrative of being told by its self-aggrandizing title character. The main character of Drowning City suffers from blackouts, and the reader will not know for sure what happens during them until she remembers. I’m currently semi-obsessed with a few ideas for stories of a vampire who cheerfully reminds her interviewer that she is not to be trusted, because why on earth would an obligate predator of something as smart as humans want to expose all their secrets?*
I’m beginning to wonder why the hell I find this fascinating. Is it merely that I like constructing puzzles for the sufficiently engaged reader? Or am I trying to tell myself something?
I mean, there’s a huge gap in my life called “the black hole of depression I fell into for many years after my father died”. And there’s a few strange fragments floating around that I really cannot remember how they were connected with anything else. Maybe I’m just trying to get people to understand a little bit of what it’s like to be me.
(I do have other ideas lying around that aren’t full of memory holes. Arguably I’m cherry-picking my output to support this thesis…)
* which gives me the idea that possibly her motivation for telling these stories is to gauge the sophistication of her audience, and to keep her dissembling in shape – any audience who can see through her maze of lies ay well be too dangerous to live…
I dreamed I came into the possession of several very large crates full of unhappy, enslaved dragons. I had to keep up the pretense while trying to find a way to free them. I did not manage to do this before waking up.
(I don't know when, I just found this in the iPad blog client when I opened it up to do something else.)
This is what happens when someone who occasionally thinks of herself as a witch takes pole dance.
About an hour of Illustratoring over a messy pen rough.
Really. It was.
For a contest on DA: draw yourself turning into a thing over three panels.
Click for the full image.
