More highlights from the last four weeks of life drawing. Our co-worker class lead has been doing information sheets for us and getting us to do different exercises each week which has been really awesome. From top left, tone studies, anatomy, composition, and imagining the model in your own scene.
Only two more weeks to go but I feel like I’ve been learning a lot, it’s been super fun. We also had a dude model the last two weeks which was a nice change, it’s so rare to get male models.
mayumi is the best. sitting next to her and talking design and fashion magazines was one of my highlights from my time on TMNT
I’ve been a bit swamped lately, with the lead up to SMASH! last month, swapping jobs, and working on my Colour Fantastica comic. But we started up Tuesday night life drawing classes at work a couple of weeks ago so I wanted to post up some of my studies. We have some really amazing artists in the studio and they’ve been pushing us to try out new exercises, which is fun.
Now that I’m stepping away from my involvement with SMASH! (I’ve been with the convention for eight years) I’m excited to really get back in to drawing. I’ve been in a slump for a while so these life drawing sessions have really helped (also I finally got to whip out my new Pentel pocket brush pen, it’s super rad).
The video begins humorously as Anthony Carbajal, a photographer, dresses up in a neon bikini top and soaps up a car before being doused with ice water.
There are a lot of diseases that don’t get the support they need because there aren’t a huge number of people who experience them, so it’s difficult to raise awareness, difficult to find investors, basically people don’t have the emotional connection they do with something that a huge number of people deal with and the pharmaceuticals to treat them aren’t as profitable. Like, a friend of mine was at an MS fundraiser and the grim joke used to try to lighten people’s spirits for feeling like they weren’t raising as much money as they wanted was “Let’s face it guys, we aren’t cancer”
The ice bucket challenge has made people donate something like ten times as much to ALS this year than previous years. I know people are concerned about wasting water, but you’ll do a lot more good on that front if you take a stand against bottled water and soft drinks, particularly from companies like Nestle, than getting mad at people trying to raise awareness for an illness that let’s be honest not a lot of people were very familiar with before this. Just be responsible, be aware, and try not to take your frustration out on the wrong people.
Any help is appreciated. Thank you guys for taking the time to look.
Yo guys my BFF is trying to move out of her home into a better living situation. PLEASE COMMISSION HER AND HELP HER OUT. Any little amount would do wonders.
Rest in Peace, Robin Williams
One of the first comedy albums I was ever given was “Reality… What A Concept.” I loved it. I loved “Mork & Mindy.” I even loved Robert Altman’s “Popeye.” Robin Williams meant a lot to me when I was a kid. I knew nothing of drug use or depression. It never occurred to me that comedians, these magical creatures that I worshiped, ever felt anything other than the serene satisfaction derived from making people laugh.
Eventually, I started doing standup myself, and I very quickly learned that comedians were all too human. There is no less sadness in the comedy community than there is in any other workforce; that is to say, jobs are jobs and people are people and no occupation makes anyone depression-proof. This both comforts and frustrates me.
Robin Williams made me laugh so many times. So many times. When I was a kid, having problems of my own, feeling unpleasantly different from the people who populated my world, I found sanctuary watching this guy on TV who was celebrated for being a weirdo, for being an oddball, for being silly. He was praised for having a mind that produced delightful absurdities with great speed. No one told him to be quiet. No one tried to make him act like everyone else. He was a hero to me.
I had occasion to meet him once, not too long ago, and he could not have been nicer or friendlier or calmer. He was just there to watch the show that was happening that night. He wasn’t trying to get on stage; he just — still — loved comedy.
I didn’t tell him any of the things I just wrote here. No doubt, he heard similar things from countless people over his decades-long career. And it’s a colossal shame that being a meaningful presence in the lives of many people, family, friends and strangers alike, isn’t an impenetrable bulwark against despair. It’s profoundly unfair that, if he couldn’t live forever, he couldn’t at least feel able to keep going for his allotted time. I know something of depression, and how bottomless and relentless and insurmountable it feels, but I have never known the unfathomable despair that Robin Williams must have felt. I can’t even begin to imagine it.
Robin Williams will live on in shadows and light and sound, at least. He will continue to comfort weird little kids (and odd adults, for that matter) with his performances, those who know his work today and those who have yet to be born, who may experience him ten, fifty, a hundred years from now. But this is cold comfort indeed.
There will be much celebration, in the coming weeks and months, of Robin Williams’ life and career. But perhaps the best tribute to him would be if we all reached out to the troubled people in our lives and let them know that we are here for them. Because Robin Williams was there for us.