G
Guest
Guest
*stretching*
G
Guest
Guest
Hey - my thread, I amke the rules.THROBBS said:
If I wanna stretch, I will.
If I wanna post sketches, I will.
or writing, or naughty pictures or....
OH! Forgetting my manners.
Good morning, Throbby - thanks for dropping in.
Last edited by a moderator:
G
Guest
Guest
You love it.THROBBS said:OH!!???
so sorrry.
SO this means you'll stop bossing me around on my thread?
G
Guest
Guest
Wouldn't you know - I sketch to bloody light.
Last edited by a moderator:
G
Guest
Guest
Five is a good number. *grin*THROBBS said:
Shop isn't adjusting it enough. I do need to make it darker - the fellow is actually full length - the rest of him hardly shows up.
*do not compare mine to his! Different artist - different levels of skill! and he's old...*
OK - done chattering to myself.
G
Guest
Guest
Just giving myself a little pep-talk -THROBBS said:
What I have is an attachment - post #6, just a head. I will mess with it at lunch some more and get the whole thing up.
G
Guest
Guest
Sunset
The air changes when the dusk comes on – there is a smell – don’t ask me to define it, just one of those reptilian-brain responses that has no articulation to the modern brain. Still – it is, and it is my signal to find a place to sit, near the water, to still myself, to watch the gloriosity of the sky in its subconscious.
A sunset is a dream – coming on subtly like sleep – some don’t notice it until it’s obvious, but I study the sky as if gazing upon my lover’s face. The deepest endless summer blue grows even more unfathomable as the sun slowly sinks in the west – the furious white glare softens, mellows, turning cadmium as it prepares to rest. A soft breeze arises as if cooling it down, and condensation from the ocean forms cotton candy-puff clouds, scudding on the horizon. I would like to play there as they multiply, creating the canvas on which the sunshine paints.
Lower still, my mind drifts in the soft breeze and I soar with the cries of the seagulls, darting in and out of the crimson stained clouds, pink puffs wake off me as I pierce them. Violet streams above, rushing in like the tide to put out the flames the ember of the growing sun has set alight.
The glowing coal now slips into the sea, flaming out like fireworks, but liquid – soft brilliant blooms of cadmium, vermilion, and magenta mimic thoughts sorting themselves in one’s dreaming mind in a riot of colour – this is where I am most one with the welkin – a fantastic world of imagination and possibility.
Then, near the horizon, the first and loveliest of the sky-dancers appears. Venus glows the pink of intimate secrets, the foundation of desire, calling her partners like a siren to the dance.
And Night begins – I awaken.
The air changes when the dusk comes on – there is a smell – don’t ask me to define it, just one of those reptilian-brain responses that has no articulation to the modern brain. Still – it is, and it is my signal to find a place to sit, near the water, to still myself, to watch the gloriosity of the sky in its subconscious.
A sunset is a dream – coming on subtly like sleep – some don’t notice it until it’s obvious, but I study the sky as if gazing upon my lover’s face. The deepest endless summer blue grows even more unfathomable as the sun slowly sinks in the west – the furious white glare softens, mellows, turning cadmium as it prepares to rest. A soft breeze arises as if cooling it down, and condensation from the ocean forms cotton candy-puff clouds, scudding on the horizon. I would like to play there as they multiply, creating the canvas on which the sunshine paints.
Lower still, my mind drifts in the soft breeze and I soar with the cries of the seagulls, darting in and out of the crimson stained clouds, pink puffs wake off me as I pierce them. Violet streams above, rushing in like the tide to put out the flames the ember of the growing sun has set alight.
The glowing coal now slips into the sea, flaming out like fireworks, but liquid – soft brilliant blooms of cadmium, vermilion, and magenta mimic thoughts sorting themselves in one’s dreaming mind in a riot of colour – this is where I am most one with the welkin – a fantastic world of imagination and possibility.
Then, near the horizon, the first and loveliest of the sky-dancers appears. Venus glows the pink of intimate secrets, the foundation of desire, calling her partners like a siren to the dance.
And Night begins – I awaken.
G
Guest
Guest
I erased most of it.mjl2010 said:
You know they have erasable pencilcrayons now? But they're toys, not proper tools - can't shade with them properly.
My artist friend Yuri tells me artist do not erase. I can amnd will salvage the seagull too at lunch.
*mumbling* so much to do, so much to do
THROBBS
I am Fauve
- Joined
- Jul 4, 2007
- Posts
- 19,524
babygrrl_702 said:
Yuri is fulla poopoo...
HOWEVER... one can often salvage what we might feel is a booboo.
I do like to work with pens and go "balls out" and not be fussy or sketchy.
But I also like to work with pencils and erase and correct and modify.
G
Guest
Guest
I'm going to take a pencil to my seagull and the fellow.THROBBS said:
maybe see about getting him a little action - right now he's balancing on his elbows and - well - something else.
G
Guest
Guest
Harlequin
The peace of the dawn is pregnant with possibility. Dawn is imminent, but still dreaming. Tiny wavelets kiss my craft, their touch exquisitely clear and intimate, soft in my ear. And then…
He speaks. The sound makes my throat tighten, its clarity crystalline, sluicing through the fog like a silver bell. I close my eyes, opening my mind, inviting him to play, to laugh, to dive after shining prey. The sound percolates through my veins, tickling carbonated on my nerves, suffusing through my skin.
He is a monochrome harlequin, a mummer of the mind, his song a conversation. Although I don’t speak his language, I understand his feelings; his cry touches my soul. There is joy in solitude, bittersweet moments of contemplation, perhaps understanding.
I am energized by the camaraderie of loneliness. Unconsciously the paddle dips and the drip of runoff sounds like lips and tongue and mouth, slack with desire. I hear the strains of the steel pedal guitar lick of Gordon’s wreck. The mist brightens; pearl to pink to gold, evaporating in sparkling reflected light. The mist reveals the lake, and my invisible friend stays hidden.
But his song lives in my heart.
The peace of the dawn is pregnant with possibility. Dawn is imminent, but still dreaming. Tiny wavelets kiss my craft, their touch exquisitely clear and intimate, soft in my ear. And then…
He speaks. The sound makes my throat tighten, its clarity crystalline, sluicing through the fog like a silver bell. I close my eyes, opening my mind, inviting him to play, to laugh, to dive after shining prey. The sound percolates through my veins, tickling carbonated on my nerves, suffusing through my skin.
He is a monochrome harlequin, a mummer of the mind, his song a conversation. Although I don’t speak his language, I understand his feelings; his cry touches my soul. There is joy in solitude, bittersweet moments of contemplation, perhaps understanding.
I am energized by the camaraderie of loneliness. Unconsciously the paddle dips and the drip of runoff sounds like lips and tongue and mouth, slack with desire. I hear the strains of the steel pedal guitar lick of Gordon’s wreck. The mist brightens; pearl to pink to gold, evaporating in sparkling reflected light. The mist reveals the lake, and my invisible friend stays hidden.
But his song lives in my heart.
GentleSub_Ivy
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 7, 2007
- Posts
- 735
I'm so glad you have a thread up babygrrl. I can't wait to see more of your work. Have fun.
G
Guest
Guest
Hello xssive, thanks for coming by.
It seems I sketch far too lightly. So for now, until I get back into painting mode, there won't be any visuals for a bit, just text. thank you much for stopping by.
Ivy! Thank you for coming.
It seems I sketch far too lightly. So for now, until I get back into painting mode, there won't be any visuals for a bit, just text. thank you much for stopping by.
Ivy!
Thank you for coming. 
xssve
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 11, 2007
- Posts
- 5,854
I'm sorry I was being nasty, ya know, stretching? Never mind.
It might be your scanner, the lower priced ones don't do so well with greyscale, try scanning as a B&W photograph, and if that doesn't work, as a color photograph, and greyscale it in your image application.
I picked up a scuzzi (HP Scanjet 5p) scanner at a yard sale for $20, the difference is night and day, if only it could handle A3 paper.
Before that I had to ink everything to get it to show up, I draw lightly too, using an F lead.
A good pen to ink with for sketching is the Pentel Energel, nice dark line, never skips and doesn't leave tails.
It might be your scanner, the lower priced ones don't do so well with greyscale, try scanning as a B&W photograph, and if that doesn't work, as a color photograph, and greyscale it in your image application.
I picked up a scuzzi (HP Scanjet 5p) scanner at a yard sale for $20, the difference is night and day, if only it could handle A3 paper.
Before that I had to ink everything to get it to show up, I draw lightly too, using an F lead.
A good pen to ink with for sketching is the Pentel Energel, nice dark line, never skips and doesn't leave tails.
