There’s a very specific old house at the end of the cul-de-sac I pass by every evening. It’s a holdout against the times, a prissy little American foursquare in an era of changing architectural tastes.
Each day I pass by, I peer through its windows to see some lightshow play out before me. Each pop and flash is some part of a larger whole, hidden from me by solid whitewashed walls. Is this some modern art project? Some fever dream of a VFX maestro? A silent rave???
Any possible explanation is hidden from view. Bright lines flow through the air with no regard for intervening medium. Lights dance playfully from place to place. It might as well be magic. I certainly can’t explain the physical mechanism behind it.
The themes change from day to day. Once, I could make out a flooding river coursing throughout the house, forcefully jumping from window to window. Another time, a simple triangle unfolding at a snail’s-pace and sprouting into countless lines and shapes. Nine days ago, there was a clashing cacophony of warring designs, each vying for aesthetic supremacy from their respective domains. The flowing calligraphy had encircled its geometrically styled neighbors and achieved dominance by the time I left.
But the windows have been dark for a week now. I wasn’t going to say anything at first. I’m not an entitled brat. But it put an itch in the back of my mind. Aversion to change, I guess you could say. When I was a small child, my teachers would scold me for staring out the windows in class and roll down the blinds. The closed blinds distracted me even more–there was something wrong about them. Maybe it was–and still is–childish petulance. Fine.
So I marched up to that house and knocked on the door. A woman wearing a summer dress answered the door and I froze. What was I supposed to say?
I mumbled something incomprehensible about lights and schedules and nonsense.
“Oh, that. I got bored. I’m working on bigger and better things now. It’s going to put my earlier work to shame. It’s going to explain the meaning of life. It’s going to solve world hunger and bring world peace.”
I gave her an incredulous look.
“Fine. If I give you this will you fuck off?” She sighed and gave me the lights. I marveled as they danced around me. When I turned back to her, she had left and shut the door.
Whatever, I can work with this. I left the prissy little foursquare house behind with my lights in tow.
BLOGGING TIME–Where I ramble aimlessly
I’ve recently picked up digital drawing (though it’s not like I know how to draw traditionally either). It’s kinda like writing; I have to find new and exciting ways of wasting my time, of course. Or I could be productive? Would that make me happy? Dunno.
Some people might take issue with the idea that art isn’t productive. You’re literally producing something, aren’t you? Well I have to have some standards. I’m producing lots of things right now. Words. Carbon Dioxide. Entropy.
I realize the opener to this post might be taken as some sort of metaphor about my journey with art. Well, let me tell you, it's actually a story about how I wish I was a magical wizard.
Anyways, I’m a lot more interested in the process with drawing though. For better or worse, I write my stories using language that is basically ingrained. I don’t really think too much about writing technique: word choice, sentence construction, etc. It’s much more interesting playing around with different brushes, techniques, and tools in Krita.
I think line-less is nice, but I haven’t tried drawing anything with more detail
Most of my drawings come about because I want to try something out. Different shading techniques, reflections in water, etc. I suppose that’s part of the learning process.
I suppose I can add a bit of variety to the site with illustrations. Who am I trying to impress? Myself, I guess.