Hating my room

[avram]

My problem, as I see it, is that I hate being in my room. Seeing that my bedroom doubles as my art studio, this explains why it’s so difficult for me to get any painting done. Why I have to go to Ground or Starbucks to do sketching.

This is a new problem. All through childhood, through most of college, even for a few years after college, my bedroom was my art studio, and I didn’t have a problem. Hrm.

OK, solution time. Get another lamp. And a comfy chair, maybe one of those $35 foldable papasan chairs if Bed Bath & Beyond still has them (check for actual comfort first). And another shelving unit; either build one out of lumber or just go buy one. Buying is better if it means I actually get the thing. And a tabouret, one that isn’t broken. One of those wire-frame things at the hardware store for about $30 oughta do.

After that, it’s decorating time. Posters, paintings. Slap some fabric over that angles section of roof. Repainting the walls would be good, but too much of a pain in the ass.

Speaking of sketching at Ground, today was a good day:

It wasn’t till I was home scanning this one in that I noticed that I screwed up the light sourcing. Her body is lit from the upper-left, my default lightsource, but she’s got this big-ass flaming torch to her upper-right! It must be a magical torch that casts mystical light that doesn’t y’know, actually illuminate stuff. Yeah, that’s it.


Man, I was so thrilled with how this guy came out. No reference material or anything, just straight out of my head onto the page. Yet it looks like one of my drawn-from-life sketches. And yeah, Hassidic Rastafarian.


These four were actually drawn from life. And yet, they look less convincing than the guy up there.

Comments

[holyoutlaw.livejournal.com]

I think the Hassidic Rastafarian is my favorite too.

There's something stfnal/cyberpunkish about the very phrase.