He’s got a whole new game….

He's a shape-shifter....

A brief interlude again from The Drawing; I simply don’t do well with monotony, I’m afraid.

This little guy isn’t anything particularly special, just yet another griffin of sorts. Since I gave him a raven’s face, more or less, I decided to make his facial patterning a sort of homage to the Haida artwork in which Raven and other Pacific Northwestern creatures figure so prominently. Raven’s a trickster, a shape-shifter, and always looking for something new — so really, it’d be no surprise if a Raven-critter like this turned up one day or another. I wouldn’t trust him to be after what he says he is, though, and I certainly would think twice about any riddles he asked. That sphinx was an amateur compared to Raven when it comes to such things.

Trickster that he is, it was little trouble for me to work Raven into the assignments for nearly every college course I took one year — his playful aspects for Children’s Literature, his human side for Cultural Anthropology, a deep dig into his personal life for Library Instruction, and so on. Each time, I learned something entirely new about the bright-eyed little prankster, and it’s really no wonder he holds such a prominent place in our stories and fables.

I must say, though, that while I love the rhythm of The Raven as much as anyone, and like many others have made it one of the few pieces of poetry I’ve bothered to memorize, I can’t say “ungainly” and “gaunt” seem like particularly accurate descriptors of any corvid who isn’t stuffed. Perhaps he should have stuck with the parrot.

Side note: I seemed to have picked an unexpectedly obscure song for my title quote today. Thanks, Pandora — if you’d warn me about these things ahead of time I’d memorize the artist names so I could actually find them again.

I kid. Pandora, you are adorable in a bumbling, puppy-like way. One of these days you’ll actually figure out that I don’t want to add “Take On Me” to ANY of my stations. Not the 00’s pop station, not the creepy Halloween music station, and for the fourth time ESPECIALLY NOT the Christmas station.  But again, good effort. Good effort.


Hello, sunshine…

Happy Easter! Don’t mind me, just listening to the Tale of the Bunny Picnic soundtrack while trying out a new theme that doesn’t have any awkward squishing problems with my occasionally-giant images. Carry on.

P.S. — this time of year I often find myself on the verge of addressing a message to Dennis Lee himself asking what on earth the background lyrics to those bunny songs are. It maddens, it does.

A tree grows….

A tree grows....

…and it’s a very slow-growing tree. But as I’ve mentioned in some detail, I’m never really sure where to start or stop with trees. They don’t just “end” unambiguously like an animal does, and that causes me no end of trouble.

Anyhow, the tree grows on, but I think it’s pretty much finished now. I’ll cap it off one way or another and then call it a day/month/half a year/however long this ends up taking. On the plus side: Someone who accidentally saw this (well, accidentally on my part — I try not to show my unfinished drawings to avoid the “oh, it’s such a nice … rocketship?” syndrome that, contrary to popular belief, persists well after your age hits double digits) took a look and said, “I don’t know what they are but it’s a boy and a girl of something!” Which doesn’t sound like grand praise, exactly, but it is basically what I was going for here. Not a specific animal or even order of animals, but a sort of archetypal male and female creature pair. Sure, the horns alone probably could have made that obvious enough — but smaller horns could signify a juvenile, as well. Mrs. Beastie is a bit drab but solidly-built and has what I like to think of as a confident pose. As archetypes go, she’s more Mother than Maiden; I’ll admit that I thought of Sarabi from The Lion King when working on her pose and build. She’s one of my favorite Disney royals, Sarabi is — sure, she’s a cartoon lion, but you have to have respect for that stroll down the hyena gauntlet. Now there’s a queen you don’t mess with.

I seem to have strayed off-topic via an animated movie again. At least I managed to wait until after the title line this time. Anyhow, this is what I’ve got so far. Wish me luck on ever deciding it’s finished!

Down with this sort of thing….

Down with this sort of thing....

Well, this is what I have to show for my laziness. A slightly more tree-y Kindergarten Tree than I had three weeks ago. Yay…? I did realize that I’m rather sentimental about my individual colored pencils. I didn’t always draw in the best lighting back in the day, and colors like Peach and Canary Yellow or Poppy Red and Neon Pink could be tough to tell apart at a glance. Until, that is, I’d used them for a couple months. After a little while, the most popular pencils developed their own distinct characters through a variety of accidents, blemishes and general use. Poppy Red is quite short — I like red — but nothing like Dark Green, which is little more than a stub with a strip of beige on the other end where I started sharpening it the wrong direction. Goldenrod is the Pushmi-Pullyu of the bunch, fully sharpened on both ends for some reason, and Bleu Paon got sharpened backwards so it’s a good thing “peacock blue” isn’t too tough to figure out.

I have three stages of Black; unused, well-loved, and ignored because the lead kept cracking. The current Copper is a replacement for a pencil whose lead simply slipped out from the center, and this one is still a bit loose since the lead is so tough and the wood so tender. True Blue is nearly the opposite, chalky-soft lead in a tough shell (really annoying when you’re trying to fingernail-sharpen it in a pinch). Parma Violet’s pencil is weirdly dark and reddish, to the point that it nearly matches the lead; Canary Yellow is all covered in black and red bits because it’s so pale that its neighbors inevitably rub off.

It’s a grown-up (ish) version of The Day the Crayons Quit, basically, and I probably should just replace pencils as they wear out so some of the shadier characters can retire. But the reason they live long enough to develop personalities in the first place is that, honestly, Prismas are *expensive* little monsters. I got them for birthdays and as childhood bribes, not for replacing older ones on a whim. Otherwise I’d have run them into the ground long ago.

Well. Hopefully that distracted you from how little I’ve drawn this week. Here’s hoping it’s done before the next one!

Too late for Mustache March….?

Beardie1 Beardie2 Beardie3

Tonight’s post will either be short or take a very long time to type, for the same reason that tonight’s “picture” is three ink scribbles of a bearded dragon with a mustache.

The short version is that I very slightly injured my hand and am in a self-pitying, hunt-and-pecking sort of mood.

The long version is that I have never been adept at jar-opening, and today I met one that defeated me entirely. Normally my response to this would be to verbally abuse the jar and find something else to eat. But today I had specifically made a pizza for the sake of using some of the fancy pickled Beaver Dam peppers I’d purchased earlier, and those peppers resided in the aforementioned jar.

I tried one of those jar grips, I tried hot water, I tried assorted slapping and thwacking, I tried using a butterknife, and finally I just got fed up and stabbed the thing a few times with a pair of scissors to break the seal. (Seriously, don’t get between me and my pizza, okay?) Even with the seal broken, it would. not. budge. Not for want of trying, though, and since my hands were covered in rapidly-crispifying pizza dough I didn’t realize for a time that I skinned my hands up in several places on the unnecessarily-sharp jar edge.

This made the actual construction of the pizza, as well as removing it from the oven and slicing it up, a less-than-lovely endeavor. I made a valiant effort to scrub pizza dough off the mixing bowl and utensils, but given the discomfort involved in removing the pizza dough from my *hands*, dishes are going to be a job for tomorrow.

Anyhow, I decided I might as well try a variety of mustaches when giving Mr. Bearded Dragon the full facial-hair experience. I don’t really know what beardies’ legs and feet look like from different angles, and I’m feeling too mopey to do proper research, so they run between human and turtle limbs — Teenage Mutant Ninja Dragons, maybe? Still not as unsettling as Rango. Argh, the spacebar is going to be the death or at least the displeasure of me, so I’ll be taking leave of you now.