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[bigtitanx]

a list of random art tips i’ve learned over a long time

The elbows are near the same height at the belly button

the hands go about 1/3 of the way down the thigh

add fewer folds in clothes than you think you need

The colors of shadows look different depending on what color your light source is

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HARD LINES AND HARD SHADOWS

if you don’t like doing highlights digitally in procreate, add a black layer over the whole drawing, then click the little N of the layer and scroll down to Color Dodge. pick a color for your highlights and draw. Use a soft airbrush to create glow, use a harder brush to create sharper lines

if something is out of your skill level but you really wanna draw it, get a reference! It’s ok to trace! It will help you get better!

think of objects and people as piles of shapes if you are having trouble with positioning

if you don’t like drawing the other eye: copy and paste, cover it with hair/hat/eye patch/hand/scarf/literally anything you can think of

try new styles! it doesn’t matter if it looks good or not, but now you know what you do/don’t like doing, what you’re good/not good at, and what you want to improve on!

when you’re drawing profile heads: add a little extra length to the back of the head. heads aren’t perfect circles. doing this will make the face, ear, and jawline feel much less cramped.

this is a personal preference, but i like to find old photos from like the 40s and 50s to use as references because people got really wild with how they posed and i find it helps with angles and positioning

heres an exercise i like to do to help with positioning: draw a few pairs of circles, make them at all different angles. then, so back and use those circles as placements for hips and shoulders and draw the first pose that comes to mind. keep it simple, but try to make it natural

(I’ll add more when I think of more)

[bigtitanx]

Most of you have no idea how making a living with art actually works Your experience begins and ends with watching a generic popfur smut artists get 10k a month in passive income via patreon subs and cashapp donations and it shows In the professional art world if you take 40 hours a week to produce 1 digital piece you will be replaced laughably fast. Being expected to yield something after a 40 hour work week is not crunch culture, that’s an average full time job. People I’ve worked with who make an income exclusively through art are capable of producing 6 12x12 water color landscapes a week and that’s on the slower end. Hobby commissions =/= art as a full time job It’s unreasonable to expect fully lined and painted art from a commissioner online to be done quickly. That’s a completely different standard for completion time since most people who do commissions are only doing it on the side and aren’t looking to enter professional spheres The site credits almost 20 artists. A significant few being “contributors” im not sure if they were hired on a one-off contractual basis to do one or two drawings and no more than that, but nearly all of them address themselves as active members of the art team so Im counting them as well. A lot of the apparel is copypasted, rotated and flipped. There is nothing wrong with this but it’s a simple fact and it’s efficient. I’m not sure why users get so angry about acknowledging this but I’m not arguing this point because it’s obvious with the barest amount of looking. Undel sketched and lined a dragon in 5 hours in a stream where she was heavily distracted by chat and kept forgetting how to use her tablet. They dont’ color by hand, they run it through a coloring program. All of this adds up to a system that should be more efficient than it is If this site can’t manage to get a modern done more frequently than 1 every 5+ years then it’s a sign of either gross mismanagement or they need to hire more productive artists “the artists are already bogged down/there’s too much apparel” yet they release a new ancient every couple of months which increases their gene bloat and errors and decided it was a good idea to add 2 genes a month to the festival items. Those are not the choices of a struggling team. Nobody adds a few gallons to the tub when they’re already drowning.

It’s fine to think that the pace that they produce art is acceptable. If your standards and opinions line up with their output then you’re entitled to feel that way. At least try to admit it’s based on your personal preferences and opinions rather than a professional standard you clearly don’t know anything about

[bigtitanx]

“Ci sono fotografi che pensano in termini di "doppia pagina", "copertina", "orizzontale", "verticale". Non mi interessano (…), non li voglio frequentare anche se riconosco che sanno come commuoverti, come fare le foto. Ma io preferisco i fotografi che vanno, incontrano, escono.

In una scuola o un'accademia di fotografia e pubblicità, o qualcosa del genere, ho chiesto ai ragazzi di dirmi il nome di un fotografo o di una fotografa che gli piaceva. Silenzio assoluto. Va be', cito Koudelka, Cartier-Bresson, oppure Berengo Gardin, Ugo Mulas, per parlare degli italiani... Niente. Dico: "Ragazzi, ma avete mai sentito parlare di Pier Paolo Pasolini?". Giuro, hanno risposto "No". Gli insegnanti non gliene avevano mai parlato! Questi ragazzi sono letteralmente "vuoti". Ho chiesto loro: "Ma allora cosa studiate, di fotografia?". "La tecnica". Che è il peggio che si possa insegnare, perché ormai la tecnica non esiste più: fai degli scatti, e basta. Mentre il linguaggio, la trasmissione, il racconto, il documento, l'invenzione... niente!

lo sono sempre stata fortemente ancorata nel presente. La fotografia bella ed elegante mi interessa, mi piace, ma mi interessa di più quando racconta e denuncia lo stato delle cose. La resistenza la si fa anche con le piccole cose, come una mostra, un dibattito... (...) Non è che mi metto lì a fotografare i trulli di Alberobello, no, io fotografo quello che mi è vicino, che mi interessa, che mi coinvolge. Qualcosa da difendere, da amare, da apprezzare, da odiare..."

Letizia Battaglia - Volare alto volare basso: Conversazioni, ricordi e invettive.

[bigtitanx]

Overcome Something

I thought we'd passed through it

I thought thing's going back to normal

Thought our scars were healing

But I guess I was wrong

After so long

After all this time

After I tried my best to

Show you everything's fine

You brought him back

You thought I was talking about him

When all you could think was that

I wanted some time alone with you

There was no context for you to

Bring him back

But you did

You thought about him asking me to

Go to a motel with him

But everything the context told you

Was that I'd like to go to a motel with you

And spend quality time with you

I'll not deny that

You bringing him up again

Hurt me

I just want to overcome it

Just wanted to leave it behind

Like it never happened

But you had to let your insecurities speak

Louder than reason

And now here I am

Writing about it

Because I can speak to no one

About it

(By Summer Sky)

[bigtitanx]

Dark fire

In the shadowed tomb, where silence weeps,

Juliet sips the poison deep.

Her love, now lost, a ghostly flame,

A whisper in the void of pain.

The poison’s kiss, a bitter wine,

Spreads through her veins like creeping vines.

Each heartbeat slows, a mournful toll,

A bell that chimes for her lost soul.

Her breath, a fragile wisp of smoke,

Escapes her lips with every choke.

Her heart, a shattered glassy sphere,

Reflects her lover's image clear.

The world grows dim, a fading light,

A twilight fall to endless night.

Her love, a ship that’s lost at sea,

Drowned in waves of agony.

The poison’s grip, a serpent’s coil,

Tightens ‘round her in silent toil.

Her body, cold, a marble form,

A statue carved in love’s forlorn.

She feels the loss, a hollow ache,

An echo in a heart that breaks.

Her life, a thread that’s cut too soon,

A star that falls beneath the moon.

In death’s embrace, she finds her peace,

A quiet end, a sweet release.

Yet still, her love, a phantom’s kiss,

Haunts the shadows, dark abyss.

For those who’ve lost their heart’s desire,

Know Juliet’s pain, the soul’s dark fire.

A love that’s lost, a life that’s torn,

A sorrow deep as night’s forlorn.

(One of my favorites so far, what do you think?)

[bigtitanx]

🌈🌈🌈🌈

[bigtitanx]

went insane with the brushwork here

[bigtitanx]

Review: Twelve Caesars: Images of Power from the Ancient World to the Modern, by Mary Beard

A good book for anyone interested in art history, historical propaganda, or in our responses to it. Mary Beard is a strong writer as always: clear, grounded, and brings the past to life without sensationalizing it. I think she did an especially good job of acknowledging the role of art in propaganda and issues of racism, sexism and imperialism, without being preachy or condescending. It reads as if she trusts you to be an intelligent and caring person who is ready to move beyond "social justice 101."

I love politics, but I admit Beard made the right choice by only mentioning it briefly, to give context for each artwork featured. You don't need to know any history before reading this book. You don't need art theory, either - she skips talking about artistic techniques like composition, linework, and color. Instead, her focus is on how people react to art and use it for their own purposes. It's about the role that images of Suetonius' twelve Caesars have played in European culture.

I particularly liked that she explores a variety of media, from coins to teacups to book bindings, as well as the usual busts and paintings. She even steps out of the aristocrats' homes into middle-class kitsch and raunchy pamphlets. The chapter focusing on imperial women was also very good.

I would have liked to see more Roman art of ordinary people, and of art about Romans made after 1900. There's also no discussion of how the Papal States, Holy Roman Empire, and Byzantines used images of the Caesars for their own political ends, either. But these are huge topics worthy of books in themselves, so I can accept Beard didn't have room for everything.

I learned that western cultures can't really separate our art from Roman influence. It's often very subtle, but our ideas of "What makes a good portrait?" are shaped by how Renaissance artists borrowed Roman postures, gestures, and realistic features. If an English speaker points at an abstract sculpture and says, "That's not real art," his assumptions about what art is likely derive from this tradition. And European pseudosciences like phrenology and physiognomy were partly inspired by studying Roman portraits, and feed into modern ideas of biological racism and discrimination against the unattractive and disabled.

I also came to realize that celebratory and contemptuous portrayals of the Romans can both represent at reactionary ideology. A prejudiced person could either glorify Rome to pretend that modern society is degenerate in comparison, or he could claim we're degenerate just like the Romans and thus doomed to "fall" like the Roman empire did. I suspect prejudice against modern pagans has also been encouraged by centuries of art portraying Roman pagans as cruel, corrupt, and lascivious.

Anyway. If you want to better understand the relationship between art and the people who make, view, and buy it, check this book out.

[bigtitanx]

Falling Through Dreams.

[bigtitanx]

I know this isn't ninjago guys but I finished this 17 hour painting for my art class and I was proud of it so...enjoy.

I love Egypt fun fact about me. :) [ID: a detailed, realistic painting of the hathor columns at the dendera temple complex in dendera, egypt. /end ID]

[bigtitanx]

Splish Splash Psyduck

[bigtitanx]

a poem about sleep and fear

It is late, and I find myself wrapped in blankets, phone screen casting my face in sharp shadows and spotlights. I scroll through photos and videos, overcome with some awful feeling of dread. Is this nostalgia? Regret? Hope? Happiness? Despair? Do I wish this went better? Do I wish I could relive it? Change things? Am I longing for something perhaps? Or do I simply not want to be in this current moment? So many questions with only answers that I can figure out. How daunting. What a chore. Memories resurface, plaguing me with emotions that have not stirred in a long while, perhaps had not been experienced since then. I beg sleep to pull me into his unremarkable embrace. Beg for him fill me up and distract me with dreams and nightmares because I would rather take that gamble than sort through these strange feelings. Yet, he ignores my pleas. Standing still in the corner of my bedroom, watching like a hawk, shifting like midday shadows. His form undulates like a tide as he approaches slowly. Each step is purposeful. Carefully calculated. What does he know that I do not? What does he gain from this show I put on? Time seems to speed up, ten minutes passing in the blink of an eye. I come to focus on the barely noticeable, yet constant, feather-light tug on my heart. It pulls me toward an end that I cannot see, cannot even begin to fathom. Oh… so it was fear of all things. That is what was shaken up inside of me. Fear of time. Fear of the now, and the then, and the next. Sleep stares down at me now, watching, his hooded eyes hungry and lustful. Deceit and amusement laced through his uncanny complexion. He knows that I have figured it out. Knows what dreams and nightmares to wrap around my neck and strangle me with. I glare, though still long for the end of this wakefulness, the end of these thoughts. Yet, I am unwilling to succumb to the illusion of silken sheets he bribes me with. He tries something different now, this time methodically wrapping his spider-like fingers around my heart, tugging on it gently, testing the waters. I feel the strain, the pull forward. The terror and panic of losing time shoots through my body like a bolt of lightning splits a tree in two. In his soothing voice he whispers that he will give me more time, give me more opportunities. Now that is a bribe. An offer I cannot possibly refuse. He knows what I really want, and now he cradles my life in his deft, sinful hands.

[bigtitanx]

The Great Beast

The Great Beast, once alive here, is no longer. Its roars silenced in the fog of the town; glisteningly dull reflections brought to a still gray in the puddle water. The first sign of its release. There were people here once. Bustling, stepping toward the mouth, brought to work in the belly. Sweating from the heat to do what they came here for, now left only courtesy notes and abandoned boots. Its horns, once puffing out smoke town-wide, now a dirtied red, the tips blackened by soot and ash. The second sign of its release: The fog winning against the fume. Amongst the swamp and pine no longer carried a taste, nor smell, only that of nature. Curious animals, bolstered by the lack of warning, made nest here, only for what was left to hurt them. Trees close by now no longer husks of their former selves, but green and lush as once they were before. The beast had its downsides. The third sign of its release, a sickening drought, boiled out by intense heat from the womb. Water turning to vapor. A thin, white streak of gas serving as its last breath, as both fire and man finally vacate it. It served us well years long. Instead of death we found peace, protected by the beast- Its work utilitarian, necessary. I found myself caring more for it than I bargained. Its exterior nostalgic and its interior impressive, myself found nervous amongst its organs, dusted fingers rubbed off on clothing.  I walk a path many others have, yet its eerie silence brings shuddering to my shoulders as ghostly hands impart on my back. From lockers to tables set for a day to never come, I alone was here to witness both past and future. And I was afraid; For things to follow through hallway and room, always behind enough to hide, tracing claws along walls made of need. So, I ran. Out from its womb, to its belly, and out of its mouth. Looking behind me to see only dreams.    

//////////////

Yes this is about an abandoned steam power plant written from a different perspective :) Please RB/Like if you liked this <3

[bigtitanx]

Thoughts, Thoughts, Blog #2

I used to hate the summer.

Summertime equals heat. Summertime equals sweat. Summertime equals gross.

There was nothing that made my uncomfortable developing body feel safe within the summer. All of the bad memories that ruminate through my body and my psyche are attached to the sweltering heat.

But this year, I love it. It's weird how transformational our perceptions can be. But I feel like being self aware is not the best when it comes to this level of inquiry about how our innerworking minds tinker with our memories.

Art, to me, is very very intimate. Art feels like fucking sometimes. It's an exchange of vulnerabilities that I only unsheath for those that I feel are worthy of its valor; some have dishonored it in the past. So now, I am stingy.

Our bodies are so cruel to us sometimes. Jealously feels like a dying star-the pressure of the implosion-that tries to sever all connection and all life before it is ultimately spread apart to birth something new. The death is hot. The death is sudden. The death is revolutionary.

Over the past few months, I have realized that I am a relatively jealous individual. And I hate it. I don't like the physicality of jealousy. The way it makes me hold my chest tight with suppression of something so demonized. The sin of the possession of another, gnawing at the seams keeping my ribcage together.

I struggle with connection. Not with others, but with myself and how I am not special. I am not special.

I am not special.

And I will not sit here and fool myself into thinking so. I am not special, but I am devoted; I simply wish to be worshipped like back in the days when the Ancient Greeks glorified what their gods were best at. I wish I was the cold and still statuette getting kissed at the feet for providing words of wisdom to those who love me.

I wish I was your art. And I wish it was a closed practice that hexes those that dare to get near.

Of course, I am blindingly aware of the stipulations behind this frame of thinking (I am acutely aware of my ego and where it bubbles out, ready to burst with hot air.) I don't like that I even have the capacity to think this way, and I also don't like the things that dissatisfy me in the process.

Will your art forget me? Will your art leave me behind? I am fearful of failure. I am fearful of abandonment. I am fearful of never ever ever being enough and that I will always be left behind. That is why I need you to assure to me that I am a chunk of you always. That I am the piece you never leave behind. You die without my chunk of your body. But in the process I have never stood alone.

My art has never been for one. My art has always been for you. My art has never been for me.

Which is why I hate when you are happy. That is why I hate myself when you are happy. That is why I hate only myself. It is not your fault. It is never your fault.

I am a mosaic, chipped and dusty, incomplete without the context of what I was supposed to be.

[bigtitanx]

[bigtitanx]

I don't think many people realize how much they've been turned into a bunch of casually cynical jerks.

Someone may come to their parents and say "I want to write a book" and their parents will say "it's really hard to get published".

Someone might confide in their sibling and say "I want to sell my art on "x" platform" and that sibling will say "do you know how many people you'd be competing with? Do you know how many shops are even on that platform?"

I know a kid who once told his best friend "I think I wanna start a dnd podcast" and the friend was like "do you know what the word "oversaturation" means?"

Personally, I don't know why any of that matters? And even if it did, perhaps your response should be "Do it! Do it and see where it goes!"

[bigtitanx]

Eso pasa cuando al.fin tengo un tiempo muerto en la pega jajjajajajaj.. AGUANTE AGEG....