1Q84 by Haruki Murakami

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


As with any great book, I could not fall asleep for some time after finishing 1Q84 - I lay there in the dark reflecting on the story's characters and their trials and interwoven pursuits, allowing chills to wash through my spine again and again like a gently crashing tide.



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               In the coming year, I resolve to...

                         ...devote time to writing nearly every day, as often as life allows.
                         ...model the H-8 2-6-6-6 Allegheny steam locomotive in 3D.
                         ...learn the necessary skills and create a short 3D animation.
                         ...complete a piece of writing, if only just one short story.
                         ...complete an illustrated children's story.
                         ...pay even less mind to any underlying social anxiety (or no mind at all).
                         ...finally quit my job of the last eight years.
                         ...move to another city, or at least travel to someplace else for a time.

          I've felt ashamed for several days now after canceling a request for a portrait drawing that I promised; I became frustrated and overwhelmed, having spent many hours already this month dedicated to others' drawings, and this one just seemed too ambitious a project for my undertaking - I could not capture the likeness of the subjects no matter my efforts; I broke down.
          I couldn't bear the sight of my sketchbook and I don't care to think about what's left unfinished inside.
          I've sworn off accepting requests for drawings from now on as a result of an inconsistent ability and I would rather that people I associate with not know that I "draw" - I am simply not practiced enough to deliver work that will meet expectations, and I accept that.

          I've considered it a fear of failure, or perhaps a lack of self-discipline, or just sheer laziness and habitual procrastination, but I wonder that if devotion to a skill is such a burden, then is passion in one's work really there?

          I will not reflect on this anymore (I can't).

          My heart isn't in it.

          My ability falters - my ability is not practiced and I am not fit to create work for others when I am not confident in that ability.

          I expect of myself to nurture and maintain what skills I have and sometimes I feel that I only devote time to drawing and other artistic practices because I have somehow convinced myself that I need to - I don't necessarily enjoy it and often it is difficult to muster the needed initiative.

          It is discouraging to think about, but I feel I should realize whether I give my time and my mind to something truly personally meaningful or reluctantly cling to what just feels purposeful for a time.

          I feel like my heart isn't in anything, and knowing that keeps me from sleep some nights.

A commission - one of two cats:


I will probably touch some areas again later that I may notice are in need of work while drawing the second subject.

Hourly progress (7 hours):

"The things you own, end up owning you.
But do what you like, man."

Fight Club

The Manual of Detection by Jedediah Berry

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


A dark, rainy city that brings to mind a 1950s noir setting - an ordinary detective agency clerk reluctant to accept a sudden promotion to "detective" - circus villains, a rumbling steam truck, remnants of a "travels-no-more" carnival - some stereotypical metaphoric film noir detective dialogue - cleverly written and becoming more surreal throughout - intricate and weirdly fantastical, reminding me of a Charlie Kaufman script - one of the best books I've read this past year and now a favorite.



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(If you're a reader, I'd suggest signing up to Goodreads - it's been incredibly useful in discovering books)

           I've been making time for human anatomy sculpting in ZBrush. I want to become proficient at sculpting the human form and character modeling - I have a lot of practice ahead.

          One of several feminine torso sculpts:

          I stopped walking and stepped into the alcove of the store entrance, peering through the glass of its front; my gaze had been caught by a clock-like device hung on the wall - "steam ship gauge" read the price tag dangling from it.
          I like objects like that, old industrial relics that look like they might have seen some history and adventure in their time. I handed fifty bucks over without hesitation for the non-functioning device, the face of which reads "The Polson Ironworks - Toronto, Canada".


          I think being surrounded by objects like this could serve to spur the imagination whenever a wandering gaze comes to rest on them...

"We should do this again sometime."

Fight Club

_________________________________

I've always felt that I could use a friend like Tyler...

I recently learned how to create animated images from shots in films - I think it may develop into a slight hobby.

.

(Beautiful)

          A commission to which I've been devoting some time lately (work-in-progress):

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                              -Charles Yu, Third Class Superhero

          One of several torso sketches tonight:

          While about to dive into a new project I realized that I've hardly ever bothered to practice sculpting the human form in ZBrush, and so decided that a full-body character sculpt might be too ambitious an undertaking for my skills right now - some practice first with human anatomy should reinforce my confidence.

          I learned how to properly render out passes through ZBrush tonight, as well as some compositing techniques (thanks to this tutorial).

                    No...

Roughly an hour spent, sketched from photo

Set Fire to Flames



Sings Reign Rebuilder (2001)
Telegraphs in Negative/Mouths Trapped in Static (2003)

"Both albums were recorded "in states of little or no sleep, in varying levels of intoxication, and in physical confinement", with the result being brooding, eerie music. Their second album was recorded in a barn in rural Ontario; the sounds of the creaking doors and other background noise are heard in the songs."

     I'm still here.

          "And here? Here in this world of so much noise? Do you trust yourself to even form a tenuous friendship with a stranger, much less fall in love? Do you trust yourself to always have faith that the person you're hearing speaks the constant truth to you, or that you haven't heard the curse she whispered at you under her breath because the noise from an engine of a passing automobile drowned it out? Do you trust yourself enough to be sure whether she speaks to you with sincerity or sarcasm? Will you ever be able to be certain that the meanings of her words haven't changed between the time they leave her lips and the time they reach your ears? I know you, and I don't think you do - if you're not faithless, you're nearly so. I think you know that if you do not board that ship, you will die a lonely, bitter man."
     - Dexter Palmer, The Dream of Perpetual Motion


The Dream of Perpetual Motion

"One Got Fat" 1963 Bicycle Safety

Currently reading:

          I am as happy to have discovered this book as I was when I started reading How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe.

The Dream of Perpetual Motion

A portrait drawing for a friend:

17/04/11
          Though I love winter, I am looking forward to warmer days and grass over the ground; I want to spend many waking hours outside this summer, drawing or reading under the sunlight.

24/04/11
          I finished Terminal World, admittedly misty-eyed and with chills surging throughout my spine - what a fucking story.



09/05/11
          While reading through How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe, I knew that it was a book that I would return to for another read not long after finishing. I was almost willing the story to last longer, hoping I wouldn't reach its end too quickly.

Good Reads Profile: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/4642876-oneironaut

I took my time laying down the foundations for this sculpt, rather than just sketching randomly, as I had an idea in mind for the look of the creature.

So far:

ZBrush:

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          The girl hops one knee up to lean atop a table beside the stove and pushes a section of cardboard aside, revealing a window. She reaches for two plastic clamps at its top frame, squeezes them inward to each other, and lowers the window, morning air rushing in, cool on her cheeks and down her neck. She slides her knee from the table and walks down the dirt-stained aisle lined with rows of gray passenger seats on either side - the aisle of a school bus.
          She steps onto a seat halfway through the aisle, grappling for the emergency exit hatch set in the curved roof of the bus. The bacon sizzles and spits on the stove behind her. A small push and the hatch is loose, and she shoves the plastic lid over onto the roof outside and pushes herself through the frame, her legs scrambling up after her. The yellow roof is cold under her ass, a dewy wetness to it. She dangles her bare feet inside the bus over the edge of the emergency exit and leans herself back on her palms, breathing in the morning air, fresh and cool in her lungs.
          Her eyes see a blushing sky slashed with shreds of crimson and great tufts of billowing cloud, like cotton candy smeared and set adrift, glowing radiant and warm. The sun peeks warily over the edge of the horizon, setting the lake aglow with shimmers and glistening ripples, spilling its light from the edge of the world and across the water to the shore.
          From over the side of the bus springs the cat, a gray and black-striped tabby, clutching his way onto the roof and sauntering over to her side. The girl moves her hand to scratch him behind the ears and he begins to purr, curls up closer to her hip.

          The rising sun washes over the cluttered sprawl, gold light glinting and reflecting off filthy windows and bent chrome, rousing the yard and its wrecks from their slumber and back to fearful wakefulness. Vehicles slump solemnly, hopelessly hunkered down beside one another, squat dying in rows, sinking deeper into their muddy graves with each passing day. Upon their hoods, their model name and year is scrawled in white. Some wait to be browsed and inspected, gutted for their parts slowly over time. Others are so battered, awaiting their turn to be shunted closer to the crushers, to their ill fate.
          She stands on the roof of the bus, absorbing her surroundings, feeling a sudden warmth on her arms as the sun continues to burn a new day into existence. Her dark matted hair falls past her shoulders and curls at its ends, and she brushes it from her eyes. Spots of dirt freckle her face, and her thin legs glow pale, her bony knees scraped and baring scratches from under a pair of shorts. The cat weaves between her ankles and butts himself against the back of her bare legs and meows up at her. Right now, this all belongs to them; for an hour each morning, during that window when there were no security guards left from their watch shifts the night before and no workers yet arrived for the day, the yard was their kingdom, their empire of dirt and twisted metal.
          For now, an absolute stillness lay over the yard. But soon machines would sputter and roar to life, butchering the calm, peaceful air brought by morning. Smoke stacks would puke black smoke, the bile of diesel engines. Heavy wheels would soon roll and slog over the pasty earth, parting mud into trenches behind them. Metal tracks would chew their way along, carrying swiveling beasts of orange metal with arms like some giant mechanical mantis, a blossom of claws dangling menacingly at the end. These cranes will stab and prod and hoist helpless sedans and wagons into the air, windows popping into showers of glass as victims are plucked from the ground to be sorted for death, on to their methodical destruction. For hours, the hulking cranes and wreckers will fulfill a day's slaughter, an inexorable reign over the yard. Their sweaty human operators and workers on foot wearing overalls will struggle to yell and hear one another over their hellish mechanical noise.

(Unfinished, left a long while ago)

26/01/11
          It's after four in the morning, I can't fall back asleep. Outside, a little yellow machine carves paths over the snow-crusted sidewalks below, tweets its reverse-warning signal as it bustles about its chore. I sit up in the dark and look out to a black skyline dotted with gold lights glowing over the streets, like constellations brought down to earth.

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05/12/10
           One of the machines was at it again today, carefully maneuvering itself among the twisted wreckage of the abandoned bakery. Two silos lay toppled in the lot among the guts pulled from the building.
          There's nothing to write about, though I wish there were.

07/12/10
          Out into the cold tonight and I wrap my scarf tightly across my face, headed for home. I walk past souls here and there along the way huddled next to bus stops, their faces swallowed up in parka hoods, waiting to be snatched up by those folding doors.

          (Life has grown dull and there is nothing to fear.)

08/12/10
          If I had a vehicle, I'd drive out past the city limits and just park somewhere for the night, watch the stars, and maybe kill some beers by the dashboard...
          This just isn't good for the soul...

15/12/10
          The machines, their cockpits empty and dark, are parked huddled around a thrumming generator, the posture of their metal bodies seemingly stiffened against the cold night; they are like men sharing a fire.

The accomplice:

03/12/10
          While walking home tonight, the idea came to me for a story in which, with a flick of a particular Zippo lighter, the world becomes all film noir...

04/12/10
          I've only felt the cold in my toes and bitterness at the thought of working tonight since I woke up this afternoon. I'm going to slip some socks on and grab a pencil and my sketchbook.

          While I lay there in bed last night, waiting to fall asleep, I heard several loud crashing sounds, as though someone were ramming furniture against a wall down on the second floor. I tried not to think too much of it, and it must've came four or five times. I thought that it was ridiculous for someone to be that loud at four in the morning...
          I walked down the stairs to leave my building this afternoon, and when I got to the door at the top of the entranceway staircase, I noticed a massive hole had been smashed out of the glass pane of the door, near the handle, cracks jaggedly stretching from the edge of the puncture and across the remaining glass. That explained the crashing sounds that I had heard the night before; someone really wanted to get in.
          As I walked to work, not much caring whether I would be a few minutes late or not, I passed by the abandoned bakery warehouse along the way, where machines were busy demolishing half of the building; I saw part of the second floor come crashing down under the weight of an excavator's claw and kept walking. I've given thought to possibly seeking education as a "heavy equipment operator", as I've always loved watching all kinds of machines like that at work. The thought of being in that cockpit, working at all the levers, manipulating those giant metal limbs...

An oil lamp I picked up at a local antique shop the other day. I'm afraid to put it to it's use, as it seems likely to fall apart if tampered with too much, but I thought it'd make a great reference for modeling a 3D asset anyway. That, and it really spruces up the place.

I have in fact been drawing as of late, but not nearly enough as I should be, and nothing quite post-worthy either. I often find myself resisting the urge to tear down the content of this space, and wipe the slate clean altogether to allow a fresh start. You might say I don't have complete confidence in my work just yet.

But believe me, I'm working on it.

"Lovers"

I wanted to express affection between two beings, a theme I'd like to capture more effectively in future work.

Trust me when I say that I want to post more frequently to this space, and will.

Here is my latest piece of work, after impulsively opening ZBrush for the first time in a long while:


I'm happy enough with this sketch to want to develop it further, so I've begun work on a body.

More to come.

Far too much time passes between posts here.

Here are some progress shots of a 3D modeling project as of late:

Again, short on words. Here's a small bit of work anyway:


















I'd like to say that from here on, I will try my damnedest to draw something each and every day. I won't necessarily post every little piece, as I'm not always satisfied enough with my work to deem it worthy of sharing.
But, I'll spare you this cliche resolution for now - I'm sure similar words have been uttered and worn out by habitual procrastinators such as myself many a time.

Cheers.

From here I can watch the rain stream through eave troughs and pour and splash down on the pavements. I live o the third story of an old relic of a building, still downtown.




I regret that my posts always seem to be short on words - some time I'll muster the enthusiasm for more than just a simple upload of scraps.

I tried some quick and rough work in Photoshop tonight - it is whatever you might decide it to be:

"Oh Yes

there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it's too late
and there's nothing worse
than
too late"

- Charles Bukowski

I've been gone awhile.
...

30/03/10
Some brief drawing in PS tonight:


















23/03/10
I tried painting some detail over a character silhouette in PS:


















22/03/10
Playing around with armature structure in ZBrush 3.5 today - makes for some creepy-looking silhouettes anyway: