#this canvas is the size i use for my scribble pages

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

wally

[skunkes]

I've been meaning to ask, you say you draw really small which Ive been wanting to draw smaller but I'm wondering how you do that while the art you post is very high quality? I don't see overbearing anti-aliasing or artifacting. So do you have a super huge canvas or how does that work? Thanks!

i do have a big canvas! ^_^ and then it also depends on the brushes i use and if i have to do any scaling down... my canvases are all 12.5 x 16 inches (4375 x 5600 px) to start and all my brush sizes range from size 4 to size 20...

also for some doodles, like the recent nyalon, i draw them a bit bigger than all my small scribbles on the doodle page, save them in high quality in another file, and then scale em down on the doodle page so it doesnt matter if they get crunched up bc i have the original saved elsewhere ^_^

here's my current canvas (extended to 12.5 x 18 inches / 4375 x 6300 px because ive been drawing so much), with my other doodles hidden, and with the original nyalon I posted on the right, and shrunken to fit on the left, along with some smunkers drawn with some brushes i use sometimes

[icedmetaltea]

I've been feeling discouraged about my art recently. Could you possibly give me some tips?

Ok I wanna preface this by saying I am by no means a professional or even "good" artist, BUT I shall try!

These are all tips by a digital artist so I can't help much when it comes to other forms

This got long so under the cut, 20 ART TIPS TIME LETS GOOO

1.Try to draw most days, or at least once a week. The more often the better BUT I don't mean like hardcore, a complex drawing every single day (recipe for burnout right there). I mean like even just 30 seconds of SOMETHING. You can draw shapes, maybe fill a page with circles. There are programs u can find online that give you like a min to sketch something and challenge yourself in a really short time frame. Guess what?? When you draw often you're building those neural pathways (I think) and the more you do it the easier it'll get

2. Don't obsess over making stuff look perfect on the first draft... or at all. I recommend making a "draft" layer or 2... or 3 over the initial sketch. The more you go over it and change stuff, the better it'll be. Also, If you spend hours on it and still hate it?? Who cares! You put in the work and now you have an idea out on paper that you can go over some time in the future and improve if you chose to.

3. DON'T DELETE STUFF!!! Unless it's literally just mindless scribbles, save everything you draw. Like I said, you can go over it again and improve it someday. You can also look back at it in like a year and compare your art to see where you've improved! I deleted all my old art from beyond like a year ago and regret it so much. Don't berate yourself for the stuff you need to work on, be proud of what improvements you've still made

USE REFERENCES!!!!!!! Please just do it, I know it's annoying but I promise it helps so so much

4. Invest drawing tablet, preferably one with buttons that you can map to undo, sketch, fill and such. This will make drawing sooooo much easier (and faster). My quality of art has improved just from drawing the same thing and redoing it like 20 times at a time, and it takes way less time when I can just click a button to do that. It might seem daunting at first but it quickly becomes instinctual. This is the one I got and I'm quite happy with it! It's got good sensitivity, a pen you don't have to replace batteries for or even recharge, and it's mid-range so not wayy too expensive. However, if you're just starting out, I'd recommend this (I got the corded version but I assume it's about the same) since it's small, cheap and you can focus on just learning basics like improving lines n such.

5. Use a bigger canvas size. I started out with 1000x1000, and that's still fine for smaller stuff and doodles, for better quality I recommend bigger sizes. If it's too small it'll look all weird and pixel-y

6. THERE ARE LITERALLY SO MANY FORMS OF ART, maybe the one you're trying just isn't something you vibe with! There's mosaics, digital, traditional (and all the many sub-categories of that), sculpture, photography, etc. All are equally valid and you will improve in your craft if you choose something that 1. you enjoy, 2. are consistent with it!

7. SEGEMENT OUT THE LIMBS drawing DCA stuff for over a year has helped me improve on anatomy sooo much literally just because it forced me to think of each part of a limb in terms of segments, shapes- for instance, instead of an upper arm, I think of a tube which connects to a circle that allows it to rotate and another tube... followed by a weird shape for a hand that connects 5 smaller tubes, whiCH ARE THEN SEPERATED IN TO 3 TUBES EACH. Yes it sounds confusing but breaking it down like that instead of just trying to figure things out helped an absolute shitton

8. Have some kinda hobby that makes you draw frequently. For instance I have a discord sona I draw a new pfp for every month or so. It's a simple design and since the pfp won't show many flaws I can pump out lots of art for it in a small timeframe and I find it relaxing. I've actually improved a shitton just drawing pfps This is one of my first pfps from maybe 2 yrs ago compared with one of my most recent ones

(yes I'm a bit of a furry deal with it) It's cute, there's nothing wrong at all with it! However, you can see how things have changed.

See how the lines are a lot more even, less jagged? The proportions of the shoulders are much wider, the ears aren't just popping out of the hair, the shading makes a bit more sense and isn't just thrown around at random. There's also a broader range of color, with a few bright highlights to catch the eye, colored shading I think as well. The former is just like 3 simple colors. These are all things I learned from drawing pfps consistently.

9. CONSISTENCY IS KEY!! And FUN, if you have fun drawing it'll be a lot easier to do frequently

10. Whether it's drawing pfps, blorbos or landscapes, find something that brings you joy and it'll be MUCH easier to stick to. Draw, draw a lot, do not worry about "good" art and "bad" art cause there's literally no such thing. Compare what you draw now with what you do in like a year or two from now and I promise, if you're consistent, use references and are patient, you WILL amaze yourself with how much you improve.

11. Challenge yourself! Join secret santas (assuming you know you can complete it within the allotted timeframe), draw your friends' sona/ocs (if they're cool with it), do palette challenges, do monthly stuff like drawtober or whatever it's called (BUT I don't recommend doing something every single day for a month cause again, gonna cause mega burnout)

12. Draw when the inspiration comes, it will move your hand. These days I make much better quality art that I'm proud of when I just let inspiration flow through me instead of begrudgingly making myself draw. You shouldn't be forcing yourself!! If you are, you probably are burned out by either drawing too much, feeling a lack of confidence or some other stuff going on irl. Inspiration comes naturally, and when it doesn't it's prolly your mind trying to communicate that something's up. If resting a week or two doesn't help, take a deeper look at your life and see if the artblock is a symptom of something else (for me it's most often depression).

13. At the same time, sometimes you just need to start. Kinda on the previous point of lacking confidence, often we scare ourselves out of even trying. It might feel insurmountable. Nah, try. If all you can do is a wobbly, vague sketch?? You got the idea out!! Start drawing fuckin eyeballs or something, just start. Sometimes the hardest part is just facing a blank canvas and putting a couple lines on it

14. Not all brushes are equal. Some just make drawing easier- at least for me. I dunno the science behind it but when I use my sketch brush (it's got a similar look to pencil) rather than my lineart brush it makes drawings just... look better. Also using thicker lines in general helps. Why?? NO CLUE, maybe thinner ones just show flaws easier or intersect better or something.

15. Music or some other distraction can help, idk why. Some days I like to have a movie/show/podcast going in the background for a mild distraction that keeps me slightly stimulated on other stuff even as I draw- maybe it increases brain activity or??? No idea. Sometimes just listening to music. Sometimes I need total silence. Do what works for you! Give lots of different stuff a try, you may love drawing while listening to a podcast in the background

16. Take breaks!! The pomodoro method works with art as well. Every 25 mins or so, take a 5 min break. Get up, stretch, get some water, maybe watch a yt vid. Call ur friend and tell them you love and cherish them. Then get back to it and you will feel oh so refreshed. After maybe 3 rounds take a 15 min or longer break and then repeat if you still feel like it

17. SLEEP IS INCREDIBLY FUCKING IMPORTANT you will see a deep decline in the quality of your art when you're tired, plus you just feel like shit and art is about feeling good and expressing yourself. Sleep is important, even tho yes I stay up too late drawing most nights, I do my absolute best to get at least 7 hours of sleep every night, as should you!!

18. DO NOT BE SCARED OF STICK FIGURES AND MESSY SKETCHES, they're actually the best way to start bc 1. it's a quick way to get an idea out before you forget it 2. the finished piece will actually look a lot more fluid since you weren't spending all that time obsessing over making the first draft look perfect- which often just makes it look stiff. You can do a whole lot with stick figures. Focus on that good ol' line of action.

19. Random but when drawing the face, I like to first make a circle and then like a "mask" over it for the actual face. For me it just makes sense. Then two lines, one up/down and one left, right, it'll make it easier to align the eyes and ears. In general, the ears usually go where the "mask" begins and just below the left/right line

20. Finally surround yourself with people who encourage you. I grew up in an environment where people would gawk at stuff my sibling drew and ignore me bc they were ~naturally talented~ and it made me not want to draw at all.

Well guess what?? Now that I spend time with people who encourage me and genuinely care about my interest in art I've improved a lot bc I have the motivation, the joy of showing ppl who care about me new pieces. If people in your life aren't encouraging you, or gods forbid insulting your art (excluding constructive criticism that you've explicitly asked for) then TOSS EM OVERBOARD THE BOAT OF LIFE and find people who will treat you with the love and respect you deserve

P.S

This isn't a tip, just a recommendation: Chicory, a colorful tale. It's a game where u play as a cute lil dog who gets a magical paintbrush that lets you color the world. The only issue? You have no ~talent~. My gods, this game struck a cord with me.

Feeling like you don't have any talents that come naturally to you. Being overlooked even when you try your best. Feeling like a complete joke when you try to pick up the brush (or in this case stylus) because there are so many "real" artists and you're not one of them.

Also the things people say and how they can affect you even when not intentional. Damn. It's just a beautiful game. It's made by the same people who made Wandersong, another absolute banger game with a character who is seen as a joke and I cannot recommend them enough.

bonus tip bc why the fuck not: OVERLAYS!!!!!!! In clip paint studio you have all these layer options, I can never memorize what they all do so I just make like an ombre color layer over my base colors and try all of them to see what looks cool

[amazonbooksauthor]

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[whumpingcrow]

Ink Poisoning - Chapter 11

The Art of the Crash

CW: bbu and everything in relation to that, drugs/alcohol (explicit), noncon drug use, aftermath of drug use, vomit mention, food mention, discussion of noncon, dubcon kissing, conditioned/trained responses from whumpee, brief mention of suicide (vague), dehumanizing language/themes (let me know if I missed anything!)

Gio slept well into the afternoon the next day. Nicko let him, he knew from experience with Rory that there was an inevitable crash that followed the highs, and he'd spent quite a few days ignoring her sleeping body on his bed, usually it ended in her getting up only to vomit and then cry to Nicko about how shitty life was. So this time, with Gio, he waited in the bedroom with him until that happened. He finished the painting he'd started the night before. He had to refrain himself from waking Gio up to see it. Then he sat on the floor and sketched more, using Gio's face pressed against his dark pillow case and the dull light of sun through snow clouds dancing across his face as inspiration. He didn't draw the bruises or the hickeys, found himself strangely jealous over them both. He kept the tattoos, because those belonged to him, and Giovanni's adorable crooked tooth, and his messy, wavy hair that splayed out across the pillow and his face. Nicko couldn't wait for him to wake up so he could draw him with bed head.

When Gio finally woke up, it wasn't to throw up or to complain about the nightmare of his life crumbling around him, not that Nicko would've blamed him, but to the sound of some music that Nicko had put on quietly to help him focus, deciding to work on some long put off art assignments. Nicko didn't notice that he woke up, and Gio rubbed his eyes just a little and glanced over Nicko's shoulder to see the bright array of colors across his page, dark marker scribbling purposefully against the paper. He was enthralled for a moment, then he turned his focus up to the large canvas he'd caught a darkened glimpse of last night, and he gasped sharply.

Nicko swiveled around to look at him, eyes blown wide like seeing Gio conscious was jarring. It made him wonder how long he'd been out. "Oh. You're awake."

Gio glanced at him for a second, then turned his attention back to the painting. The painting of him, sleeping in bed, lost in a world of blankets. He pushed himself up to his elbows with a wince. "Is...is that me?" He whispered.

Nicko looked back at the painting in question, smiling bashfully to himself. "Uh, yeah. Yeah you were just...you look nice in my bed." He fought the blush creeping up his cheeks, the embarrassment was uncomfortably new. He didn't know why he was embarrassed, just that suddenly he was the one who couldn't make eye contact with Gio. The switch in dynamic was painfully tangible to both of them, with Nicko on the ground, cheeks rosy and face turned away, and Gio sitting on the bed, looking down at him. With a yawn, Gio pushed the blankets off of him and stood up.

Nicko watched him closely, surprised that he hadn't hurled already. Then, as if on queue, he closed his eyes and swayed forward, bringing his hands up to his head with a groan. Before he can tip over, Nicko is up on his feet next to him, placing strong hands on his shoulders to hold him steady. "Are you ok?"

Gio dropped his hands, blinking a few times before squinting up at Nicko. "Dizzy." He looked a little dazed, his face pale, and Nicko crouched down on the floor, gently pulling him down with him. Gio easily knelt, body soft and easily movable, as always. Once Gio was all the way on the floor, hunched over just a little to make himself smaller, as if he wasn't already pathetically tiny already, Nicko ran his hand up his neck, across his jaw.

"I'm gonna go make you something to eat. Ok? You wait right here."

Gio nodded eagerly, towards Nicko's hand, his huge vacant doe eyes gazing up at him through his curtain of hair. Nicko had been right, his curly hair was framing his head in a dark halo, and he had a sudden sense of urgency to get some food in him so he could draw him. Nicko smiled at him, patting his head softly as he stood straight.

Salem was in the kitchen when Nicko came out, and they both froze awkwardly in their places when they saw each other. Nicko nodded at him as he passed, opening the fridge and grabbing a bowl of fruit and a protein shake, then deciding last minute to also palm a bottle of water. When Nicko shut the fridge, Salem was standing a couple feet away watching him.

"He woke up?" Salem asked.

"Yeah. I think he's ok, just hungry." Nicko hesitated, they both looked at each other, then away, then Nicko sighed. "You wanna come? I think he'd like to see you."

Salem lit up just a little, straightening his posture and smiling to himself. "Sure."

When the door opened, Gio flinched upright from where he'd been leaning over just a little, looking at Nicko's sketchbook, at the cartoonish portrait of a woman he had been drawing. He turned to see Nicko standing in the doorway, Salem a couple steps behind him. Gio couldn't help the smile that spread across his face.

They both came in and joined him on the floor. Nicko opened the bowl of fruit and set it in front of Gio, but he wasn't paying much attention, watching Nicko's face apprehensively. He knew from observing that Salem and Nicko weren't particularly fond of each other, he'd heard them fighting before, and he was a little worried to show any attention to Salem in case it came across as disloyal. He couldn't afford anymore mistakes, when it came to Nicko.

Nicko sensed it, and opened the water bottle and forced it into Gio's hand as he said, "Salem was waiting for you to wake up like a kid on Christmas. He missed you."

Salem laughed awkwardly, shifting where he sat. "Yeah. It sucked not having anyone to show my lame music to."

Gio was grinning ear to ear at them both, but he said nothing. Truthfully, he didn't really understand what they were talking about, didn't remember what Christmas or lame meant, but he was happy to have them speaking to him anyway. Salem only stayed for a few minutes, then he told them he had to get to class. When he said goodbye to Gio, he gave him a soft pat on the top of the head, like Nicko kept doing, and Gio smiled up at him as he left. Nicko wondered why Salem wasn't Gio's favorite. He was at least nice.

Once he was gone, Nicko picked up a block of fruit, mango maybe, and gently coaxed it into Gio's mouth since he hadn't eaten any yet. Then he reached for his sketch book and his pencils, moving so he was squared up to Gio, who looked a little nervous when Nicko's pencil started scratching across the paper.

"So you were with Rory, huh?" Nicko asked. He kept his tone light, he knew that Gio was anxious enough around him already, could see his face get a little more horrified every time Nicko's voice was a little too loud, too harsh.

He nodded stiffly, only once, then moved very slowly to eat a strawberry. He knew Nicko was drawing him, he was trying to be as still as he could be. He was too cute.

"And how was that?"

Nicko thought he heard Giovanni huff in disdain at the question, and he looked up to see his face screwed up in a tight frown, like it pained him to think about. Nicko sighed, then kept drawing.

"You can tell me as much or as little as you want, Gio. It's just...you don't look too good. I just want to know how she hurt you so I can help." His pencil froze on the paper when Gio reached up and covered his eyes for a second, then he hastily dropped them back to his lap like he remembered he was supposed to be sitting still.

"She told me she was gonna bring me back," he whispered, voice trembling painfully as he thought back to that day, how stupid he was, "she wouldn't tell me where we were going, but she just kept saying she would bring me back before anyone noticed I was gone."

"Ben called me right after you left, I think."

Gio frowned at him. The entire time he'd been wishing that Ben would come out and stop Rory from taking him, and he had called Nicko right after he left? Why did he wait? Gio bit back his frustrated tears, then continued on.

"We went to this guys house. Oscar." Gio flinched as the name passed his lips, then shook his head to himself. "The entire time we were driving she was drinking and smoking, and so I was too. I tripped at some point and made my nose bleed, so he let us in so Rory could clean me off. Then she was talking about...about buying something. From Oscar."

Nicko knew the name, he'd met him only once before, but he knew that he was huge and even more of an asshole than Nicko was. He was the one Rory always went to for her hard shit, which Nicko hated so he hadn't accompanied her after the first time. He stopped drawing altogether, setting his sketchbook down and moving closer to Gio, who was now shaking all over.

"She didn't have enough money, I guess, and uh...um." He couldn't look at Nicko anymore, turning his head away from him completely. He couldn't bare to see Nicko's face when he admitted to the horrible, unfaithful things he did. Giovanni knew he belonged to Nicko and only Nicko, and he was absolutely disgusted in himself for having allowed Oscar or Rory or the motel owner or any of the others to do what they did to him. "He wanted her t-to pay a different way."

"Oh, shit, Gio."

"Only she didn't want to," he continued, "and she was scared, and I didn't want her to be scared so...so when she asked me to do it instead, I-I did."

Nicko was stunned into silence, eyes instinctively dropping to the mess of hickeys all over Gio's frail neck. It was heartbreaking, thinking of Gio feeling the need to protect Rory like that, especially when he was the one that needed protection. It was even more heartbreaking to think of him under Oscar, who Nicko had no doubt had ripped Gio to shreds with their size difference.

Gio was only more frightened at Nicko's lack of reply. Silence meant anger, silence meant that Master was thinking very hard, something Gio was too stupid to do, and more often than not, silence meant brutal, meticulously planned punishment. So Gio did what he was best at: he started to beg.

"Sir, I'm so sorry, I know I'm yours, I shouldn't have ever let them touch m-me." He looked up at Nicko, then his composure broke and he let out a tiny whimper before crawling over to him. "L-Let me make it up to you, sir. Please, use me, let m-me be good for you. Please le-let me-"

"Gio, stop." Nicko was flustered by Gio crawling right up between his legs, trailing his trembling fingers over Nicko's leg suggestively. But all of it was happening rather quickly, too quickly for Nicko to react well, and Gio was freaking out, for whatever reason, so all he could do was sit still. And what was this "them" that Gio was talking about? Had it not just been Oscar that Rory handed the box boy over to? He wanted to ask, but he couldn't form the words, not when Gio was on his knees inbetween Nicko's legs.

"P-please! Please, sir. Wan-wanna be useful." Now his hand was brushing tentatively at his belt, over his zipper, and then Nicko reached down and snatched his wrist up tightly in his hand before he went any lower. Gio gasped, snapping his head up to look at Nicko. He was closer than either of them had realized, now that they were face to face they were inches apart. Gio's eyes were glazed over with something Nicko hadn't ever seen before, something that made them soft and dulled down more so than usual, but simultaneously had a sad glimmer of tears over it. Nicko had thought the huge, spaced out gaze Gio did at him sometimes was his version of puppy dog eyes, but that paled in comparison to the way he was looking at him now. Nicko would never admit it out loud, but it drove him absolutely crazy, to have someone looking at him with such gentle desperation.

"Stop calling me sir." Nicko instructed after a moment of silence. Gio didn't break his gaze, he only blinked a few times, and then he nodded. "I want you to say my name, when you beg like that. Alright?"

Giovanni melted in Nicko's grip, leaning forward just a little closer. "Nicko..." he breathed, and that was all it took. Nicko dropped his wrist and took his face in both of his hands, drawing a small whimper from him.

"I don't want to take your clothes off or use you, or anything like that." He whispered, closing his eyes as he pressed his forehead against Gio's. "I just want to...try something. For one second. Ok, Giovanni?"

"Please, Nicko."

Gio held his breath right before Nicko kissed him, focusing on keeping himself still and soft and good for Nicko, but it all went out the window once their lips were actually pressed together. Gio had been burning for this since the first time Nicko had kissed him, but he was too afraid to ask and Gio always seemed to make him regret it anyways, so he didn't think there was much use hoping for it. And here he was, with Nicko holding him close, kissing him, just kissing him, and he was so nervous he was going to mess it up and not be good enough at it to make Nicko want him.

Nicko pulled away from him after only a couple of seconds, he laughed when Gio huffed in obvious displeasure. But he was calmer now, not panicking and calling him "sir" and saying all of those...other...disturbing things. So Nicko was satisfied.

"I seriously think you should eat, darling." He trailed his fingertips over Gio's jaw as he spoke, slowly pulling his hands away. "I'm worried you're gonna blow away if we go outside."

Gio sank back to sit down where he had been, picking up the bowl of fruit again and watching his hands tremble as he picked up another piece of the sweet orange-ish fruit Nicko gave him earlier. He couldn't force himself to put it in his mouth, knew he wouldn't be able to chew and swallow over the huge lump in his throat. Why didn't Nicko want him? Why wasn't Gio good enough for him? Maybe it was arrogant of him to think he was good enough, he should be humble, he should just keep trying harder until he actually was. But truthfully it wasn't hurtful because he thought he felt deserving, it was hurtful because he was scared. He wasn't good enough for his old master, he wasn't good enough for Rory, he wasn't even good enough to keep his old life. And he loved Nicko so, so, painfully much, he had finally found somewhere mostly safe and his master was perfect and if he wasn't good enough again then maybe Rory was right, and he should just give up, find a way out, like she said.

Nicko got a little freaked out at the way he could physically see Gio's crash start, he was a little unnerved to see his posture sink in a little, his throat bobbing up and down as he tried not to cry. He could see his thoughts spiraling, realizing that, damn, life kind of sucks, and it kind of always has and what if always does? By now, Rory would be a blubbering mess.

As if reading Nicko's mind, Gio started to sniffle, trying again to press the fruit to his lips, still unable to bite. If he opened his mouth, he might make a noise, and he just wanted to stop messing up already. But then, Nicko was sitting in front of him, gently grabbing his hand and taking the mango away from him, setting it back in the bowl for him. Then he grabbed Gio and pulled him into his lap, holding him close.

"You're ok, Gio." He told him. "I know, it hurts, I know, but I'm here, I've got you."

Giovanni let out a soft mewl, trying without much strength to squirm out of the comforting arms. He was terrified of the gentleness he so obviously didn't deserve, knew it could easily be used against him later. "I was so soft with you earlier," the warm body would say, "Don't you want me to do that again? I will, if you do this for me."

But this wasn't just a warm body, it wasn't his old Master, it wasn't the couple of guards who would visit his cold, concrete cell late at night long after training was over, it was Nicko. And Nicko didn't even want him in that way. Why didn't Nicko want him that way? "Nicko, please please u-use me. I-"

"Shh, Gio. I don't want to do that to you."

"Why?!" He sobbed out, fingers tightening into tight fists around Nicko's shirt. "Why d-don't you w-wa-want me?!"

Nicko gasped at his outburst, reflexively tightening his grip around him just a little. "Giovanni...I...shit. It's not about what I want, it's just that it would be, uh, different, with you. Like it wouldn't be the same as sex with a regular person cause you're uh...trained for it."

Just like that, the boy grew rigid and stopped shaking, leaning away from Nicko as much as he could. He just had to be reminded of his place, that was all. Nicko didn't want him because Nicko was a person, and Gio wasn't. Maybe Nicko just wanted him as something to practice art on, whether it be with the tattoo gun or painting him on a canvas or sketching him in his little notebook. As much as that hurt Gio, to know that he wasn't human enough for Nicko to want him back, he could live with being useful in that way for him.

"I'm sorry," Gio looked away from Nicko and up at the huge painting of him a few feet away. Nicko had done a wonderful job on it, he made Gio look small and pale and broken, like he was and felt he always would be. But Nicko had also done a good job of showcasing Gio as alone, swimming in an ocean of black fabric, isolated and untouched and useless. Like he was, and felt he always would be. "That was...out of line. I'm sorry."

"Gio, c'mon. Don't... Don't be all sad now. I do like you, I really do. I think you're the cutest thing ever." He reached out and grabbed onto a piece of his hair, twisting it somewhat playfully. "And you're a real good kisser, too. Honestly." Gio looked up at him, and Nicko grinned at him, trying to elicit some sort of positive reaction. Finally, Gio cracked a small, halfhearted smile, dropping his shoulders from how tense he was. "But I don't want to have sex with you cause it...you know, it means something different to us. You understand?"

Gio nodded slowly, forcing himself to take a deep, ragged breath. "Yeah, I understand."

Nicko leaned forward just a little and placed a soft kiss into his hair. "Good boy," he mumbled, "now eat your fruit so I can finish drawing you, yeah?"

The smile on Gio's face was genuine that time around, and he sat a little straighter. "Yes, Nicko." So Gio sat still, he watched Nicko scribble against his paper while glancing up at him every so often, and he ate his fruit. It wasn't what he wanted to do, but that didn't matter, he did it because he was told to, because Nicko wanted him to. Gio had once been told, in training, that as long as his master is happy, he should be to. He was seriously starting to wonder if he was broken, because it was seeming like he couldn't be happy at all, even as Nicko smiled at him over his notebook.

[skeleslime-phantom]

Curious but what's your coloring process? And what dpi do you use to not make your lineart look crunchy,,, Cuz i keep trying different types of lineart pens in csp, but they all turn out to be crunchy and gross looking,,,

Cont. : Same anon here! For your comics, do you use csp's manuscripts? or do you make them by hand? So sorry for these questions, your art is super wonderful and I wanna get an idea on how my fav artists work on their art!

BUCKLE YER FUCKLE, here I’ll share what my usual process with coloring and working in CSP is!

Workflow usually is as follows: Lineart-> Use AutoSelect Wand on negative space around figure-> Go to Select, Expand Selected Area by 2 pixels, Invert Selection-> Fill in the form with Bucket or a Brush tool-> Start selectively filling in other colors-> Duplicate Lineart, blur it, set it underneath, make it Color Dodge-> Add Highlights/Lighting/Shadows etc.-> Background will come last or first, depends! 

Character shown is not mine, go check out @roposhipin‘s art for more of this cutie!

I work in LARGE canvas sizes, usually 40x40 inches aka at least 2500x2500 pixels. Resolution at 72. I never start with a pure white background, too hard on the eyes.

If your lineart is looking “crunchy”, you might be working at TOO LOW of a canvas size, or your brush settings aren’t what you’d like them to be.

Take a look at the settings on whatever brush you use most often for lineart. You’ll see here I scribbled with some of my more commonly used brushes, and I have the “ANTI-ALIAS” setting to the far left. As for Stablization, I NEVER have it turned all the way up. It’s either in the middle or turned off.

You can see the difference of what the anti-aliasing does to brushes. Zoomed in, it doesn’t matter that the lineart is pixely and jagged, when zoomed out it will look nice, crisp, and smooth.

As for “manuscript” ahah no, I’m a fool and haven’t really worked with them yet. I like doing all my panels/pages freeform by hand. That’s just what I’m used to right now.

Hope this helped a little!

Summary: USE A BIG CANVAS, COLOR IN STEPS, CHECK YOUR ANTI-ALIAS AND STABILIZATION SETTINGS, TWEAK YOUR TOOLS TO WHAT FITS YOU

[quizzzically]

📚📏🐻🌊?

how many layers do you typically use? for silly little line sketches, 1 for a white background (checkerboard pattern of transparent bg drains my eyes SO bad) + 1 for a coloured background + sometimes 1 for a very very rough low opacity sketch just to pin down shapes/composition and 1 more for my actual lines. n sometimes ill use another one if im struggling for something like a hand so i can draw over the first lines w/o ruining them. if its a painting/big final piece it can get into like the 50-60s

what’s your go-to canvas size? im very bad at estimating so i usually just go for like 2000x2000, then zoom in (lots of my brushes look way better at lower/rougher qualities) and crop it later on

your go-to things to draw when you need comfort? i actually very rarely draw for comfort but i’ve been doing it more often! usually super easy/lazy things that are in my comfort zone like dragons or dogs/cats or i just scribble on a page

what’s the hardest thing for you to draw? arms are my ENEMY. posing them on a fullbody drawing is really frustrating!! getting length/proportions/positioning right is such a bother and making it suit the rest of the pose too. legs are the same but not as much just cuz they arent the focus of the drawing a lot of the time. see also: hands in fists specifically

[spiffyworks]

Artist’s Software Surfing P1 - Sketching

SSSo recently, after finishing (an admittedly long-overdue) a piece, I decided to download a trial of the new Corel Painter 2019. I hadn’t used Painter since my old DeviantArt days (circa 2005) and wanted to see how it felt with more digital art-veteran hands. Loaded it up, started sketching my default doodle-muse and wow, that “Real 2B” pencil feels great. I loved it so much, and wondered why. 

That’s the story that is spawning this weird personal series of Software Surfing. I wanted to write little notes to future-me on how it felt using my favorite sketching tools in each program I have, and after the sixth one I thought it might be a good idea to check out inking, colouring, painting, etc. and writing those down as well.

So I’m writing this series for myself, but making it available in case anyone else can benefit as well. Thanks for sticking with the intro, let’s get into it.

Artist’s Software Surfing P1 - Sketching Artist’s Software Surfing P2 - Inking Artist’s Software Surfing P3 - Colouring Artist’s Software Surfing P4 - Painting

There are many ways to sketch, but this is specifically the classic “pencil” or “drawing” form using the tools with the program’s default settings.

As an introduction, this is my doodle-muse, Cloey. She was my first original character, and though I don’t usually share my anthro art on here (I know that’s not everyone’s thing) I do have a separate blog for that stuff that you can find here if you’re so inclined. If you’re familiar with Artgerm (and you should be), she’s basically my Pepper.

Corel Painter’s “Real 2B”:

The one that started it all. The pencil just GLIDES, and I’ve always loved when you can tilt a pencil tool and it will shade just like tilting a real-life pencil. The only thing I want from a program now is to be able to bind touch to blenders so I can use my finger to smudge-blend the scribbling. (I tried drawing that fist so many times /fume)

Likes: Tilt functionality, line width variance, stroke speed, eraser Dislikes: Rebinding Rotate Canvas tool was a pain. I like Shift+Space, and that key combo is reflected in the shortcut panel, but it just continued to pan. Never worked for me, and rotating or flipping the page quickly is crucial for my sketching process. Also sometimes if I quickly resize the eraser and mash it down to use, it won’t detect any input.

Photoshop, Kyle Webster’s “2B” & “Animator Pencil”: 

**Disclaimer** Firstly, I’ve used Photoshop for over 15 years now, and it’s a great digital art tool, but for drawing and painting I find it’s sorely lacking. It’s slow, expensive, and unintuitive. That being said, there are some things this program does exclusive to others so I’m still clinging to it (desperately) and while I would definitely recommend something else for budding digital artists, I have to supplement my misgivings by purchasing additional plugins and tools, such as the famed Kyle T Webster’s Ultimate Megapack for Photoshop (

which is now complementary with Photoshop CC, damnit

). Unless otherwise noted, all the brushes I use in Photoshop will be from that pack. **End Disclaimer**

Following off the heels of Corel, I remembered messing around with another “2B” (which btw is my personal favorite traditional pencil to sketch with) in Kyle Webster’s Drawing Box in Photoshop. It felt a bit similar, but with no tilt functionality and it really lacked the chunky-thickness (a scientific term) I enjoyed with Painter’s pencil. I switched to my favorite (and the favorite of MANY digital artists btw) his “Animator’s Pencil”. So chunky, but the ability to shade lightly... It’s really a fun brush to use for sketching digitally. Still one of my absolute favorites.

Animator Pencil Likes: Line width variance, texture fills in and scales perfectly Dislikes: It’s a photoshop exclusive, a program that for some reason you can’t bind shortcuts to whatever you please, takes forever to load, and WAY too often suffers input lag while drawing. Also no tilt shading, :’( aw

Paintstorm’s “Textured Pencil” & “Pencil Tilt”

As a bit of an aside, I love Paintstorm, Paintstorm is what got me back into digital drawing and painting after doing 3D and game design for 7 years. I bought it for the very low price of entry (2 licenses for $30) and was impressed by its ability to customize literally anything in the program. You can create your own tool/brush boxes, bind any shortcut to any key combination, and every single brush tool adjustment comes with the most customization control of any program I’ve come across since Photoshop set the bar way back in the day. Out of the box a lot of the basic brushes have that old OpenCanvas or PaintTool Sai feel, but more recently they’ve added some very textured default brushes you can play around with. It’s also hands-down the FASTEST program I’ve ever worked in. I highly recommend giving it a try, it’s great for learning and experimentation. I grew a lot working in Paintstorm.

The Textured Pencil is a fun sketching brush, you can get as think or thick as you’d want and it keeps a clean outline. The Pencil Tilt really blew my mind the first time I used it. YOU CAN SHADE! It was the first time I had ever seen a program do that. The tilt has a great texture, fantastic control, and gets just as dark as you’d need. I’d recommend using them both, the Textured Pencil for a cleaner sketch, and the Pencil Tilt for something more expressive or loose.

Krita’s Ink-Tilt & “Sketch”:

I’ll be honest, I have almost no experience in Krita despite having downloaded and given it a try back in 2014. It was a hell of a time to figure out how to rebind my usual shortcuts (flip horz, rotate canvas). I couldn’t even rebind colour grab/eyedropper. Yikes. I opened up the “Sketching” brush box and there were only two options, made worse as one was a sketch pen... That lacked the flexibility of ballpoint. 

First I grabbed the pencil dubbed “Sketch” and was bewildered why the size of the circle was so large compared to the mark it made. Very confusing. Feeling intimidated, I abandoned it immediately to try out the “ink_tilt” (which by the way there’s no tilt functionality??) and hated it. I reluctantly went back to the pencil and just started trying to make marks. Wow. It’s weird, but surprisingly fun. You have to be willing to relinquish a LOT of control, but the shapes the brush makes while moving and tilting during a stroke can yield some really interesting and suggestive shapes. I would say great for early concepting or making something really loose and expressive. Fun to play with, but not really practical.

Clip Studio Paint’s Real Pencil & Rough Pencil

I’ve been wholly immersed in CSP since I purchased the program back in late 2016. It goes on sale often, so you can pick up a nice fully featured program for ~$35. I’d had my eye on it for a while and still really want to get into self-publishing comics, so I picked it up, bought a couple of brush packs for it (it’s pretty lacking in default painting tools) and I’ve been illustrating in it ever since. The brush creation isn’t as fun as Paintstorm, but brushes are quite customizable. I usually like to use the “Rough Pencil” if I want just a little texture and line variance, or the “Darker Pencil” for something cleaner. Trying to be different, I just jotted out a couple heads in ones I don’t normally use, the Real Pencil and Design Pencil. The Real Pencil has a lot of texture, but for some reason in CSP the textures don’t seem to scale with the brush, so I tend to avoid using it in most cases. I hate the design pencil, I just could never get dark enough. I guess that’s probably the point, though.

Well, that definitely wraps this digest up. I feel refreshed after trying out a lot of new digital sketching brushes. I was really reminded of how much I enjoyed drawing in Paintstorm. I hope someone other than me found this useful or otherwise inspiring! Sometimes, especially if you’re stuck in some art blockage, it’s a good idea to try something new, and for me digitally that’s hopping programs and trying new brushes.

I’m thinking about doing inks, colours, and painting at some point. Let me know if anyone’s interested in those! I’m planning on doing some for myself eventually, but I might expedite a post if anyone is interested. o/ Take it easy,  y’all.

Artist’s Software Surfing P1 - Sketching Artist’s Software Surfing P2 - Inking Artist’s Software Surfing P3 - Colouring Artist’s Software Surfing P4 - Painting

[kookadoodle]

The Post-It Messenger

PLOT: A stranger admires Y/N from afar and takes her breath away with his art and innovation.

PAIRING: Taehyung x reader GENRE: fluff, S2L!AU  WARNINGS: swearing, a lot of fluffy stuff WORDCOUNT: 3k A/N: first drabble, hope u enjoy x

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I put on a record of my favorite music and turn the volume up just right, letting the euphoric sounds seek through the speakers and surround me as it continues out through my apartment. It is Sunday, and it has almost become a routine for me to put on a good album as I clean up the mess I have made during the week. The vibe of the track embraces me so gently yet so vibrant, making me start moving my shoulders and hips to the beats. It feels a little silly to dance on my own, knowing dance is not really my forte. I giggle and overdue it just enough for it to be more funny than serious, amusing myself. 

I walk over to the balcony and open up the doors, letting in the fresh air of spring. The sun is bright and lights up the room, complementing my white and wooden furniture with a nice tone. It already looks cleaner and more manageable, which I thank the weather for. The place is not too bad and five songs later, when side A has finished, my apartment is as good as new and rather inviting to look at. I turn over the record to play side B and slightly turn down the volume for a softer mood to calm my clammy skin. I pour myself a fresh glass of water and plop in a slice of lemon along with a few ice cubes, bringing it with me out on the balcony, which is just big enough to fit a small table set with two chairs. I place my glass on the table and look down onto the street below me. The traffic is not too busy, and the people seem calm and content, enjoying the weather. Spring is my favorite time of year and therefore I feel extra chipper today. Across from my building is another building with what seems to be a hundred windows, and they all reflect the blue sky and white clouds in them, bringing me inspiration. I step inside and grab my notepad and pen, bringing them out with me. I sit back down and lean back, placing my paper in my lap with my feet resting on the opposite chair. I click the pen and start to write what comes to mind.

“Blue is the color of logic, I promise it is so.

When I see blue, I think of things that I have come to know.

I think of the sky and how it separates us from the dark.

I think of how the world is blue from oceans that keep us apart.

Many say that blue is sad, yet how can that be true?

It is only logic I see, when I see the color blue.”

I scribble on, leaving poetic words on the page, traced by blue ink, which seems almost unforgivingly cheesy. Time goes by as I write and sketch and doodle on the notepad, listening to the sweet sounds of soothing blues.

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I pour the last cup of coffee, smiling at the customer, before I head out back and finish my shift at work. I take off the apron and say goodbye to my colleagues as I am on my way home. I walk out onto the street and pull out my phone, seeing a text on the screen.

[Today 15:05]

Y/F/N: Hey Y/N

Y/F/N: I’ll be dropping by later with that shirt I borrowed, if that’s okay?

[Today 17:05]

Y/N: sure thing :))

Y/F/N has been my best friend for as long as I can remember, and even though she knows that she is welcome anytime, she is still polite enough to ask. I like that about her. Not that I would mind her showing up at random, yet it shows that she respects my privacy. I finally reach my apartment block and climb the three flights of stairs. That was fucking exhausting, I think to myself, slightly embarrassed by my own cardio work.  As I step up to my front door, I notice something resting against it. It is a medium-sized canvas with a note. I grab the canvas and turn it around to face me. My heart drops. It’s me, I repeat to myself in my head, startled by the sight I am met with. It is a painting of me, sitting on my balcony with my notepad and pen. I quickly open up the folded piece of paper by the door, revealing the written words inside.

“I saw you yesterday and you inspired me. I promise, I am not a creepy stalker. I simply thought you were beautiful and I had to paint you. I hope you like it”

A smile forms itself on my lips against my wishes. I feel both very flattered, yet also quite astonished. Who is this person? I ask myself, unsure of what I should be feeling. I bring the canvas inside and study it more closely. Apart from it being me (which freaks me out a little… or maybe even a lot), the painting itself is actually really beautiful. The detail of it proves the talent of its maker. Realizing the angle, I walk over to the balcony doors and look out, trying to find the stranger’s place. It must be from an apartment in the building across from mine. It only takes a few seconds for my eyes to notice something odd, standing out from the ocean of apartments. One of the windows have blue colored Post-Its on it, making up two words and a question mark: “like painting?”

I smile again, wider this time and feel as if butterflies are flying around in my tummy. I step into my room and pull out a stack of plain white Post-Its from my desk, bringing them back with me. One by one, I stick them onto the glass until it spells the word: “yes” on the balcony door. As I finish creating the last letter, I take a step back, checking it over. It looks fine, yet I start to wonder for how long I should keep them up, not knowing if the stranger will respond or even see my answer to their question. I take a breath and try to shake it off, since there might be hours until anything happens. I make myself a bowl of cereal and after I have finished eating, I check again. To my surprise, the stranger has already responded with a new word and a smiley: “good :)”

I take down the green post-its and rearrange them into a question of my own; “How to thank u?”, I write. The whole thing feels conflicting, since I do not know who it is. It could be prince charming (which I hope, since it would be so damn romantic) or it could be an old lady or a serial killer. I notice how fast my theories evolve and start to scare me a little. Before I know it, the stranger has written something new in a neon orange color. “May I come?” the Post-Its say, kind of stealing my breath away. I want to say yes, yet it feels very forward to do so. But they did ask, which seems even more forward than saying yes. “Okay,” I write back, feeling the nervousness hitting me like a brick wall. It is almost terrifying, and the wait is killing me. What am I doing? I rush around, cleaning up my already cleaned apartment and fix my already fixed hair in the mirror in the hall. Suddenly, in what feels like two minutes after, I hear a knock on the door.

“Y/N! How are you?” my best friend says with a big smile, throwing her arms around me in a hug. I sigh with relief as the face I see is a familiar one. Good timing, I think to myself, feeling calmer from her presence. “Come in!” I say and step away, allowing her to enter into my home. She places her bag on the kitchen counter and gives me another hug, making me grin. “Just so you know, I have someone coming over in a minute,” I say nervously, feeling the realization hitting me once again like a brick wall. “Who?” she asks suggestively, wiggling her brows. “I don’t know, actually,” I say with a strained smile, causing her to frown instead. Suddenly, I hear another knock and I turn towards it, looking back and forth at my friend and the door. It is like I freeze for the first few seconds until my friend suggests at me to make a move. “Get the door,” she says a little worried. I force myself to walk over to the door and turn the knob as my heart beats slightly faster. Y/F/N cannot see me from the kitchen and therefore my reaction is mine and mine alone. I do not know if that is a good thing or not. I open it up, and to my surprise I am met with the sight of the most beautiful individual I have ever seen. His eyes are big and brown, and his hair matches their vibrant color. His hands are in the pockets of his khaki slacks and his dress shirt is a deep blue that brings out the melanin of his skin and the pinkish color in his cheeks. The moment feels to be in slow motion as I observe the change of his reaction from nervousness to absolute relief. A boxy smile widens on him, showing me his perfect teeth and charming features. I smile back as I am immediately smitten with him, and I pull a strand of hair behind my ear as I morph into soft mush right before him. “Hi, I am the Post-It messenger from across the street,” he says in a deep raspy voice that soothes me. His confidence is somewhat terrifying, yet also very calming as it rubs off on me a bit. “Hi, I’m Y/N,” I say gently, reaching out a hand. His hand embraces mine in a soft squeeze as he smiles politely. It is warm and caresses my skin comfortably. “I’m Taehyung,” he says politely, and the sound melts in my ears like butter.

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

After inviting him in and Y/F/N has rushed out as soon as she saw my non-terrifying company, leaving us two alone, I make him a cup of tea. I cannot help but gaze at him as he is sitting at my table, and I try my best to stay composed. I need to remind myself that the -hot water pouring- should stop at some point, before it reaches over the rim of the cup. Luckily, I stop in time. “I hope I didn’t creep you out with my gift,” he says shyly, a soft smile tugging at his lips. I bring over the cup and place it before him as I sit down across from him. “No, not at all. It’s a beautiful painting. I was just surprised to see myself in it,” I chuckle. He smiles back and nods in understanding, imagining how it must feel to be approached by a complete stranger like that. He lifts the cup up to his lips and blows it to cool it down, before he takes a sip of its warmth. “I feel a little awkward about it, but I just thought you were so pretty and calm, sitting out there… and I felt it was necessary to capture that moment somehow,” he explains as he rest the mug on the surface before him. I see admiration in his eyes, which makes me believe I can trust him. I smile and tilt my head, listening to him compliment me in such a polite yet heartful way. I normally feel uncomfortable with people praising me but hearing them roll off of his tongue seems too good to be true. It captures me unapologetically. “Wanna go to the movies with me?” he suddenly asks out of the blue. He reaches up a hand to his collar and pulls the fabric of his dress shirt as he waits for a reply. He shakes his head, grinning at his own forwardness. He seems surprised at his own actions, but not as surprised as when I accept his request.  

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

I walk up to the counter and Taehyung asks for two tickets. He takes out his wallet, and I pull out mine as well, yet he places a hand on mine, wanting me to put it away. “I’ll pay for my own ticket,” I say kindly. “A gentleman pays for his date’s ticket,” he says cheekily, suggesting that he really wants to. I giggle to myself at the fact that he called me his date, and I feel pleased about it. He pays the man and receives the tickets, handing one over to me, causing our skin to touch. The sensation lingers a few seconds after we part. I step away from the counter and walk closely, feeling his arm next to mine and his hand next to mine. One reach of a finger and we would touch again, which I oddly long for. I might not know him that well, yet I feel as if I do. Like I have known him for years and every look into his eyes and every boxy smile of his brings us closer. Some people just have a way about them, and Taehyung is one of those people. The date carries on as we are watching the movie, sitting next to each other in the dark dimmed room. I wish for him to take my hand or do the yawn-excuse-thing as they always do in movies, but he does not. I do not exactly blame him, since we literally just met, yet I cannot help the thoughts strolling through my mind. Is he not enjoying himself or is he just nervous? I really cannot tell. The movie turns out to be rather awful and we spend the time leaning over and whispering comments into the other’s ear, making each other laugh. People shush us, yet it is very hard not to be loud, when he surprises me with every humorous word and I him. The movie ends against our wishes and I rise up, following behind him as he leads me out. He reaches back a hand to me and I grab on to it, interlocking with him. A rush runs through me, and I try my hardest to hide it as I do not want to seem overly excited. I might manage to keep a straight face, but the smile on his suggests that he is having trouble fighting the obvious attraction. He pulls me through the building and out onto the street, where the sky has turned a deeper blue. It is almost as if it is matching him on purpose. We walk beside each other still with my hand in his, and we talk about how surprisingly funny the movie had turned out to be. I place my opposite hand on his arm and lean slightly against him. I feel him leaning back against me and tilting his head in comfort. We reach my apartment and I turn around towards him. “Thank you,” I say softly. “No, thank you, I had a nice time,” he says back, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He is standing close to me as if a magnet is pulling him in. He watches me intently. “Me too, yet I really meant for the painting. I love it,” I grin, looking up at him into his big brown eyes that seem almost black in this lighting. The mood makes both our expression soften as we study each other’s faces. “I’m glad you do,” he says sincerely. We turn quiet for a moment, sharing the silent space. I start smiling as I look down in shyness, feeling overwhelmed by his presence. Suddenly, I feel his hand as it gently caresses my cheek and pulls my lips up to his. Softly, he leans in and places a kiss on me, making me melt in his embrace. He pulls away far too early, forcing me to replay the moment in my head over and over for the rest of the night. “I’ll look forward to next time,” he says almost in a whisper against my cheek, making my heart flutter. He pulls away and winks at me before making his way down the hall. I step into my apartment in a flustered state, closing the door behind me. I lean against the door and sigh as I indulge in what lingers of him. Fuck, I think to myself, completely amazed by him. I grin at myself as I step further inside, finally sensing my heart return to normal.

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

I sit on the balcony once again with my notepad and pen, looking at the sky and the windows of his building. I wonder if he is home and if he sees me sitting here, looking for him. I try not to be too obvious in my search, though it is hard not to look. It is hard not to long for him. I cannot find him in his windows, so I settle for my own company and imagination. I bring the end of the pen to my lips, contemplating on what to write and from where to draw inspiration. All I can think of is him - him and his soft lips and brown eyes and blue dress shirt. Blue like the sky that paints the distance between us and blue like the color of his Post-Its that brought us together. Blue. I look at my poem and decide that it needs a different view. Clicking the pen, I place the tip on the paper, adding more to my previous work.

“Blue is the color of logic, yet why is it only so?

When I see blue, I think of things that you will never know.

I think of the sky and how it carries wonders in the air.

I think of how unlucky the world would be, if blue were never there.

Oops, I told you my thoughts, so I guess it wasn’t true.

Now you know what I truly feel, when I see the color blue”

[sodoyouknowbts]

Namjoon x Reader - Pages of Petals

Summary: A change in the weather stirs a sweet encounter between a florist and a bookshop owner, where one begins to learn the language of flowers.

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Sweet romance, chance meetings

Author: Pilot

A cool droplet of rain falls onto your cheek. Then another and another. The rain picks up and you bring your hands up to cover your head. You spot a flower shop at the corner of the road.

A mustard yellow bike sits outside, resting against one of the windows to the flower shop. Its walls are painted a shade of blue. A young cherry tree stands in a brown terracotta pot next to a small table and two chairs. Pot plants sit on upside-down brown crates that you presume used to hold apples and oranges. A short step ladder is home to succulents and pink, yellow and white daisies, comfortably framed on each step. It’s charming.

Looking left and right, you jog across and take shelter under the beams of the shop. You wriggle your pale grey beret off your head and hold it out in front of you, patting the droplets of rain from it. The weatherman hadn’t predicted rain today.

You had been on your way home from the bookstore you owned, although you hadn’t walked home this way before. You had made a quick book delivery that afternoon, after you had given your delivery boy the day off. He had wanted to take his girlfriend out for her birthday. You smile to yourself at the sentiment, watching as the passers-by on the street rush to escape the unexpected rain, their arms up over their heads in an effort to momentarily shelter themselves from the downpour. 

A spring shower. It had been such a long time since it had rained like that. You put your beret into your tote bag, joining the five books you had stashed inside and look down. You watch as the concrete path slowly becomes a darker shade of grey with every droplet of rain.

You turn around and bring your nose up against the window of the flower shop, cupping your hands in front of your face to better focus your view. You peer inside and spot the back of a young man who is moving around the store, a small bouquet of flowers in his hand. You scoot over, tiptoeing to get a better view, wondering if it’s still open.

You pull yourself from the window. You’d have to wait for the rain to pass. Your shoes weren’t meant for walking through puddles. You pause in front of the glass door, checking it’s open, reading the words on the small chalkboard hanging on the other side of the glass. The name of the flower shop is scribbled in white chalk, the handwriting elongated and messy. Sough Flower Shop.

You open the heavy glass door and step inside. As you close the door, the most beautiful mix of perfumes drift to your nose, enhanced by the scent of the rain on the pavement outside. Your eyes scan the store. Empty pots, glass jars of various shapes and sizes are stacked oddly on the bottom shelf, next to a large metal watering can with a long spout. A long workbench takes up one wall. On it sits rolls of brown paper, bundles of ribbons in varying thicknesses and yellow tissue paper.

Dried flowers and tree branches hang from the roof beams, wrapped with white and brown twine. Buckets of flowers, organised in sharp bunches of colour sit on top of a hand-made wooden table in the centre of the shop. They’re housed in a mix of tall and short cylindrical glass vases. Small ready-made bouquets of flowers in colourful, atomic, complementing colours, are wrapped in brown paper and sit in tin milk buckets.

There’s a little sink area tucked away at the back of the shop. A white tiled splashback is adorned with another small string of dried leaves, hanging upside down, accompanied by pegged polaroid photographs and torn scribbles of paper and receipts. Edison light globes hang from the ceiling.

On the opposite side of the shop, near the door, a small and thin bookshelf houses three shelves of old vinyl records. You note a record, slightly open, the black vinyl hanging out, balanced precariously a top a pile of books. 

He watches as you inquisitively scan his flower shop. He had noticed you outside before, when you had been hovering by the window. He had watched you, as you had bounced on the balls of your feet, peering into the store. 

He continues on, snapping the leaves off the long-stemmed rose in his hands. You glance at him. He’s wearing a checked shirt, a brown newsboy cap and a brown apron. A pair of scissors and roll of twine stick out from his apron pockets. He’s wearing glasses, simple wire frames that pinch the slight bridge of his nose. He is handsome, in an understated way.

The table is a complementary mix of flowers and greens and you begin to move around the table inspecting the flowers, your fingertips gently touching the fragile petals, some of which are ready to bloom and others already blossoming.

It’s still raining outside, you can hear it pattering on the roof. One particular flower catches your eye and you pull a stem of it from the bucket. It’s unique, the long, sturdy green stem covered in sweet purple clusters, four petals to each flower.

“Lilac. It means love at first sight.”

You jump back, slightly startled. You bump into the bookshelf behind you and he quickly moves over, steadying it with his hand. The vinyl clatters to the floor. You apologise and he smiles down at you. 

“Sorry.” You say, picking up the vinyl, sliding it back into its thin cardboard case.

“No, it’s okay. It’s probably a sign that I should listen to these a bit more…” he says, sticking the flower he’s holding into the front of his apron as he takes the record from you. He moves over to the record player, lifting the needle and placing the vinyl down. A soft and melodic sound of piano and violins fills the little shop.

You bend forward, examining the titles, curious as to what he was just reading. He watches you and cocks a brow, smiling to himself.

“Moyes?” You say, taking the first book from the pile on the shelf, turning it over in your hands. She was one of your favourite authors.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Do you know this author?” he asks, walking over to you.

“Yes, it’s funny actually. I own a bookstore.” You say, sheepishly.

“Raconteur bookstore?” He asks.

“Yes...how did you -”

He eyes your tote bag and his face breaks into a smile. You close your eyes and sigh at yourself. Of course. It was written on your tote bag. You had made a number of them especially, screen printing your bookshop name and logo onto the canvas which you gave out to customers instead of paper bags.

You go to pull your tote bag around in front of you but in the process accidentally bump one of the tin milk buckets from the table next to you.

You pause and just look at him, a little frustrated and embarrassed that you were so clumsy.

“Sorry. Again.” You say. It’s rocking side to side between your feet. “Maybe you should pick it up. I might end up knocking something else over.” 

He chuckles and does as he’s told. He inspects it, pointing at a dent you had caused at the base of the tin.

“It looks a little like my dimples, don’t you think?” He says, examining the dented tin bucket, smiling proudly, making his dimples ever more evident. You laugh at his joke, noticing his left dimple is deeper than his right. You resist the urge to bring your finger to his face to poke it.

“I’m really sorry -”

“Don't worry about it. One of my friends owns a farm. I can always get more.” He says. “Besides. I think the dent adds character.” 

You ease and smile again. He pops the tin bucket back onto the table and pulls the stem of the flower from his apron, popping it into the bucket.

“I don’t think that the rain is stopping just yet.” He says, looking outside. “I have to close up now, but - do you want some cake?”

“Cake?”

“One of my other friends had made some yesterday and brought it over. It’s really nice. I have a lot left.”

“Oh, I really shouldn't intrude.”

“It’s not intruding.” He smiles, luminous. You watch as he moves outside, pulling in the set of tables and chairs to the door. You rush up to him and hold the door open as he wriggles the legs of the chairs across the floor of the flower shop. Once he’s happy with where they are, he goes to the kitchen sink and grabs a tea towel, using it to dry off the water.

He then walks around the workbench, heading up a staircase you hadn’t realised existed. You follow him to the base of the staircase, peering up. He's rummaging around, opening and closing drawers in his kitchen upstairs. 

He soon patters back down, joining you again in the flower shop, a single piece of cake on a teal coloured plate in one hand, two forks stuffed into the front pocket of his apron. He sets them down on the table and ushers you to sit while he heads back up to his living quarters, the wooden steps creaking as he takes every step. He comes back down again, this time with two cups of coffee.

“I would have offered tea but I don’t have any...” he says, placing the mugs on the table next to the cake. “I drink more coffee than I probably should.” he admits, pushing the chair with his feet and sitting down.

He picks up a fork from the plate and hands it to you. You take it from him, carefully, swiftly cutting through the crumb of the cake with the edge of the fork. You pop a piece into your mouth. The cake is baked beautifully, the small mouthful of lemon sponge drizzled with tangy and sweet sugar glaze ignites your tastebuds.

“Good, huh?” he says, watching your expression change and eyes widen in wonder.

He leans back in the chair, one hand in the pocket of his trousers as he picks up the cup of coffee and takes a sip, pleased with himself. He found you to be cute, with that beret of yours and your captivating eyes.

You hadn’t ever experienced something like this before. Met someone so sweet, so endearing and welcoming. Your heart flutters, thinking about what he had said before. The meaning of the flower you had picked up. Love at first sight.

“Do you know the meanings of all the flowers?” You ask him, curious.

“Yes - flowers have a language too, you know.”

“Language?”

“The language of flowers.” He smiles, taking a bite of the cake, a little mysterious.

“So, do you work at the bookshop?” he continues, changing the subject.

“I do. Well. I own it.” You go on to explain how you had always wanted to own a bookstore, fascinated with stories and adventures and the lives that others led. He links his fingers like a bridge to hold up his chin as he leans on them, admiring you with sparkling eyes. He’s completely enamoured by you.

“Why did you choose Raconteur as the name of your shop?” he asks, thinking back to your tote bag.

“I’m an aspiring writer. I’ve been working on a novel for a while and I’ve always loved books and stories. My shop is full of raconteurs, so to speak.”

You can tell his next question is going to be about your novel so you quickly interject before he has the opportunity to ask. You had never felt comfortable talking about it to anyone, much less to think to share it. It’s a part of you, in it taking your insecurities and your thoughts and could have beens, page after page. Too much of it, you felt, revealed your psyche. You’re surprised at the fact that you had even revealed you were writing a novel to a complete stranger.

“Have you read much of Murakami?” You ask, feeling both the urge to change the conversation and to get an understanding of the books he liked. You found yourself wanting to know the books he read and the characters he liked and what resonated within him.

“No, not really.” he says. He bites his lip. He had. He had read plenty of Murakami’s novels. Wind Up Bird Chronicle had been sitting on his bedside table for years, although he had read all but the last chapter, too unwilling to complete the book and part with it. “What is it?” he feigns, “Is it a novel?”

“No, he’s an author.” you begin to explain. He listens to you intently, asking questions here and there, showing genuine interest in your thoughts and views. You find yourself smiling the whole time.

“What about you, what does Sough mean?”

The corner of his lips quirk upwards.

“It’s a verb. And a noun. Verb. to moan, rustle or sigh.”

You find yourself blushing at the thought of something deeper, passionate. With simple words, he had revealed his sensual side.

“Noun, the soothing, gentle murmur of wind or water.” He continues, his voice is poetic, deep, playful.

You felt as if he is just that, an oxymoron. Two contradicting properties, two contradicting states of being, two contradicting thoughts, embodied in a tall, young man, with proportions that made sense to no-one but him. He’s soft and sweet but passionate and sensual.

The rain patters to a stop outside. Your belly is full and you feel all kinds of warm and complete. You figure it’s about time you go.

“Thanks for the cake.”

“Any time.” he says, smiling brightly. You go to push the door open but he stops you, placing his hand on your arm. 

“Wait here.” He hurries off upstairs and comes back down, two steps at a time, almost as if he’s worried that you’d leave before he’d return. He takes your hand in his and he places a small plastic container of cake into them. He says nothing, instead leaving the gesture to speak mountains.

You thank him and leave, promising you’ll return the container soon. He waves you off and shuts the door. He stands there for a moment, then he turns around, picking up the lilac you had grown fascinated with.

You’re a few steps down the street when you stop. You get the sudden and overwhelming urge to go back to him. You take a breath and pluck up your courage. You knock on the door of the flower shop which he had since locked. Confused, he opens the door. He hadn’t expected to see you again so soon. Had you already eaten the cake?

You fumble around in your tote bag and pull out a book. 

“Read this and tell me what you think.” You say. 

He looks down, examining the hard navy cover. You smile at him.

“Swing by my shop when you want to return it.” You instruct, stepping out of the shop backwards. 

“Til next time?” You ask.

“Til next time.”

You giggle to yourself, covering your mouth with your hand. You make your way down the street. Everything is glistening from the rain. You look up at the sky. A rainbow has formed, arching itself across deep blue.

//

You sit behind the counter in your bookshop, your head leaning on your arm. You’re scribbling notes down into a book, brain storming ideas for a chapter of the novel you were working on. 

It’s a slow day. You look out the door. A pot of flowers holds the door open. You find yourself admiring them. He had gifted them to you a few weeks ago, when you had visited his corner shop.

You had walked to the flower shop in the spring sunshine weeks before, a little nervous. You had really wanted to see him, but it is taking longer than you expected for him to finish reading the book you had given him. You had thought up an excuse, to purchase some flowers for a friend. If you were being honest to yourself, which you hadn’t been, you missed him.

He had been sitting on the table and chairs outside, reading a book. He was wearing a pale and thin yellow sweater and white trousers, his white sneakers tapping on the base of the table stand. Tunes from his record player floated from the open shop door, out onto the street, billowing and muffling sweet sounds in the cool breeze.

He stood up quickly, upon seeing you, scooting the chair backwards. He had admired you, eyes washing over your white cardigan that you had pulled on over your brown corduroy dress. He noted the big brown buttons running down the front of your dress and considered what it would be like, to slowly make his hands run down your dress, to unbutton each and every button, to unwrap you like a delicate gift. He cleared his throat. He had let his mind get away from him.

“Hi” you had said, walking nervously up to him. You had pulled the container out from your bag that had carried the lemon cake weeks before. “I’m here to buy flowers.”

He nodded. He had been drinking coffee at the table, a piece of toast discarded while he read the book you had given him. He had placed it face down, to save his pages.

“Come inside.”

You followed him into the shop, again met with a deep deliciousness fragrance. He extended an arm and let you browse the arrangements. You spotted lilies, soft sophistication embodied in five simple white, elegant petals.

“What are you looking for?” he had asked.

You paused. You hadn’t given it much thought.

“Make me something.” you had said, teasing, putting him to the test. He smirked, looking at you with determination.

“Take a seat.”

You had sat down at the high stool near his workbench, and leant your elbows onto the worn wood. You watched him as he worked, as he moved around his shop, slowly examining each and every flower and leaf and branch that he had. His chin stuck out as he concentrated, swiftly pulling out stems and stalks and small clusters of seemingly iridescent petals. Finally, he pulled together a small arrangement to the workbench.

You watched as he brought out his iron scissors, snipping off the leaves and gently arranging the stalks into a thin, turquoise vase. Yellows and purples, blue hues and dabbles of white were pulled together. The colours were reminiscent of dusk, the colour of the sky just after the sun had set over the horizon.

He had slowly snipped off a semi-transparent ribbon, tying it around the waist of the vase. He slid the arrangement over to you, curious as to whether you’d like it. You took it between your hands, lifting it up to the light. Silky smooth petals seemed almost incandescent. Your heart swelled, ultimately touched. You had never seen something as beautiful, quirky or unique as this.

He watched you, pride filling his chest. His eyes trailed from the vase in your hands to your fingers, noting how the cardigan sleeves hung from your wrists and gathered at your elbows. He watched as you tilted your head, examining every petal, every sternum. He continued to languish you with his eyes, thoughts flowing through his head, the same ones that had distracted him before. Your legs were crossed over and one of the buttons of you dress had come undone at the hem, revealing more skin than you had intended.

You were too engulfed in the flowers to notice that he had moved away from the bench and had crossed over to where you were seated, closing the distance. He had taken your hand in his, his warm touch warming your skin. And although you hadn't felt cold, your skin rippled and raised goosebumps at the touch. You had placed the jar back down on the table, the sound resounding. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. 

He towed you up from the stool and you stood, your skirt adjusting itself, falling around your legs. He gently led you back around the workbench and your body followed his, up to his bedroom, both pairs of feet creaking on the stairs. He had pulled you to him and you had fallen onto his bed together, wrapped up in his soft white sheets.

When were you going to see him again? You sigh. You’re back to watching the petals shift in the wind absent-mindedly when he walks through the door. You sit up abruptly and he looks around the store and spots you. He smiles and walks over.

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” You’re both quiet, caught in each other’s eyes. His are the most beautiful colour of the earth. Seeing him again sends tingles up your spine. Memories of laying in bed with him, wrapped up in creased sheets, him kissing your forehead as he read you poetry, soft melodies creeping up the stairs from the record player in the flower shop. 

“I’m here to return your book.” He says, handing it over to you. “I really enjoyed it. Thank you.”

His words fill you with glee, but then he continues “I can’t stay long today. I’m sorry. I have a big order that’s come through.”

You nod, accepting the book from him. He’s a little nervous today, bouncy even. For a moment you wonder if you shouldn’t have followed him up the stairs to his bedroom, the last time you had seen him. Before you can consider it any further he asks you a question.

“Do you have another book recommendation for me?”

You nod, placing the returned book down onto the counter. You hop off the stool and scurry off to the back of your shop. He follows you, carefully, steadily, his hands trailing the rows of books on the shelves. He loved reading, too. Absolutely adored it. 

He was enamoured with the way you could be transported to places and times and people without so much as leaving your bed, how you could read about history and psychology and determine the traits of the human condition. He read often.

You scan your collection and spot it. It’s on a high shelf. Your employee must have put it up there. You turn to go and get the step ladder.

“Is it here?” he asks, pointing to the row of books.

“Yeah, it’s called Almost Transparent Blue.” You respond, realising he’s standing closely to you. You catch the scent of him, he smells like iced coffee and the earth after rain.

He leans across you, careful not to touch you, but it feels almost as if he has, his presence is too strong. He gingerly pulls the book out from the shelf with his forefinger and it slides out. Your heart pounds in your chest as the two of you stand there, bodies against each other, tucked up among the rows of musty pages and stories.

He clears his throat and places the book against his chest, stepping aside to let you pass. He resists the urge to push you up against the shelf, to take you in the middle of the foreign memoirs and gardening section. He knew if he started he would not be able to stop. He really had to go, but you had that affect on him. He fights his wants and his responsibilities and decides against his urges.

Your bodies brush again and you feel blush creeping along your cheeks, a strange flutter settling in the pit of your belly. You head back to the counter, trying hard not to let on that he’s stirred something within you from something as simple as that.

He goes to leave.

“Wait.”

He halts at the door, looking over his shoulder to you.

You open up your drawer and pull out your manuscript. You lean over the counter and extend it to him, hopeful that he takes it quickly and prevents you from thinking it’s a mistake to do so. 

“It’s my draft novel. My manuscript. It’s done. For the most part.” You pray he takes it from you to stop your hand from shaking, nervousness and self-doubt filling you. He steps forward and accepts it from you, flipping through the pages, a questions in his eyes.

He doesn’t say a word, instead smiling softly. 

“I’ll let you know what I think.” He says, waving farewell. He smiles, stepping out the door of your bookshop. His smile gets bigger as he spots the jasmine he had gifted you a few weeks ago, acting as a door stopper for the door to your book shop. He breathes out a sigh, his pent up yearning escaping languidly into the air.

You stand up, poking your head out of the door as you watch him walk down the street and turn the corner. You slowly head back to the book you had left on the counter and pick it up, sighing. You had wanted him to stay. You flip through it and a small, dried flower falls out and floats to the floor. You crouch down and pick it up carefully, between your fingers, holding it up to the light. You recognise it instantly. It’s peach blossom.

//

You had begun to build a small collection of dried and pressed flowers as a result of the petals he left for you, between the pages of borrowed books. Some of them still held their soft, delicate scent.

Your watch as your friend pokes them with her finger. You had done as he had, strung them up and pegged them on a piece of string in your store, so you could admire them as you worked.

“Tell me again what you two do?”

You look up from the cashier at your friend.

"I lend him books and we swap. Each time he returns my book there is a single flower inside. Maybe he uses it as a book mark?"

"What sort of books do you lend each other?" she asks, taking a sip of her juice.

"Poetry, science, philosophy, novels..."

"Does he have feelings for you?"

You pause and contemplate it. You had no idea. “I think so...” you say, a little unsure. “Maybe not... I don’t know.”

“Do you have feelings for him?”

You flush. She smiles knowingly.

“What’s his name?” she asks.

Your face gets redder. You had never asked. Like a character in a story, you had let yourself get wrapped up in the romance, the chance meetings and the subtle courting.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know his name?” she exclaims, slapping her hand down on the counter, causing some of your customers to turn their attention to you.

“Shh!”

She leans in, whispering. “You’re having this poetic back and forth with a handsome florist but you don’t even know his name?”

“I know. I know.”

She laughs at you.

“The funny thing is, I gave him my draft manuscripts to read the other day.”

“What?”

“I know.”

“You don’t even let me read those!” Your friend says, shocked.

You sigh, sinking to the wall behind you. For some reason you trusted him the most with it. You weren't quite sure what you had been thinking at the time. It was in a drawer, you had been working on it when he had entered the store and you just had the urge to share it with him. He had accepted it graciously, curiosity and fascination flickering across his face.

You hadn’t seen him for a while, not since you had given him your manuscript to read. A twinge of regret niggles at you. Maybe you shouldn’t have given it to him. The twinge grows, morphing into doubt, anxiety and irritation in your chest.

After your friend leaves, you decide to close the store early, plucking up your courage to pay a visit to his flower shop. When you get there, your heart sinks. It’s closed. His mustard bike isn’t there and the lights aren’t on. You consider knocking but decide against it, instead heading back home.

//

Weeks past and you had given up hope on seeing him again or getting your book and manuscript back. You close the store and begin to pack up. You stare at the flowers hanging on your wall. You begin to slowly unclip the dried flowers from their pegs, placing them on the counter.

You hear a knock on the door. Curious, you go to answer it.

It’s him.

He smiles at you softly from the other side of the door. You unlock it and open the door. He steps inside and spots your string of flowers and the ones that you had taken down. He cocks a brow, just a fraction, and turns to you.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“I’m returning your book.” He says, a matter of fact. He’s only standing there, but he’s taken your breath away. Your heart beats faster. It had been so long since you had seen his face, his unique and contradicting features of soft and strong. His hair, his glasses. 

“I went to your shop, you weren’t there.” you say slowly.

“My friend, the one who owns the farm, he needed some help urgently. It’s in the middle of no where. Sorry. I had no time to let you know.” he looks at the flowers on the table that he had gifted you. “I realised we didn't even swap numbers.”

He looks at the dried petals. “Are you throwing these away?”

You don’t meet his eyes.

He bites his lip, worry seeping into his skin. He had been telling you the whole time how he had felt, but you had no clue.

“Here.” he hands you your manuscript. “I read it. It’s brilliant.”

He had spent some time on the farm with his friend, reading through the pages. Every word gripped him, every sentence stirred his emotions. He had sighed, leaning back into the bench, laughing out loud, throwing his head back, slight tears prickling in his eyes. Your story had made him feel things. His friend had come out to the patio where he was, cool lemonade in hand.

“What is it?” his friend had asked. “You finally finished it?”

“I finished it.” He said.

“And?”

“I’m in love.” he had responded.

You accept it from him, scrunching it slightly in your hands, your own self instigated shame running over your body. You’re not sure if you want to believe him. A red tulip flutters from the pages.

“Before you throw them away... let me tell you what they mean. Then you can decide whether or not you want to throw them out.” he says.

You breath catches in your throat as he steps closer to you, reducing the space between your bodies.

“Lilac.” His eyes glimmer in the afternoon light. “You know what this one means.”

“Love at first sight.” You say, breathless. A faint smile tugs at his lips, happy that you had remembered.

“Circaea, fascination. Alstroemeria, devotion, loyalty.”

He looks down at the pot of jasmine you had brought inside, sitting by the door. All of these flowers. All of these feelings. They had represented how he had felt about you the more he got to know you and spent time with you. The feelings that had festered and swelled in his heart and mind when you weren’t there, when it was only him thinking of you.

“Jasmine. I am happy.” His voice soft and low. “Purple pansy. You occupy my thoughts. Peach blossom. I am your captive.” His gaze is strong, certain of his feelings for you in his confession.

You blink, completely and utterly caught up in his words.

He bends down and picks up the tulip from the floor by your feet. He straightens up and holds it out to you.

“Red tulip. A declaration of love.”

Your heart hammers hard in your chest as the words permeate through you. He reaches down, taking your hand in his. Your skin is buzzing, warm. He tucks your hair behind your ear, it’s a simple and intimate action and you inhale sharply, your lips parting slightly.

He can’t hold back now. His gaze moves to your lips and he leans into you, gracing you with a soft, slow kiss. Your eyes flutter closed, your eyelashes tickling your skin as they do. You kiss him back, helplessly needing to satiate a desire that’s built up inside you. You sigh into his tender kiss and it transitions into something more, it’s deeper, passionate, yearning. Your head feels dizzy and your hands find their way to his chest, crinkling the papers you’re still holding onto.

It’s as if nothing but whole-hearted reciprocation of the same, burning, loving feeling mattered.

He pulls back, finally, a little out of breath, his eyes scintillating. 

“My name is Kim Namjoon. I think I love you.”

[skunkes]

what size pen do u usually draw with? just curious bcuz my canvases are just a bit bigger than urs and i tend to run outta space anyway probably due to how big i draw LOL

rlly small ^_^ here's my zoomed out 12.5 x 16 imch canvas from mawrch

-

+ one of my smallest doodles on it at 300% zoom, brush at size 20 with a light hand (<- dis is why i feel brush size wont give much info, as pen pressure varies for each brush and in the whole program too) circled in top right above

rn all my usual brushes for strict small scribbles are at 4 px, 7, 10, 12.... i actually originally did these with a 2.5 brush but then sized em up + went over em bc they were too thin and frail to be seen on the canvas

+ here's this month's page, with the biggest drawing being a comm wip that ill shrink down after im done, with a brush at size 7 (need to draw bigger for more important stuff/drawings)

as u can see the drawings have also gotten bigger since march in general bc if i have lots of drawing energy i also make the drawings smaller so i can fit more of em in there, and because ive currently fallen out of love with using one of my 4 px sized brushes hee hee ^_^

[the-space-case]

Do you have any tips for people making a comic on Firealpaca?

sho thang? i mean heres a step-by-step that i do anyways. Under the cut cause this got long/imageheavy

first things first, page dimensions. This is where you decide if you want to print it or just leave it for the web. for ILULATTE i used these settings here:

should look like this above; those blue lines in the center is where the panels end, and the second set near the page border is the bleed (for printing purposes. these can all be adjusted.) you can also just make a randomly sized canvas and adjust these settings in the menu, you do you. i do Recovery at 1200x1600px at ~600dpi and leave the usual settings as what it comes with. if you save at high resolution and leave it to the internet, the internet will print it and probably distribute it and also not share the royalties so i mean; dont post the print quality if you care. (note: the bigger the canvas the higher possibility of lag when working so keep that in mind for comps with less RAM)

now; scribble your roughdraft into the center of the blue lines! all my brush settings down there are accurate to this page.

then; add your panel lines on a new layer above the roughdraft.

you can edit them however you want. depends on what you think looks good for the page (for this i have it at 3 mm for both kerning and leading) it pops up once you select it but you can also decide to change it up at the top when you have the little x-acto knife lookin tool selected. i dont know terminology sorry. 

ok now you just do the lineart and coloring. you can do that all within the panel layer and it wont escape the panels you set but i like not being constrained to one layer so i mean you do you. you can draw over the panels by just rearranging them and such this way. speechbubbles i just use either the pen tool set at ellipse or as the shape tool set at ellipse. or just draw it out. w/e.

honestly most of this is just up to the artist comic-wise. you can draw out your panels with the pen tool set to rectangles if you really wanted. FA is as simple as comics get tbh. 

[elizefmp-yr1]

Type Postcards- set 2

I have been experimenting with creating some typography postcards. I have created 10 typography postcards. I will be creating quite a lot of different postcards then choosing roughly the best 50 to be my final outcomes. I wanted to a variety of different outcomes, some with just type and others with edits and designs. When experimenting and taking inspiration from Pinterest I created these below typography postcards. This is the second set of 5 typography postcards.  

Postcard 1:

For postcard 1, I took inspiration from the vintage style of typography and found a vintage style font of dafont.com. I then created this to be white and made a pink background, complimenting the text. 

Inspiration:

Postcard 2:

For postcard 2, I took inspiration from the edits of Pinterest which experiment with different colours for letters. I decided to experiment with bolder colours, slightly off the Conscious Clarity colour pallets creating a bold fun design. 

Inspiration: 

Postcard 3:

For postcard three, I created a simplistic design. Firstly, creating an ‘off-white’ colour background to the canvas. I then used the brush tool and this a light pink shade to creat a circle in the middle of the canvas. I then used a bold font and white text to type the letter ‘C’. This stands for the c in conscious and the C in clarity. This edit is simple and has some expels sauce throughout the outside of the page.  

Inspiration:

Postcard 4:

For the next postcard, I took inspiration from the the simple style. I admired the white and the basic ‘scribble’ design with simple but effective text. I decided to type ‘back to basics’ as this is the idea which I am portraying throughout my FMP. This also reflects the simpitily of this edit. 

Inspiration:

Postcard 5:

For postcard 5, I decided to experiment with the use of bolder colours. I used different tones of pinks, reds and oranges along with different sizes of the circle brush on photoshop. I then created different size circles/ shapes, some small some larger. I used a bold font using a red colour for the typography. I am satisfied with the outcome of this postcard as the colours all compliment one another and work well together. 

Inspiration: 

[ejstannard]

Finishing off postcards

Today’s work stated that we had to complete at least 4 postcards, and as I only had 2 at the time I spent my time on that today. One of these postcards had to also be animated using Photoshop, so I started learning about that so that I could complete that task today.

Postcard 1

Today’s first postcard was created based off of the BlackLivesMatter movement. I started by cutting out pieces of type from one of my handmade typography works, reading ‘No Justice, No Peace’. This is one of the titles to my BLM-related headlines. I then drew a line through ‘No Justice’ and ‘No Peace’ as an emphasis on the police force’s separation from black people.

Next, I added some digital type. I used a Graffiti-style font and wrote out ‘BLM’. I also typed out the quote ‘no longer remain silent’ and placed it over the BLM text with the filter layer set to ‘Color Burn’. I really liked this idea, and the drips going down the page made the canvas look a lot more colourful.

For the last touches, I added some paint effects, and also a colour-isolated image of a protest image, with a black man holding a sign saying ‘Give rights, now!’ which I found to be a very powerful image.

The postcard ended up looking like this:

Postcard 2

I started off by creating all of the layers for my poster. For this, I wanted my poster to have a grunge, “street-style” to it, so I downloaded some fonts on dafont.com in the ‘Graffiti’ section. In this font, I wrote out “BANNED’ in individual lettering and made them all different sizes and positions on the page. I put the letters on individually so I could:

1. Manipulate the letters individually.

2. Animate each letter appearing on the screen at a time.

I then took an image I’d done of a newspaper silhouette and placed it onto the right side of the page. By this point, the canvas looked like this:

I really liked the way the letters expanded off the page as I thought it went well with the unevenness of each letter.

Next I worked into the newspaper silhouette by using the bucket tool and the multiply effect. I copied and pasted a few of them and turned down the opacity the further away it got, to create an “echo” of the layers.

The last finishing touches worked into the background. To enhance the graffiti effect, I used the paint tool to add some random scribbles on the page, along with a single streak of bold blue to contrast with the reds in the silhouettes. After the poster was complete, I made plans to start animating.

I was unfortunately not in college while the group learnt about animating with Photoshop, so I did some research about how to do it myself. I found this video which really helped me out with learning the process of animating on Photoshop, and taught me all I needed to know:

https://youtu.be/ymQJbN5M1Y8

My plan for the animation was:

Make each letter from ‘BANNED’ appear individually onto the screen, with the original silhouette present.

Once the letters have finished appearing, the three other red silhouettes will appear in flashes, before disappearing and leaving the original silhouette alone once again.

Then the background pieces will appear one-by-one

Finally, a red background will flash a few times before the whole thing loops again.

My final animation result

The final animation will be on a separate Tumblr post (the one posted after this one)

[nova-digital-arts]

could you do a basic tutorial on how you do your flags? I wanna play around with country flags but I can't figure it out. Thanks!

Sure! First of all, I use paint.NET, which is a free programme you can download here! I also size all my flag pictures as 800x600, if that helps! It’s kinda long, so I’ll just put a read more link.

Figure out what your medium is going to be. Are you making it out of flowers? Galaxies? Sunsets?

Look up pictures of that medium, in the colours that you need. IMPORTANT: make sure to pick things with a solid colour! For example, if doing flowers, try not to pick any with a vase showing or with very make different colours in it!

Save the images, then open them in paint.NET (or whatever programme you use)

Open a new image, and put in the measurements you want (for flags, I recommend 800x600)

Most flags have stripes. Do the math to figure out exactly how long each stripe needs to be. After a while, you tend to remember this information. 

On each colour of your medium, go to “Image” and click “Resize” to make sure your picture is at least 800 wide. IMPORTANT: DO NOT CHANGE THE ASPECT RATIO! I cannot stress this enough! This will cause the image to become distorted. The aspect ratio can be permanently locked in place bt checking the box that say “Aspect Ratio”. After you’ve resized your image, click back to “Image” and hit “Canvas Size”. Change the height to whatever you calculated it should be in the previous step. Then, copy/paste it onto your flag. 

Arrange the stripes first. The stripes will serve as your background, if there are any other shapes in the flag. IMPORTANT: Do each stripe/stripe colour in a separate layer! This makes it easier to do a later step!To do basic shapes, go to the shape tool, pick an outline colour that is an exact opposite of the medium colour, and put in a layer above the medium. Use the bucket tool to fill in everything except the shape, then merge the layers. Then use the magic wand tool to select and delete all the unwanted contrast colour, making the background transparent. Then, copy/paste it onto your flag (in another layer so that the transparent background won’t mess it up)To do advanced shapes, like logos and animals, Find a picture on the internet of what you want (preferably one that already has a transparent background). Now, you can either just put the image onto the flag, or if you’d like, you can try and replace every single part of it with your medium. To do that, change the background to a high-contrast colour, use the magic wand tool, shift+click on the colour you want to replace first, delete it, then put a layer of your medium BELOW the shape so that it’s showing through the transparent part(s). Merge the layers and repeat until done.

Adjust your colours. It’s unlikely that you’ll find that exact shade of your medium that you’ll need. Click on the layer of the part you want to change first, then click “Adjustments” (at the top of the page) and click “Hue / Saturation…”, or simply use the keyboard shortcut ctrl+shift+u. Play around with the colours until you find your perfect shade, but go easy on the saturation. No one like something that looks like a highlighter scribbled all over it!

Make sure you are completely done. Do your layers all look nice and uniform? Are the colours correct? Are the shapes in the right place?

Finally, merge all your layers and save. Congratulations, you made a flag! Please use your newfound powers for good, my artistic children!

[hollyhawthorne]

INVESTIC CAPE TOWN ART FAIR 2019 QUESTIONS

1. Find each gallery booths for the three galleries that we visited on Thursday 14 Feb. What do you notice about each of these booths that are similar and different to the actual gallery (do you recognize the gallerists, the style of work/ artists and ways the work is hanging, a “vibe” etc.).

-  At BLANC GALLERY in Woodstock, we saw a solo show by Bronwyn Katz, which consisted only of three-dimensional works. The works were few and took up two spacious rooms. At the fair, Blanc exhibited a number of artists’ three-dimensional and two-dimensional works, obviously resulting in a more condensed and claustraphobic style of curation. I recognized that the same gallerist had been looking after the works at both events.

- Woodstock’s GOODMAN GALLERY hosted a solo show by Nolan Oswald Dennis. There were both two and three-dimensional works there, with some expanding straight onto the surface of the walls. A few of these walls had been painted grey. All of the works were presented along the perimeter of the room, with no sculptural works moving out into the middle of the space. At the fair, however, there were sculptural works for people to navigate their way around. None of the walls there were grey, but there were some yellow stripes on the floor that existed prior to the fair. There was a seperate room for the photography and video work of Tabita Rezaire, which was quite a tight squeeze, adding to the theme of confrontation that I felt her work explored.

- STEVENSON GALLERY in Woodstock is currently presenting Simphiwe Ndzube’s work, most of which is sculptural, or two dimensional with attatched objects jutting out of the frames. The walls were painted in light pink and blue, there were also handprints of smeared paint, reminding one of the human behind the final product. None of this evidence of labour was included in the curation of the fair. Here; Kemang,Botha, Cohen and Grose exhibited a variety of works.

2. Over the course of the day, decide on THREE works you absolutely love and THREE you most dislike or find frustrating. Make note of these with full details, and why you like/dislike them.

WORKS THAT I LIKED

- B. Wurts, Untitled, 2001, acrylic paint, paper

I really enjoyed Wurts’ comic or diary-like language that was created through the use of quick scribbles of random phrases and chaotic drawings, as well as the interesting variety of tone and line. The artist used scrap papers, reminiscent of post-it notes, arranged in layers that were itching to be paged through. This created an interesting paradox, where one needs to touch the work in order to see all of the drawings, but is not allowed to, given the formal gallery setting. I love the themes of horror paired with humour, as well as child-like drawings used within the professional realm of a gallery.

- Pino Deodato, Untitled

These were the only details of the work, written lightly on the wall in pencil. The sculptures appeared to be made from clay, though. This work was quite strange. While I didn’t immedietely love the look of it, I loved the strange and eerie feeling which I got from it, as well as the evidence of the human hand and its imperfection. By this, i mean that there were visable finger marks on the sculptures. The figures reminded me of childrens’ dolls, which was creepy but also quite mundane at the same time, due to the subdude colour pallette and absense of any wild brush strokes or obvious symbols of horror. I quite enjoyed the scale of the work, because as the viewer, you had to go really close to it and get involved in order to see the details.

- Ed Young, balloon performance and installation piece

I thought that Young was really clever with this piece. By having his assistant hand out balloons, people were bound to take photos with them. Even I posed for an instagram picture with mine. Those balloons followed viewers around into every corner of the fair, making their way into almost all of the press photos. Later, when I thought about how redundant these ‘balloon selfies’ were, i realised that people were literally posing underneath labels such as ‘scumbag’ and ‘moron’, highlighting how people will literally do anything to be trendy. I’m not sure if this was intensional, but I thought that that the use of humour was inspirational to my own practice.

WORKS THAT I DISLIKED

- Mr, While Walking, 2017, Acrylic and silkscreen print on canvas.

This work frustrated me. I assumed that it was a nod to pop culture, and more specifically to the sub-cultures that exist around anime. This work looked to me like a poster than any kid would have in his/her bedroom, giving a nod to mass-production. I felt like this was a really  tired and overdone theme... however whilst I was typing this i realized that this print was the only one of its kind that was made, which is quite interesting...

- Ley Mboromwe, Mokonzi aza mutema made, 2019, acrylic on canvas

Borrowing ideas and drawing inspiration from other artists is inevitable. However, there is a fine line between influence and blatant copying, and this piece is literally a knovk-off Basquiat. The only explaination that I can think of is perhaps a reimagining of Basquiat in an African context? This peice just confused me.

- DD Trans, Untitled

Whilst I liked the idea of the brightly coloured balloon ties being juxtaposed to the oldstyle painting, I found it to be quite random and was left wondering if there was any contextual meaning behind it? I just feel like the placement of the balloons could have been more considerred.

3. What are the predominant mediums and processes that dominate the majority of works at the fair this year?

I noticed a lot of painting, as well as the use of found objects. I enjoyed the fact that I saw a lot more “quick, spontaneous, loose” work in comparrsion to last year. But im not sure if thats just because I was looking out for those qualities...

4. What are the most obvious differences between the way different booths are curated?  Look at spacing/ size/ hanging/ booth furniture and so on.

Some booths are more interactive (viewer can walk between sculptures/installations), while some are curated very traditionally, with uniform framing. Some booths were very spacious, placing emphasis on the chosen works, while more claustraphobic booths displayed lots of works. Some booths had little office type spaces where gallerists could sit and discuss the art with buyers/veiwers.

5. How do the various booths differ in terms of signage, text, labeling/ titles: note the different ways.

Some artists have the imperical data for their work displayed tradditionally on printed labels, while some data has been drawn onto the walls. Some have no titles at all. Some artists included descriptions/analysis with the work, while some did not.

6. What is the general layout of the fair? Why do you think it is laid out this way?

The walkways between the booths was made wider this year. This is undoubtably because in 2018 the pathways were very tight, making one gallery space indistinguishable from the next. Besides this, the layout of the fair is still maze-like, with no particular path mapped out for viewers. This encourages the viewer to gravitate towards and away from certain works according to their intrests, forging their own path through the room. The divisions which were clear though, were that the commercial galleries dominated the central spaces, whilst smaller local galleries fell to the sides. Very old modern art galleries exhibited on the far left side of the room, probably the least viewed area.

7. What is the lighting like at the fair? Describe.

Not good. The bright white lights were quite clinical and also caused glares to appear across most of the works. 

8. What do you notice about the way people dress at an art fair? Look carefully at how the people working in the booths present themselves ,as well as other people at the fair and make observational notes.

There were lots of kids in school uniforms. Other than that, amoungst the adults, the fashion that I saw was quite strange. Other than a few posh art buyers, dressed in designer, people appeared to be dressed very casually. This was quite a let down, as last year we saw many flamboyant and expressive outfits.

9. Who or what are the various “markets” at this fair? What are the different types of “products” being sold and promoted here? Who is the fair aimed at?

The art fair is aimed at buyers, a very specific target market consisting of wealthy art collectors. It also caters to the public who are interested in art.. You had to pay for a ticket which means their target market is people who have money to spend on entertainment. (middle to upper class). Products aimed at the general public include books, food, drinks and psoters, whilst the aim of the fair is to sell art to the rich.

10. Find a work that you think exemplifies the spectacle of wealth. Note why you think so.

For me, the most obvious example was Athi-Patra Ruga’s The ever promised erection I. This is simply due to the materiality - or rather how it appears. The piece seems to ooze of expense, dripping in gold and jewels. Also, the symol of a bust signifies royalty or significant importance.

11. Find a work that feels like it doesn’t “fit” in this art fair context. Note why you think so.

12. How easy is it to ask about prices? Take turns with your fellow CA students to enquire about the cost of works at various galleries and take note of prices across the fair, as well as the way gallerists may treat you or react to you asking for these details. Do it at least TWICE yourself  in two different places.

I didn’t find it easy at all to find prices, mostly out of my own fear of talking to fancy gallerists. However, I did speak to one or two friendly faces who were more than happy to discuss the prices and process of buying pieces.

 13. What do you notice about sponsorship and branding at the fair? What brands are visible and who is the clientele / target market of these brands? Why would they choose a fair to push their product?

The whole fair is obviously sponsored by Investic,  whose branding is visable on all of the art fair parafenalia. Another big brand was moet champagne, which is appealing to a target market of wealthy people, like art buyers. Fairs are great for advertising because a large volume of people come through every day that the work is up.

14. Why do you think this fair takes place at the Cape Town International Convention Centre? What other commercial events take place here? (look up examples)

The venue is large enough to fit in lots of booths and many people. The venue is also in central Cape Town, so quite accessible. Other events here include gift fairs, jazz festivals, comic con, business conferences etc.

15.What are the oldest artworks you can find at the fair? (made the furthest back in time)

The whole section dedicated to the “greats” in South African art history. E.g. William Kentridge, Irma Stern.

 16. Who are the youngest artists you can see represented at the fair? 

Smith Gallery exhibited a number of works by freshly graduated Michaela’s students such as Michaela Younge and Talia Ramkilawan.

 17. How do the SOLO booths differ from the other booths?

Naturally, there would be more cohesion in the look and curation of the booth of a solo artist. There is more of a focus on that particular artist. Shared booths are trickier to curate I think, in regards to allowing a good flow of work.

 18. Who are the big names that keep popping up this year? Note why you think this is so.

I heard a lot of buzz around Roger Ballen appearing at the fair. I think this was because he’s such an oddball and his work fascinates people. The fact that his name popped up a lot for me could, however, be because I follow his work quite closely and actively look for news on him.

19.What kind of trends in subject matter do you notice this year? What kind of trends in materials do you notice this year? Note why you think this is so.

I noticed a lot of mixed media works, as well as found objects. In terms of subject matter, I saw a lot of figures, and subject matter relating personally to the background or current situation of the artist. I think this is because artists commonly use art as a means to express themselves.

20. If you could be represented by any of these galleries, whom would you LOVE to show or be represented by?

Smith, because I liked how young emerging artists were all alongside one another.

21. If you could work FOR any of these galleries, whom would you LOVE to work for?  And in what capacity?

Smac Gallery, as a curator. Or anything that allowed me to handle Georgina Gratrix’s paintings!

22.What other questions came up for you while wandering around the fair?

How could one possibly give attention to all of the works here? What would the best route be to walk, because I kept walking in circles.

 23. If you were to start a gallery or art institute, would you (hypothetically) want to show at the fair? And if so, how would your stall look and differ or be similar to what you have seen today? (you can make a sketch below) 

I would possibly show, but I’d love to have a solo booth to create somekind of installation work, seperate from the rest of the booths (almost like a resting spot for viewers).