Costume!

EN MASS, ALL THE PHOTOS OMG.

First the shots of the dress costume :D I got some actual full-body pictures of the dress with me in it, but because it's also showing a large portion of my neighbourhood in each shot, for privacy reasons I decided to remove them ^^;
I was a Fallen Angel! Built most of the costume and did all the makeup plus sfx. I feel a trend coming on :O

The editing layout of blogger confuses me (failure ugh) but I'll have all the photos here :D

Front of dress

Back of dress :D

The forsaken jump

<--THIS

























<---TURNED INTO THIS.








I never understand my own trains of thought. As I draw, an expression, a power comes into my art... and then when I colour, my muse takes hold, takes the picture further.


Wait doesn't that mean I understand it? XD

Prayer

My absence makes them weary.

---

"God," he breathed.
His hands--they shook, jerking so violently that he could not fold them right. He clamped them to his breast, weeping and shaking and holding the fragments of his fragile, broken heart together, thump thump thumping shards of glass through his veins. With bruising force, he clutched the red jewel closer, yanking it into his chest as if the broken heart inside could somehow absorb it, and be soothed.
"God," he said, again, "God, please, please..."
The man sat there for hours in the dusty, sky-lit church, watching the stained glass of the angel under the solid cross change and glow and fade. He watched as little bits of dust were shot through with light, as if the angels that people spoke of were there, listening to his grief. He sat and wept and prayed and trembled until time blurred into lethargic counts of his staccato breath, and all he could do was continue on.
"Give her back to me," he begged the cross. "Give... give her back to me. God. I-I... I can't..."
I can't live without her.
God.
Please.
Please.
And his prayers fell silent, to deaf ears. Who would he kid? There was no God for him. He could not dream, nor could he fancy. He was not one who could reach the omnipotent being; his voice was not one that could travel that far.
His prayer--his strangled prayer, the one he knew that could never fly, even if his voice could carry, repeated over and over without relent.
So he climbed, suddenly, with bitter conviction; he sat on the altar of the cross, head buried in his arms. His clothing--her clothing, really, for he wore her cape to torture himself with her lingering smell--draped over the sides, touching the ground, and he watched his shadow with nothing but hollowness. He clutched the red jewel in his hand, strangling the blood out of the useless limb, the only reminder left that she had been there, whole, breathing, loving, real, living, real--
For him, time slowed; the seconds drooped into minutes, into hours. Perhaps he sat there for days, uttering a useless prayer in the back of his mind, back against the cross that wouldn't bend for him. He prayed and prayed, remembering some sort of logic long ago: someone said praying could help anyone heal.
Could he heal?
And when he next lifted his head, there was no longer any tears. Nothing but a swooping, echoing empty, nothing, nothing.
There was nothing but empty, nothing but empty.
(And his eyes--they grew cold. They grew bright and lifeless and lucid, his consciousness slipping, searching, wanting. Those eyes, normally warm pebbles of thought that echoed what he mused, they grew as cold as the earth that had its arms around her--)
His voice couldn't travel that far.
Could it?
"God," he whispered.

---

Daphne

Nearly four weeks went into this mask, every day for at least two hours. Wows.

For art class, we had to make papier-mâché masks. Our theme, like most of this year, was mythology. We could choose anybody from mythology and make it. So sticking with my love of trees and such, I decided to do Daphne. Scroll down for the myth, it's Greek.

Started at the end of April, 2010, I finished sometime around May 24th 2010

<-Here's the mask lying down on my back porch :D I dislike how the photo turned out; it doesn't show the depth of the mask, or the many, many translucent layers of paint that I slaved over. -shakefist- Contrary to popular belief, this mask is fairly light; it's about a pound or so, which is--really--the average weight of a head. Look, ma--no eyes. Adds mystery... kind of scary, tho. . <-Neck detail. Ohmygod. Individual rolls of tissue paper waded and shaped to look like bark. There's fine metallic gold paint dusted over the bark, copper paint in the hair, and silver paint lining the leaves. Most of the branches on this mask are adjustable, along with a nice rustling sound if you shake the head.

The branches are pipecleaner wrapped in maché and painted. Tips of pipecleaner are painted green to look like buds... this shot shows the underside of one bud I didn't paint too well. Woopsie.





Bark bursts forward. This was done with rectangular pieces of cardstock angrily--furiously!--taped and wrestled onto the face, then wrapped in maché. You can see the edges painted in gold and the leaves in silver. The eyebrow is also kind of visible here.

The wrinkles also add nice effects,thank goodness. This mask was painted in 100% acrylics, which is nice as the colour is very vibrant on the paper.



Veins on the cheek-barks were also quite painful. Tissue paper is hard stuff to work with. (At this point I realized I didn't take pictures of the nose, which was also a feat in itself).

The ears are pointed and also tissue paper'ed for texture, pointed in shape with one branch extending out from the back. The mask sits flat on a table sans problems.



Seventeen branches in total. Seventeen. God I'm never doing a tree-maché (LOL IRONY...) mask again. The pipecleaner was taped onto the top of the head of the mask, and then wrapped. The wrapping wouldn't stay so I had a lot of trouble with this.

The inside of the mask is painted dark brown.

L'Effet Zaza

Here we go. En français.

Pour la classe de français nous avions besoin de créer une présentation de 45 minutes… ugh, quel horreur. Je ne sais pas qu’est-ce que je dois faire pour ma partie, et j’ai gaspillé tout la journée pour les designs des personnages… c’est pas mal—je veux dire, le jour; je n'ai pas eu le temps pour dessiner dernièrement et même un peu d'il se sent bon—mais maintenant je sens que lundi serait une catastrophe…

Les personnages, ici :

Zaza (Elizabeth Babin, qui avait le don de préduire l’avenir. L’homonyme de la collection, et très nerveuse pour le premier jour d’école secondaire. Elle a 13 ans, avec une disposition ressemblée de soleil.)

François Babin (Le père de la fille mentionné au-dessus. Un alcoolique qui manque sa femme qui lui est parti, il est nostalgique mais un bon père.)

My days pass by in shades of brilliant gray

May 3-11 2010
Kissing Practice--drawn over time in class.
The last picture is a spoiler. Featured here: Krai, Eva, Ceru, Colleen, Lalé, A possible humanoid Yang and quite possibly Adriano's teeth.
Yang--The seventh phoenix son of the Royal Nie (fire faye) clan. (May 4th 2010)
He is the smallest, a runt of the family, the only one with brilliant red plumage as all of his brothers have greens and blues and violets as their colours. His primary feathers are white-hot, and he has five tail plumes, and he has a lovely disposition overall.
Like most of my story people he has a humanoid form, too. He's a chinese man with hot fire-blue-violet eyes, a sunny disposition, and slightly melancholy look on life.
He is also the Aether fairy king.
Queen Rhiannon is quite in love with him--they are husband and wife. I need to keep track of who's married to who in Devil's.
Yang was drawn in a period of two hours during Junior Repertoire helping I did. I cried so much that day that I just wanted to draw something pretty.

---


May 3 2010, A doodle in Math class.
A little fairy child wanders through the jungle of dandilions, ladybugs, catgrass, and daisies, looking for her mother who disappeared with the rain. Perspective practice--it didn't have a story until right now.

Photo Essay 2010

There are some new and old photos I'm using in this essay.

"Perserverance" / "Pensive"
"Fire-Water"* / "Scars"
"Contemplation"* / "Other side of the Fence"

Perserverance, Pensive, and Fence was from the Niagara trip on April 27th :)
Scars is my photo specifically taken for this essay.
*Fire-Water and Contemplation were collaberations with Bryan Chong.


Lesson learned: “It is much more important to care for things of emotional value than for material and social possessions.”

When my whole essay is finished I'll see if I'll upload it. If it's too bad, probably not :D Mais c'est la vie.

David and Marie

David and Marie again. I've used them in one French comic and one other math comic (which I lost X_X)

Why can't I draw my own manga instead of all of these short comics orz...

Sketches (April.19.2010)

Julian Kain & Sable Astraveras
(Julian trial 1 -with Sable foreground-)

--My first attempt at drawing Sarah's OC. We buffed out his design together last Sunday at STC and I've been trying ever since. T_T

He could smell the fires from miles away; the flash of light, the screeches alerted him to the sudden, pacing danger he could feel clump in his throat.
The Nosferatu, the Courtesans, the humans stayed away. The fire was sudden and strange with only falling debris causing damage, and his deep eyes scanned the destruction and the people with clenched tension. Anybody sane enough stayed away; Julian leapt ahead.

Where was she? It must have been her. His innards twisted inside of him with dread, knowing full well that fire meant something happened to the Astraveras family.

And there, so far, so small, he saw her.

As fast as he could, he careened off of the tower of the building he gripped, face paler than it could ever be. She was wandering with blood streaming down from her throat, tears running down her cheeks, her hair in wild disarray. The little girl was shaking with pain, and he could smell the fire on her, in her. And her wings, oh her beautiful, jade-gossamer wings, they were black and crumbling away as soot from her tiny, tiny body, as if they had been burnt away.

She uttered a terrified cry when she saw him; he saw a flash of sharp, sharp teeth. She clawed at her shoulders, clawed at her face, fell on her knees and shook. He realized, too late, breathing in the scent of blood cloaking her, that almost all of it was Marissa's.

Julian's heart broke. "Isabella," he breathed, slowly edging closer. "Sable Astraveras, do you recognize me? I'm Mariss-- I'm your Mommy's friend. Remember me?"

"Uncle Julian," she moaned, but her voice was strange to him. It sounded like it was hoarse from hours of screaming, scratchy like broken glass. He saw the crusted wound on her neck, the strange dilating of her eyes, how thin she suddenly became. "Julian-- my mommy, she..."

He hurried to her without waiting another second. The little girl--shivering, frightened, changed--let him hoist her up, let him rub her back and hold her close, let him whisper worthless comforts as she wept.

They are close in my heart

She missed him more than she could bear, at times.
Some days she could almost hear his voice in the wind, and she'd stare into the bright blindness of the sun, as if she could catch a glimpse of his missing face. A scent or a voice, a word or a swish of cloth would bring a vivid image of him to her mind, and then she would be lost to the neediness in her.
His death brought a dark tirednes to her, one that brought worried faye to her side.
"Our little keeper is breaking," she overheard them whispering, and she wondered if she was as alright as she tried to be.
(She wanted him there, wanted him to call her name: Colleen, Kairiun, anything. She wanted him so terribly that she was amazed the words didn't burst out of her sore lips.)
"Mama?"
Ceru's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and she looked at him. For a moment, she looked like she didn't know him, and it chilled the little boy to the bone.
"Oh," she breathed, and he let her hold him tightly as she began to cry.

December 22nd, 2009.
♣

Lalé couldn't understand why the stranger in his house made him want to weep.
Ever since the lady--she was his age, but he felt otherwise, arrived at his house with a cryptic word and timid child, every glance at her made him want to cry, or gather her in his arms
What was wrong with him? He had never felt so emotionally unstable in his life. He wanted to run to her every time they were fifty feet near each other, and the very thought drove him up a wall.
You're turning into a dog, he thought in disgust. You'll scare her away with the way you always stare.
And her smile. Good god.
Ceru felt it, too. The boy would watch him, face unreadable, every time that Lalé found himself gazing at Colleen. He felt strung.
"Lalé?"
Speak of the devil. He turned to face her, suddenly beside him.
"Yes?"
"Are you alright?" Her dewey eyes caught his, dark and sweet.
"Yeah..." he murmured. She placed a hand on him, and he prayed for self-control as her uncannily familiar scent envelopped him.

December 24th, 2009.
♣

Valor stared blankly at the dark-suited man after his fingers left the piano keys. He sat there with a dignified, resolute look.
The man--Lalé, was it? His song broke Valor's heart. Something tender and yearning about the sorrow behind it was beyond anything he had ever heard.
"You..." he breathed, "are amazing."
He thanked him in a soft voice, eyes downcast.
"Who... wrote that?"
"I did."
The man's answer stunned him more. Lalé closed his eyes, as if going to a distant place, falling silent.
"Ah, do you mind," Valor swallowed after a moment of silence, "telling me what you wrote it for?"
(It was such a beautiful song. Who wouldn't be compelled to ask?)
"My lover," came his quiet reply. "She... was my everything. She was killed."
By my foolishness, he thought.
It wasn't a surprise, but Valor was shaken by his tone, nonetheless. "...I'm so sorry..."
Lalé smiled. The man felt strangely at peace, speaking of her to a stranger. "Do not be. It was long, long ago."
The next choice wasn't necessary to think over. Valor stood, putting down the audition board with a definite click.
"You're hired."

December 24th, 2009.
♣

Introduction

So I decided to start (another) blog. My first one is still used, and completely unknown for my random teenaged angst-induced terror :) I created this at 6:45 PM on April 19th, 2010, procrastinating from the trinomial math comic (HAHA I'm going to remember that one), English mythology, and French literature circles.

De Temps Inconnu.

I like it. Wasn't my first choice. I wanted to call it "And then". :) Because that leave so much to the imagination, no? Then I put "now and then", and I translated it to "Time to Time"--and then that was taken. So I put it as "Of unknown time", but I liked it better en Francais. Mais c'est la vie; il y a des choses que les gens ne pouvent pas choisir.

This is going to be updated at unknown times

This blog will contain mostly sketches, photo bits, snippets of writing, fond and cruel memories, and French practice.

Maybe someday I can look back on this without that fear of confronting my past. Look at me, all nostalgic. They say that if you are nostalgic as a child, it means you never had a childhood.

...Hmm.

---

I have a "memo" function on my cell phone.

This function is largely unused except to write 1000-character long story snippets, which I try desperately to squish into that tiny space, punctuation and all. Some have been edited for better word flow. I have only included a few, here.

Some others spoil the story :) You will know if they are cellphone ramblings if it is marked with a ♣ at the end. It's a clover, not a spade. Why clover? I don't know. I just like clovers :)

---

I'm a sketchy kind of person...

Most of the time I upload sketches, and little pieces of designs. They are not worth putting on DA. So I put them here. :) Sketches are obvious. It may come with a story snippet.

Some sketches end up as great deviations. Who knows?

---

I feel things. A lot.

If I can remember to reduce as much whiny teen angst as I can for me to bear reading through childhood stupidity when I'm older, then it's not worth reading, is it?

Something that really pisses me off will indeed end up here. Mostly art related, though. Here goes to trying...

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I write more than just on my cellphone.

I write things in books, too. Maybe I'll upload those when I have time. :) It's easy to keep it in a blog so I can have this data forever. Isn't that fantastic?

I've lost so many stories to viruses that my heart's broken into fine ash. Maybe this'll help vacuum it up so I can build my next heart.

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J'essaierai d'écrire enfrançais pour quelques entrées.

Je n'ai pas une bonne raisonne. Je voulais seulement de practiquer le français, temp en temps. Dans les six ans que j'ai appris français, je ne me sens pas comme j'ai amélioré beaucoup... c'est dommage!

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Here's to a new time.