#i have so much unfinished art like this where i just never finish them but i would have really loved to

[mymp3]

something i was working on that i’ll never finish

[steftastan]

Carian Stroll

“Tell Blaidd, and Iji…I love them.”

Before this piece, I had been wanting for a long time to create my own piece of Elden Ring fanart featuring Ranni. I had tried several sketches unsuccessfully, just wasn’t particularly feeling the ideas I had sketched up until that point.

One day of usual internet scrolling, I stumbled upon this gorgeous piece of art by Shimomura Kanzan.

I knew immediately I wanted to do something like this for my Elden Ring fanart. In fact, if you look at this piece, there is tons of inspiration that I drew from the original artwork, such as the style of the yellow leaves and the main subject matter being a prominent silhouette of the brightest value, placed at approximately the bottom third of the image.

The main character is cleverly shrouded amidst various layers of trees and foliage, giving us the impression that we're peeking into candid moment of their life. In the case of the fox, we caught it during a mid-day snack. In the case of Ranni and her party, we caught them in a leisurely stroll, while Iji outfits the dreaded Fingercreepers with their iconic rings.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to capture a happy moment, but Ranni goes as far as to ask us to deliver to Iji and Blaidd the message that she loves them dearly as her quest draws near its end. I would imagine they all must have had fun moments together as a family. Hey, maybe even the hands liked to be around them?

The process

I started this on my iPad using the procreate app. Sadly the full process is not captured on video, as I switched to Photoshop for the rendering phase of the illustration. This video is a fun window into my chaotic process and how I iterate on the fly on the same canvas. I probably wouldn't do that in a professional setting where you often need to have color keys and iterations to be reviewed and analyzed. I like to I cut myself some slack when doing personal art to keep things fun.

Trying and failing some more

This illustration was not a straightforward path. I haven’t been very diligent about personal art, and at some point I started deviating too much from my reference by adding too many levels of depth to the background and suffocating the piece. I got into a weird loop where I would randomly open the PSD, play around with the values, pushing Iji to the back, then bringing him back, cranking all the levers on Ranni, etc., decide it would look horrible, then begrudgingly determine I’d never complete this image and go on with my life.

As artists we likely have unfinished work sitting everywhere, be it in our sketchbooks, canvases, or hard drives. But it’s a different kind of sting when you feel like you can’t even nail the fundamentals.

Anyway, so a couple weeks ago, I decided to give it another go, but this time I would get rid of all the unnecessary stuff, even stuff that I had been trying to render for ages. I would not hold on to anything, I would try and recapture what drew me to Kanzan's beautiful painting to begin with.

After it became a matter of pushing and pulling pixels until the image was finished!

That’s about it. I didn’t go crazy in depth but lately I’ve been enjoying reading into artists’ processes and I’d be remiss to not share my own thought process also.

Thank you for viewing!

[sporeblossom]

logging back onto this website to say that while i dont think (???) it was intentionally done, the scene before their "last day" where frank is working on a portrait of bill, reminded me of keith haring's "unfinished painting"

comparison here before i explain:

keith haring's painting was purposely made to look incomplete. haring was diagnosed with HIV in late 1988, and died in early 1990, at the age of 31. the painting is a self portrait, hitting us with the gut-punch reality of how the aids-epidemic robbed haring of the right to finish his own story. the overwhelming amount of empty space is a glaring reminder that haring didn't just have a short life, he had an incomplete one. the piece points to all that empty space and says: this should have been filled out. this should all have been my art, my story, and my space. by claiming this empty space, haring claimed the empty space of his unlived life, that was taken from him and so many other people, by a negligent and homophobic society that refused to care about the pandemic ravaging an entire community worldwide.

now back to my original point: like i said, im really not sure if this was intentionally done by the show. but when i was watching this episode and i saw this scene, i immediately thought of this painting. the blue color of the eye trailing off onto the blank part of the canvas is, at least to me, a strong visual parallel.

and i feel like this visual parallel highlights some very important thematic parallels as well, which deserve to be talked about. in the show, the outbreak starts in 2003 which means that bill and frank have both lived through the aids-epidemic. they have seen people like them die. they have experienced the hatred and isolation that came with it. you could speculate and read into things ad nauseaum, but i thinks it's safe to say that in this place and time, this also plays into how careful and hesitant they are, when they first start to show intimacy with each other. in their world, they didn't even get to experience the legalization of gay marriage.

seeing as this show takes place during another, fictional, pandemic, airing at a time where the real world has just faced another actual pandemic, it is impossible to ignore this aspect of their story.

these two characters however, are not destroyed by the outbreak in the show. they find each other, they experience freedom, love, and a full life together. their life is not cut short.

in an absurd twist of fate, when the rest of the world is finally forced to experience what it's like to be abandoned by your government during a devastating epidemic, this is when these two people find happiness. they get to go running, and have fights, and grow strawberries, and have friends over for dinner.

and after spending nearly twenty years together, frank spends his last time working not on a self portrait, but on a portrait of bill, the love of his life. this is the sort of thing that rightfully should have filled the empty space of haring's work. finding love(s) spending your time together, that is a life lived.

and yet frank's painting is unfinished, because of course we are never truly done living. we are never truly done loving. but he got so much more time, so much more story, than the people we lost to the aids epidemic, which the trailing off blue paint reminds us of.

at the same time their house is absolute filled with all the paintings that frank did finish, showing us all the good days he got with bill. and in a way, i feel like that is the show being very aware of what it is: a complete, beautiful story about two men loving each other, in a world that sorely lacks these stories. a world where we had so many unfinished, incomplete lives, that we lack an entire generation of older gay men.

and even though i was completely reduced to tears by the end of this episode, the ending still filled me with some sort of mournful joy. because yes, even though it was incredibly sad to see their last day, these two men got to fill so much of their empty space. they got to experience love, and they got to live their life. like bill says: "im old. im satisfied. and you were purpose."

so many people didn't get that. keith haring didn't get that. a whole generation of queer people didn't get that. that makes this episode so much more moving for me, because it is not just an incredibly beautiful love story, but it is an incredibly beautiful love story that the world should rightfully have seen millions more of. but all those lives were incomplete.

so with the undeniable, but unspoken, presence of the aids epidemic in the narrative of these characters, this visual reference to keith haring and aids, purposeful or not, is incredibly meaningful.

[somerandomdudelmao]

Hi. First, I wanted to let you know that you're a huge inspiration to me :)

Second, as a fellow fanartist I wanted to ask: how do you get over the fear of people perceiving your artwork as too unfinished (if you have that fear at all?) How do you tell yourself "okay stop. This is as much as I'm gonna work on this page" and then hit the post button? I have this thing where I start a piece and then never post it cause "it's not completed yet".

Thank you in advance!

Ah thank you:3

Honestly, I just prefer speed over finality. My goal is not to create perfectly beautiful art. My goal is to tell a story. To convey information. To convert my train of thought into something that can be perceived with the eyes.

I can do smooth linework, detailed renderings, correct anatomy and all that. But I don't really need that, as the sketch is enough to convey the story. And it's very quick too~

For me, an artwork is considered complete when it says everything I want to say through it. And sometimes that means making the hands look like two blotches. Simply because for my story, the hands aren't important at that point. I'll draw them well in the moment when I want to tell something through them:)

So, usually I just make sure that the most important elements look clear. The facial expressions, the curves of the cape, the position of the hands, whatever. The things I really want people to see and process. Everything else serves solely as a backdrop.

If people think my work is unfinished, that's their problem. I don't have to adjust to their understanding of "completeness." If they want to see my work "finished" according to their value system, they can finish it themselves and then happily look at its perfection lmao

________

Just as a funny addition and proof of my words.

Important Hands:

Not important hands:

And still, for me, they are all - finished:)

[natalyarose]

𝑅𝑒𝒻𝓁𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓉… (𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑜, 𝒮𝓊𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝐵𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒾!)

~ This is a bit of a personal one lol, maybe I'm getting a little too comfy on tumblr- but hey, I like it here and I'm very grateful for everyone who's taken an interest in whatever I have to say :)

~ tagging this on Nakshatra tumblr because I feel like this reflection perfectly encapsulates Venus Nakshatras and is very aligned with the Sun moving into Bharani, the birth of Venus among the Nakshatras

// warning, cringe and angsty lmao

I have such an odd relationship with my artistic process. Unconventional? Stubborn. Sometimes just straight up bad lol.

I want to create beautiful, meaningful things, yet I have this sort of extreme resistance to being perfect or professionalism (however, somehow perfectionism and such a ruthless self-antagonism for not being 'enough' at the same time..).

It's almost like I purposely sabotage my art by intentionally leaving in mistakes, or leaving it somewhat dishevelled in protest of perfection. In hopes that the beauty and artistry still manages to shine through to the right people.

I guess it's also this thing where I feel like the imperfection makes art more unique, more exclusive- more personal & dearly held to the people who do find the beauty in it that I initially wanted to communicate. But, there is a difference between artsy, grungy, rawness and... just being crap, lazy, unrefined, undisciplined. (I'd never refer to someone else's work in this way but myself... mann).

Knowing full well that my artistic creation likely 'needs work', is not a finished product and will very likely be criticised for its' imperfection, I still have the overwhelming urge to go ahead and share it with the world/post it. In all of its' messy (again, maybe just straight up bad lol) glory. Then I wonder why I'm not gaining the traction I want haha. When I inevitably receive criticism, I get so hurt by it, I beat myself up and it eats at me to the point that I can't sleep at night, I'm up reciting the criticisms in my head and weaving them into my very own nightmare!

I don't understand why I do this to myself lmao. Later on after posting & putting myself out there, I hear that imperfection in the song, I hear those vocal parts I stubbornly left in and didn't want to redo, I see the dodgy brush strokes I refused to fix up in the name of authenticity, and I cringe. In fact, I feel such a deep shame for it all that I take everything down out of embarrassment. Even though it was fully my decision to put up something amateur sounding and imperfect.

Maybe it's something like the weight of desire for perfection is too much, so I just go 'to hell with it!'.

It's like an endless cycle for me, and I realise that over the years, if I'd just left things up online and was more patient with myself, I'd probably have cultivated a following of some sort by now, or maybe used peoples' criticisms to improve the art to a greater extent. I mean, there are people who have mentioned to me when they notice the art is imperfect and needs work, but there are just as many lovely people who have gone totally out of their way to express deep appreciation for the music/art I've put out and enjoyed it.

Here's my 'theory' as to why I do this to myself: when I create art, I don't just want to make pretty things, though I want that too. I want to be loved, and FELT. I want to bring people to this raw, vulnerable place in my heart where my ideas emerge from. I want to be loved not in spite of the imperfections, but alongside them, all encompassing.

I don't want to have to be perfect, have $1000 worth of equipment, hours and hours of recording time trying to 'get it right' in order to be understood and deemed beautiful. I don't want to show off how perfect or skilled I am either, I want to make people feel something. I want it natural.

r a w.

I kinda enjoy for art to be unfinished and slightly unpalatable on purpose.

Maybe it's a bit of entitlement on my part, expecting that even if I do a mediocre job, people will still enjoy it and see my 'talents'/message.

Truth be told though, that's how I love other people, how I enjoy others' art as well, it's not just something with me.

When I listen to artists I love, I adore seeing something beautiful, yet somehow messy and jarring. A sort of underground-esque, 'wild feminine' creation. It evokes that much more feeling and passion that something designed to be perfect just lacks to me.

I can't get into a lot of bands that are considered 'objectively good' by many people because they just sound too perfect to me- There's a lot of times I come across artists that sound technically good, very clean but my heart just can't get into it. I find myself listening and thinking 'I wish this was recorded on a toaster', or 'I wish there was a more rough sound to the vocals' lol, I crave the rawness & intimacy that imperfection and roughness lends.

Ugh, it all creates such an internal conflict- like I want my art to be seen, to be loved yet I somewhat reject things it takes for the art to be considered objectively good & well rounded.

The harsh reality might just be that just because I see the beauty in imperfection, just because I know I've got this personal, very niche vision of what 'good' sounds like/looks like in my mind, that doesn't mean other people are going to find value in the same things.

Of course, maybe all of this is just pretentious excuses & my own self-hatred manifested (I don't actively hate myself, I try to be much kinder to myself these days but yknow)

Anyway, I realised that it's the start of Bharani season in galactic centre mid-mula Ayanamsa today & I think this write up really aligns with that.

Thankyou for reading lol.. again, a bit of an angsty personal thing but maybe it could be relevant to someone, if y'all wanna know what Venusian artistic angst looks like in real time lmao 🖤🥀

[mj-ackerman]

SxF Light Novel: Family Portrait Translation Mission 4: Portrait of the Forger Family!? (Part 3)

<<PART 2. DO NOT REPOST

“Thank you so much for staying with me today for so long. Thanks to all of you, I feel like I’ve embarked on a new path.”

“...... It's nothing, I’m so sorry for all the mess we have caused.”

Felix bowed his head deeply with a black garbage bag in his hand, and Loid responded with a smile so as not to show the tiredness in his face. 

The number of people in the park has decreased considerably, and the western sky was completely tinted with madder red. Loid, who was swept by these and other such gestures, was exhausted. Yor herself looked tired, as if she were an empty shell of a person. Anya fell asleep while the picture was being painted, and she is still sleeping comfortably in Loid’s arms. The only one who was in good spirits was Bond. 

When Loid apologized for not being able to go as far as coloring the painting, which was almost solely Yor’s fault rather than them entirely, Felix said, 

“No, I already have all of your colors in my mind. I’m going home now. I’ll finish the painting at home.”

“Is that so? I’m glad to hear that then.”

Loid replied vaguely, agreeing with Felix's words.

It was a bit disappointing as he thought that the perfectionist artist might have been disappointed with the unfinished painting and will put it in storage. 

They parted ways with Felix, who asked them to come back to this place in a week to show them the finished painting, and with that, they headed home. 

Loid has lost the energy to go to the supermarket and cook a meal. However, he was also not in the mood to go eat out. 

“I’m kind of tired, is it okay to have the dinner delivered?”

“Eh…Oh, yes of course.”

Yor, who was walking next to him with a heavy heart, answered half-heartedly. Loid did his best to lift his wife’s spirit with his cheerful voice as he said, 

“How about we have some pizza? I heard from my co-worker that there is a delicious restaurant that opened recently.”

“Eh? Oh, yes. I think it’s good. I was just thinking of eating some…..steak too.”

Hm? What does she mean by that? Does she mean a pizza with steak on it? 

He wondered if the new restaurant would have any, but when he asked, 

“When you’re tired, meat is the best after all, right?” 

The answer that came back was, 

“That’s right…when you’re tired sweet food is the best.”

“Erm..shall we get some cake after dinner on our way home?”

“Yes. Anya already fell asleep too, so I think it’s best if we take a bus home.”

“..........”

Their awkward conversation couldn’t match each other. 

Above all, Loid was concerned about her eyes that looked like a dead fish.

I guess she really didn’t want her face to be painted huh? 

If that was the reason for all those eccentricities, she must be feeling a deep sense of frustration now that it all ended in vain. 

Loid stole a glance at Yor, who was walking next to him, and he told his depressed wife in his mind,

“It’s alright, Yor.”

I can’t say this to you out loud, but our painting will never be displayed in an art museum. 

This Twilight will never let that happen.

Loid carried Anya in his one hand and walked away with Bond on the lead as he was mentally devising the best course of action. The easiest way to do it at this point would be to pretend to like the finished painting and purchase it at the organization’s expense a week later, but Loid can’t even imagine how much that would cost. More than anything, if Loid, who is nothing more than a mere psychiatrist, were to pay such a large sum of money out of his own pocket, it would be viewed as suspicious. 

If that’s the case, there is only one way left, although it'll be a little dangerous. 

He breaks into Felix’s house, pretends to be a burglar and steals the finished painting. 

Sure enough, that’ll be the most realistic plan. Once that’s decided, all that’s left is to put it into action…..

Good grief, how did this come to this? 

Loid never thought that coming to the park with his family would put him in a situation where his life as a spy would be threatened. 

Was today a bad day or something? 

Lately, the talented spy, who has been unable to do things without his stomach medicine, let out a soft sigh. 

------------

“......so, all of the sudden you just made a weird request to check out Felix Curtis’ house huh.”

Franky, a familiar informant at the store front, snorted as if he wasn’t convinced. 

“You really do get yourself involved in such weird things a lot.”

“That’s right. What a disaster.”

“I also thought it was another famous painter doing activist work behind the scenes.”

“It would be easier if it was like that.”

Loid chuckled shallowly.

If Felix was a terrorist who wanted to break off diplomatic relations between East and West, and for that purpose he approached “Twilight”, a spy from the West, there would be no other way to deal with the situation. However, Felix was a good painter to the core. And yes, because he was a good person, the situation had come to this. 

“Here you go. This is the address you asked for.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Franky gave him a piece of paper with the address of an apartment near the park. 

“What about the security system?”

“I’ll be honest with you, his house is full of holes. It's the kind of thing that makes you wonder how someone who is supposed to be super rich could be living in such a rundown apartment.”

Apparently, it was true that most of the profits for his paintings were spent in training future painters. 

Loid casually puts the paper into his pocket.

Putting the information fee on the stand as if it were a cigarette free, Loid was about to walk away saying, “See you later then,” but Franky held him back.

“Well, wait.”

“What? Unlike you, I’m a busy person, you know.”

“Stop being so cold. I did a bit of research on him, and I don’t think it’s going to be what you think it’s going to be, maybe?”

As he said that, he flickered another piece of paper. 

“What’s this about?”

Frowning, Loid reached for the paper, and Franky lifted it in a heap.

“This will have a separate charge from earlier.”

“Don’t play dirty with me.”

Saying that, Loid quickly took the four folded pieces of paper from Franky’s hand. 

“Ah! That’s unfair!!”

“I’ll decide if what I see here is worth paying extra.”

“Who’s playing dirty now?”

Ignoring Franky’s indignation, he looked over the paper. And as he lightly glanced with both eyes, 

.......so that’s what it was about?

Loid almost burst into laughter. 

“What? That’s disgusting.”

“Nothing. It’s just that you’re right.”

“I told you.”

“Yeah. I should have realized that sooner.”

Loid smiled with a huff and placed an additional fee on the stand. He finally understood why he smelled an oil paint on the head of the painter he met that day in the park. 

------------

A week later, Felix, who was waiting for them at the same spot in the park, showed them a portrait of their family, painted with an incredibly original and bold touch. It was far from being as elaborate as a photograph, depending on how you look at it, it looked like a child’s doodle. 

“Huh? Is that a potato?”

“No, that is Bond.”

“This one is probably a shrimp.”

“I’m sorry…..that’s actually Loid.”

The good-natured painter shyly informed them that, having worked with watercolors all his life, he was not yet used to working with oil paints. However, he looked very happy and refreshed. 

“Thanks to all of you, I was able to enjoy painting from the bottom of my heart. I’m really grateful to all of you.”

Once again, Loid gazes at the painting he had already seen when he broke into Felix’s house. This is the first abstract painting by the artist who had taken the world by storm with his realistic paintings, and was painted at the end of a slump. No one knows how much it will be worth, or whether it will go unappreciated. But at least with this painting, even if it were to be displayed in an art museum, he was certain that it would not be a hindrance for the mission. 

------------

“For some reason, I’m feeling kind of hungry. I’ll make dinner tonight, Loid!”

“Huh!? Oh….okay then, go ahead…”

Loid, bewildered, turned his back on Yor, who made a declaration with a smile.

“Well then, let's stop by at the supermarket on our way home.”

Saying so, Yor headed towards the exit of the park with bouncy steps. Her mood had clearly improved after seeing Felix’s painting. Loid was relieved to see a cheerful expression on her face for the first time in a while, since for the past week, she had been so dark and gloomy. 

“If there’s anything you want to eat, just tell me.”

Contrary to Yor’s smiling face, Anya, who was clearly not very excited, took the precaution of saying, 

“.....I’m not really hungry.”

Loid quickly soothed her as he whispered, 

“I’ll buy you whatever sweets you like later.”

It was all for the sake of a harmonious family. All for the sake of the mission. 

“You know that Yor’s cooking skills are getting better day by day, right? It’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be the food taster then, Papa.”

“I think I’d prefer to have beef…or maybe, shall we buy a whole duck? Some salted pork too….”

She was thinking about tonight’s menu while humming. At that, Loid chuckled. 

Even if Felix’s style hadn’t changed so drastically, I would have stolen it and that would have been the end of it. 

Well, there was no way that Yor would know about that, and he really felt sorry for her for the past week. 

Maybe I should ask her out on a date again? No, but I don’t want her to kick me in the jaw again, so maybe we’ll just go out to eat something delicious together as a family. 

While thinking about such things, he let out a sigh of relief, at any rate, this series of turmoil had been successfully resolved safely. 

“Nevertheless, that painting was really indescribable…”

Aside from the potato-like Bond, Loid, for example, was even mistaken for shrimp by Anya. But on the other hand, he also thought that there was something in that painting that was not there when Felix was painting those beautiful photograph-like paintings. However, even Loid doesn’t know what it was. 

At that, Anya suddenly announced, 

“I like that painting.”

With a childlike undeservedness, she added, 

“It looked terrible, but I like the warmness of it.”

“..........”

And all of the sudden, Loid felt like she understood something that he didn’t understand. A precious something that was not found in the elaborate, photographic-like paintings that made a full use of wonderful skills. Felix probably had a smile on his face because he was able to find it. 

As Loid recalled the painter’s happy smile in his mind, he heard Yor said, “Hehehe, it really was a wonderful painting,” agreeing with Anya. 

“It makes me very happy to think that we were so happy in his eyes….”

She smiled shyly as she said that, and Loid smiled at her and said,  

“..... You're right.”

There was really nothing more to it. He only agreed to it for the sake of this temporary family’s peace. It was Loid Forger, the entity created for this mission, who agreed to the word’s of his family, not Twilight himself. However, that feeling was delivered with a calmness that surprised even himself. Just like the blue sky today….

“I think it was a very good painting, too.”

Such words flowed naturally, and Bond barked a “Borf!” as if to agree. 

Anya laughed as she said, 

“Bond said he likes it too.”

Seeing her daughter like that, Yor smiled softly. 

Under the blue sky, there was a smile on Loid’s cheeks that wasn’t just a fake smile.

[cadmium-free]

I’ve been thinking a lot about critique, especially in the context of the art school, and where it succeeds and where it fails the artist.

So much of the critique we are taught to give, expect, and receive happens when something is finished. You present a fully rendered piece of work in front of the classroom for judgment. You’ve been taught never to just say, I like it, It conveys its message, It’s lovely, because that’s not “actionable” feedback. And instead the piece is combed over for flaws, because pointing out a flaw is “actionable”.

But it’s not actually always very helpful, is it? It demoralizes the uncertain learner. And the piece is finished, so any critiques may never be applied. There is no guarantee in the modern conception of the art school that you ever work on another assignment that you can apply the critique. Did you learn anything, other than to be terrified of flaws? What was subjective and objective? Did you learn to hone your own critical eye to your own art, or simply to fear that you’re missing something?

I think, so often, of the students crying in the halls after, during critique. And of all the people who hate critiques. Critique is such a beautiful part of the art making process, but most of us do not understand how to apply it, when to apply it, why to apply it, or what it really is.

Critique of the final work is useful. I think in some ways, that critique is most valuable to the viewer, to understand what they’re looking at, why and how the art works or does not, to ask questions. All critique has its place. But critique during the process of making, that’s the most powerful critique as an artist. It’s also the critique the fewest people have access to. You have to be in the classroom or the confidence of an artist to be allowed into the incredibly intimate and vulnerable critique space. It’s this extreme show of trust. It’s this precious thing, opportunity, skill, that I think the art school squanders by prioritizing the end of project group critique.

Really, there is nothing more valuable than learning how to talk about your work unfinished, and, as an artist, learning how to ask questions about your work in progress. Not simply putting your work out there for judgment, but to ask questions about all the things you’re puzzling over. Learning to present the uncertainty, wondering where your piece is going to go next. You might forge this relationship with some trusted friends. People with taste, eyes, instinct you trust.

Maybe this post is just a love letter to the in progress critique. Maybe I want people to be free to just say, I like it, It conveys its message, It’s lovely, because sometimes you need to hear that before you really dig in. Maybe I want people to learn to critique positively, focusing on what is working now and trying to figure out together how to highlight that and improve on it to show off your strengths. I don’t know. I’m stewing in my thoughts. I’m sad for the students crying in the halls. But I’m in love with every person who I trust to critique my work, that gently mould the goopy raw bits of my heart I give them to pick at.

[quindriepress]

We’ve worked with so many fantastic creators over the past two years, all with different styles, creative processes, and approaches to comic-making. Here’s 16 artists’ advice for aspiring comic creators!

“You really just have to do it. Start something, get that experience, finish it or not - move onto the next project. Gotta keep going. Comics take time. Might as well start now.” - @sticksandsharks

"Read comics you love and try to figure out why they are so good, read as broadly as you can and try as many different styles and ideas as you can. Follow what is fun and interesting to you, rather than what seems like the “professional” or “right” way to do it.” - @toadlett

"Start with something small, maybe a few panels or a few pages, and finish it. Then do the same again. Making comics can be a very solitary activity, so find others that are doing the same thing, and do it with support.” - Julie Campbell

“Don’t wait until you’re a comics master to start making something, you will learn so much more by sitting down and drawing. You can always come back to your original idea and try it a different way. You might love your next attempt.” - Jem Milton

“Tell stories YOU want to tell. There’s no real value in chasing trends - others are already doing it after all. What people are interested in is reading the story only YOU can tell. You have a unique life experience that no-one else can replicate.” - Chris Manson

“A simple, practical piece of advice I would give someone would be to get a cork board. Being able to use a cork board to lay out your thumbnails is very useful! Just seeing it all laid out can help reduce the anxiety of a larger project.” - Thomas Heitler

“Finish comics. A mediocre finished story is always better than an unfinished/unseen magnum opus. Making mistakes and bad art is something everyone should get used to.” - Jack Devereaux

“Try to entertain yourself and maybe one or two other people. Make comics for in-jokes no one else understands, or ideas that come to your mind. Try not to think about doing everything all at once.” - Robbie Kieran

“Don’t worry too much about finishing things. Even an unfinished project will teach you an incredible amount. Don’t let a fear of an unfinished work hold you back from starting a project that you’re passionate about.” - @ariadnearca

“Drop the ‘aspiring’ and dive in. Have you already doodled the cool scenes you’re excited about? Then congrats, you’re a comic artist. Get started on page 1 so I can see it.” - @spiremint

“Create the stories you want to make and that you want to read. Forget about what you think a publisher or a potential audience might want.” - @domduongart

“Make sure you’re making comics for YOU, not what you think other people want! If you have enthusiasm for your project, it will always shine through. If it’s a slog, and you’re not enjoying it, hit the bricks!” - @elljwalker

“Keep going. Keep obsessing over those things you love. Keep making things. Keep sharing them with people. Take breaks.” - @pppondi

“Your comic will never be perfect, but thats okay - it’s good even! You learn while you work, even if it’s just learning what you would change next time. It’s good to make mistakes, it’s good to learn and grow.” - @kroovv

“If you want to be a creator, you should create for yourself. You’ll always have an audience that way. I think people that appreciate good comics can see work that’s honest. Just be yourself. There is always a place for you.” - @prehistoricfrog

“If you have a story, get it down. You don’t need to consider yourself a comic artist to make a comic. If you can draw, and you need to say something, just start drawing boxes and see where it goes.” - @bethfuller

If you’d like to pick up a comic from any of the artists featured here, check out the Quindrie Press shop or the Kickstarter we’re running for our new comic collection!

What's your advice for people who are just starting out in comics?

[ask-spoilt-pizza-au]

First up, Pepperman and The Vigilante!

(( Why both at once? Cause they're constantly together anyway, it'd be a shame to split them apart.

More or less I wanted to lean into the personalities they have already, but to crank em up a bit.

They're two of the five strongest creations in the tower, as well as close friends of P. his leads them both to be rather simply manipulated by him, especially given how gradual it was.

-

Pepperman is a loud and proud figure, constantly boasting about his mastery of the arts and his determination and perseverance to never half-ass any of his creations was there for everyone to see.

Thus, P started taking advantage of that.

P would constantly commission Pepperman. At first it was in reasonable quantities, maybe a painting every so often, maybe a little statuette here and there. But the amount and speed that P started demanding became absurd.

Pepperman deep down could tell that he was accepting more work than he can handle, but his pride wouldn't listen. He kept staying up longer and longer to finish the pieces, to the point where if you were to ask, he probably wouldn't even remember the last time he painted or even sketched for himself. Or when he last slept.

That's the state our protagonists would hind him in; very very overworked.

Rather unfinished first encounter with Pepperman^ (Check alt text if anything is hard to understand)

And here's a bunch of miscellaneous art of him (explanations in alt):

-

Vigilante is a serious and gruff fellow who puts his farm and the people he cares about before himself. He used to be a Vigilante until he got promoted to the Sheriff not too long ago. Now he just wears the name cause he's used to it. No outlaw can escape his wrath, as he's very handy with a gun and loves practicing using it in sparring matches.

This is where P ruins that for him.

P used to just have fun little matches with Vigi, fighting fair and often allowing him to win as just a thanks for spending time with him. But, as time went on, it became relentless.

P would constantly attempt to catch Vigi off-guard to "test his reflexes", not quite to the point of keeping him awake, but rather just making him paranoid and fearful of each minute he's awake. His hand was constantly on the trigger of his gun to feel at least a little in control. And P doesn't go easy on him either. He's left actual dents and errors in the cheese, wounds that shouldn't even be possible.

But Vigilante doesn't know how to stop it. If he were to say stop, he'd be angering his boss and more importantly friend. He cares about the time they've spent together, but knows at the same time that this is becoming far too much for him to handle.

And that's how you meet him, high-strung, worried about disappointing P.

I never finished the intro to him, but it would've taken place not along after Pepperman's. In fact, in the same room, like, canonically like ten minutes apart. He'd go in there to discuss about getting ready for P's big event and just casually reveal to Peppibow about them being a clone, which would lead to quite a bit of tension as well as the proper in color introduction to P.

Misc art of Vigi:

-

Their relationship would be up in the air. They were gonna be written as friends, but could be read as whatever the reader wants.

Vigilante would often drag Phil (as he calls Pepperman, since it's his real name), to Noisette's Cafe as a way to relax whenever he was pushing himself too hard.

Pepperman would be there to hear Vigi discuss his situation and give advice, which more or less fell on deaf ears, but were appreciated nonetheless.

They've been friends as long as they can remember, to the point that they can't even remember ever meeting, just that they always knew eachother.

Comic of Vigilante pulling Phil away from his work to take a break^ (I was gonna originally make a better digital version but haven't gotten to it)

First refs of them^

Bonus info:

Pepperman's final design doesn't have a bow, since its colors would've been decided by askers. Thus it would've been added after the votes were in.

Vigi was originally gonna have a cheese pattern bow that would work similar to the patterns do in Chowder.

All of Fun Farm is Vigilante's farm.

Pepperman would be on the spectrum.

I forgot that Pepperman's small form exited while making him, so he has nothing to do with that.

Vigilante was planned to die in one of the drafts after revealing to Peppibow that they're a clone, as P had specifically told Vigi and the other bosses not to do that, and thus gets angered. P would pop his hand through a portal, crush the life out of him and then drag him away, leaving Pepperman and everyone else in the room horrified. And that was one of planned introductions to P. I decided against it, as Vigi didn't really do anything to deserve that fate and plus it would've been rather anti-climactic in general.

[thehistoriangirl]

hi!! i love your fics, they make my day 🩷

may i request a mel x reader where reader is an insecure artist?

thank you!

Hello Anon, thank you so much! I'm sorry this one took so long 😭😭 I struggled a little with how to write it, but I hope you enjoy it 🥺

In Seek of Perfection

Mel x gn!Artist! Reader---1.3K----SFW

The floor was covered in half-finished sketches whose edges peeked shadows of charcoal; a lonely lamp filling the studio with a dimmed golden hue.

One of them caught her attention among the dozen paper balls thrown everywhere.

Still, Mel was careful not to disturb the quiet space with the echo of her heels.

“Not hungry yet?” she said, leaning over your shoulder to see a blank page in front of you, your fingers stained with black juggling with a pencil. The bowl of fruits at the other side of the working table the same since the morning. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

“No, not hung—” Yet your stomach betrayed you, a growling sound interrupting your sentence.

You sighed. “I just… I haven’t done any work today either. And the exhibit is going to be in six months. I need to submit something.”

Mel let go of your shoulders, and you felt how the weight started pressing down on them again. She walked in front of your desk to grab the stool where a wooden box sat atop, filled with unused pastels.

"You know you'd still have my support even if you don't submit anything to this year's Salon," Mel told you, settling the box aside as she took a seat with her hands crossed over her lap. The Medarda ring shone with a reminder. Your duty. Your role.

The artist, and her, the muse.

“Progress’ restless, just like this city,” you muttered. “You know what happens to those who get left behind.”

You’d seen more than your fair share of colleagues erased from the galleries and classrooms when their patrons moved on to the next shiny thing. Once their mastery had slipped just like the rest of their bright ideas.

Sure, the bonds tangled between you two ran deeper than simple portraits of Councilor Medarda she could hang up in the foyer of her house to show her influence and status in this city that had become her home. Just like it was yours, now.

“Art isn’t business. It shouldn’t be rushed.”

You fidgeted with the edge of your blank canvas, taking the newspaper you had hidden once the headline creating a ball of anxiety and envy to get caught in the middle of your throat.

Yazmine LaGarc opened a solo exhibit in one of Councilor Shoola’s galleries, becoming the hottest artist in Piltover, with her ceramics adorning only the wealthiest of houses. The worst part is that she was your classmate, and now, the one who once was at the top of the class has sunk to the bottom.

From your first masterpiece, you fell into a pool of mediocrity and unfinished jobs that ended up recycled or burned in the hearth, thinking that your attempt was just beginner’s luck, and an artist couldn’t be called so if they only created something fantastic by luck.

Every day you woke up without becoming the new sensation in the art world you felt like failing, with the reminder of your parents telling you to reconsider—that you were still welcomed to their merchant enterprise.

What if you were Mel’s protegee? It was a spot so desired that one day you’d be pushed aside. You weren’t worthy enough of being her favorite painter anymore. Perhaps you never were.

"You gave me an opportunity when purchase my painting at the Academic Salon. It was because of you that my name appeared in the side columns of arts during that weekend." You chuckled, such a bitter sound. "And look what I’ve become.”

Mel hummed, the sound redirecting your gaze toward hers.

“By that standard: Would you say that I’m not an artist just because I can’t paint every day that I’m not an artist?”

You blinked, feeling flustered. “No, of course not! But, well, you have a job… and… well, I don’t.”

"You work part-time at your parents' business," Mel called your name, one of her elbows propelled over the table, elegant fingers resting atop her jawline. “I decided to sponsor you because I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me. And you haven’t, but why do I feel like you’ve disappointed yourself?”

Her finger fiddled with the edge of the canvas. “You loved to do this, sitting for hours with that bad posture of yours—what happened, then? Does making not bring you joy anymore?”

Of course, she had noticed about your low productivity for the past weeks, and the lame work you'd produced the months before, results that only started raising questions in sensationalist newspapers about the so-called new art prospect. That your charm had burned out, that for the first time, Mel had committed a mistake by taking you under her patronage.

Day by day, the anger you felt toward the printed words started to drain your creative fuels, the creations bore by spite becoming absent once the disappointment settled in—so deep not even your sadness could evoke inspiration.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” you said, voice trembling. “Maybe my parents were right, and I should’ve taken the reins of the family business.”

Your vision became blurry, hot tears running down your cheeks even as you tried to furiously wipe them away. She didn’t have to see you this way, this small and pathetic.

"Have you ever wanted that?" Mel said, her voice stern. "You can always go back home, and tell them that you've made a mistake. They will take you in, and we both know it. This could end right here, back to all those days you sat on this hard wooden stool trying to create something grandiose. And yet, here you are. You are still trying." She gave you the smallest, most intimate smile. "And that's why you haven't disappointed me, why you shouldn't be disappointed with yourself."

She extended one of her hands, brushing away the tears with her thumbs before offering you one of her handkerchiefs, smelling like orange and lilies and just the faintest essence of the pigments she used to paint with, permeating in the fabric as a ghost.

“Not every painting and drawing you do will sell for millions, nor it will be praised. You can't live constantly gazing upward," Mel said, her eyes dropping to her lap to fidget with the Medarda’s family ring. "Or you'll forget about everything you have now. Everything you can take in to make art as you are right now." She called your name, the name of the self-artist burning the candle every other night to finish assignments, the one who drew and painted until your hands shook with cramps.

"I know I am pushing my hypocrisy here, but you ought to be lenient with yourself, just as you are with everyone else. With me when I must cancel my modeling sessions for my portraits." Slowly, Mel patted your cheek, the tip of your fingers playing with the tip of your ear as she sometimes did when you lay with her on the couch by the fire. “Can you try?”

From your shaking lips unable to pronounce words, you nodded.

She smiled, relieved and proud, as she had always been regarding you. From under her sleeve, Mel took out one of the sketches you discarded earlier, her hands ironing the wrinkles while pressing it atop the blank canvas.

“I like this one,” she said, pointing at a self-portrait reflected on a mirror, showing two images: one the artist, filled with rich details of decorative lines against the simple, weary face of the person reflecting in the mirror. “Art shouldn’t be all about beauty and grandiosity, my dear. Piltover’s too used to perfection, they don’t know what it takes to achieve it. Perhaps you shall show them.”

A small smile tugged the corner of your lips, feeling ashamed Mel had taken the time to observe your discarded ideas.

Mel chuckled, standing up from the seat and offering you a hand. “Well, I’d say dinner must be served already—would you like to accompany me tonight?”

[exoid-the-locomotive-monarch]

I think since today’s the day, I should get off my chest what I think about Homestuck and the epilogues: the former is good and the latter is like an uncooked steak covered with diahhrea.

To elaborate, Homestuck is a cake that used too much baking soda and cooked in the oven for too short, its the same size as a cake but the outside is too airy and the inside is mushy and liquid batter, disgusting.

But there’s this middle part, between the layers that’s delicious as all hell, it uses grandma’s secret recipe and the chef was running a rush order, it’s a miracle he used the perfect ratio of egg to sugar to flour and milk, you can’t deny most chefs wish they could prepare a cake this good, and when one ingredient is off and it was underbaked, many critics would absolutely drop a solid 9 to a 5/10. It’s still good in my heart.

Now leaving the metaphors, I love this comic to an autistic degree. Its art direction and narration perfectly mix the feel of a strange adventure game published by some studio pushing the boundaries but had no budget so they end up reusing assets from stock images for most of its run, and for the second half abandoned jpgs for minimalist bean shaped heroes.

It has multiple flash animations, interactive walkarounds, and plenty of callbacks and reference to its own story beats and panels, it’s really good and even the secondary characters have a lot of dimension to them! The big issue was the pacing, and by god did Act 5 Act 2 cone out the miracle it did, balancing troll to human conversation perfectly, never abandoning the kids, and leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for the mess the trolls were about to make for themselves.

I even like act 6. Yeah I said it. Caliborn is funny, Calliope is eh, Roxy is the obvious character with the most going for her, Dirk has a good arc about his own struggles, but between him and the alpha kids, not so much. Jake had an arc for him to realize who he can be and his linits and how he should stand up for himself, and Jane was learning to trust her friends while being able to sleuth out manipulation or bad actors. Some of these words are in past tense because Hussie was now ping ponging to the boring 3 years where the kids are separated by dream bubbles and a long yard, almost never interacting with each other’s side of the 3 year journey (minus one DISTACTION by Rose and John hammering Bec’s head in with COOL NEW BREATH POWERS)

The pacing was a whole lot and openbound was a waste of time for 10 characters the fans could play with as dolls, but Act 6 Act 6 united both alpha and beta parties to actually do stuff.

But Hussie was also developing a (STILL UNFINISHED) adventure game(s) for his two new kidsonas that were going to give Alternia more breathing room and two new kidsonas an adventure to expand on the lore of Beta earth Roxy, Jake Harley, and a dead flighty broad.

After delaying when the comic should have ended by one and a half years, Hussie says “fuck it” and drops an awesome flash where everyone fucking dies. I was sad a little bit but remembered the comic had to end with the good guys winning so I just slogged another 500 pages watching a cool concept unfold: alter the timeline to unfuck the doomed timeline and fix the time paradox that would cause Lord English to not exist. Cool yeah?

The problem was after undoing 2000 pages of characterization Hussie needs to redo those 2000 pages and give characters worthwhile new arcs to solve, make everything both hunky dory on our way to the finish line but also start a new problem from railroading the characters into this new chance to win the game, and are clearly still coping or ignoring their other timeline’s struggles.

The best Hussie could do was 750 pages.

Build the new universe, kill the bad guys, save the troll race, finish Dave, Dirk, and Roxy’s character arc’s, we’ll finish the rest in a new timeline, the epilogues stuff. Drop in some vague shit at the last minute like “Ultimate Selves” “Aspect design and destiny” and some lip service to how these aren’t the same kids John knew, the look like them but they’re ever so different.

Then for like 6 months that was it, then the credits explained what happened to them and where they are now, and what’s unfinished.

Bonus updates we see a human cosplay space fish horns Hitler, a troll cosplay an immortal time demon hellbent on wrecking the corpse of every Universe he is aware of, and a carapacian cosplay a teleporting radiant dog demon that killed 3 parents. This was for Halloween.

Jane gets kidnapped by the goons you loved back when the comic only had 4 kids 3 adults a dog, some 4 chess friends, Jack, the midnight crew and the felt, and then she mind controls Jack and says she is going to get political.

Also the woobified side characters Wayward Vagabond and Oeregrine Me dicant are no longer “the deterrent of the original bad guy” and “silly marketable plush character who was once a veteran of the bloodiest massacre in Sburban history” they’re dead.

So what an ending huh, that was overwhelming, also unfinished. That epilogue should really tie in loose ends and end the narrative stakes of a work of fiction to a calm and satisfying pace like a traditional narrative does, boy oh boy can’t wait to expect that from the postmodern work of Homestuck hahahahahahahaha.

[natedraws]

I didn't do as many completed projects this year as I have previously so the selection isn't as "high quality" as I'd like but still a fun year! I wouldn't say that it was my best but some improvements have definately been made.

Last year was my first year ever experiencing burnout which made producing art outside of work much harder for me. I have about a million unfinished sketches sitting that will never be completed and that makes me a bit sad - but that's okay! I could tell myself I can work on them this year, but I'd much prefer to turn the year over on a blank slate instead of feeling pressured by past incompleted personal projects.

In 2024 there are a few things I would like to focus on going forward in regards to my work. Firstly is to get back to that childlike passion of just creating whatever I'd like to. I often find myself not pushing to finish something personal ( because I could be using that effort to make much needed money instear ). Or if I do convince myself to finish a piece for me, it must be the highest quality "best thing I've ever drawn" so that it is at the very least portfolio worthy. I worry way too much if I've drawn something and it doesn't look as impressive as a piece I have previously made, everything I put out must be better than the last otherwise myself as an artist is no good. I'm going to try my hardest to just draw things for fun, and for the joy of creating. Leaving behind the mindset of perfectionism that often comes when you start doing art professionaly.

Secondly I would like to do more art trades. These days I know most of us ( myself included ) do not have the spare funds to commission our favorite artists, and art trades are a way to support artists you love and sharing creation with each-other. When I do art trades, I do them with anyone regardless of "skill" or meduim. It can be anything, sewing, needlework, beadwork, sculpting the possibilities are endless. At the moment I operate trades on a "feel free to ask me and if I'm free then I will get back to you and let you know" basis ( mainly because I myself am too shy to ask fellow artists to trade aswell lol ). However I do ask for some time spare before being asked at the moment as I am still struggling greatly from burnout 🙏.

Lastly I want to explore other meduims more. I made two succesful hand-sewn plush from scratch last year and I would like to continue on making more if I'm able to ( pending supplies cost ). My personal goal for that is to make 3 original plush in 2023. I would also like to do more personal cross-stitch projects where I am making my own patterns ( no I will never take commissions for cross-stitch projects - I do not want the joy from it taken from me, please don't ask! ). I would also like to start drawing in a sketchbook again, something I haven't done for around 6 years now.

If you have any goals relating to art for 2024 please feel free to share them! I can't wait to see what we all create : )

[cosmicjoke]

kind of off the topic of your blog but you are politically active and i wonder what are ypur thoughts on the AI

i think the most concerning use of it is people using it to generate nudes etc

the whole taylor swift drama yk

also som time ago a girl killed herself because of AI generated nudes of her (poor girl)

AI also just kills art and it saddens me so much when i see people using it because it will never be as good and as full of feeling like real art

Hi there, and thank you for the interesting ask!

Yeah, AI is such a bizarre development in the art world. It's interesting, because I've always been a huge proponent of hand-drawn animation, and the take over in the animation industry of CGI always upset me. Not that CGI and AI are the same thing, because obviously it requires immense amounts of artistic skill to produce CGI animation, and I really love a lot of CGI animation too. I just wish there was more of a balance of the two co-existing, rather than watching hand-drawn animation slowly but surely dying out. But I feel like there's a relation there, to the world of art going away from genuine skill to something more assisted and artificial. It's kind of similar to how artisans used to be considered essential, but have been relegated to almost a novelty because of the advent of mass-production. People who are skilled tailors or seamstresses have long been struggling because you can just go out and buy factory produced clothing now for much cheaper. Furniture makers, wood craftsmen, etc... can't compete with mass produced furniture that's made in factories, etc... And in animation, cell animation and the time and energy and cost of it can't compete with CGI animation in terms of efficiency and speed. All of it, of course, comes down to profit, like so many shitty things in this world. When they say money makes the world go round, it's a cliche, but cliche's are cliche's because they're true.

So AI to me seems like a natural extension of that fact. It's about money, and it sucks. A machine can never capture the human emotion that a true piece of art conveys. It doesn't matter how detailed or realistic or perfect it is. An AI generated portrait will never capture the humanity you would find in a painting by Rembrandt, for example, or a painting by Monet. Hell, photographs themselves can't typically capture the emotion you find in paintings by truly great artists. Going back to animation, there's just something about cell animation, in all its imperfection, that holds a certain personal humanity that CGI can't ever, really have. You can tell an actual, human hand produced it, as opposed to a computer, and it lends it a certain quality of life that I don't see in CGI.

I wouldn't be surprised if we end up getting some AI produced "reconstruction" of unfinished works by great composers. Beethoven famously was never able to finish his 10th symphony, and other composers have attempted to "imagine" what he might have done themselves (an already impossible task), so I wouldn't be surprised if you get someone feeding what few sketches he produced into an AI program to "finish" the symphony. But see, it would all be based off of mathematical equations and probability, and with absolute certainty I can say it would never come close to what Beethoven was actually thinking. Because human emotion and creativity isn't based on logic or numbers.

Anyway, yeah. It's a natural development of greed, really. Wanting to produce more for less and so make more money. That really is at the root of so many of the world's problems. And it of course extends out to other issues, like you pointed out. Violations of people's privacy, the ruination of people's reputations through generating false images of them, etc, etc... It can become incredibly sadistic and malignant.

I really don't know where it's headed. I hope it doesn't end up being like the examples I listed above, with it replacing real art. But that's everyone's great and legitimate fear. So many people put money over everything else.

[neveragainfools]

Let’s talk about art since apparently I’m a dumbdumb idiot who knows nothing about it or the internet.

Am I salty? Yes. Let’s get into it. So, you might have seen the Keith Haring AI Unfinished Painting going around with my commentary of disdain, and then a bunch of people reblogging it with commentary on how it’s an obvious troll/bait post and how stupid I and those who chimed in in the same fashion are. Apparently the post made it to trending (though I never saw it there, because I mostly just pay attention to my dashboard.)

Of course it doesn’t feel good to get “got.” I think if someone hadn’t sincerely pulled a similar stunt with the Mona Lisa recently, I would’ve seen it as a troll post. I did actually take a moment to consider that it might be a troll before I reblogged with commentary. But that damn expanded Mona Lisa came to mind, and I thought, “no, there are people out there who absolutely think this is okay” and went on my little rant. Jingle my bells for I’m now the court jester. I took the bait.

Do I still stand by it? Yes, for the most part. One could argue that the troll is a form of art, and I played a part in the performance. Much like Fountain by Duchamp (a piece in which he literally signed a urinal and displayed it as fine art and it nearly burned down the art world), this piece inspires rage, and the rage is the most important part of the conversation. I’ll make no bones about my position on AI art. When the “art” is simply an image generated by an AI tool, that is not art to me. It is a commercial image. The use of an AI tool to “complete” or “expand” an image with the intention to create a vast reaction, and post it in such a manor can be argued as performance art, the same way Fountain is. Machine learning can also be used as a tool in the process to create a piece of art, but a generated image alone is not art.

So then why do I stand by it? A big problem with art types like this is that it’s callous, cold and doesn’t respect the work that it’s “building on” or “elevates.” Whether it’s Warhol’s Campbell’s soup cans, Lichtenstein’s rehashing of comic panels, Duchamp’s Fountain or this AI piece, in all cases, it uses the originator without concern for the content of the art itself. Someone at the toilet company had to design that urinal. Someone at Campbell’s had to design the soup can label. Lichtenstein took panels from real living comic artists and re-rendered them with less skill and care. Those works are never co-credited with the people who did the initial designs. The twitter person who made this mess used a heartbreaking piece about a man’s grief and frustration about his own untimely death due to AIDs, and a lot of people weren’t familiar with it before this viral moment. Sure, it starts a conversation into the nature of art, as do all of these “subversive” pieces. But especially with Haring, who was concerned about computers and their eventual intelligence and would likely hate it, especially because we DO know the original artist, and those who are meant to be angered are familiar with the original piece (mainly lgbtq people), it feels especially rude and poor taste.

Other works wouldn’t cause such a visceral reaction. The personal nature of Unfinished Painting why “finishing it” is so controversial. No one says art has to be respectful. No one says art can’t steal, remix or transform works that came before it to create a new meaning. I’m still allowed to hate it. I’m still allowed to think it spits on Keith’s grave. The choice to do something so disrespectful is integral to the point of the piece, all in the name of showing how reactionary people are to AI generated images. It’s still a shitty thing to do. Perhaps something so visceral that causes such bad reaction is necessary for us to find the boundaries of where AI is or isn’t okay to be used in art. I hope for this twitter person’s sake it is.

There are so many things we could take from this debacle: reactionary nature of the internet, the question of consent and collaboration vs. remix in art, whether artists and their art should always be questioned, the list goes on. I’m happy to continue that conversation.

tldr: Sure, I got "got" by the Keith Haring Unfinished Painting AI "finishing". You could classify the act as art. It stimulated conversation into the relationship between AI images and art. But I think it's still a shitty thing to do.

[mamamittens]

Been thinking on it a bit and I might just nix the valentine's event. It's been nice having a breather and if anything, I may just do some art pieces as a mini celebration for the day.

If I could finally just get to it, I'd like to start making more progress reading One Piece. I'd say watch it but it's... Weird to describe, it's been so long since I've watched a series I've got no patience and a hard time regulating my... Energy? Like, I need to skip embarrassing, foot in mouth scenes or I can't watch. The older style of the beginning is also a bit... Weird to see after seeing so much modern anime. The whiplash I'd get going from start to finish would be something else, that's for sure.

Ah, overstimulation. That's what it is. Everything is new and in a format I'm unfamiliar with, a format I used to know well but not any more, so it's easy to get frustrated even as I'm happily watching it. Overwhelmed, as it were. Too much new stuff where I'm used to piecemeal.

That and it'd be 3 whole ass months nonstop and idk if I've got the focus for that.

Used to watch episode after episode of animes on bootleg sites as a kid and now I can barely bring myself to crack open the literal, physical copies I've got. (I've got so much anime on my shelves. If we did serious, no exception lockdown for a year, I'd probably be set without opening any streaming sites for at least half of that)

It'd be nice to actually be able to answer some of these asks rather than draw a total blank because I've never heard of them... Or I've completely forgotten who tf they are. Then again OP's cast is so massive I'd probably forget most of them anyway.

Then again, I've only recently started watching new movies in theaters. So for years my only exposure to new media was through second hand stuff. Memes and fanfiction, stuff like that. In light of that, it's no wonder I have such a hard time starting and sticking to series anymore. I collect the movie tickets and the stack is pretty thick (need to find a way to put them in a scrapbook to properly preserve them...)

Something about the jump and emotional investment exhausts and terrifies me... I don't know.

I've got a lot of things I need to do but tomorrow is always closer than it seems. And before I know it, today is yesterday with nothing to show for it.

Projects left unfinished that I used to spend hours work shopping before even opening Word. Passion projects gone cold and obligations that leave a stale taste in my mouth.

I wonder if this is just what growing old is. Hesitating at something new thinking about everything that's already there.

I don't know. But I do know I need to go to bed now or I'll sleep through 5/7 alarms for work in 5~ hours.

[prompt-master]

The Answer Was Within The Contradiction

A short fic: After the events of sdr2, Hinata finds himself attempting to recode Nanami. He and Kamakura talk about it

Before it all would have seemed like sci-fi nonsense to Hajime. A world made of zeroes and ones, a contagious disease made from the human psyche, an animalistic human slaughter game for outside entertainment. A synthetic girl.

There was a time before Hajime lived and indulged with this fictional world. And there was a time where he forced himself to be so interwoven with the fiction that a permanent reminder stared back at him in the mirror and whispered into his mind. All he had left was hindsight and painfully distinct memories.

"You are a paradox," Izuru told him often, "Your very existence is a word of defiance."

And once Hajime got a taste of defiance, he found himself craving it at all possible avenues.

"Haven't you already defied enough? Look around you."

Hajime knew he asked for too much every time he saw the bittersweet expression of a grieving man on Makoto's face, stark even behind a video screen. Hajime knew he was already quite possibly the luckiest unlucky guy next to Komaeda Nagito himself. He was here. He was alive. He was real. With most of his friends alive, when no one should be.

But it was that one lost friend that haunted him, that left Hajime hungry to defy the odds once again.

"There are things even we can't do."

Hajime suddenly inhaled sharply. He shoved away from his desk, allowing the office chair he was sitting in to roll back with the force. Count to ten. He reminded himself, head leaning over the backrest. He let the numbers roll over him, resisting the urge to start pulling out his hair.

It wasn’t about possibility anymore, this was about necessity. Hajime’s new life was defined by impossibilities lining themselves up into a confusing labarynth, but he would be damned if he couldn’t navigate it one way or another.

He wiped his brow, then muttered under his breath “Shut up.”

“I am free to speak my mind just as you are.”

“Yeah, well…” Hajime dragged himself back over to his desk, leaning over the computer. He was greeted not for the first or last time by complex codes weaving themselves in ways he would never properly understand. Yet, at the same time. He understood them perfectly. The breakets and loops and command lines built an unfinished art piece in his mind, one he craved to finish crafting. He began typing again, letting unknown knowledge blanket him once more. “You can at least keep it to yourself.”

“Why should I keep it from you, when we are so close to one another?”

Hajime resisted the urge to roll his eyes, Izuru really could act like a child at times. “Because it’s unhelpful. I only want to hear something helpful right now.”

“Then allow me to provide you with some advice.”

Hajime’s fingers jittered over the computer keys, stumbling to a halt. He tsked, wishing Izuru had a body outside his own so that he could kick him out of the room.

“You can not achieve your goal in the way you wish it to be achieved.”

“I didn’t ask for advice, especially not that nonsense.” Hajime glared at himself through the screen.

“It goes against basic logistics.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing that those basics mean nothing to me.”

"Allow me to provide meaning, then."

"I didn't sign up for Siri to be in my head…" Hajime mumbled under his breath. Izuru pretended he didn't hear the words.

"Coding is unique to the coder and without the original files or notes it is nearly impossible to replicate a project as complex as the one you chose."

Hajime felt a headache beginning to brew, attempting to tune out the points Izuru reiterated to him

Over

And over

And over and over.

Hajime bit his tongue, grinded his teeth, and held his breath. He tried to focus on his typing. Or the screen. But each "furthermore" and "lest we forget" caused a sizzling burn deep in Hajime's soul that made the characters blur.

"-You simply don't know what you're doing-"

With a snap and a pop the frustration built up enough that the world set itself on fire. Hajime slammed his hands down onto the desk. He was ready to strangle the man in his brain.

"Then why-" Hajime asked through gritted teeth, "Are you helping me?"

There was a great long pause. A pause where silence was his only answer. for a moment Hajime couldn't even feel the ever looming presence of Kamukura lingering over him. A few months ago, Hajime would have nearly collapsed from relief. He would have savored this sliver of peace in his hands. Instead, Silence felt synonymous with Emptiness.

Hajime roughly exhaled through his nose.

And perhaps, synonymous to Loneliness as well.

When Hajime felt the spark return to his fingers and mind, he hardly hesitated to return to frantically typing out line after line after line of code. He couldn't let the opportunity pass him. No matter how misplaced it felt.

It was odd really, getting to be so intimate with a man designed to be his replacement. But in the end as Hajime grew closer and closer by force he also realized there was an unnerving but comforting truth in their relationship. Hajime and Izuru were two parallel lines, similar in so many aspects that they nearly held the same formula, the same meaning. There was an inherit understanding of one another, and where they were heading. Despite the fact that Izuru was meant to be perfect where Hajime was flawed, Hajime couldn't help but be reminded of his younger self when he finally got to see Izuru in action.

But despite the parallelism that binded them together, there was a truth that could not be ignored. There would always be a distance between the two. No matter how close they became, they were asymptotic curves, they were parallel lines, they were never going to cross.

“... Do not ignore these valid critiques. I do encourage you to attempt such a feat, but you should be aware of what will never be.”

Hajime shook his head. He could feel the heartbeat pulsing within, he could feel the cold hand holding his on a summer morning, he could see the sweetest smile that sent sparks down his spine. She lay dormant under his fingertips, pressed between the little crevices of the keys. All he had to do was piece her back together, and then he would get to hear her say his name again.

He was pulled away from that image, as the cold bitter points reiterated themselves once again.

“AI by design is something difficult to replicate as it is ever changing and ever learning.”

“I know that.”

“As it learns, it changes how it will react to the information given to it in the future, which further shapes the AI. If this is true, it is nearly as difficult to recreate as a human consciousness, where each individual factor greatly shaped one's personality.”

“Ok. Cool.”

“And you do not have the original files that Nanami Chiaki-san was trained on.”

"I know."

“Even if you were to show this fabrication of a fabrication the killing game files, that would only offer the AI to train on it from a perspective outside of what the original Nanami-san experienced.”

“I know.”

“Then you must know that this could never be her.”

Hajime attempted to hide the burn of his tears from the

only

one

he couldn't hide them from.

In that moment, Izuru felt like a hand awkwardly hovering over his shoulder. Asymptotic. Parallel. Why oh why did they leave their Ultimate Hope so emotionally empty? What purpose did that serve? Why did they take that from IzuruHajime?

"I… simply cannot comprehend why you would willingly put yourself in the shoes of Sisyphus."

Hajime saw sparks in his vision with how roughly he kneaded his fists against his eyes. "I don't know what that means."

"This is a task that is clearly emotionally taxing for you. You have not slept or eaten properly since attempting it. I have been the one taking care of our body in your stead. One could consider this some form of self-inflicted torture. And yet you continue to push through it, while being fully aware of the impossibility of the task. All to bring her back."

"You said it yourself," Hajime mumbled, forcing himself back into those shoes. He continued typing, with a pain in his heart that felt akin to working with blistering burns on his fingertips. "I have hope. Or whatever."

"I feel as though I still don't fully understand hope."

"Did you even understand despair?" Hajime spat.

And loneliness answered.

"You can't understand what we had, either. You weren't there."

Hajime could feel the subtle rustle of Izuru's trademark annoyance, something only noticeable to someone sharing the same brain. Even Izuru lacked the emotional foresight to recognize the bristling emotion, no matter how muddled.

"I understand plenty. As the Ultimate Analyst-"

"It wasn't a statistic, it was a relationship. You couldn't understand. The only person you ever bonded with was Enoshima fucking Junko."

Count to ten. Count to ten.

Hajime didn't realize how shaky his breath had become, how furious his typing seemed. For all the bonding he and Izuru did after the Neo World Program there was still a part of Hajime that feared and resented him.

"... I believe that I did quite like the Nanami AI program."

But Hajime also pitied him.

"Did you even know her?"

"It wasn't long. We met for just one small conversation before I plugged the Enoshima Junko AI into the Neo World Program."

"So she knew…?"

"No. I temporarily shut her off before uploading it."

"Kamukura…" Hajime floundered to understand the point of all this. He just wanted to work. To create. To craft. To rebuild. He wanted her back. A part of him wondered if he was playing god but another part of him didn't care at all. He was willing to break all the rules if it meant there was a chance they could meet again.

Everyone else got a chance.

Izuru's voice was as bland as ever, but lined with softness that called his attention, "I understand why you want to rebuild her."

Hajime pursed his lips, "You're not going to tell me you want her rebuilt cuz she's some. Savant tech or something, right?"

"When I brought Enoshima Junko into the Neo Word Program, it was a test."

Hajime did roll his eyes this time. "You've told me this before."

Izuru had no clue on the proper standings of Hope vs Despair. He only knew the nonsense both Hope's Peak Academy and Enoshima Junko threw his way. With two extreme ends of the spectrum lining his vision, he found himself with a scenario he could not predict. He knew, but did not understand why, that Hajime would be placed into the game in his stead. And, he also knew that by placing Enoshima within his path he'd be creating the Ultimate Trial By Fire.

Hajime was proof Enoshima was wrong. Hajime was proof that hope could be just as powerful. Hajime was proof of the impossible. Hajime was the contradiction.

"You have a penchant for proving me wrong." Izuru said. "Perhaps you can do it again."

Maybe Izuru did understand Hajime's desperate desire, just a little bit.

After all, Izuru's photographic memory left him with an unexplainable moment to look back on. A moment he did not understand, yet could not stop reviewing.

Because of course, he remembered talking to the Neo World Program’s AI very briefly.

And even more unfathomable, he remembered quickly deciding to temporarily shut her off before uploading the Enoshima Junko AI. For what purpose? It's easy to find reasons after the fact: in case she had any safety protocols, so that she did not alert anyone of the unwanted addition, so she did not attempt to remove the file.

Izuru was the only one who knew he did it as an odd, questionable act of mercy.

He didn't think he would ever truly be able to pick apart the why's of his decision, none of it made a lick of sense. What mercy would Chiaki have truly been granted? She still would have been within the program, knowing something was wrong. She still ended up deleted, after watching multiple people she was entrusted to protect die. She left this world believing she had intrinsically failed at what she was supposed to do.

So what mercy had Izuru fooled himself into believing for that fraction of a second? So she wouldn't blame herself for the upload? So there was nothing she could have done?

Why had he even done anything in the first place? Why her?

Was it because they were both man-made creatures of hope? Nothing more than a programmable personality, the most useful tool available to their creators yet easily replaceable. Was it because neither of them were real people? Was it because, despite everything he had allowed to happen, she was happy to see him?

Or was it because the very circumstances of their births led them down a long, cursed, unlucky life?

Izuru was supposed to be a man made God. Izuru was intrinsically programmed to be able to do anything. To be even meaningless things like lucky. And yet, he wasn't. Even know, he finds himself with one of his first foggy thoughts of desire and he could not act on them. He was a God that couldn't create a miracle.

Hajime though? He was more than just lucky. He was sci-fi. He was fiction. He was the labyrinth. He was the impossible. The unknowable. The unpredictable. He was living proof that Nanami Chiaki could be reborn. His consciousness was tossed away like an outdated file, scraped and deleted without a single care. He was erased, destroyed, burned, mutilated. Murdered by his own design.

But here he stood.

He should have never been able to come back. Yet here he was, existing in a way that even Kamukura Izuru couldn’t fully understand. It was knowable, but not explainable. Why then, if this state of rebirth could exist for Hajime, could it not be extended to others? She at one point existed in this world in similar contradictory limbo, both alive and dead. Both sentient and programmed. Both human and fake. The question then was, if Hajime could survive through that same limbo, why can't she? If Hajime, a man who lived a majority of his life lacking any special traits, can be worthy of a second chance, then why can’t she?

He was proof of her existence.

“Hinata-kun?”

And she was proof of his.