Yesterday I learned how to use carbon transfer paper. I also learned that it does not work on grapefruit, so I could not use the design I wanted. So here's a crab.
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Today when I sat down on the couch to watch TV like a lazy, jobless bum, I decided to challenge myself. Luckily it wasn't the normal jobless bum challenge of, say, eating a whole bag of potato chips or seeing how far I can get by belching the alphabet (I'm not a very talented belcher, anyway). At around 10 this morning I remembered the circumstances under which I drew when I was little - in front of the TV watching some dumb show I wasn't particularly attached to. I decided I really wanted to do that. However, when I planted myself on the couch, I remembered that my mother ordered a new couch for delivery today, and the delivery fellas were supposed to come around 12:30 and pick up our old, terrible, '70s-red-plaid couch. So, after breakfast, I decided to take the remaining hour and a half of my time and spend it sitting in front of the TV, drawing, like I did when I was but a lass. I hate doing realism most of the time; I either do it just to prove to myself or someone else that I am capable of producing it or if I just feel like going through the motions without actually feeling anything. This time, I wanted to see how much of my living room I could draw before the delivery guys showed up. Unfortunately, I did the whole thing in 4H pencil, so the quality is terrible on-screen. I ended up getting so excited about drawing my Absinthe Robette tapestry that I never got to the rightmost part of the room... or the N64 controllers in the corner, now that I look at it again.
Challenging yourself like this is another way to get your inspiration and creativity going - even if it's a really boring, non-committal challenge like this one. Oh, and if you want some pointers on drawing realism, here they are: look at your subject a lot, use your pencil as a guide, and maybe develop a lazy eye. Really helps flatten out your images. I have always wanted a studio. Even just a tiny bedroom specifically for writing, drawing, and creating would be absolutely wonderful. It is the reason that I look for two-bedroom apartments when fantasizing about my future instead of one-bedroom apartments. Sadly, I cannot afford a studio space of my very own. However, I am lucky enough to have my own bedroom, which is like a studio except I sleep there and I have to care a lot more if it gets dirty. Today I'm going to tell you how you can turn whatever you have into an appropriate studio space for whatever it is you to. Virginia Woolf's famous essay doesn't just apply to women writing fiction. While I was living in a dormitory in college, I was forced to live in a room with another person almost at all times. Having another living, feeling human being in your creative space, regardless of whether you are an introvert or an extravert, is really hindering. The one semester that I was able to live in a tiny room by myself, however, was my most creative semester; it was also the semester that I began work on my first comic book. Luckily, most artists in college can find a classroom or a study spot to work. Having your own space is important, regardless of size. I still live in a tiny bedroom in a small apartment, but I am able to make the most of it. My room is only about 10'x12', but aside from my bed, my closet, and my dresser, everything in it is devoted to art and writing (well, and some gaming - I have to have breaks sometimes). I have divided my room into two separate spaces: one for art (left) and one for writing (right). These two areas each have varying levels of five key attributes of a successful makeshift studio: equipment, comfort, versatility, organization, and decoration. Equipment is obviously important. I was fortunate enough to be given that ugly yellow thing in my art space to handle the computing processes necessary to run my art programs and video editing software efficiently. The software I use, however, is mostly free stuff that I've learned how to utilize effectively. For those interested in creating digital art and haven't started yet, Gimp is, without a doubt, the best free digital art software available for download. They update frequently, and many artists rely on it for their projects instead of paying up the wazoo for Photoshop. I use Windows Movie Maker for videos - also free and very simple to use, although not nearly the professional quality of other programs. The only thing I paid for was my comic-making program, Comic Life 2, which runs about $30, but is simple, creates decent and quick layouts, and is more specialized than indesign (not to mention it's a one-time fee instead of a membership). When buying new hardware, I don't buy cheap stuff unless it's not important that I buy something nice. For example, I don't need expensive chamois for charcoal, or expensive pens for jotting down ideas, or even expensive paper for just about anything. However, I do need a nice monitor. If I'm not seeing my colors on a proper display, it's going to look crappy on everyone else's display, and that is a big deal to me. Luckily, mine came at a great deal at the right time, too. Now, my mousepad? A friend's mother decided she wanted to make t-shirts and mousepads a few years ago, and she made me one with my image on it. It has tattoo ink splattered on it. I don't care; it just needs to keep my mouse moving smoothly. Choose your battles when it comes to equipment. Only get nice things when it's important to you. That lamp, by the way? Ten bucks, and I use that thing for storage as well as lighting my videos. Storage is also important, for obvious reasons, but for some reason, storage that makes sense is less obvious to many people. I get really sneaky with my storage, and keep things organized. The picture on the right is a footstool in my writing area that holds all my tattooing equipment. I keep all my spare cables in a companion cube lunchbox in my desk, I keep my writing paper separate from my drawing paper, and my easel fits into a neat little bag that takes up very little space. If I had a separate room for just work, I could keep my easel up all the time, but when working with tiny spaces, you have to find creative ways to store and organize things. With good organization comes versatility, as well. If your stuff is well-organized, you will have space to whip out that easel and get to work. Lots of spaces, in fact - because your room is so clean! Something to think about when you're organizing and storing things is how you're going to decorate your studio. A lot of people would try to tell me that decorating a studio is unnecessary, but where would you, the artist, be without your inspiration? Exactly. You should surround yourself with your inspiration, and that's what the decoration is for. Of course, that is not an excuse to put any old thing you see up on your walls. Try to be selective - only display things that you repeatedly reference, or things that you were profoundly inspired by. Or put up your own work; it will either inspire you to be as good as you once were or better than you've ever been.
My final point on studio space is to make sure it's a place you feel comfortable in. There is definitely something to those uncomfortable desk chairs in school - you're less inclined to fall asleep in them, certainly. But if you're uncomfortable when you're trying to work, it's important that you're able to switch it up and do your work somewhere else. I usually write on that big red chair, but if I'm really struggling, something as simple as sitting on my bed or my desk, or even just turning around and sitting on the footstool is often enough of a change to refresh my thoughts. Hopefully this helps you with your own studio space, and keep an eye out for that grapefruit in my footstool - it's not for eating.... The first thing people ask me when they find out I have tattoos is what they mean. Like most tattooed people, this question annoys the crap outta me. People get really personal about tattoos, as if they're an invitation for intrusive questions about your life. They're understandable questions, but if strangers don't expect an answer to, "Tell me about what you like to do when you have sex" they shouldn't expect to hear the stories behind tattoos. My tattoos do not have beautiful stories or gratuitous symbolism. The reasons I got them are simple.
I got my first tattoo during my sophomore year of college, when I was 19. I had watched my younger friend get her second tattoo, some bats I had designed for her side, a month or two beforehand. Cactus Tattoo was having a sale on Halloween-related pieces. It was the first time I had ever set foot in a tattoo parlor. By that point, I had never really wanted a tattoo, but I was curious about the process. For the month that followed, I spent a lot of time doodling various self-portraits of myself with a star in the center of my left palm. Research told me that tattoos in the hand were extremely painful and prone to fading, so I decided to rethink the position. The one-inch star design moved up my arm and grew an extra two inches until I decided I was ready for my first tattoo. My tattooed friend took me with her to Cactus, where she was getting her bats touched up, and I made an appointment with any artist that was available the next week. Rob Foster has done every one of my tattoos so far. It hurt. It took about an hour. It cost around $150. I've said those three sentences at least fifty times. My reasoning for this tattoo? I'm left-handed. After the first one, I thought I was done. I thought I'd be a one-tattoo kind of bro. But then I got a lip ring. And then I didn't want the lip ring. But I didn't feel cool enough without some other modification. So I started working on a second tattoo. The blue band around my right wrist is probably my favorite - at first glance, it doesn't look like a tattoo, and when I tell people it doesn't have a meaning, I get the most hilarious judging stares. The "story" behind it is simple: I used to watch a lot of anime. One of the most beautiful anime in existence, Samurai Champloo, features a main character with blue rings around his wrists and ankles, and I thought those were pretty sweet. I read somewhere that bands like these were actually considered adequate punishment for criminals in Japan until the 1800s - one band for each crime. I don't really think about that when I look at this tattoo, though. And I spend a lot of time doing that, considering I've been using it to tell right from left for about two years now. The dandelion on the back of my right arm was just done a few months ago. After watching two of my very dear friends get their first tattoos, I decided it was time for another one. I had considered a dandelion tattoo the previous spring when I first regained the ability to smell flowers (I have had allergies since I was little), but the idea faded once winter came. Remember when you were a kid and you picked a bouquet of dandelions for your mom or your teacher or your bus driver, and you thought you were being super sweet and nice, and then your mom/teacher/bus driver told you, "Those are weeds, not flowers" and didn't take them? Way to stomp on a child's innocent heart, mom/teacher/bus driver. That's like pulling a flower off a tree and saying, "That's not a flower, that's a tree," or saying, "That's not a person, that's a negro." Bunch o' bigoted jerks is what we got right here. Also, have you smelled a dandelion lately? It's awesome. "I'm left-handed," "I used to watch a lot of anime," and "Dandelions are awesome" are not good enough reasons for most people. When I give people these one-sentence explanations for my tattoos, they either give me a reproachful look or say, "Oh, that's all?" These people have most likely never been tattooed. No tattooed person I've ever met has had a long, drawn-out explanation for their tattoos. In fact, many of them just really liked the image. No symbolism whatsoever. That leads people to ask dumb questions. When they told you "there are no dumb questions," they were wrong. "Won't you regret that?" is a dumb question. To be completely honest, I might regret these tattoos. But on a list of the things I could possibly regret in life, the art I adorn my body with is extremely low (especially when "children," "manslaughter," "marriage," and "sleeping with someone icky" are also on that list, and I've gotten over the last one). I, at some point in my life, loved something enough to embroider it on my skin. I'm proud that I can feel and express that love through art. Especially if that love is for tattoos. I'm going to let the images do most of the talking this time. During my first college drawing course, I was told that I was not afraid to start over, and that was good. It seemed so simple to me at the time, but I realized it's actually a very important part of being an artist. Being able to start over when something isn't turning out right is a valuable skill. I say "skill" because most people are not able to bring themselves to scrap a piece and start it again, simply because they've spent so much time and effort on it. I had a clear vision of what I wanted in this piece (late at night before falling asleep, as so many good ideas happen). The first time I drew it, I was satisfied. However, when I put it down and looked at it the next morning, I realized it was not even close to what I wanted. Her face was too masculine and hard and it wasn't at the right angle. I had considered trying to fix the original image and just soften her face, but it just wouldn't do it for me. So I decided to start over. Now that the second version is complete, I feel that the first version is absolutely terrible. There are still a few tiny changes I want to make on the second image, but they're so minor that it does not warrant a completely new image.
So today's lesson is short and simple: don't be afraid to start over. Being a college graduate is awful. You're broke, you have no idea what to do with your life, and the big world out there that you thought would be fun to explore now seems overwhelming. Your friends are halfway across the country and you have no one to talk to. You're either living in your parents' house or have been busy moving everything you own into a cheap, crappy apartment.
This experience isn't unique to post-grad youngsters like me. Life is hard. There is a whole lot of world out there, and sometimes when people tell you, "You can do anything," it sounds more scary than reassuring. The overwhelmingness of life alone is enough to make anyone absolutely miserable. And when you're miserable, you don't want to work, even on the personal projects that you really enjoy. You might not be able bring yourself to even think about work. First things first: being miserable is perfectly understandable. It is totally okay to be pessimistic about life for a few days every once in a while, especially if you just want to be upset. But when you have work to do, or you don't want to be upset, it can seem almost impossible to do either of those things. A good friend of mine, Julia Quirke, who is much more eloquent than I am, describes this problem in her own way in her most recent youtube video. When you're ready to be done upsetting yourself, what can you do to motivate yourself? My suggestion: just do something. For the past few weeks, I've thought about telling the story I've been meant to tell since third grade. Thought about it. Until a few days ago, I have been so depressed about the overwhelmingness of life that I didn't work on it. I thought it was a waste of time, just like everything else, so I sat on my butt and watched TV. However, this past weekend, I sat myself down in front of my computer and MADE myself work on that comic book. I couldn't tell you why. Perhaps I just ran out of things to do, or maybe I thought that doing something pointless would be better than doing nothing at all, or maybe I remembered that I used to like doing this, but either way, I did it. I knew I didn't have my plot completely solid, and I knew there were holes, but I made myself start mindlessly laying out panels. During this ridiculously mind-numbing task, something magical happened. I fell in love. In just sitting down and forcing myself do even the worst part of the process, I also forced myself to think about the process. Thinking about the process did two things: it made me remember why I love making comic books, and, possibly the best part of the creative process, I filled in some of the holes that were bothering me. [That was ridiculously, fantastically, absurdly exciting, by the way. It was a lot like finally understanding what that weird fetal Voldemort is doing under the bench in King's Cross.]* If you need further motivation, talk to other people about what they've been doing, or what you like to do, or why you like to do it. Other people are fantastic sources of inspiration and ideas. It may even be helpful to go do something you've never done or rarely do (like go to a bar, park, coffee shop, etc.) just to watch people. Find people you don't like and wonder why they act that way, or why you don't like them. Find people you think are a fantastic addition to society. The existence of people is a wonderful tool for getting over that overwhelmingness of life. Billions of people are dealing with that overwhelmingness, and they're not all doing the same thing. The way I see it, although there's a lot of scary overwhelming world out there, you can be sure that enough of it is so overwhelmingly good that it's worth pursuing. I've finally been able to focus on a project that I've been trying to complete since I was in third grade in these past few weeks. It started as a dream that a friend of mine made up and told me she really had, in which she went on some fantastic journey that involved collecting goblets and fighting monsters, much like the video games we were playing at the time. The story has twisted and changed a lot over the years, mostly due to more dreams (ones that I actually had and not just made up). I had finished a draft of the novel several years ago, before I started college. The idea to make it a comic book came to me last summer, which I realized to be the best idea I've ever had. When people ask me what it's about, I really don't like to answer. Sometimes I just say "everything" to cut the conversation short. The main character, pictured here, escapes prison after murdering her father, the nation's most prized warrior. While visiting her family's grave, she discovers a dimension that proves to her the existence of the gods, reintroduces her to her father's protégé, and informs her that the end of humanity may be upon them. And then there is a huge adventure. I don't want to give away much, since, as an avid literary analyst, I know how fun it is to make connections for yourself. With that in mind, I've been adding all kinds of connections for people to discover and explore. As you can imagine, this story was way less evolved in third grade, but I still have been unable to give it up. I feel that this is one story I was meant to tell, and only I can tell it the way it was intended. It's a great passion of mine, and I can't even begin to think about what will happen when it's finished. Probably a tattoo. There's a rather common question I get when people view my work that baffles the heck out of me. It seems to be a perfectly normal question to everyone who asks it, but I just can't fathom what would bring anyone to ask such a question.
When someone asks me, "Who is that?" the normal answer is "no one." I mean, really look at the picture above. It's not realism. I don't need a model for this; I don't want a model for this. Certainly a model would not be able to pose like that, and the pose was the only clear part of the piece I had envisioned at the start. Just look at her waistline - no woman could possibly model for this. Putting all discussions of feminism and representing women aside for another day, this particular piece is a perfect example of how I plan out my work: I don't, There have only been maybe three pieces in my life that I've really planned out and brainstormed before starting on it, and those pieces were for contests (cash prizes = planning, I guess). To be honest, planning intimidates me a little, because it makes my art too representative. Most of the time, I just want to make something that looks cool. On some rare occasions, I have actually picked a person to draw, either as a gift for that person, or because I just liked the way that person was shaped. However, I've never been particularly proud of any of those pieces. After a very short time, I feel that the piece is no longer representative of that person, or that I could do a better job if I just tried again. I often feel this way about pieces after a time; most, if not all, artists hate their old work. It's like an embarrassing reminder of how terrible they once were. This particular problem is likely due to the ever-changing nature of humanity, but the reason I never draw real people anymore is because of how quickly the hatred of the piece follows. I've been told by a rather flowery instructor of mine that when people draw, they tend to make their figures look more like themselves. As much as I dislike agreeing with that particular professor, I think she has something there. Maybe, in some stupid, obscure way, the answer to "Who is that?" is "me." Certainly art is "a window to the soul" or something fluffy like that. My observers can come to that fluffy conclusion on their own, though. The only answer they're going to get from me is, "I don't know; some chick?" |
AuthorJade E. Cakes lives with a cat and a wheelchair in a place with far too much snow. She spends her days playing with art supplies, staring at video games, and trying to cram thousands of things into one building. Archives
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