Saturday, September 28, 2013

The Killing Lines

What is it that makes the smaller than an inch wrong turn of a mark upset a design so. As I sketch these imagined objects in pigment pen on an appropriately weighty stock, the forms I derive from skeletal frames materialized in alien eggshells, so easily broken. Today, I made a fist with my free hand after another failed formation, not for pounding, but for the tension it let me release when I eventually opened my hand.

Does it ever get easier? Will I sooner than later get my bearings and draw good things on purpose (whether they have one or not?) There was a moment tonight where I recognized a few of those shapes from my explorations on an existing vehicle, an underground LHD loader. It was an incredibly simple partial cylinder fused with a boxy wedge shape, and I felt as though I had already drawn it 100 times.

A dreadful day of drawing awaits. I'm close to wrapping up an evening of scanning the web for inspiration. I have a newly found fascination with flintlock pistols, afro picks (contemporary and ancient), resonanators and oscillators, and gun katars. So much to draw. So little time.

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