Pre-instruction Drawings

The first thing the book tells me is to draw three pre-instruction drawings. This is to provide me with something to compare with once I'm done with the book. The three things the book told me to draw are: self-portrait, somebody from memory, and my hand. Without further ados, here it is.

Self-portrait: 
I couldn't find a suitable mirror, so I made do with a picture. Probably not good as a mirror but eh. 

What I noticed when drawing this:

• The hair looks decent.
• I draw some freaky eyes.
• I have no clue how to draw lips. Everytime I try, it turns out to be massive.

Which one is better: pencil or digital?

Digital by far. The pencil version looks like a fat butch lesbian. Not a flattering look for me.

Somebody from memory: 

A cookie to whoever can guess who this is. No, seriously, I will bake cookies for whoever guesses correctly who this is. Take as many guesses you want, and post it in the comments. And let me tell you, he's not Ned.

What I noticed when drawing this:

• Holy fuck, it's hard to draw curly hairs. I'm glad I don't have curly hairs. I also don't like curly hairs as well, so there you go.
• FREAKY EYES, MAN.
• Still can't draw lips.
• And noses, it seems. 

Which one is better: pencil or digital?

Well, the pencil version looks more closer, so it wins. However, the hair sucks massively. As in, I didn't even try.

Your hand:

Draw your own hand, it said. Ok, I said.


What I noticed when drawing this:

• I draw some fat fingers.
• And short thumb.
• At least the pinky looks ok.
• Man, those are some rough hands.
• My hands are pretty small, goosh.

Which one is better: pencil or digital?

Digital. The pencil version is just a freaky hand with long fingers and a stump of a thumb. 

Overall experience: Well, this only shows how good I am at drawing. Not really. Also, I noticed that drawing with the tablet doesn't have a big learning curve to it. However, I still feel that I need to learn how to use the GIMP program. Such as the layering, how to erase large parts, and so on.

The Genesis of Teaching Self How to Draw.

Mother fucking Dragon Ball Z characters. Look at how badass they are. 

I've been meaning to learn how to draw ever since a friend of mine wowed me with his drawings of Dragon Ball Z characters in middle school. Since the art classes sucked, I tried to teach myself how to draw several times with the help of drawing tutorials from poorly designed websites. Each time I would tell myself, "Today's the day you'll start drawing everyday and keep it up!" and then I pictured myself drawing amazing shit at the ripe age of twenty because I kept drawing every single day for ten or so years. But I never did. I am currently twenty-one years old and I still can't draw an apple or a steaming pile of shit.

Each time I tried to draw, it was too apparent how shitty the drawings were. With the glaring flaws front of me, it would seem easy to fix those but in reality, it was a bit of bother to actually correct the errors and make it look better because it involved using an eraser that never erased everything, leaving behind grey smudges. Even then, most of the time, I would look at my drawing and tell myself, "Well, that and so-so looks off. How do I fix it?" I never got past that point because I was clueless in that regard.

A panel from Asterio Polyp. 

Well, that would be all fine and dandy with me if I never learned how to draw. Art wasn't, by any means, a large part of my life. Sure, I could go to the IMA and appreciate the art itself but I had no interest in making a piece of art. But lately, I've been on a bit of graphic novel streak going through Jimmy Corrigan, Daniel Clowes works, Asterio Polyp, Brian K. Vaughan works, Sandman, Asterio Polyp, Watchmen, and so on. And well, that got me interested in making some comics. At first, I thought I could go into the Neil Gaiman and Alan Moore route and merely only write comic scripts. However, after I worked with an artist, creating a comic adaption of Beowulf for a class, I realized how challenging it would be to convey what you're actually picturing onto paper and then have an artist draw that. Right away, I became worried how much detail I should write, if I'm cramping the artist's style, if the script is shitty and so on. It didn't help that the artist wasn't exactly interested in the project (No offense to the artist, eh). Maybe it would be different if both writer and artist were eager to create the comic, and it was something original. But, it wasn't the case. Nevertheless, this left a bit of sour taste in my mouth. Am I to create a graphic novel without a big voice over the art within the book? Looking at the great graphic novels I've read... Chris Ware's, Daniel Clowes, Asterio Polyp, and so on. All of them were a one-man team. Alan and Neil, they were great comic writers because of their freakishly detailed scripts, something that I have no interest in. I think.

From Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics

And so, this brings me to this point. I could either forget about making a buncha of comics (or create poorly drawn comics but that's not up my alley, yo) and stick with writing or learn how to draw. I've decided on the latter. Because, from my view, comics are the most effective medium of conveying stories in the printed media. A novel will be bogged down with words to describe what's going on and so on. This bores me. I have no interest in writing those mere details and thinking of new ways of describing how the grass is green or the sky is blue. The sky is blue. There. No need to pussyfoot around it and say it in ten, twelve different ways. In comics, you merely draw the sky. No need to draw it twelve different ways. Although, I'll admit that you might have to draw it twelve times. It is the images itself that carries the burden of describing. With that, the words are left free. Ok, I don't think this is making sense, so I'll probably go back to this part and add more or make a new post later on.

Ok, I'm gonna keep progress of my journey in learning how to draw. I will be following Betty Edwards' The New Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain.. Since I got a new tablet today, I am not exactly experienced with it. Same with the drawing program I will be using (GIMP for those who are curious). For that reason, there will be two versions to this: paper and pencil and digital. The drawings, or whatever it is that Betty will be having me do will be posted here. Since I'm not exactly interested in scanning the pencil and paper drawings, it will be digital only. However, if you want to laugh at me some more, you may seek me out and ask me, with a pretty cherry on top, to see my pencil and paper drawings I've made so far.

The initial drawings will be posted in the next post.

#5

Chick

Massage the breasts,

With olive oil, thyme, garlic.

Smoothly, rub the legs,

Around the legs, below the legs, between the legs.

A dab of oil on the wings.

Flip over,

Massage the bottom, the back.

Slip a finger inside,

Oil makes it easier.

Two fingers,

Salt and pepper.

Three fingers,

Crushed cloves of garlic.

Whole fist,

Stuff it.

Gently onto its bed of

Carrots, garlic, onions.

Set the oven at 365 degrees,

Make sure that the breasts

Are facing upward

As that allows it to cook thoroughly.

Thrust it into the oven.

After a hour and ten minutes,

You will want to pull it out

Before it dries out

And becomes tough.

Overflowing with anticipation

As you might be,

You must wait

And gaze upon the sweating

Legs, breasts, wings.

To allow it to settle down

And breathe.

#4

No, I Don’t Read Lips

Blackening green island,

Grinning gasping oven squeaking,

Orange flaming walls.

It speaks to me.

Are you listening?

The house lighting up

A starry night with orange glow.

Twas a pleasure to burn.

It’s alright.

There was a black round screen.

And a mic.

With people scrambling

Around it.

Let’s go over there.

The gasping hole in his head.

Yapping, awkward and useless.

My pupil rolls, again and again.

Will, walk for me, please.

Brown bear,

Brown bear,

What do you see?

                I see…

                                Flashing of strobe lights.                              

                                                Black boxes with letters.

                                                                Hands.

Will?

Where am I?

                Among friendly people.

                                In a filthy prison, mute and deaf to the world.

                                                A respected patron of the Turkish noble court.

                                                                Nowhere, not even on the stage.

What are you doing?

Could be worse.

                Merde. C’est la vie.

#3

Sounds, What?

Ah, an awesome audio-based poem.

Whatever will I write about?

Grand guardian gazing worringly?

Despair of Death descending to gather?

Some sod’s soul going to the depth?

Maybe a mayor at the mercy of sopranos?

Nay, not those nils, something miraculous,

Better, bolder, beastly, that will nag

Readers, to remind, to remain within their brains.

Like how images of ladies lying bare lingers in retinas
Focusing upon those fine frames, lustfully.

Perchance, pretty poems aren't that fine.

#2

The idea for this poem came to me one night when I was taking a nice midnight walk on the canal. My mind being what it is, wandered. After a while it finally settled on the idea of how many different possible ways I could die on that night. Morbid maybe but it is interesting. 

Death Recurrence

Taking solace

In a silent walk

Through the darkness,

Through the forest.

With bubbles of speculations

Floating within my mind, of demise.

A canal crosses my path

With a bridge straining across.

Standing on the hump of the bridge

I peer into the flowing water,

And there is a wavy shadow

Of a man standing on the rail.

I hurl myself in

To greet the chilly algae stained water.

As I floated away with putrid liquid

Steeping into my lungs,

There was a wisp of a man

Watching me.

I see him.

I see London.

I see France.

Momentarily, The Scream

Echoes within the ripples.

And then it is gone.

I turn away from the mirages

That have provided with illusions.

I no longer wish to look at them.

Walking side by side with canal,

With leaves streaming by.

I come upon a man

Dressed in the dark

With gleaming toothy grim grin.

With a rasp, I meet the ground.

Hello there, said the ground.

I hope that you will enjoy your stay

For you will not be staying

Much longer.

The stranger walks by,

Brushing my presence off.

I tire of the trees and this canal.

Walking silently past the floating leaves,

Till I arrive quietly at my bed.

I lie upon it.

Pop! Goes an artery

Within my brain as I sleep.

It took three days for somebody

To find my bloated body.

I wake to sunshine

And birdsong.

Leaving behind room full of

Sickly sweet scent,

I walk silently again.

Pass the same trees,

Taking care to step over

The red puddle

Within chalk outline.

I arrived upon the bridge,

Still groaning across the canal.

With a glimmer of moaning,

I see a familiar figure

Floating underneath me,

Toward London

Toward France

Toward Oblivion, wherever that might be. 

Poem; #1

Since I'm going though all of those poems, I figure that I'd put it up somewhere public. Read it then berate me, please. 


I tried to make an existential moment out of a late-night channel surfing. From the comments I've gotten on this poem, I think it wasn't too effective. 

Late Night Television

Flashes of white within black,

And Hank Hill fades onto screen.

A mortal man, a beacon of light

During the hour of twilight

In the empty zone.

A man boards his flight,

And sits into his seat.

With a glance out the window,

Out to the brink of the wings

He sees the Gremlin gazing

Into his abyss, grinning.

“Oh god,” he said

As he sinks into his seat,

Despairing what will come.

We’ll throw in a second set,

If you take the Almighty Lord

As your savior

Order now!

Before your time is up.

The wire then goes through

The cogs of machinery,

Where it is bent according

To the will of its machinator,

And then the Soviets were the first

To find a concentration camp,

Full of hollow people

Alive and dead.

Life is one of the unique features

Of Earth. There are uncountable

Amount of life, from the depth of sea

To highest peak of mountains.

And they are static.

Random grey spots.

Has no pattern save for

What we imagine after

Staring at it for too long.

Below, there were flickers of lights,

From the batteries, raining upon us.

Airplanes dropping like meteors,

Toward the darkness under us.

The red light flittered to green.

And it was time. It was time

To jump into the vast abyss

Under us

Dreams.

There are many theories

On how one should interpret

Those.

But to keep it simple,

Nobody knows what

It might or might not be.