First off, let me say that I don't like to think that I 'hate' anything, hate is such a basic word that because of its simplicity, makes a bigger impact than more complex words, such as 'resent'. I resent things. I resent some people. But I don't hate. I'm not a hater, I like to think I'm above that.
But you know what ticks me off, annoys me to the bone? When people say they 'hate' something with no good reason, they hate a band, they hate some people, and yet they can't justify it. The people who I see do this most, especially towards people, are girls. Specifically, the friends of girls who have just gone through a breakup. Young couples break up, and you're never going to find true love at sweet 16, that's pretty much a fact nowadays, and a lot of the time couples will break up because it isn't working. That's fine, that's nothing to hate each other for. You may be upset (girls, I'm talking to you) but he was probably honest and decent about it and it'll work out better for the both of you in the long run, who knows, you could even end up being friends. But don't listen to your friends when they say that they 'hate' him for splitting up with you; that is not even a halfway decent excuse to hate someone. Like I said, if it wasn't working, then it was better to split up than keep at it, there would be more pain in the long run.
But what if the boy (lets face it, it's easier for me to write this from a girl's perspective, much love for the few lads who read this blog <3) had been a complete ass in the relationship, not putting any effort into making it work, dragging the girl along to be there when he pleased and not when she pleased? What if he had started physically or mentally abusing her, before getting fed up of her and then dumping her? That, my friends, is when it's Ok to hate someone, when they've been a complete and utter disgrace to their sex.
Remember, dumping someone by itself is not a bad thing. Treating someone like an object or toy or something without a real unique identity (just another girl friend/boy friend) is. Hate them for that.
Or, even better, resent them.
Thursday 27 October 2011
Friday 21 October 2011
See! I can draw! Kind of...
I think I mentioned this in my opening blog post, but I do like to dabble in drawing every once in a while. Admittedly, I'm not the best at drawing, but its something I enjoy and I have improved on since I started. Well, I thought I'd take you through the process I go through to get a picture done. No, this isn't a tutorial, this is done through days worked on the picture. So, without further ado, I present to you the making of Beneath the Surface (obviously didn't take inspiration from the Dream Theater song ;P)
Day 1- Sketching and Line Art
I tend to chose a pose from Posemaniacs, a really great website recommended by art students and illustrators alike to make sure that you get your proportions as close to reality as possible. I tend to add my own twists to the poses depending on the character. For example, Lila is a quite athletic character with small breasts in comparison to the model on the website, so you do have to adjust things accordingly. Then you clothe them and line them so that the scanner can pick up on every detail you want clear, and I tend to add little notes there and then on the picture, just to remember everything. Although, as you'll see towards the end, I will stray away from these notes. A lot.
Day 2- Basic colouring: Body and Clothes
I'm a very messy colourer. You know when you're told as a child to colour inside the lines? Well, I was always the one who coloured way too far over the lines then rubbed them out afterwards to make sure that I got the colour everywhere I wanted it and more. I also have a habit of colouring skin darker than it will be in the final picture. It just gives me a wider spectrum of colours to use for shading I guess. As you can see in comparison to the Day 1 sketch, I'm already playing around with the line art and adjusting it so that it looks better. Also, I always got for a background in a colour a world apart from the other colours I'll use in the picture. I know, I know, purple is quite close to pink...But they're still very different colours!
Day 3- Tidying up the lines, detail, and more skin.
You see, if I had started keeping the lines prim and perfect earlier, then I might have missed out little sections of colour. Believe me, it would be just my luck to miss something like that. I added a woolen texture to the cardigan by crisscrossing rapidly over the layer, different sections of crisscrossing for different sections of the cardigan. I think it's quite effective myself, but bare it in mind that this is the first time I've really attempted to add texture to clothing...Normally I have a habit of trying to pass off all fabric as silk or cotton. whoops :') Also, getting started on the neck, putting in the basic shadows and shapes.
Day 4- FACE.
Lets not focus on the hands for a moment. They're just there to be there at this point. But yes, the face! It isn't even finished in this stage, I adjusted it later on anyways. I always put the coloured features: eyes, lips, and blush, on a separate layer so that they wont be effected when I start adjusting the skin tone- lets face it, those eyes are light enough as it is. As for the other facial shading, I finally figured out how to do it properly (kind of) with this one. It's so glaringly obvious now that I think about it. All it is is putting highlights in the same manner as you would make up. So L shape on the cheek bones, a few lines on the forehead, chin, nose, and corners of the mouth. I feel so stupid now.
Day 5- Hands, Face, Skin and Hair
So first off I realised how unhappy I was with the nose of the last picture, it looked incredibly flat and, well, it just wasn't very well done. So I got the help of my friend who studied art to give me a lesson in nose drawing, and viola! Decent nose! Then comes the hands. No-one can help me with hands, and even now they look incredibly stupid, I'm definitely not happy with them, not one bit. It's getting the shape right that's the problem! But once I was (very loosely) satisfied with the hands, I could finally start adjusting the skin tone- See how the facial features stand out better now? After the skin tone comes the hair. Honestly, that's my favourite part of drawing people, doing the hair!
Day 6- Click here for the final piece :P
Yes, I'm doing a cheapskate 'go here for the rest of the story' thing. So shoot me :P
Day 1- Sketching and Line Art
Day 2- Basic colouring: Body and Clothes
Day 3- Tidying up the lines, detail, and more skin.
Day 4- FACE.
Day 5- Hands, Face, Skin and Hair
Day 6- Click here for the final piece :P
Yes, I'm doing a cheapskate 'go here for the rest of the story' thing. So shoot me :P
Thursday 13 October 2011
Fan fiction for....English Language homework?
Yes. We got asked to basically write fan fiction for our English Language homework. Technically, we had to pick a book we enjoyed and add an imagined extract to it in the author's style of writing to prepare us for our coursework, where we have to imitate a writer's style and produce a commentary on it. Anyway, I chose Anne Rice's Interview with the Vampire, enjoy!
The vampire looked down at the boy’s limp form, a smile lacking of any real humour crossing the rose of his limps. The luminous green of his eyes focused on his lifeless body for a second, before flitting to the tape, reels still turning slowly. He could hear them. He could feel them. He settled back in the chair where he had sat all night, as if nothing had happened, and cleared his throat.
“You see, there was one thing I forgot to mention. Well, not forgot, but simply neglected. There was a long gap of time between tonight and my parting with Armand. I say a long time, it simply feels like the slow ticking of a clock to me, a day an hour, an hour a minute, each minute a second. But I suppose it has been a while, well over twenty years I do believe…How time flies when you’re having ‘fun’”
He paused for a second, as if expecting the boy to stir and interrupt. Another short, slightly exasperated intake of breath before continuing.
“Now, it was one or two years after Armand and I took our leave, and I came across one of the most curious things when I was stalking the streets. I didn’t care to feed that night, I had left early and sated my thirst. It was unusually quiet for the time, midnight was when the latest generation of drunks and vagabonds tended to flood the streets after a hard night on the ale or wine, or whatever took their fancy. I was going nowhere in particular, following in the footsteps of my feet before me, when I heard the most achingly familiar noise. The streets were narrowed and winding, the sound resounded off the stone walls that surrounded and towered above me, house built upon house built upon house. It was the sound of a child crying, a little girl crying. The scent was fresh, and I was filled with the aching of a longing which I had numbed for what felt like a millennia. I followed the sound of loneliness, and for once I felt the naivety of what once had been, the aloofness of my youthful days return. My legs began to ache with the effort, pacing through the winding, desolate backstreets, the smell of rot and scum and a long forgotten death flooding my senses. But then there was the sweet, powdery smell of youth, the aching wails of a small child, it encouraged me, it made me stronger, more alert more…alive.”
He shook his head at the irony, a low, hollow laugh passing through the flushed lips. The boy remained motionless on the floor, though his breathing was becoming audible. He would live.
“I found her eventually, hidden within one of the dozen crooked, neglected stone houses. The rotten stench of death twisted in the air with the torrents of thick dust that circled around with each step, fading as it settled. In the centre of the first room I came to was an aged chair, the fabric torn and mangled, the wood marred with chips, dints and scratches. The tiniest of footprints lay imprinted in the dank dust, reminiscent of the snow of a European winter, a painful memory. I could see the child quivering behind the chair, the worn, dull fabric revealing hints to her form: soft skin that glowed within the darkness of the room; dark hair, glossy and thick; one beady brown eye behind a curtain of curling lashes. For a moment, I had the strangest sense of déjà vu.
“ ‘Come out little child, I wont hurt you.’” I called, lowering myself onto one knee, the crisp black of my suit sullied by the white flecks of decay and waste that littered the floor. The child peeked around the chair, her heart-shaped face rounded and fearful, tear tracks caressing the flushed cheeks as my hand had caressed dear Claudia’s. The child paused for a moment, before rounding the corner and dashing to me in a clumsy way that almost took my by surprise, wrapping her soft arms around my neck. ‘I lost my mummy mister, they took her away and then they took me away.’ I didn’t say a word, but drew back to look into the dark brown eyes, wide with worry and fear. There was the ache for that softness, that warmth, that innocence to corrupt and steal, and the echo of reminiscence. With soft thick curls of dark bronze and skin pearly and peachy, she embodied that which I loved in Claudia. The sweetness, the purity, the plump, childish beauty. I could do now what I couldn’t Claudia. I could leave her, let her own life without the pain and torment that Lestat and I inflicted on the last innocent who crossed our paths.
“I stood and turned to walk away, but she held onto my trouser leg, the stifled sobs rising up again in the back of her throat, begging me not to leave her. I wanted to protect her, claim my past self by claiming this child for my own. But I didn’t. I shook her off and left her, as I should have done Claudia.”
The vampire rose slowly and looked to the window, the sun’s heat beginning to burst through the murky clouds that littered the New Orleans’ skyline. One long white finger stretched to stop the twisting reels of the tape recorder, another outstretched to grab a heavy overcoat and hat, to place over the slender shoulders and the slick black hair. Green eyes bore down on the boy once more, and the minimalist lines that formed the pale, stark skin shifted slightly into a wry look of pity. “It was wonderful to speak with you, I can only hope it wasn’t all in vain.” with that, the tall and slender vampire vanished from the room, the slamming of the door being the only indication that he hadn’t twisted into smoke.
The vampire looked down at the boy’s limp form, a smile lacking of any real humour crossing the rose of his limps. The luminous green of his eyes focused on his lifeless body for a second, before flitting to the tape, reels still turning slowly. He could hear them. He could feel them. He settled back in the chair where he had sat all night, as if nothing had happened, and cleared his throat.
“You see, there was one thing I forgot to mention. Well, not forgot, but simply neglected. There was a long gap of time between tonight and my parting with Armand. I say a long time, it simply feels like the slow ticking of a clock to me, a day an hour, an hour a minute, each minute a second. But I suppose it has been a while, well over twenty years I do believe…How time flies when you’re having ‘fun’”
He paused for a second, as if expecting the boy to stir and interrupt. Another short, slightly exasperated intake of breath before continuing.
“Now, it was one or two years after Armand and I took our leave, and I came across one of the most curious things when I was stalking the streets. I didn’t care to feed that night, I had left early and sated my thirst. It was unusually quiet for the time, midnight was when the latest generation of drunks and vagabonds tended to flood the streets after a hard night on the ale or wine, or whatever took their fancy. I was going nowhere in particular, following in the footsteps of my feet before me, when I heard the most achingly familiar noise. The streets were narrowed and winding, the sound resounded off the stone walls that surrounded and towered above me, house built upon house built upon house. It was the sound of a child crying, a little girl crying. The scent was fresh, and I was filled with the aching of a longing which I had numbed for what felt like a millennia. I followed the sound of loneliness, and for once I felt the naivety of what once had been, the aloofness of my youthful days return. My legs began to ache with the effort, pacing through the winding, desolate backstreets, the smell of rot and scum and a long forgotten death flooding my senses. But then there was the sweet, powdery smell of youth, the aching wails of a small child, it encouraged me, it made me stronger, more alert more…alive.”
He shook his head at the irony, a low, hollow laugh passing through the flushed lips. The boy remained motionless on the floor, though his breathing was becoming audible. He would live.
“I found her eventually, hidden within one of the dozen crooked, neglected stone houses. The rotten stench of death twisted in the air with the torrents of thick dust that circled around with each step, fading as it settled. In the centre of the first room I came to was an aged chair, the fabric torn and mangled, the wood marred with chips, dints and scratches. The tiniest of footprints lay imprinted in the dank dust, reminiscent of the snow of a European winter, a painful memory. I could see the child quivering behind the chair, the worn, dull fabric revealing hints to her form: soft skin that glowed within the darkness of the room; dark hair, glossy and thick; one beady brown eye behind a curtain of curling lashes. For a moment, I had the strangest sense of déjà vu.
“ ‘Come out little child, I wont hurt you.’” I called, lowering myself onto one knee, the crisp black of my suit sullied by the white flecks of decay and waste that littered the floor. The child peeked around the chair, her heart-shaped face rounded and fearful, tear tracks caressing the flushed cheeks as my hand had caressed dear Claudia’s. The child paused for a moment, before rounding the corner and dashing to me in a clumsy way that almost took my by surprise, wrapping her soft arms around my neck. ‘I lost my mummy mister, they took her away and then they took me away.’ I didn’t say a word, but drew back to look into the dark brown eyes, wide with worry and fear. There was the ache for that softness, that warmth, that innocence to corrupt and steal, and the echo of reminiscence. With soft thick curls of dark bronze and skin pearly and peachy, she embodied that which I loved in Claudia. The sweetness, the purity, the plump, childish beauty. I could do now what I couldn’t Claudia. I could leave her, let her own life without the pain and torment that Lestat and I inflicted on the last innocent who crossed our paths.
“I stood and turned to walk away, but she held onto my trouser leg, the stifled sobs rising up again in the back of her throat, begging me not to leave her. I wanted to protect her, claim my past self by claiming this child for my own. But I didn’t. I shook her off and left her, as I should have done Claudia.”
The vampire rose slowly and looked to the window, the sun’s heat beginning to burst through the murky clouds that littered the New Orleans’ skyline. One long white finger stretched to stop the twisting reels of the tape recorder, another outstretched to grab a heavy overcoat and hat, to place over the slender shoulders and the slick black hair. Green eyes bore down on the boy once more, and the minimalist lines that formed the pale, stark skin shifted slightly into a wry look of pity. “It was wonderful to speak with you, I can only hope it wasn’t all in vain.” with that, the tall and slender vampire vanished from the room, the slamming of the door being the only indication that he hadn’t twisted into smoke.
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