For the past six or seven hours, I’ve been huddled over my art desk attempting to make sense of my dilapidated skills as an artist. I seem to keep on coming up short.
There’s an artist that I really dig and I want to emulate elements of his style, but at this rate, if I want to get anywhere, I’ll have to fucking trace his stuff over and over again. Tracing is something I’m very comfortable with, unlike some more uptight “arteests” i know or have heard of. A light box would go a long way in helping me out with this shit. But a Light Box big enough to suit me costs $120… jeebus. I wish my art desk were like twice as big and had a light box built into the center work area, that’d be fucking awesome.
Alas, I have no light box, and attempting to trace (for me, at least) can be an masterpiece of futility.
damn, damn, damn…
But now the busy time is over, i get paid come morning hours for helping Mom pack and move shit in her garage… and money that I don’t have outweighs readers I don’t know… I’ll be back, though. G’night, kids.
argo. (mtc)