Greetings, 11 followers! (see that, 11)Due to immense overload of commissions, I must halt drawing my own work. I've been itching to do more comic panels, but I think surprises await as the second story is going along much faster than the first. It is shorter, I'm trying to extend it out a bit.Our planet shall have peace when we believe in ourselves and stop believing there is a god who has set out rules for us. There is no aim to life, there are no missions that the gods give you. If you believe otherwise, you are not free, you are enslaved by your beliefs, not a god. Freedom is knowing boundaries, but you must set your own, they are not universal. When we start to believe in ourselves, our abilities and realizations of what we can achieve grow, surpassing what we were 'allowed' by our gods. We will forever progress forward with betterment, respect and understand the harmony that plays a key in our survival.
Greetings, 10 Blog Followers!I am teaching Furry Art Classes now. Tuesdays, 9pm Eastern time.So I have nothing new to post here unless it's like paws or something like that. Apologies,Me.
Hello 10 blog readers! I have nothing new! I haven't really felt like drawing! I was marching to the wrong drum with the wrong scum. Indeed. But fear not, my 10 blog readers. For now is the time that everything emerges - from great sadness erupts a ... thing. Sorry, lost train of thought. Anyways, here's the WIP of the Ianitor. I added a whole three new things, I think. I also found the suiting song which will help it along, and will bear the name. Dark Father. The end! That's all.
Dear Blogthing; I am waiting for the snow. Right now I feel that is the only thing that will bring me out of this funk. And it is inspiring. Speaking of inspiring - it's all done, I think. Our chapter closes, so does theirs. I think that the reason he was put here was to help this out, as was the one before him. Same lessons, two different outcomes. I've been doing commissions most of today, while I am awake, as the new medication is knocking me out cold. So I haven't worked much on my own work. But this is what I have.
They're being solved. This is taking forever.
Dear Little Birds:I hope you don't mind, but the death of livejournal is inevitable. I don't want to share my trainwreck life online anymore. This blog, this fake paper and pen, all of the art I post will keep up here.So I have this image that I'm working on. It won't be done for a million years. I've been watching Bob Ross videos for the trees, and I ripped the sunset out of another WIP I was doing mid-year. Documenting my works-in-progress is recording keeping, and they look amusing at each stage. I don't work in any specific order, only what calls to me. So, there.
Greetings 9 followers, the 9 ghosts.I'll try buildings and such later.
This is my spot, this is like the spot I don't get at home, no privacy here in my small place. Whoever stumbles upon this probably wonders who I am and what this is that I write. A hidden grove in the jungle of the internet.
There should have been a note in the previous entry, during the description of Mr Sedov, that he has arched brows and a goatee. My apologies.
I don't have much time to post, but what I do post is long and probably not going to be read by a few, but who cares! It's a cut and paste, it takes 2 seconds. I have one art, it is 1/7th the way finished. And I have a story, well a rough draft of the beginning of the second story. Which needs a name.Words:The passenger train Vlvata 4 always chugged down it's normal route, on the same iron tracks through the same forest it had followed for decades. The tracks took one from the outskirt village of Little Hedeon (also known as North Hedeon) to the metropolis of Hedeon itself, a journey of exactly 47 minutes through forest, plains and a brief view of the mountains, on a fair weather day. On that day, a Tuesday morning, Vlvata was late, even for a fair weather day. 47 minutes passed at the North Hedeon Depot Station 03, leaving its passengers trainless. It was for the best, as it made time for the riders to converse with each other. Small things, such as the unusually cold spring weather, the arrival of the new Aionic priests to Hedeon, the coffeeshop that was doomed to close, and for two individuals: a book author.She saw him first, reading to himself from a red covered book, his lips moving silently with each word he read. A habit that many find absolutely irritating but she found intriguing. Watching him out of the corner of her left eye, she took in his tall stature and lean body. He stuck out from the crowd of nearly a dozen with his priest robes and his black hair cut at a peculiar slant, two pieces in the front longer than the rest. He must have been new to town for he wore no coat in the nearly freezing dawn. An awkward yet handsome looking thing he was.If she saw him first, there was a second sight to follow, as he had caught her eyes moving over him. The woman was nearly opposite himself - a tiny height, brushing perhaps 5 feet tall, a pear shape to her body. She was dressed from what he could tell elegantly, in a very monotone grey and black scheme. Pale blue eyes peeked out at him from behind a pair of thick black lashes, a devious look to her. Below the left eye, a small black marking. Her hair a waving black waterfall that never fell. She was lovely. The two shared a common ancestry, that of the Dierkan race. Larger ears than the other two races, their fur as short as a horse's coat and ranging from pale grey to a charcoal black. Most Dierkans had dark brown to medium brown eyes, any variances were uncommon among them and often tipped that there may have been another race involved in the family tree. Under their fur was a black skin, which was prominant only in the lips, nose and a ring around the eyes resembling black eyeliner. Peering over at the book the man was absorbed into, she caught the name of the author. "Luka Garbon," she noted outloud. This caught the attention of the man, who now turned his head towards her. "Yes," he replied slowly, checking the cover himself. He returned to his page. "He's written quite a few books since I last read him, his subjects have turned more religious than I care for," she told him. "I study under him down in Moriz, it is required reading," was the dry reply. She noticed his interest in the book became more pronounced. Being one to demand attention to herself, she pushed further."Why are you up here then?"He sighed, closing the book. Social behavior was not his forte and her interupting his reading was starting to try his patience. "I have been assigned to the chapel on the hill, to take Father Rubin's place while he returns to the school. I'll assume you don't visit it, from your prior comment." "Do you not know who I am?" she craned her neck at him. He took a step away from her."Beyond a heathen? No."She fumbled into her purse, pulling out several crumpled papers and wrappers, a pencil, pen and several lipsticks. Finally she found what she had been looking for and pulled out a package of cigarettes, bearing the name Sharp Tobacco. She slapped it against her wrist to pack them tighter and to gain his attention towards it. The faint aroma of tobacco leaked as she opened them. "My name is Zoyechka Sharp, or, as I'm called by most of my kingdom, Zoe," she gave him a sidewards glance and returned to her cigarette, lighting it with a silver lighter that had 'Sharp' engraved on it."Oh. The Queen takes the commoner's transportation without guards, how noble." Sarcasm. She choked on the first inhale. Nearby, a short stout man with large glasses, greying short hair with a white streak in the front, and very conservatively dressed, checked his watch and sighed. Putting down his suitcase, he made it apparent that he was listening in on the conversation."What's your name?" she said, ignoring his previous comment. "Mishenka Sedov, or, as I'm called by most of my parish, Father Sedov," he replied before cracking open the book once again. He had astutely noted the man's attention and felt the urge to end conversation with her, as he could very well be an under cover guard of Zoe's. Not to Mishenka's surprise, the man wandered over to Zoe and poked her shoulder. "Train's coming."
Dear Blog Readers:I lack fundamentals of art. I am outside in 45degree weather, wishing it was snowing. Snow brings me time to think. It's so quiet. I feel myself entering physical hermitmode already. I want the bugs to come back into my brain again so the thinking is better. I want to switch back to Max for awhile. Mishenka and Zoe, they're leaving for the time being, for their story is sealed and done. It was quick, very quick, and I think it is good. Sometimes it's better that way. Now if I could only settle on an ending for Fallen.
This image is made of threes. Not only compositionally. Originally, the background was suited for a scene of young Eve and Finn, running away through a field of snow while their old village burned in the background. Finn was helping Eve through the fence. The second image is the foreground - Fresh faced Max, Doozer (Boris) and Tyler being given some bad news. The third? That's the new one, of an approaching 50 year old Mishenka delivering said bad news. Your past can come and haunt you, so beware. Burning a church during wartime is an unforgivable thing to him, and he may find a legal way to remove you from the military. But as I said, pasts can often haunt us, so beware Mishenka Sedov, for your own deeds may come back to bite you.
I'll do it myself.. Concept for my own Rat King.
Greetings, 11 followers! (see that, 11)
