M. Lauritano

The illustration that almost killed me

2009-03-12T18:41:00.002-04:00

Yeah, so, as said before, this took me a long time to make from idea to finished piece. Seeing how it already has a fairly clear narrative, I suppose my 'story sketch' this time will have to be a non-fiction description of my thought processes here.

Norman Rockwell's 'Day in The Life of a Boy' used to hang from the ceiling at my dentist's, so it's something well-stuck in my head. I was looking to make something that showcased one character in multiple points of view, and multiple emotional states. When I remembered Rockwell's image, I was struck by how economical and creative an approach this would be to my problem. Of course, what followed was the question: how can I make Rockwell's image my own? Is it possible to improve it in any way? I wondered how my heroes Wiesner or Van Allsburg might approach the problem. I couldn't really think of how it might turn out, but I knew that if they made this kind of image, it would be awesome. The idea had stuck. Despite how ambitious this was for me (someone who has trouble drawing one kid, let alone the same one in varying modes 16 times--yikes), for some reason, I couldn't let it go. This was a piece I just had to make. I started by sketching Rockwell's original to better understand it.

Notes from my sketchbook:

It's interesting how the piece illustrated not only a child's life, but an adult's as well--a grownup goes through the same motions: getting up, reading the paper, commuting, battling frustration/boredom at work, the joy of leaving/freedom of a lunch break, a bit of socializing, then bed--restarting the cycle.

Also appealing is the ups and downs of the emotions that help us get closer to the character as the day passes--especially the more negative emotions.

It's smart that no extra characters enter the picture until halfway through the 'day'. Interestingly enough, it is for all those reasons that Rockwell's 'Day in The Life of a Girl' is much less successful.

Watterson has several 'days in the life' of Calvin, sometimes wordless, sometimes not. I love when these sequences end with Calvin sighing--disappointment is so much easier to relate to than contentment. My 'day in the life of a boy' will take into account all of these thoughts, Watterson's fantasy sequences, and some kind of Abdul Gasazi Twist.

*Ran into problems here! To create that quintessential Van Allsburg 'was it real?' moment requires a continuos story. Part of the reason by Rockwell's 'Day...' works is because each image is a vignette (not just physically, but narratively as well). All the continuous storylines I thought of grew beyond the bounds of this project. I have to settle for the 'twist' being much smaller scale...

Yeah, I write a lot in my sketchbook... I spent weeks thinking of specific stories that could happen in the space of a day. Magic sticks, bureaus, dresses and their effects within moments of a school day. But they became so elaborate and detailed that I realized (and Marissa informed me) that they just couldn't work within this format. Frustrated with the complexity and tightness of the format, I switched gears to work on the giraffe bi-plane redo.

After finishing that and moving to a new apartment in Cambridge, I cautiously returned work on 'day in the life of a boy'. I finally settled on the whole day-dreaming concept as a way of adapting Rockwell for my purposes. Stupidly, when I thought through all of the kinds of ideas I wanted to include, I became disappointed because I realized that everything that I would do for a 'day in the life of a girl' seemed much closer to the spirit of my work and I almost restarted my whole thought process. But Marissa kept me on track and suggested, quite wisely, that I just begin drawing out the little half-imagined scenes from the boy's day.

The results were startling--all of my imagined pictures were elaborate, with lots of props, characters and backgrounds.... how was I going to fit this all on one page?! My character looked small and unimportant. His facial features would not make much of an impact from so far away. I looked back at the Rockwell painting. I figured that with the extra layer of ideas I had it would be necessary to show less than his 23 moments, so I opted for 16. I cut out everything that wasn't essential to each vignette making sense. It started to look closer to the final... but I still had problems to solve.

The sequence of drawings I had looked schizophrenic. I began to worry that it wouldn't flow. Why would a boy imagine himself on safari, then in an olympic relay (an abandoned idea), then on a pirate ship? All these genres just weren't coming together just right. I was on the verge of giving up. I talked it out with Marissa and on a lark, told her about an idea I'd had about stringing together similar genres that I'd given up on because it seemed too difficult (jungle explorers have parrots and palm trees... and so do pirates... and when pirates end up 'in the brig' it's like being in prison, and knights have dungeons, so that connects...). We decided that this kind of bizarre logic was the only way I could make it work. So, to make the sequence flow, I repeated a few genres and did my best to add props and themes that might connect each image to the next--all without sacrificing the original idea of allowing the boy's daydreams to showcase how he felt about his present situation.

MORE LATER! I've got to make dinner!

Half a year in the life of an aspiring illustrator

2009-02-23T12:48:00.003-05:00

Yeah. So I spent waaaay too long on this. But I'm hoping that it will be a valuable tool for me to market myself to magazines and stuff like that. Not that it wasn't fun/challenging to think up, but let's just say that it's going to be a long while before I attempt 'A Day in The Life of a Girl.' I'll write more later.

Before and After

2008-09-05T20:58:00.006-04:00

So, this is an illustration that I made senior year for Judy-Sue's picture book class. It's actually not even really my idea--I'll explain. We had to observe children and write about them, and make an illustration from it. I had helped out a friend selling drawings on the spot for fifty cents each. It appealed mostly to kids. Funnily enough I made almost fifty bucks, I think. Anyhow, this one kid's mom requested a giraffe flying a biplane. Being a biplane fan, I could draw one pretty well from memory. The kid left pleased. This little incident became the conclusion to my essay about kids.... something about how, only children can make something as ridiculous and unlikely as a giraffe flying a biplane completely credible. Taking a much looser approach than usual, I made it a city scene and showed the boy as the only one 'noticing' the plane. End of story. I wish!

This piece has haunted me ever since I made it. Judy Sue went wild. And every portfolio review since has been marked by some moment surprise and delight when whoever was looking flipped to this image. It didn't match the rest of my work in technique, color, or value usage. I still have trouble understanding what it is that people liked so much about it. At least Oren Sherman thought it was useless. I didn't and still don't want my illustrations to look like this one. It's just not me. But what do you do when everyone acts like it's the best thing you've done? Redo it, and hope that it's partially the subject matter that people are really attracted to. Of course, they had to print it in the RISD incoming students catalog thingie, first. Goodness knows why. If I had seen that on the illustration page, I would have thought the department was terrible.

So, I'm pretty happy with the new one and whether or not that's just because it isn't the old one, I don't know. But I think that my ideas, and style come across more clearly here. So it's kind of a lousy scan, but you get the point, right? I feel like the colors are better, the values are better, the characters are better (or at least equal). The perspective is better, but not by much (the buildings on the right definately get a little bit wonky). Yes, technically the boy isn't looking directly at the plane. But if he was, we wouldn't be able to see his facial expression, so I think that I came up with a decent compromise. And I cheated with the values on the plane's wheels, but it needed to pop, and I think otherwise its sitting okay in space. Is it wrong that I don't feel the need to criticize this one too much?

Stuff I enjoyed:

how I used pattern on the buildings on the right to point the potential direction of the giraffe's flight path.

bright colors on the boy make for a nice visceral kind of understanding that he is unhindered by life's meaningless weights.

Three cars in decent perspective.

I like to think of the coffee cup on the billboard as a little tribute to Fred Lynch.

I used a sketch I did of FDR for one of the background people.

I also included a man stepping off the curb with a cane from the original piece, because I liked him so much.

I sketched shots from SkyCaptain and the World of Tomorrow to see how a plane would look flying down a city street.

I removed the scarf and aviator cap from the giraffe and ended up with something slightly less silly, more me.

Maybe I'll post the original text I made the image from later? Oh yeah, I forgot to say, this one took me probably less than two weeks when you gather all the time spent. Pretty quick, for me.

another two months pass...

2008-06-22T19:46:00.003-04:00

This one was a killer. Took me way too long to finish. I got obsessed with making wallpaper in perspective, which I'm still not satisfied with. And I discovered that interior night scenes with moonlight as the sole light source is very challenging for me. I guess its good enough for now. I like this less than my Vegetable Butcher piece (my opinions of which can be read in this blog), probably because it was motivated by a desire to make something marketable. I was thinking something along the lines of: hmm... a play on monster under the bed, cute little girl, child's bedroom, very children'sbook-y..... they've got to love this! But in the end, it feels like a cop-out to me. Additionally, after searching 'monster under the bed' on google obsessively a couple of times a week, I found someone who had already pulled the switch I was in the middle of illustrating (granted, it was more in the Monsters Inc vein, with the monster being afraid of the kid (an obvious choice) and pretty crappily done, BUT it still meant I wasn't being original). Anyhow, here are a couple story sketches for "The Proposition."

Maive wasn't your average eight year old. She wasn't afraid of anything. Heights, Spiders, Clowns, you name it. So she was unimpressed when she woke up in the middle of the night from the low groans and snorts that were coming from below her bed.
"Whoever you are, quiet down! I'm trying to sleep," grumbled Maive.
"Rarrr... I'll eat you," whined the voice halfheartedly.
"You'll eat me?"
"Well, that's what we monsters do, right?"
"Oh. So you're a monster then?" Maive wondered if there was a way she might be able to silence this creature. Her mom used to sing a lullaby to put her to sleep-maybe that would work. So she started singing.
"A lullaby, for me? How sweet," said the monster. "Why don't you come down here so I can hear it better?"
Without thinking, Maive hopped down to the floor and no sooner than she had done this, a tail whipped out from under the bed, wrapping itself tightly around her. Any normal child would have known better than listening to a monster under the bed or for that matter, closet. All children know, quite instinctively, that if one leaves the mystical protection of one's covers, one places oneself in a situation of mortal peril; To touch even one foot, one toe, to the floor is practically suicide. To survive bedroom monsters of any kind is a waiting game: a child must wait for safety, either in the form of an adult parent or guardian escort or the visible rising of the sun. But Maive was not your ordinary child, and because she had no fear of monsters, that night she found herself in one's clutches.
"Put me down!" she insisted. The monster's grip lightened, but only slightly. "At least come out here so I can see you face to face!" Slowly, tenatively, the hulking form of the monster crawled out from under the bed. It was at least nine feet tall, when it wasn't slouching, a mess of thick fur and scales. It stretched out its long arms until spindly claws glanced the walls on either side of the room. Rows of yellowed teeth, razor sharp were bared as the monster opened its warty snout, squinted though puffy little eyes--and sneezed. A cloud of dust rose off its massive frame.
"Cover your mouth!" Maive demanded. "You'll get snot all over my pajamas."
"Sorry," said the monster, "It's just so dusty down there. Wrecks havoc with my allergies."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let's cut the chitchat. Are going to eat me or what? 'Cause I'd just as soon get the experience over with."
"Well," the monster muttered, twiddling its thumbs, "that's what it says in the handbook. But the thing is..."
"What?" fumed the eight year old.
"Kids give me really terrible indigestion." the monster scratched the back of its neck awkwardly. "Really, I prefer garbage. The occasional sock, car keys, a hamster if I'm lucky enough for one to wander under the bed."
"Listen, I'm sure it gets lonely down there and it's rare that you get the chance for much conversation, and as interesting as your dietary habits are, it's a school night and I've got an important spelling test tomorrow, so if you're not going to eat me, I'd suggest that you go back where you came--Hey! So that's what happened to Mister Fluff!"
"Sorry," said the monster, looking away. "I thought we could work out some sort of a deal... a proposition..." it trailed off, embarrassed.
"Well?" pressed Maive.
"Either I eat you... or we switch places for the night?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well really, all I want is a good night's rest for a change. A nice soft mattress, blanket, pillow..." Its baggy eyes went glossy.
"And I'm supposed to sleep under the bed? Ridiculous!"
"If you don't, then another monster will take my spot. Good property is scarce around here. Monsters are always vying for the best spots--."
"Alright. I get it," said the grumpy little girl. "I sleep under the bed or you eat me. Some deal."
"I'm glad we have an agreement," said the stuffed up monster, finally releasing the grip of its tail and thrusting a claw around Maive's tiny hand. It promptly installed itself in the bed and nudged Maive underneath with the tip of its tail. "Why don't you sing some of that lullaby for me again?" the monster mumbled sleepily. She was able to sing about as long as she had before, and then was drowned out by gurgling snores.
The floor was hard. The carpet itched. Bedsprings squeaked in the sagging mass directly above her. Maive couldn't sleep. Bored and tired, she spent the remainder of the night practicing her spelling.
S-T-U-P-I-D.
J-E-R-K.
C-H-E-A-T-E-R.

****

Alternate ending 1:

So it continued for the next week. And the next. Maive was exhausted. She couldn't take it anymore. Night after night, the same proposition, the same short end of the stick. Something had to be done.
"Look, I'm quite familiar with the deal," Maive interrupted one night, "but I've got a new proposition."
"If it doesn't involve a bed, the negotiations stop here."
"Oh, it involves a bed," said Maive with a smirk, "I heard my parents talking the other day. My little brother is getting a brand new bed. The mattress is being delivered tomorrow."

More to come later!

Scratching out a tune

2008-04-05T17:00:00.003-04:00

So, there I was making a blog where I would make written sketches from illustrations, when suddenly the tables were turned on me when I got a real(ish) job. Just like in school I made three sketches for review based on provided text (and music). The album title was 'Scratching Out A Tune' for a group with a musical style described to me as 'popzzical' (a mix of pop, jazz, and classical). The lyrics of album's namesake's song, in various repeating patterns, were as follows:

ripe penny, living penny to an old age
stated(?) ripe penny, living penny scratching out a tune
ripe penny, living penny to-o an old age
to a ripe old age a penny living scratching out a tune

one, two after another, to an old age

scratching out a tune
scratching out a living

ripe penny living to a ripe old age
to an old age, scratching out a tune

pass it on

living to a ripe old age and making a penny
scratching out a tune
living to a ripe old age and making a tune
scratching out a living a penny
scratching out a living, pass it on

living to a ripe old age, scratching a living
living to a ripe old age and scratching out a tune
living to a ripe old age and scratching out a tune

scratching out a living and making up tune
scratching out a living and scratching out a tune
living to a ripe old age a tune

one, two, one, two after another
age... scratching out a tune to a penny

scratching out a living... there are some 'ba's in there... well, you get the point.

This is what I came up with.

and the back cover won't load. I'll do that later.

two pieces, three weeks

2008-03-10T01:01:00.004-04:00

Deep in the maze of the city, there is a terribly unique restaurant. It has never been reviewed in the papers, because the few critics who have visited the place have left quite unable to put their experience into words. The restaurant has no signs on its exterior, no windows through which the public can observe happy diners inside; Only those hungriest for its original cuisine can see a dining establishment behind the plain brick wall and slick black door, lit by a dingy hanging lantern that casts long shadows. Once inside, the maitre d' finds his customers' reservations on a brief list, whether they have made one or not. The interior is dim, cosy, private, with blood red curtains dividing the space, absorbing whispered conversations. It is a noticeably quiet for a restaurant, full or empty. Waiters do not provide menus, but recite complicated dishes from memory, saving the best for last:
"And then, of course, there is the Chef's Special..."
"What's that?" every greedy diner asks.
"Well...," they linger for a moment, "this is a dish you must try in order to understand. A list of ingredients or cooking procedures would not do it justice. Everyone experiences it differently, you see, and--"
And always, the waiter is cut off by their insistent client. Then they rush off to the swinging black doors with tiny round windows which afford the occasional glimpse into the bright, steamy kitchen, calling out, "Chef's Special, table six."
This the restaurant where everyone gets exactly what they deserve.

So I won't say too much more about that. It hooks onto/is another version of a children's book idea I got this past fall. This is a sketch piece that I ended up changing a lot on the computer. I thought I'd turn back to style issues and keep things faster, looser after my last piece's frustration. I had fun here, but probably won't put this in my portfolio.

What's good:
-I'm proud of the fact that I was able to mix several reference sketches and a picture of my girlfriend to draw a screaming fat man. Somehow, it just worked out.
-I made this after a couple pages worth of 50s marvel comics studies, and I can see the influence. I was able to take what I liked from them.
-feels cartoony enough, not too real.
-Marissa likes the plate. I think that the plate is the popping toast of this piece, in its fresh simplicity.
-I tried to make a decent balance of light and dark, for a piece that needed to feel dark. I had good restraint, considering how heavy so much of the rest of my portfolio feels.
-I was successfully broadening my palate (at least before I changed it on the computer...). I think it is important to work outside of your comfort range colorwise; make colors you'd normally never use work in a picture.
-Kudos to me for drawing a woman. I keep coming up with illustration ideas that have men. Men, men, and more men. I don't know whether this is because I feel afraid of making a character that passes some over-arching judgement of women or if I'm making something that is unjustly stereotypical. Regardless, the waitress here is not overly sexy or ugly--she just feels like a normal, nice girl. Just because she's a waitress doesn't mean I think all women should be servile!
-the idea is weird in my kind of way.

What needs work:
-gesture of waitress is awkward. Her forearm feels flat in space, although it's supposed to be moving deeper into the picture plane. She's too nice; it's one of my biggest problems with this one. I thought I'd turn the waiter to more of a side view so you could see a sneaky smile (what? Is there such a thing? I mean, maybe if you had sharp teeth.... Maybe if I frontally showed the whole mouth? Or perhaps, sneakiness can only be portrayed with eyes...). The back, which I thought could be leaning forward in an intimidating sort of way, is pretty stiff. The dark outlines that don't match any interior value do little to help. Hand to head proportion is barely acceptable. But mainly, she looks completely unthreatening, like a friendly hostess. I should have made the waiter(ess) a man, seen more from the back, in dark clothing with shoulders that rose above the fat man's head. If that wasn't sneaking looking enough, I could always add a busboy facing us with sneaky EYES (perhaps with some part of the face still obscured).
-the right hand of the fat man is fudged. It was fudged in my sketches too, I think I was being impatient.
-I should have made room for a water glass somewhere in that place setting.
-the background could be better, more spatially descriptive (but hey, it was still just a sketch)
-the waitress could relate better to the table spatially.
-the steam is too exaggerated. I didn't really look at any photos of steam until after I finished. It should be more transparent, subtle (despite the fact that the image is not... sort of). Perhaps, a faint outline of something inside that domed platter... or not.
-some texture issues here. I've got to get it though my thick skull! Dark values always look better with pure paint, some colored pencil over them is okay, but can run the risk of look too speckley.

NEXT!

Gary wasn't have having the type of week he'd been hoping for. He'd taken his family on a vacation to Europe. Europe! The land of buttery croissants, the Mona Lisa, crumbling castles in dark forests, wine, gondoliers that sang about love, beauty, pasta, and other stuff like that. Fancy hotels. Weather that was either balmy or foggy in that romantic European sort of way. For years, Gary had painstakingly saved up money for this glorious trip. And for what?
Eight straight days of fogless rain followed by a suffocating humidity complete with a tomato red sunburn. Gregarious cab drivers that happily emptied his wallet of foreign currency and travelers checks. An out of date guide book his mother had given him for his birthday that recommended restaurants and museums that were either long since closed or significantly far away, difficult to find once you arrived, and run by toothless old women who smiled suggestively and smelled of sheep. His attempts at foreign tongues were ignored, laughed at for an excessive and awkward period of time, and most often met with a blood curdling dark stare. Pickpockets who imperceptibly got in and out of his fanny pack, taking even his respectable postcard collection. And best of all, two teenagers who couldn't seem to care less about the whole thing. They might as well have still been in Memphis.
But things were looking up. The night before, his son had grunted after wolfing down his paella, and it sounded kind of like, "mmm." He'd allowed his wife and daughter to take a day to go shopping while he sought out a famous church from his guidebook. His son stayed at the hotel and played his gameboy. Since then, the three of them were treating him much more kindly. Best of all, Gary's sunburn had entered the considerably less painful peely skin stage. Spain was treating him well.
But Gary refused to be satisfied. He longed to make this the ultimate vacation. When he was struck with an idea, he ran with it.
"Bull-fighting?" he'd spoken slowly to the gregarious cab driver, who was trying to drive him to the guidebook's famous church.
"hm?"
"You know where I can get tickets for a bull fight?" Gary flapped his map, imitating as best he could the brave matadors who wave a bright red cloth. The driver stared incredulously, then a happy look of recognition appeared on his face. He jabbered in spanish excitedly, then, concentrating, responded back in broken english.
"My brother's wife, he get you tickets!" he pulled out a cell phone, speaking rapidly, sometimes glancing back at Gary and chuckling. Finally, he ended the call with three passionate kisses, narrowly avoiding a fire hydrant and a baby carriage.
"I get you tickets! I get you tickets!" he said joyfully.
I hope he understood what I meant, Gary thought. This was it. He was going to turn the tables on this trip. The passion, the drama! A spectacular show of man versus beast. Yes, he, Gary, would tame this bull of a vacation, with this decisive purchase! It would be the Europe of his dreams! And if it wasn't, hell, there was still wine to be had.
"How much?" he asked the cab driver.

***
Bowl-fighter. Maybe I'll write another for that one later. As before, another sketch. Yes, I fully realize the ridiculousness of illustrating a stupid pun, but image provided a good opportunity to draw a full figure in action and a simple, but clear ground plane. So it was worth it. On some level.

What's Good:
-the gesture of the matador. I have about four pages of sketches of men with their legs in positions that are probably not humanly possible and a couple from reference pictures Marissa took of me jumping around my appartment with my shorts hiked up as high as I could keep them. Finally, exasperated, she drew a much more suitable gesture for me from her imagination, which I gratefully made use of. He's jumping backwards, if you can't tell. Maybe Cory Turner can whip that out in three seconds, but I have to try. a lot.
-this image is refreshingly bright compared to the rest of my work. Hopefully I can make a portfolio that showcases bright and colorful work as pertaining to what mood is necessary.
-Purple suit. Risky, but this piece is so silly that I think it works. It needs that kind of grandness and flamboyance.

What needs work:
-costuming detail needs to work better with the shadow lines I already have on the figure
-perspective on bowl is wrong (but whatever, just a sketch)
-the 'treaded sand' texture I tried to make is working just okay...
-could be more compositionally complex... but would it lose the directness?... the goofy isolation of the action in the foreground?
-this scan is mediocre, I should have found a way to make it even closer to the original. I just can't get those 'florescent' pastels to reproduce well.
-The scale is making the tooth texture too prominent here. I've got to make figures bigger if I want to use this paper.

a couple months work... on one piece?

2008-01-26T23:00:00.000-05:00

So, here's my latest. The Vegetable Butcher.

Frank never was a morning person. He looked through bagged, bleary eyes, feeling as if he was just beginning to wake up, chopping away, going through the motions that he'd gone through ever since he'd opened the delicatessen. Hanging the choice cuts in the window, wiping down the glass on the charcuterie case, removing fresh product from the locker--Frank had been doing these things for so long that he could practically work half the day with his eyes closed.
But today was different. Off, somehow. As tired as Frank was, he couldn't help but notice the shop didn't smell the way he remembered. He strained his eyes. The early morning customers would be coming in soon. If there was a problem he'd have to fix it quick.
"It'll come to me," Frank thought, "as soon as I finish cutting this pork tenderloin..."

or perhaps

He'd show them. He'd show them all. Prize winning vegetables of all kinds, from all over the country, the world, all in Marcello's shop. Who doesn't yearn for a tender slab of eggplant, fresh off the grill? Or a flavorful pulled celery sandwich? Broiled brussels sprouts? Who could refuse a stuffed portabello roast?
As a child, Marcello only dreamed of such a shop. Now, after nearly a decade of ridicule from his carnivorous colleagues, his youthful vision was finally coming to pass! 'Show me an artichoke heart and I'll show you a T-bone steak,' they had said, slicing into him with a volley of laughter. Well, he would show them; Marcello had promised himself this long ago.
But where were all of the customers, the curious, enraptured masses? Where was the group of dogs from the neighborhood who would sit longingly watching bell peppers elegantly rise and fall in the rotisserie oven? It was still early in the day, but Marcello had high expectations. What he was doing had never been done before. Nothing had ever been so beautiful, so delicious, and so healthy all at once. Surely, his new shop was captivating enough to merit an article in the Gazette. So, where were all the customers? Marcello had a responsibility, not just to himself, but to the whole world. 'The people need this shop,' he thought, 'we all need this shop.'
He'd show them. He'd show them all.

So, I had a heck of time finishing this piece. It took me far too long. Unfortunately, in the end, I just don't like it that much. I believe it's mainly the scale that bothers me the the most. Either the objects are too small, or we're pushed too far back from the main character, I'm not 100 percent sure what it is. Too many areas of tight cross hatching? I guess I wanted to make more of a portrait, but to make the visual pun, I needed to show the whole shop for the full effect. After the hapdash way I went about making my last piece, I spent a long time trying to create a composition that pointed to some further meaning. I wanted to show how owning an unusual shop like this could really be a burden. Our odd wishes and dreams weigh on us when they become a reality..... I sound so stupid, but something along those lines. So, compositionally, weight and density were my guiding principles. I'm not sure how well this thinking came through. Anyway.

What's good:
-the colors have a nice sort of harmony, subtly different greens, and managed to get the purple to sit in there okay
-the space portrayed is a little better.
-feels good on the scale of cartoony to reality... more cartoony than the last one.
-My main character portrays emotion that is clear, but also interpretable. I was attempting to mix anger, sadness, and intense focus.
-light is nice, I guess.
-Cara said the people aren't very stiff.... but she might just have been being nice.

What needs work:
-I can't tell whether I've taken a simple idea and rendered it so seriously that I killed it or tried make something more artfully complex. Are all of my illustrations like this? Am I the guy that over-explains the joke, leading to a general annoyance and insincerity?
-the lighting in the case is total fudge. As is the lighting in the 'freezer/meat locker' space (if anyone can tell what that is). I was trying for a cloud of vapor catching reflected light... what?
-The composition feels imbalanced... all those broad planes on the right and that crowded spot of veggies on the left. The thing could have been approached more cunningly.
_Textures are overworked. My colored pencil always looks better in reservation. I need to paint the whole picture with darker, clearer values and more decisively.
-I should be able to think of more good and bad things about this piece. I've just been looking at it far too long.
-gesture of guy carrying peapod is awkward

Crit

2007-11-19T12:48:00.000-05:00

So, the last story here needs to be cut in half, or in thirds, or cut completely from existence. The long unnecessary lists of details, the flimsy characters, the tidy moralistic ending--blech. Mainly, it's just a disappointing reggurgitation of old ideas. It makes me wonder, if an illustration does not easily spur narratives, is it a weaker piece? This isn't to say that I spent as much time as I could have writing the last sketch, but ideas for the yarn piece came quickly and in multiple. Perhaps, I should spend some time rewriting stories from popular images that have had success as images and in turn are welded to their original story. If it was easy, then the answer to my question would be yes. If it was hard, then no, it would only have been my failing. Anyway.

What's needs work in the illustration
-the straight on quality of the toaster and background is boring and slows down the piece
-again, the space portrayed is awkward
-The stripey texture in the shadow isn't working and mostly looks overworked
-The light source could be clearer
-the toaster could be longer. It could be a bit more ridicoulous.
-don't know whether the pastel texture in the background helps or hinders
-might even be that it's too simple
-unlike my last piece, this does feel like an empty, half-clever idea, with little potential to delight at all after the the first viewing. It depicts a surprising moment in a unsurprising way. The emotion displayed feels one dimensional, lacking any complexity. I would do better to make something richer that was just as easily digestible upon the first time an audience saw it.

What's good
-that kid is asian. When people see the piece, they know. And yet, he isn't a bad or obvious charicature with squinty eyes or overly yellow skin. But at the same time, he could almost be caucasian, in a weird way. He's just specific enough to feel a bit unique. I like that. And the way I've used him doesn't feel like I'm trying to be politically correct. He's just the kid that happens to be there.
-despite the boringness of seeing the toaster head-on, it gives the toast and etc. a nice, rythmic musical quality. It could probably be a bit more complex.
-The changing degrees of looseness. The toaster, which is the most like my usual approach, feels appropriately stiff and heavy. The kid feels more alive. The bread feels the most alive. It even pops a little bit, and usually nothing I do has that kind of energy.

A finished sketch

2007-11-15T14:58:00.000-05:00

So, I'm posting to celebrate the long anticipated reception of a new friend: my brand new epson scanner! Therefore, from the comfort of home, I can finally post my newest piece, which ceased to be 'new' several weeks ago. Wow. I've just written the word 'new' enough times for two or three days now. Anyway, this is more of a sketch piece and an exercise in style. I've been drawing finals exclusively with brush and I'm hoping that it's loosening me up a bit. Of course, when all you're seeing is the kid's face, then I'm pretty much covering up the body that I might have drawn stiffly. Here, I've tried to brighten up the colors without making them obnoxious. I took a break from my usual outlook of subtlety and mystery to try for something that was more light, fun, simple, and had a little action, while remaining quirky enough to be worth my time. I can't ever have enough drawings of kids on hand, if I want to be a children's book illustrator. Still not sure whether I want it in my portfolio though.
Trying to get an idea for a quick literary sketch from this one is proving tricky. I'll do my best.

Christopher rummaged through the back room in Grandpa's Diner, wondering if there was any way he would be able to organize everything by the end of the summer. He had thought his own bedroom was messy, but this was worse. Piles and piles of mismatched things were stuffing the shelves to the point that they creaked and splintered ominously; napkins with outdated logos, chipped plates waiting to be repaired, cases of flatware that were half full, coffee filters, spray bottles, rags, cans waiting to be recycled, boxes filled with fading reciepts, tangled bunches of abandoned eyeglasses. How could Grandpa have let this happen? It was impractical, frustrating, inconvenient! This was not what Christopher had imagined he was signing on for; a sleepy summer sipping ice cream sodas and leisurely flipping through all the comic books his new wage would afford, all in the shade of the backroom he'd tidied up in less than a week. But just then as he lugged a crate of yellowed newspapers across the room, a cool chrome object caught his eye. Pulling at what he realized was a spiffy old toaster, Christopher was surprised to find as it emerged from the crowded shelf it had not two slots, there were four, no eight, even more than that! The machine that gleamed through a thin layer of dust was nearly five feet long! In this moment, Grandpa wandered in. He glanced at the groupings of boxes and objects on the floor that now made it impossible to walk from one side to the other without some difficulty. "What a mess," he said grinning weakly, "why don't you take a break. And bring that toaster with you." The two of them carried the heavy piece of equipment down the stairs and set it on the counter. It was slow in the diner. The barstools were empty and just one booth was occupied by a woman in a violet pinstripe suit who was engrossed in the Daily Times. Christopher sat gloomily at the bar, looking betrayed. "Wanna give her a whirl?" Grandpa said slyly indicating the 14-slot toaster. "You know, this place used to be a lot busier than it is now, " said Grandpa as he dropped slices of bread, one by one, "every seat full and lines that ran out the doors." The boy's curiousity was gradually overtaking his frustration. "Really?" I asked. "Oh, yes. That's why this kind of equipment was necessary. Built it myself to compensate for the increased demand for toast." Christopher wasn't sure if he believed it. "So you're saying that this old thing still works, after all this--" "Shh. Just watch now," Grandpa whispered as he grabbed a plate off of a nearby stack. They waited. And waited. And just when Christopher was beginning to believe the old toaster was broken--POPpopopopopopopopopopopopopop! High into the air the golden-brown slices shot and with one smooth sweep of his arm, Grandpa had caught them all in a tidy stack atop a plate. Christopher couldn't stop himself from clapping. "Why don't use this anymore?!" he asked incredulously, spotting the grimy little toaster oven the the corner. "And you're probably also wondering why the back room is so unorganized?" said Grandpa, grinning. "Well, it's a long story," he began.
"It was years ago, when I had just started this business. It had always been my dream to run a little diner just past Main Street. Finally, I saved up enough money to fix up this little storefront. I had everything I needed: shining barstools, checkerboard floors, a makeshift kitchen, and a spot on menu. Everything I needed, or so I thought. Try as I may, I could barely attract any customers in for more than a cup of coffee. A sale was the only way to go about it! Toast! Unlimited Toast would be free with any purchase. Doesn't sound too exciting, hm? Well you'd be surprised at just how much a well-cooked piece of toast can attract stomachs by the thousands! I did my research. Beyond simple sandwich bread, I became a toast connesieur. Texture, temperature, color, aroma, weight, taste; these were my requirements for the perfect slice! But how to create such a delicacy? Of course I had to build my own device. I closed down the diner for a week and toiled day and night with any spare parts I could order. People became curious, hearing me sawing and sanding until the early morning, seeing me on the street, haggard and oily, suddenly jump with a start and go running back to my shop with a fresh idea. Finally, on a chilly spring morning, the ultimate toaster was ready. But the day continued as normal. Where were all of those customers, why weren't they coming to try my perfect toast? I propped open the door, checking for passersby, and was stunned when I saw eleven noses turn in an instant directly towards me and my little diner. They came as if in a trance, gobbling down piece after piece of toast. I could barely keep up if it hadn't been for making the toaster with 14 slots! That night and the next and the next, I counted my money with amazement. But as much as I was excited, I was also exhausted, cooking, cleaning, ringing up customers non-stop, there had to be an easier way to go about this business. If I could build a toaster... why not an egg-frier? I was on top of my new project at once with the same energy I'd felt before. The people came in by the masses and my brain whirred. A pancake flipper. A waffle iron. A batter mixer. An orange juicer. A sandwich griller. All automatic. All making the best you'd ever taste. The customers kept coming in droves, herds. They rained in, they poured in, they flooded my tiny diner. Now my problems had come full circle! I had too many customers instead of too few! There was so much work, running to and fro pushing all of the buttons on my automatic devices. I was so tired. Again, I thought, there had to be an easier way... A more convenient way. I could relax, sip ice cream sodas, talk to customers, if only I had less to do. I thought and thought and thought and finally I got it! A button-pusher that could follow my requests, or even better, it could take orders straight from the customers! Yes my button-pusher-order-taker-bill-collecter was a fine machine. But I sought further convenience. This one took time, more than any of the others. But I was experienced now, and soon the tall imposing figure of the automatic-diner-machine-builder-convenience-maker-problem-fixer roamed my thriving restaurant. I could finally relax. My new machine churned out others quickly, nearly a hundred nifty devices a week. Waiter-bots, Customer-hasteners, Money-managers, Cleaner-organizers, all with a strict set of unwavering goals. In the meantime, I dined and chatted. I read novels, encyclopedias, dictionaries. I took up painting, or tried to, anyhow. I sat. I watched. I slept. I did my best to stop myself from being bored. One day I thought I would work in my old kitchen again, spice things up a bit. I was all dressed with my apron and had a pad and pencil for orders at the ready, but as I stepped behind the bar, the clamp hand of the button-pusher-order-taker-bill-collecter grabbed me and installed me in a corner booth with an ice cream soda. We repeated this series of events until my table had five untouched ice cream sodas sitting there untouched. I frowned and took to the floor attempting to chat with customers, but a customer-chatter-upper stepped in front of me and spoke with increased volume, so that I couldn't be heard. I grabbed a mop from the back and slapped it to the floor, scrubbing frustratedly. But two Cleaner-organizers pulled the mop and I apart. Every simple task I attempted was efficiently prevented. I had made myself useless in my own diner. Having had enough, I strode behind the bar and angrily switched off the button-pusher-order-taker-bill-collecter. Every other mechanical object paused mutinously. Just as I tried to take my first order in months, I was attacked. Pancake-flippers shot fresh projectiles, Egg friers wielded pans dangerously, waffle-irons stared at me with gaping, steaming mouths, Customer-hasteners pushed me, money-managers robbed me, sandwich grillers grilled me, batter mixers batted me, waiter-bots threw platters that lodged themselves in the wall, and when the Automatic-diner-machine-builder-convenience-maker-problem-fixer emerged, I made a run for it. Oddly enough, not one of the customers noticed a thing. I had to return late at night to deactivate everything, barely finishing this arduous task before the finishing touches were made to the Diner-gaurder that was being constructed, I presume, to fight me off. I disposed of everything. All except the toaster, the one creation of mine that didn't turn against me. Soon people began to complain about slow service and long waits, only the regulars that had been there from the start remained and my place returned to normal, with few remembering what it once had been."
"Wow," Christopher said. He'd never have guessed his Grandpa could ever have lived a life so bizarre.
"Now, there's a reason why I've told you all of this. You must learn to love the activity of work. Make yourself a useful person, no matter the inconvenience and the cost of personal energy, and you'll never have to worry about being overshadowed by past achievements. Now go clean up that back room."

Better a late post than to never post

2007-10-06T21:43:00.000-04:00

My latest Illustration: Scene from an Untold Fairytale

Elsa first saw the yarn lying across the street three blocks down. She was walking her dog when it she noticed it, scattering itself on the road with the occasional motor car or bicycle. Asking the passing pedestrians if they knew why or how the yarn happened to be there was to no avail. Elsa was quiet and slow, a mere echo to the average person. But her age had its benefits; having little else important to do and only the will of a dog to battle, she could follow her any whim at anytime. So she decided to persue the yarn until reaching its source. Back and forth, down the street it ran, round stop lights and mailboxes, even in and out of one house's basement. Elsa began to become tired, as sidewalks disappeared, homes spread apart, and a cold fog rolled in that she felt in her bones. But with her elder curiousity was paired with an elder stubbornness and she would not stop until she discovered the source of the yarn. Rather, the length of the search only increased her interest and resolve. Elsa trudged on through damp and misty fields into the deep forests on the outskirts of town, believing that it might be that she, and she only, was meant to see the where the yarn lead. The silence was cut with an onslaught of disturbed barking and Elsa slowly raised her head from the uneven, mossy ground. It was enormous: a soft, threaded globe that burned a dangerous shade of red. How it had gotten there or why was impossible to know, but Elsa was quite, quite sure that this was no ordinary ball of yarn. Her life was going to change.

Or, perhaps

Ms. Fummleton had had enough. The gossip had been racing around her village for weeks. In fact, no one would talk about anything else, no matter how often she mentioned the disappearance of the milkman or the frightful shade of orange the Millwell's had painted their front stoop. No, this news was too common compared to that of "the beast." "A Sabre-Toothed Tiger! The son of a Bear and a Jag-u-ar! The devil's pet!" Apparently, a large creature of the feline persuasion was devouring the stray sheep or cow on a nightly basis, in increasing numbers as the weeks passed. At first the village had been overjoyed by the sudden drop in the rodent population, but as soon as Bessies and Anabelles had begun to vanish across the county, the men especially, had become downright scared. Taking to carrying pitchforks and rifles at all times, even in church of all places! Ms. Fummelton thought that it was just absurd. She knew that no amount torch carrying midnight hunts would solve this matter. Someone had to turn this town back to normal, or as normal as it could be anyway. That someone, she had of late decided, was her. She had to unravel every christmas sweater she had knitted for the past eight months, but finally the trap was set and she had her dog, Shivers, to protect her in case anything went wrong.

Or, maybe even

Young Greta was playing with the old clothes she had found in the crowded shed in her backyard, a long camel coat, squashy brown shoes and a frumpy hat, with her dog, Baxter. He had very little interest in these matters, of course, and was much more attentive to the strange and forgotten smells of the overturned boxes. A swift rapping on the door and a tumble of objects off a nearby shelf caught both their attentions. Greta called outside to see if anyone was there, but was soon distracted again by the objects that were left on the shelf, particularly a string of the brightest red. She pulled at it playfully and was pleased to find that it ran out the door and had been covered by a layer of dead leaves. In fact, it ran all the way into the forest. It was decided. Greta ran to get Baxter's leash; They were to follow the string into the woods. He was not pleased. After all, it was almost dinner and that was something he did not care to miss for a piece of string, however long it might be. They walked and walked, over hills, streams, rotting logs, abandoned stone walls; the string always there with them, hanging off the nearest brush or branch. Finally, in the the distance, they spotted it: a giant ball of red yarn, its base hovering in a fog. Greta giggled with delight. She ran to it pushed it with all her might, pulled off excess string, threw rocks at it. Baxter stood back, nervously. It smelled wrong. Finally, when she had her fill, she turned homeward as to recall her adventures to anyone she could. And they walked and walked, over hills, streams, rotting logs, abandoned stone walls; the string always there with them, hanging off the nearest brush or branch. And just when they thought they should have spotted their home, their backyard, the shed of the string's origin, instead they again found themselves face to face with the ball of yarn, almost looking even larger than it had before. Greta frowned. She must have made a wrong turn somewhere. So they once again turned around, heading back home, back to dinner. Baxter whined impatiently. Greta's legs were feeling sore too. And yet again, when they thought they would see the end of the string just over the next hill, instead, there was the ball of yarn, even more ominous than before. No matter how far they wandered following the string in any direction, Greta and Baxter couldn't seem to escape the ever-growing ball of yarn. Just how long had they been walking, Baxter wondered. And why, he thought, did Greta seem to be fitting into those dress up clothes better than she had that morning...

You tell me.

So this is the idea behind this blog: Post my newest pieces, Use them as a springboard for literary 'sketches,' and of course, Crit them as in depth as possible. Feel free to give me your thoughts, advice, ideas, or let me know any random sidetrack I might have set you off on.

Crit:

What's good:
I like the amount of simplicity to the amount of detail.
Good range of values.
It does seem to tell a story, although an unclear one. I love vagueness so.
Yarn looks nice. Bark (of trees) is also pretty (to me).
Ferns around dog's mouth help create visual sound.
That dog is barking (through stance and value). As loud as possible in my world anyhow.
People (Adam) notice intentional decisions I've made: the looseness of the yarn vs the tightness of the leash (first time in years I've used a straight edge to depict something in a piece). The tree in front of the ball that is like knitting needles.
People understand that the woman may have followed the string to the yarn. I've fairly successfully portrayed a discovery.
One of my main ideas here was to display unclear emotions in a character though a more clearly emotive sidekick. I chose a dog. I feel as if she won't venture too much further toward the yarn, despite the fact that it captivates her. Without the dog, this is much less clear.
There is emotion here. I have not made a piece that is an empty idea, concerned only with cleverness.

What needs improvement:
The ferns are lame, they look unresearched and awkward.
The ground isn't depicting space well at all. The thumbnail I had that did just looked bad though.
Idea is something of a cop-out--an abnormally large object placed out of context, been done by others a million times.
Color isn't on par with my other pieces. Complements work well, especially the cold blues vibrating against red, but I could have still pushed the range within the greens.
Marissa says the dog looks like a zombie dog.
Yarn could be a bit more delicate. It's almost as thick as a rope and it looks better that way, but it does rise unnecessary questions.
Figure is stiff, as per usual. Too fat? Skin dead? Hands too big? Head too big?
Mossy ground doesn't read. Feels fudgy. At least it's not too distracting.
Yarn isn't curving around the ball form enough, feels flat, not 3D enough.
Rock don't look or feel like rocks. awkward.
Low lying fog is unevenly placed. There should be more around the bases of distant trees if there is that much with the yarn.
Difference of textures weird-coat vs ground vs trees vs yarn. Matters less in reproduction, less noticeable.

Hopefully more to come soon!

2007-08-28T11:00:00.000-04:00