Ugandan piece- now with more bulletholes!

Think I'm gonna leave this one alone for a few days now.

Hi guys. I wrote a depressing story!

I'm more than a little rusty haha

'sabout the gales of november that shipwrecked many a man...

Water lapped against her thighs, sending ripples of gooseflesh up the ivory towers. She could stand the chill five steps in, but one more step onto the pebbly riverbed and the soft current would embrace her torso and only with a few more deep gulps of autumn air would she be able to resist scrambling for shore.

Salt stung his eyes and abraded his chopped and bleeding hands. The matted rope slid through his palms as he shouted in fear and effort. Above the screaming wind the faint din of a ship’s bell wildly cut loose in the storm could be heard. Timbers groaned and men prayed in vain to gods they did not know they loved.

As the creek eddied around her legs and crimson leaves floated by, she swayed to maintain balance. Cupping her hands she drew a palmful of drink. In it a water strider madly fought to escape. On sight of the insect the tendons and muscles within her body stiffened to cords of steel, ready to throw the tiny assailant away, but she froze. The animal bumped into the borders of her fingers, silently searching for safety as its calm watery world was turned upside down. The woman began to sit down.

Chains dug into his barrel chest as he struggled to pull the canon back on deck. Brothers fell over the sides, heads gashed open by a rogue boom and whipping ratlines. The grinding of his teeth was lost in the sudden crack that split his eardrums. A scream, a crunching sensation and shouts of anguished men blended into the cacophony as the mainmast began to splinter and twist. A loud thud as a man up in the sails trying desperately to cut loose the tattered canvas fell to the deck. Blood, tar and water squished around his bare feet as he took another agonizing step forward on the swaying deck. To his left ran the second mate, knife in teeth as he attempted to crawl up the side nets towards the sails. Four watches in and half the crew missing. Another step. And another. The metal scored the deck as it dragged forward, at times slipping a few merciful inches with the pitch of the ship. But she would be there…

It rushed by her, enveloping her swan’s neck and tangling her black tresses. If she opened her mouth wider it would rush in, pushing the shocking cold within. Shivering on the pebbles she watched leaves fly down the stream towards her. Deep heavy boughs tasted the water around her. A locket danced along her breastbone as it jostled in the current. The water seeped inside and began to drench its contents.

Seven watches and the maelstrom had not relented. Three more had joined the rest of the crew in calmer waters. God almighty, if the storm were ever to let up, there was no way to sail to port… The mainmast was reduced to shards of timber, most rations had been lost, and if anyone survived, they would surely be too beaten to take on the jobs of those who had died in addition to their own duties. Blood trickled down his hardened muscles, and nary a piece of sun-browned skin was left without scrapes or bruises. A deep laceration in his neck had resulted from his dire attempt to secure the canons on deck. One chain had slipped loose and taken a chunk out of his shoulder, sending him across the deck on his back as the canon slammed into the remains of the mainmast. Another brother had barely missed being flattened by the rogue weapon. Now he sat, senses and mind numbed from hours of cold salt water and sucking wounds. With brawny arms wrapped around the taffrail he watched the sea rise up to meet him, then fall away again. He let the torrential monsoons soak into his hair and trickle into his mouth, filling him with cold and dread. A locket shuddered between his sunken chest and the railing, its soft clink of metal the only sound the sailor’s beleaguered ears could register.

It had been days since the scheduled arrival. Pieces of driftwood appeared on the beaches in droves, and the coastal town was shrouded in sorrow and terror. Ship after ship came home in pieces, each one more damaged than the last. A hundred widows crowded the church aisles, their wails drowning out the deep hollow ring of a bell for each man lost. She remained in the water, letting it flow over her quivering limbs, letting it soak through her bones. Holding the metal necklace to her lips she muttered his name over and over, calling, shouting in her head to come to her or give her hope. Sunlight glittered a deep orange on the crystalline rivulets as twilight grew near. To stand up and break this paralysis, to drain the water from her skin and hair, to meet the cold kiss of night on damp skin, these were trials she cold not face. The locket became warm against her lips as her body chilled in the slowly darkening waters. Salt trickled down her cheeks to join the creek. With every gasping sob the creek fought to overtake her. Beyond the whisper of the leaves the beginnings of a furor could be heard. An electric shock shot through her body and settled in turmoil in her stomach. Eyes widened, mouth motionless, she sat, listening.

The sea boiled around him, each wave lashing his body with ferocity unknown to him. As he dove into another trough, another crest would rise above him, far mightier and more powerful than the one before it. Pieces of line and cable tangled around his feet as he clung like a madman to a large section of mizzenmast. Bobbing like a cork he imagined he saw her in the waves calling to him. With broken fingers digging into soggy timber he held her hair in his mouth. The metal casing was warm against his tongue and in his fevered mind he was in her arms again. He could feel her… He closed his eyes. He would see her long black ringlets soon. How her eyes would shine when he stepped lightly onto the shore! How sweet her ivory skin would taste… His body began to relax and he became oblivious to the hell raging around him. They would marry, and he would leave this temperamental mistress, and build for the town, like he had planned. His fingers slowly slid. He would teach their children to swim in the creek by the church… The waters calmed and he drifted home to her.

Each ring of the bell was a knife to her heart. His ship had come in. Three men had floated in on a raft made of remains of his old home. Fresh cries of agony and loss filled the November air. The water sifted in through her gritted teeth. Salt poured openly down her face. The metal felt colder now, painful to the touch. She opened it with frigid fingers and looked upon a lock of his hair, now soaked. It tarried for a second then was swept away downstream. With only her eyes above the liquid mirror’s surface she took a deep breath and floated home to him.

Digital and cake.

So. Frosting + Art Nouveau = .... sucks.

But. Digital is/almost finished. Still will tweak it until class next week.

skeletons?

It's been a REALLY long time since I drew like this. Probably not long enough. Certainly doesn't mean to me what it used to. Thank god. Totally stumbled across Jin Dadaly's work again tonight and decided to try it out again. Also makes me kinda sick... Especially the woman, since we lost a family friend recently to anorexia.

These little buggers always seem to pop out of my pencil when there's a lot on my mind. Skeletons in the closet, I s'pose haha

Eg er ekki stilpa. Eg er kona.

sorry guys nothing worthy to post today. had a busy one... and spent all morning on livemocha.com learning Russian, German, and Icelandic.

Damn I need a life.

But urgh i love languages! and travelling. and.... i'm a dork.

can't draw for beans tonight :(

putin, molotov cocktease putin, till lindemann of rammstein

hippies

bad horse thing, robert plant and a dove, hippie guy, Stanley Kubrick, bad attempt at Nicholson/Jimi blah i need to get better FAST.

punker doodles

so.. johnny rotten, stephen morris of joy division, sid vicious, and divine.

nudes

so for christmas I got a book called Physique... Which is chock full of photos of nude athletes. Most of them are turn of the century, but there's a few mapplethorpes in the and more contemporary work. Next I'm gonna tackle a book I have that's full of photos of punks. :)

figuring out digi....

okay. so. i didn't want to use the internet. So I took pictures of myself. I swear to god I'm not trying to be vain, but when I'm at home, there's no one else around who'll strip down to pose for me haha

So... WORK IN PROGRESS.

this one is DEFINITELY not going on facebook haha unless i change the face.

mas musica

erase no draw no scribble no erase no... wait...

i'm having lots of fun with this.

sketetchetca sketch

DOODLING IS LIKE METH I CAN'T STOP

blame stu. he gave me this sketchbook for christmas and told me it was "magic". well.

Damned if he wasn't right.

piano and space

just proving i can (sorta) play piano. It's been a month since i touched the keys.

aand... digital painting.

Digital Hell

Holy crap guys. It only took about 6 hours... But I finally cranked out a digital piece I don't *totally* hate. It's about the Ugandan bill that punishes homosexuality by death/life imprisonment. Photoshop. Blood sweat and tears.

Still want to make it better. But I've run out of time. Now to write a paper before bed.

Lemmy

Coloured pencil. Lemmy of Motorhead.

Might tweak it yet. DOn't know.

grumble grumble

So. I have this art history class. With a cool prof. About semi interesting stuff. But the people in the class.... One of them actually said "illustration and painting are obsolete. Cameras are the only true way to capture reality".

I just about kicked his skinny little soy milk smelling light pastel blue jeaned ass.

Except I'm too shy to say anything in that class.

At all.

One of these smug dicks actually dissed Caravaggio. So I beat them up in my head and make fun of them on paper. Enjoy. Or not.

And the final pic is a doodle i did of a giant man thing. Yay. Kinda plan to make it more than a doodle some day. Some day.

geneva dreamin'

just gettin' all nostalgic. Some shots I took in switzerland about 5 years ago. The one with Mr. Mercury was at the Montreaux Jazz Festival, where I unwittingly stumbled across B.B.King warming up in a tent. And I have NO clue who that dude is in my picture. He just jumped in.

And the one of the mountains is actually Champery where we spent a few nights on our cross European tour. Yay classical music!

Pictures are NOT colour corrected- Lach Leman really is that blue. favourite shade of blue ever. And I gotta paint this someday.

Oh... to go back... Someday...

'ey kiddos.

So. Couple of unfinished and quick drawings of Lemmy of Motorhead for class.... An ill for reporter... and ... some morning studies on mark making.

Syd Barrett and Zappa

post turkey doodle time.

Shoowopadoodle

all mechanical pencil. guy- 45 minutes. girl- 30.

Go. Read.

http://thepagesbetween.blogspot.com/

this is the manuscript i found in my gma's house. It's explained on there. I"m typing it up on cpu from an old typewriter written manuscript and posting it so it can finally be read.

Tommy Harrell was my grandpa's friend and he survived the Philippines in WW2. He has some pretty amazing tales to tell here.

Je suis d'ici, i swear

recent doodles. been diggin' the crow quill pen a LOT.

RObo chix

pen an' then acrylic. starting to figger this stuff out. sort of. eh. not really.

look guys, i did sumthin'

... admittedly instead of homework.