Gabrielle is a witch traveling to nowhere, searching for a home.
Luckily, she is not alone.
Have a good New Year's Eve/Day, people <3
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Prompt I Response
Gabrielle is a witch traveling to nowhere, searching for a home.
Luckily, she is not alone.
Have a good New Year's Eve/Day, people <3
Monday, December 28, 2009
Prompt V Response
"When I woke up on the train..."
...yes, the lamp is still following me.
Hello, my name is Kat and I'm a smartass :D
...yes, the lamp is still following me.
Hello, my name is Kat and I'm a smartass :D
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Prompt V response
here's my (admittedly lacklustre) response to "when I woke up on the train..."
I was going to do something entirely different, but I got to thinking about how Leiji Matsumoto's Galaxy Express 999 concepts, and Kenji Miyazawa's novella Night on the Galactic Railroad really inspire me. I've been wanting to do a retelling of the latter for a long time, using my own characters.
This part would be towards the end, when the train is approaching the "Coal Sack", and Campanella (here, Chimera) disappears.
Do you like my kindergartener-level trains 8D?
I was going to do something entirely different, but I got to thinking about how Leiji Matsumoto's Galaxy Express 999 concepts, and Kenji Miyazawa's novella Night on the Galactic Railroad really inspire me. I've been wanting to do a retelling of the latter for a long time, using my own characters.
This part would be towards the end, when the train is approaching the "Coal Sack", and Campanella (here, Chimera) disappears.
Do you like my kindergartener-level trains 8D?
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Prompt IV Response
She is Herself, a newer face in my sketches.
She never speaks, and keeps to herself, and wanders the land contemplating what this world was and what it has become.
Doodle inspired by listening to the prompt song on repeat for about three hours and looking at way too many Brian Froud pictures :|
Please note that this character is not nearly as depressed as she looks.
(textures were created by talented people.)
Monday, December 21, 2009
Prompt V and Prompt IV info
Hello everyone. Prompt IV ("All Things Beautiful") is still due TOMORROW, Tuesday 12/22/09, by midnight CST. I posted it late last week, so there you go.
But for next MONDAY, your prompt, Prompt V, is to expand on this:
"When I woke up on the train..."
(if you choose to respond with prose, no, that definitely does not have to be your first sentence.)
And that's that. If you're celebrating any holidays, I hope you all are having or will have very happy ones!
But for next MONDAY, your prompt, Prompt V, is to expand on this:
"When I woke up on the train..."
(if you choose to respond with prose, no, that definitely does not have to be your first sentence.)
And that's that. If you're celebrating any holidays, I hope you all are having or will have very happy ones!
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Prompt I
I made him promise not to fall asleep, because that's when the cold gets you, but it was a promise I couldn't even keep myself.Borrowed the redhead from a friend. The large, one-eyed blonde is mine.
Also I forgot what this had to do with Pushkin ¯\(°_o)/¯
Also I am sorry that this is taking up space on your blog.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Prompt I(monthly): Winter Journey Response
Some children had rocking chairs. Evan had a walking chair. For as long as he could remember (which, considering his age, could not have been too long) the chair took him wherever he wanted to go, despite his parents and at times even despite himself. The warnings were a tease, a joke of the older folks at first, but after a time Evan forgot how to get down, and the chair had forgotten how to stop...
Prompt IV Response
Our last morning was peaceful. The animals had laid down and died the night before, and from my windowsill I could see them in the fields- sheep, horses, cats, even flocks of birds, who had laid upon the earth to fall asleep and had never gotten up again. The morning dew had pushed up innumerable flowers around them, as if to say "goodbye, goodbye, goodbye," and I smiled and whispered my own farewells along with them.
You have all been so good to me. You have been such good friends. I will always think of you so fondly.
The sky was beginning to melt like butter across the mountains and the valleys, and there was no suffering where it fell, golden, soft, and silent. Heaven was coming down to meet me, and I nodded and let a tear roll down my cheek.
There will never be another day like this one.
You have all been so good to me. You have been such good friends. I will always think of you so fondly.
The sky was beginning to melt like butter across the mountains and the valleys, and there was no suffering where it fell, golden, soft, and silent. Heaven was coming down to meet me, and I nodded and let a tear roll down my cheek.
There will never be another day like this one.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Prompt IV: All Things Beautiful
So sorry everyone. I don't have a constant internet connection anymore and was unable to post my (lacklustre) response, OR the new prompt. My question for you is: Would you rather the deadline for this prompt be for next Monday or Tuesday?
Your prompt this week is not an image! It is an instrumental song. Before any of you accuse me of sucking my own dick (pardon my vernacular), I... will gladly admit to it. I find the song very beautiful, melancholy and uplifting, and very inspiring. I hope you find it the same, and if you don't, then an angry or displeased response will also do nicely.
[if you wish to download, pick it up at mediafire.]
I hope this is satisfactory for everyone and that it gives you a bit more leeway than lamps in a forest.
Your prompt this week is not an image! It is an instrumental song. Before any of you accuse me of sucking my own dick (pardon my vernacular), I... will gladly admit to it. I find the song very beautiful, melancholy and uplifting, and very inspiring. I hope you find it the same, and if you don't, then an angry or displeased response will also do nicely.
[if you wish to download, pick it up at mediafire.]
I hope this is satisfactory for everyone and that it gives you a bit more leeway than lamps in a forest.
Prompt III Response
Haha, the image first made me think of this story I never worked on but still love to death. It was about Neverland (kind of) and how the Lost Children (not just boys) don't believe in the "real world" and think adults are just make-believe.
I might work on this more tomorrow in Photoshop, but yeah. Blah blah blah, sketch.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Prompt III
I'm sorry it's so small.. ugh finals and all that. orz;; But this is a little pixel I did! Maybe I'll animate it when I am more competent~
Prompt III Response
Thought process:
...is that a lamp? (...yes, yes it is.)
Alternatively titled: is that lamp...floating? (yes, it is.)
Alternatively titled: Oh Jesus, why is it following me? (because it lurves you.)
I would just like to say that this was great fun to do, and if I hadn't left it last minute I would have had a whole army of lamps following me :D
hey bros
Do I need to F5 or something? You have until Midnight to get your Prompt IIIs in! Just letting you know.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Prompt II Response
Alyosha is playing down the hall.
My book has fallen to my lap without my realizing it; my head is tilted toward the door. The notes, played slowly and almost tenderly, drift through the old house like air, and like air I breathe them in. It is Beethoven’s Sonata Pathétique. I close the book in my hands to listen.
It happens without fail, though he does not know it: if I were to tell him that I stopped what I was doing every time he practiced, he would probably apologize for disturbing me. There is no need for that. His music is like an old friend’s embrace: far from being a disturbance, it is a comfort.
That is especially true today. I have heard this piece played many times, by many different pianists, but Alyosha himself plays it very, very rarely. I love it when he does.
He is already well into the first movement. It is fascinating to listen to, swinging between fast cascades of sound and phrases defined by their aching loneliness. Under his hand, the soft passages are heartbreaking, the loud ones angry, and the sudden outbursts that spot each quiet phrase feel like blows. The emotion is almost more than I can bear.
The second movement finds deeper places in the heart to touch.
I have always found the Adagio’s cantabile lonely and filled with a sort of slow, bittersweet hope. Very few performances of it have failed to move me, but at his fingers, the reoccurring melody has such a longing to it that tears are wetting my cheeks before the first phrase has left the air.
It is not unusual for me to cry while listening to Alyosha playing. He has seen me weep at his music in the past and he understands, but just as he does not know how often I listen to him practice, he does not know how often he brings forth tears.
I do not know how he would react – he does, after all, understand. But there is a part of me that thinks he would apologize, and this is what stops me from being an overt audience more often. I don’t want him to regret my tears: they, too, are a comfort.
This is how I mourn my dead. This is how I find my healing.
The Adagio ends, rich and heartbreaking, and I am beyond the simple action of listening as the last movement begins. I wrap myself in the music, in my grief, and when the piano falls still and the last notes leave the air, I do not open my eyes.
For one precious moment of silence, the music echoes in my blood. I am home.
(hnnn i don't know. alyosha is a friend's; the character speaking is one of mine. the short version of her deal is: there've been a lot of bad things that have happened in her life, and she can't ever go home. she never developed a mechanism of her own to work through her issues/dead, but music functions in its stead. she's been sort of adopted by alyosha's family, and she's slowly settling into it, but it's still not home - the music, however, is.
(Mov. I) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lq4G3KRAuXc
(Mov. II) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n2nG1bt7IBM
(Mov. III) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qRkr7WgQ_Y4
this took way too long to write and is slightly embarrassing. my characters/oneshots are all disgustingly melodramatic, but usually they don't go further than the eyes of alyosha's writer.)
My book has fallen to my lap without my realizing it; my head is tilted toward the door. The notes, played slowly and almost tenderly, drift through the old house like air, and like air I breathe them in. It is Beethoven’s Sonata Pathétique. I close the book in my hands to listen.
It happens without fail, though he does not know it: if I were to tell him that I stopped what I was doing every time he practiced, he would probably apologize for disturbing me. There is no need for that. His music is like an old friend’s embrace: far from being a disturbance, it is a comfort.
That is especially true today. I have heard this piece played many times, by many different pianists, but Alyosha himself plays it very, very rarely. I love it when he does.
He is already well into the first movement. It is fascinating to listen to, swinging between fast cascades of sound and phrases defined by their aching loneliness. Under his hand, the soft passages are heartbreaking, the loud ones angry, and the sudden outbursts that spot each quiet phrase feel like blows. The emotion is almost more than I can bear.
The second movement finds deeper places in the heart to touch.
I have always found the Adagio’s cantabile lonely and filled with a sort of slow, bittersweet hope. Very few performances of it have failed to move me, but at his fingers, the reoccurring melody has such a longing to it that tears are wetting my cheeks before the first phrase has left the air.
It is not unusual for me to cry while listening to Alyosha playing. He has seen me weep at his music in the past and he understands, but just as he does not know how often I listen to him practice, he does not know how often he brings forth tears.
I do not know how he would react – he does, after all, understand. But there is a part of me that thinks he would apologize, and this is what stops me from being an overt audience more often. I don’t want him to regret my tears: they, too, are a comfort.
This is how I mourn my dead. This is how I find my healing.
The Adagio ends, rich and heartbreaking, and I am beyond the simple action of listening as the last movement begins. I wrap myself in the music, in my grief, and when the piano falls still and the last notes leave the air, I do not open my eyes.
For one precious moment of silence, the music echoes in my blood. I am home.
(hnnn i don't know. alyosha is a friend's; the character speaking is one of mine. the short version of her deal is: there've been a lot of bad things that have happened in her life, and she can't ever go home. she never developed a mechanism of her own to work through her issues/dead, but music functions in its stead. she's been sort of adopted by alyosha's family, and she's slowly settling into it, but it's still not home - the music, however, is.
(Mov. I) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lq4G3KRAuXc
(Mov. II) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n2nG1bt7IBM
(Mov. III) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qRkr7WgQ_Y4
this took way too long to write and is slightly embarrassing. my characters/oneshots are all disgustingly melodramatic, but usually they don't go further than the eyes of alyosha's writer.)
Prompt III: Objects in nature/"disbelonging"/a strange find/wait is that a lamp?
Prepare to be very weirded out.
by Norwegian artist Rune Guneriussen
This week's prompt has no name and no further guidelines besides that image. Take from it what you will, bend and twist and contort it for your own devices if you want. Metaphorical or literal, symbolic or realistic. Anything goes, as always!
Prompt III deadline is December 14th, Midnight Central Time.
AS FOR PROMPT II (current prompt) you have until MIDNIGHT CENTRAL TIME tonight, 12/07/09!
by Norwegian artist Rune Guneriussen
This week's prompt has no name and no further guidelines besides that image. Take from it what you will, bend and twist and contort it for your own devices if you want. Metaphorical or literal, symbolic or realistic. Anything goes, as always!
Prompt III deadline is December 14th, Midnight Central Time.
AS FOR PROMPT II (current prompt) you have until MIDNIGHT CENTRAL TIME tonight, 12/07/09!
Prompt II Response
It was hard to do something for this when at the moment, I feel unwelcome at home, and any attempt at comfort is uncomfortable. I end up really cherishing my time alone, even if it's for an hour or two. I connect better with my animals than with my own family, and I've been getting comfort in the unconditional love they show me.
Oh man, I swear I will do something that does not suck for other prompts ffffffffffffffffail
Prompt II Response
I find comfort in almost being somewhere, whether it's my home in Sorrento, the UVic Residences, or visiting a friend elsewhere. The possibility of finding exactly what you're looking for exists and you know for certain that everything will be wonderful and fantastic.
It's the same feeling I get from walking under orangey city lights alone at night with their light reflected in the sky above me, or standing by the ocean, or listening to "Solsbury Hill." This sense that life is beautiful and perfect and that I can do or be anything I want.
Anyway this is pretty much the hills just before you get into Kamloops, where my parents were picking me up after I came home at reading break. The lights of the city were reflected in the clouds overhead and everything felt huge and exciting.
(Sorry it's so terrible; I'm not really used to digital media and I only just found out my scanner doesn't work.)
It's the same feeling I get from walking under orangey city lights alone at night with their light reflected in the sky above me, or standing by the ocean, or listening to "Solsbury Hill." This sense that life is beautiful and perfect and that I can do or be anything I want.
Anyway this is pretty much the hills just before you get into Kamloops, where my parents were picking me up after I came home at reading break. The lights of the city were reflected in the clouds overhead and everything felt huge and exciting.
(Sorry it's so terrible; I'm not really used to digital media and I only just found out my scanner doesn't work.)
Prompt II Response
This is a comfort to me:
It's two in the morning and I'm alone in my apartment. And all of a sudden I realize how alone I am. But it's too late to phone anyone. No one is online to talk to. I don't have any friends in this city. All of my friends and family are on the other side of the Rocky Mountains.
So I open up a Word document, take a dive into my subconscious, and have a conversation with a voice in my head instead.
Taken is a very down to earth character, and he listens, and he consoles.
I know he isn't real. But sometimes I really, really wish he was.
Am I the only one who sometimes wishes a particular character was real?
Is it just me?
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Prompt II Response
I find my bed to be really safe and comforting place. You can just bury yourself in blankets and pillows and no one (usually, haha) bothers you. This character, Raphael, is also comforting for me to draw.
Not much to say about my home except that there is a disconnect because of where I live during school. It's just a house where I happen to put my shit in and not really a 'home' If that makes sense!
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Prompt II Response
The fruit of my labors in Painter X. Which I consequently hate. I did learn a lot about how textures work, and some of you may notice I went fucking nuts with them. But whatever.
Explanation:
I like to be alone a lot the time. I was an only child for the first 10 years of my life and I was usually given a lot of space to just be me. It's not that I don't like people, because I do, and most of my friends will agree that I'm not that much of a dick. I like getting away from responsibility and just having some time for me, my thoughts, and quiet. And a cigarette. I'm comfortable with me.
This Will Destroy You
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aqvmCiNMpCU
Explanation:
I like to be alone a lot the time. I was an only child for the first 10 years of my life and I was usually given a lot of space to just be me. It's not that I don't like people, because I do, and most of my friends will agree that I'm not that much of a dick. I like getting away from responsibility and just having some time for me, my thoughts, and quiet. And a cigarette. I'm comfortable with me.
This Will Destroy You
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aqvmCiNMpCU
Prompt II Response
Being born and raised in Arizona has made me extremely sensitive to the cold. And I find nothing more comforting than wrapping myself up in my soft and fuzzy blanket with warm green tea fogging up my glasses. :)
Friday, December 4, 2009
Winter Journey Prompt I Response
Hey, I'm here posting this for my mom.
Winter Journey prompt response
by rootbeer float
Winter Journey prompt response
by rootbeer float
They made this trip no matter what the weather brought. Down the icy road, over the iron bridge, turn into our driveway. I never saw the people, I don’t even know their names. But they brought gifts greater than gold…they brought joy and excitement and left it on the doorstep for us to find. The gifts under our tree were often times sparse, and the things they brought (though at times sparse themselves) made a world of difference to me and my family. Small boxes of candy, a gift or two that would double - double! - the amount of presents we had. What a thrill to hear the a knock on the kitchen door, then find a small pile of treats on our kitchen porch…it was like crafty old Santa snuck in early! That’s what I thought, anyway. Only later, after I grew up did I learn that it was a charity from the people in our town, disbursed to families that did not have so much to spend on presents and trinkets. But oh, what a delight and surprise it was. And now that I am grown up, I have made those same trips, to the same sort of houses I grew up in. It is a debt I feel I should repay. And I feel like I myself am crafty old Santa, slipping silently in and quickly out, dispersing dreams and wishes to all those good children. I never see the people…they don’t even know my name. Maybe they do. Maybe they say it the same way my parents did, with a wink and nod and a knowing smile. “Must have been Santa”, they’d say. “Must have been Santa”.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Prompt II response
I blorped this together in the past hour or so and /hopefully/ I'll have something better to show, but if not, then this is what I got (:
What else can I say! Winter (December in particular), my cat (who is fat, and is probably the person/creature I spend the most time with), and adventuring in/with those things. Vermont is a pretty good place to live if you want foresty winterventures.
What else can I say! Winter (December in particular), my cat (who is fat, and is probably the person/creature I spend the most time with), and adventuring in/with those things. Vermont is a pretty good place to live if you want foresty winterventures.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Prompt II Response
Oh, you can click on the image to view full size. It's huuge. :o
I don't really have a sense of home anywhere, but a lot of things bring me comfort, which I tried to include in this doodle. Rain, my cat, art, storms, tea, etc.... c8
Prompt II Response from Machi
Machinari here, breaking in and probably messing up. >< I have no idea who the speaker is, but he's probably either bald, or a nudist with a mohawk. Yay inspiration...? Um.
"There aren't many comforts around for people like us. We gave up our homes a long time ago, escaping the cities and human company in favor of the unexplored jungles, where civilized men would never dream of walking. There is death there, they say, as the metallic cities siphon away their spirits and leave them there, nothing more than plodding masses of warm flesh where a human once stood.
Somehow, we find jungle death far more appealing. Out there, we at least know when we're dead. For the city-dwellers, it could take years, decades, whatever, oblivious as they are. They walk along their routine for their whole lives without realizing that they have none. Their ways suit them, and ours suit us. For them, home is security, comfort is monotony, happiness is sleep. It isn't a dishonorable life, but not one that we could ever be a part of.
For us, home is wherever we can see the wind ruffle the feathers of our falcons, or seeing the moon in its cold glory. Comfort is a successful hunt, or living through another day. Happiness is wading into the stream when the fish are thick, or the wildness in running beneath our companions as they dive, the beast from land and beast from air. It's different, it's living, it's feeling hot blood pounding through our veins, blood that has stagnated within our 'civilized' counterparts. It's freedom that's home for us, and death before I give it up."
FFFFFFFFFFFFFF *hides*
"There aren't many comforts around for people like us. We gave up our homes a long time ago, escaping the cities and human company in favor of the unexplored jungles, where civilized men would never dream of walking. There is death there, they say, as the metallic cities siphon away their spirits and leave them there, nothing more than plodding masses of warm flesh where a human once stood.
Somehow, we find jungle death far more appealing. Out there, we at least know when we're dead. For the city-dwellers, it could take years, decades, whatever, oblivious as they are. They walk along their routine for their whole lives without realizing that they have none. Their ways suit them, and ours suit us. For them, home is security, comfort is monotony, happiness is sleep. It isn't a dishonorable life, but not one that we could ever be a part of.
For us, home is wherever we can see the wind ruffle the feathers of our falcons, or seeing the moon in its cold glory. Comfort is a successful hunt, or living through another day. Happiness is wading into the stream when the fish are thick, or the wildness in running beneath our companions as they dive, the beast from land and beast from air. It's different, it's living, it's feeling hot blood pounding through our veins, blood that has stagnated within our 'civilized' counterparts. It's freedom that's home for us, and death before I give it up."
FFFFFFFFFFFFFF *hides*
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