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It's been one week of pretend school, and I'm already loosing my wawvj db mind.

Those aren't words, they're just key-pressing.

The irony, that creative school pulls me away from creative work is not lost on me. I barely know what the course is like yet, because this first week we've just been having info and playing a few illustrative games. It still leaves me tired and wanting to relax when I get home, not immediately get back to work on ZnZ, not to mention all the other practices I want to get into. I had a nightmare the other day where five dogs were dying and in order to keep an eye on them while trying to get them help I was going to try tying them up but as soon as I turned my back to get the leashes they'd all run away. Dream interpretation and subconsciousness telling us things through our dreams is not a trust-worthy science, but it does sum up the way I feel about it. We're having a three day journey to museums and sculpture parks tomorrow! I don't need that shit!

I will try a new approach to it - relax while at school and just do what I'm told to do without trying to squeeze my own work into it, and then be up to it when I get home again. See if that helps. I don't think it will though and to be honest I don't think this is a problem. It's the first layer of difficulty I've had, and it's something I need to overcome. I've been thrown another weight on my bench press, and it's hard and I want to start crying when I think about it, but I'm going to embrace the pain. I've been paining myself with work all of summer, if I can retain enough energy and motivation I should be able to make it work. As for the journey I'll bring the ZnZ work with me in my little art bag and write on my laptop. It'll be good training for when I have a job and will need to do all my creative work this way. Further on I need to retain focus on the sweet rewards of accomplishing all I set out for.

The dream did end with my fetching a bucket of food and they all willingly came back to me. Then I woke up.

It has been a good long while since I actually applied any of my know-how. I think it's been something like three weeks since my last drawing that was not ZnZ work, and I miss that. I know whatever I do I need to start working on drawings or paintings outside of ZnZ, and pull my thumb out of my ass about the ones I am working on. You may be interested to know I am making tentative steps in Photoshop, working on the latest one. It's an interesting experience but I miss brushes and oil paint or watercolours. Still, I am intrigued by the possibilities it presents. I'm being ambitious, but at the very least I could recreate the colour scheme from the movie, closely enough. I am still on area colour and cell-shading though. What I do know is if I am still working on that one thing by next week I will put it aside. I can't keep spilling time on something I need to think about for every line I draw.


14100402 1135275883207528 3860643443478551639 N (1 by IchorData
That would not work, much as I liked the expressions.

14055200 1136121349789648 8357459123714912553 N (1 by IchorData
Needed to redesign them. 

 14045969 1136191246449325 5403112066166231889 N (2 by IchorData
Lots of redesign them. May have lead to trying to learn how to draw them free-handedly and forgetting why I was doing it. I think it was good
for me though and need to do it more. 


Thoughts over a Pizza PS WIP2 by IchorData
Will look much better by next week I think. Especially Erik's eyes.


As for the story, I know I said I was going to focus on Erik, because I'd given too much focus to Katrina, but I found myself inspired by suddenly realising I'd lost much of my base for Katrina and needed to remind myself of what she was, and after spending thirty minutes writing down my growing up I was struck with inspiration and capitalised on it. So this is a brief draft of a quick glance into Katrina's past. I hope you like it.


---

There is something proud in a righteous living. Interwoven with its threads that carry nostalgia, playing hide and seek beneath its beautiful patterns of good behaviour and fulfilled duty. It's the pride of accomplishment and success, and good moral conduct. Civil General Pius Spinnings was not a thinking man but he still knew this was true. He'd experienced the satisfation of maintaining a just living and it was as true as the quench of water or the warmth of a fire.
   He dressed his offices to reflect it, with walls covered by cared for wooden book shelves that still had shine through a hundred years of history, bearing leather-bound paper books on subjects such as empathy towards those without means, the purpose of civilisation to care for and improve lives in society, the establishment of farming in Mesopotamia, hygiene and risk reduction in the face of epidemic, the rights and duties of citizens living under martial law, ethical triage for the survival of the majority, religious texts, the folk tales of Jacob and Willhelm Grimm, the forgotten lives of everymen through-out the ages, and conservative collections of poetry and stories that spoke of a milder, less complicated time he hoped would come again some day.
Green walls looked inside the room between the bulging testaments to the worth of a human being, like inverted pillars to uphold it's romantic construction. On them hung recognitions of the man's service and good character. Black opal picture frames set beneath shaded light fixtures boasted about his fine work as an administrator of civilian relief aid and care. A diploma for domestic allegiance in the face of danger, recognition for diplomatic actions to protect innocents against bandit insurgents. There was a photograph of the portly greying man next to a bandaged man in a gurney he was feeding supplements, a capture of the time he had been in the voluntary relief corps. Another was the opening ceremony of a state-run orphanage, school and food preparatory he had instigated to give the children a real chance to build a future that was not hopeless, to teach them the value of compassion and show them how a good society really worked.
Pious Spinnings would often let his eyes rest on these old memories of worthwhile triumphs and good virtues when he was unsure about his present. In this moment he was inspecting the image of a family of four. Between himself, his wife and first daughter, his interest was turned to the image of a young girl with long, curling blonde hair, dressed in his old brown military trench coat. It was twice as long as she was and hung from her shoulders like a bathrobe, and she was smiling like exploring the huge mantle-like cloth was a great big adventure in itself. He could remember her running on the sofa, jumping on the floor and take another sprint from the couch, trying to take off and fly. She was laughing so much and then she'd crawl up into his lap and fall asleep as he told the stories of the tiger mouse and the cat who loved a blanket before dinner. She was barely five back then and he could will  himself to  tearing up when he looked into her eyes and it seemed to him like he was looking up into a whole universe, full of adventures and innocence he could only remember from his own youth. There was something beautiful, where nothing wasn't allowed and bad things were nowhere to be seen.
He looked on the young girl to remember the days when she would still tell him about how her day had been, and when she'd come knocking on his door with tears in her eyes in the middle of the night and crawl up next to him for comfort when she'd had a nightmare.
Motivation at an all-time low. Woke up in good time, thought I had enough time for some Me, two hours later I had yet to eat breakfast, then thought I could work on some writing, then I did some drawing on ZnZ, had brunch consisting of heated baked beans in tomato sauce (it's slightly better student food than noodles), then I thought I could have a nap before doing something because I was so tired, then could barely move when the alarm went after half an hour, spent an hour trying to will myself up, then...to be honest I know that's not what happened exactly, but it's close enough and I'm still too groggy to remember exactly. So half the day wasted, because I have the constitution and force of will of boiled spaghetti. Waking up, somewhat, from the haze and seeing the depressing sight that is the day as it had gone even though I felt so brilliant in the morning and felt this would be a good day, and remembering the disappointment that last week has been in terms of what I've accomplished or produced I feel like there is no point to the rest of the day. I've spent a week working on a simple drawing to be painted. A job that should have taken two days at most has taken a whole week. I've been staring at a screen to find a perfect wording for a cynical narration for two days.  I don't think I've painted more than once in four days. Not a single new idea for what to draw or paint. And tomorrow school starts and I will need to abandon my workflow anyways. What's the fucking point? I might as well not do anything else today. 
I went to a friend to whine and tell him I thought about writing today off as a failure and just not do anything else today. Nothing is worse for the ambitious than humiliation. I'm unmotivated, depressed, frustrated and not afraid to let others know about it. But I won't give up. Just because the day has been bad and I won't have time to do everything I should before I go to bed. This is not the last thing I do in the day, it's actually right after deciding to keep going, but the point is I feel like crap and don't believe in this for shit at the moment, but I still keep going. There is value in this, in my work, and I won't give it up just because it's pointless. I say from this fragile pillar of self-assurance and opium clouds of telling myself of what a fantastic creature I am becoming, but I keep going. I still maintain the troubles in my head is worse than any pragmatic reasons for why I wouldn't work, so this is good. It took the humiliation of telling a close friend who works even harder than me that I would choose not to work just because I don't feel motivated to, but I am keeping it going.

On the bright side, I feel better about last week, comparing it to this. 

14102375 1134315129970270 601877526019881982 N by IchorData
I've almost got myself installed in my studio at home. See that drawing there? The length of what I've done this week in this project.

14040033 1134315099970273 8318326298231933635 N by IchorData
Like I said, almost installed. Not sure where to put it all up just yet. Wall is obvious but also static and flat. At school I used to hang it all up
from the roof, using nails and string, but at home I've got a concrete roof, so not an option. 

14102632 1134315063303610 765200615065359329 N by IchorData
This doesn't actually have anything to do with ZnZ, this I just bring in to make myself feel better. Showing myself I did do something right.
Took about 40 minutes.

Not much seems to have gone on outside of my isolated little world of uncertain strife. :iconspintherella: keeps impressing me with 'Inter Schminter', but the rest of the fandom seems to have started slowing down. I suppose the hype from the film have started waning for a lot of the community. Or maybe summer have started to end and people have been called back to the slipped reality of adulthood. Since last Judy has ended up in hospital, Max and Nick have briefly met, and Judy's sister seems have been the instigator of the attack. Here I am particularly impressed, because Jillian doesn't seem to be motivated by hate of predators, or at least not solely. Most people who want to play around with the themes Zootropolis raises come up with the most empty, unimaginative, unbelievable antagonists, where "jews are evil" is the sum explanation of their characters.
For the record, with all the humanisations of the characters going on, I think Nick, "unreliable, conniving and lazy" is a Jew and Judy, "from a tight-knit society of dumb farmers" is black.
Back to Inter Schminter, I think Jillian sees what Judy and Nick has as decadent (it somehow doesn't feel right to call it racist, within the world itself) and  abjectly wrong, but I don't think that's the high and low of what she's doing. There is something very personal going on there and I long to find out more. My initial theory is she once was in love with Max Midnight but Max in turn loved a fox, and unable to deal with that she somehow engineered the fox lady to hurt Max and abandon him. Now, when she sees her sister go down the same path the old emotions of betrayal and revulsion comes back, and she's acting out. That was my initial reaction, but I think that's just my overly sadistic, feels-porn-hungry mind coming up with the most unimaginative resolution it can to it, that will give me the best shallow IIIIIIIIIHHHH high possible. 
Something I sorely miss to find once a week is an update to Mead's 'Judy is Dead AU'. The optimist in me knows they're taking long to work to make it as good as possible, but the cynic in me knows they're getting tired of doing it and so they devote less time to it. 
So we'll see.
Same thing applies to Rem289.

And that about sums it all up. Now just to flick an excerpt from this week's draft.
-

He rose up and shuffled out of the seat like a crippled crab and standing straight he took the box with him and swung around to follow Maurin. As he did he surreptitiously took a last glance at some of the feet of the things around the restaurant and then kept his eye on the floor as he followed Maurin, his jacket waving along his side like chains.
   When he was about to pass the last booth at the end something unexpected happened. Right as he came up to it a massive grey blob of flesh stood up from the seat, and Erik almost fell backwards. The thing was part of a family of things, and as it had risen another, larger one in purple airy clothes, Erik really didn't notice what sort, had tried to grab the thing up and keep it from standing up. Fear had kept Erik from looking around at the things in the restaurant, but now it kept him from looking anywhere else but at the massive grey creature. A ovoid body stretching a blue T-shirt and brown pants, stubby pillar-like legs and hooves, and hands with bulbous fingers covered by white hoof-like nail. It had a humongous box-like snout with nostrils that flared as it breathed deeply and rapidly. Scaredly. Two small brown eyes peered over it, beneath a red hat with a sort of sun shield, which didn't keep eyecontact with him but kept flicking down to the floor and to the sides. Erik had taken two steps back, almost walking into the booth behind him in fear for the thing, but the more he looked at it the more he saw it was scared too, and as he looked into its eyes it occurred to him it was actually a child. Or whatever passed for a child here.
It was rubbing its fingers together and Erik saw it was rubbing something against itself. Then it reached out, almost threw its hand away from itself and held out a flimsy piece of paper to Erik. It averted its eyes into the floor, but like little nervous twitches it'd quickly look up on Erik and then down again on the floor. Erik, who'd almost wetted himself and could still feel his racing pulse in his ears, looked at the paper. It had folded down over the thing's hand, and it kept twitching it, like it was trying to make the paper stand up again. Beneath the fold Erik could see something on it but he couldn't see what. At first he didn't know what to do and he just tried to look at and understand the scene as it unfolded. Eventually it occurred to him he should probably reach out and take the paper. His entire body screamed in refusal, but he took a step closer and slowly reached out the hand that wasn't holding the box. He did his damnedest to get a grip on the paper and not touch the thing, and when his fingertips closed around the flimsy material the thing let go and quickly pulled its arms back behind his back. It was still looking up at Erik, expectantly, daring to hold his eyes a bit more than it had easrlier. Erik lifted the paper to look at it. It looked like a drawing of Erik, sitting down at the booth with Maurin. It was drawn from his side, with crude stick figured and lines for the furniture, but with the brown lines running down from the circle head, and next to the small brown and blue spot he guessed was Maurin he could tell it was him. He looked back up at the thing, which was still standing there, twisting itself and waiting for him.

- ...Thank you.

It was all Erik could think of to say. Still, it seemed to please the massive critter, which promptly jumped back up into the seat, and the thing in a purple dress, it's mother, twisted her arm about the kid and pressed it up against her protectively. Erik stood still and stared up at her in turn, and saw the revulsion and fear in her eyes. Opposite her, the kid's father, dressed in a patterned wool shirt and glasses mimicked her, scooted up against the inside of the booth, arms steeled against the table like he wanted to lift himsel away from Erik.
Erik started walking, then hurried up and past Maurin, occassionally looking backwards as he ran out of the restaurant and into the street. Maurin yelled at him to stop but he kept running right across the street, not minding the cars that skidded to a stop to avoid hitting him, up to the carrier and tearing at the door. Behind him Maurin skittered up and unlocked it with a remote and Erik threw himself in and fell back against the seat. Maurin in turn had run underneath the vehicle, out the other side, opened the door and jumped in. As the automatic door closed behind her, for a moment Erik thought she was going to say something. He wasn't looking at her, but he could sense it in the quiet. She changed her mind though and instead got herself comfortable and started the car.
Erik watched the restaurant across the street. A few of the things had gotten up to look out after him, and he could see their profiles instinctively stretch for a better view  in the shine of the lights inside. Looking at him like a freakshow. The machine rolled backwards before pulling out and the place disappeared like he turned away his eyes. In turn did, to look forwards along the street. The street opened up before them like a pop up book, with its massive buildings puffing up before them and it reminded him of hands turning him away.
A rain drop hit the windshield. It knocked against the glass like a finger tapping against Erik, and soon it was followed by another and another. Knowing rain was near pleased Erik and he looked forwards to seeing the streets clear from...people. His hands had begun  moving by themselves and he became aware of the piece of paper he held. He looked at it again, at this childish representation of him, but now really looked at it. He was drawn from his side, with a steeply bent down-curling line for a mouth, and a single spot for an eye that seemed to look at the entire world for attention. He thought of that pudgy little ignorant creature handing it to him, and his breathing became rapid for the pulsing heart in his ears, and he opened the door and quickly threw the drawing out on the street to let the rain's acids eat it up.
  • Listening to: Till I Collapse - Eminem
  • Reading: Prästungen - Göran Tunström
  • Watching: Ed, Edd n' Eddy
  • Playing: Fallout 4, XCOM2
  • Eating: grapes
  • Drinking: water
A Mess I Made by IchorData

In a word, sorry. ^^; I fell asleep yesterday before I made an update, and then as I started making this one I got distracted, like a raven finding a coin, and that's why it's not until now you hear from me.

So what has happened since last? Well, like I said I have not done much work due to the irregular schedule of the past few weeks. This week will be better, but still not perfect. I'm back home now, but I come home to find most of my stuff packed into boxes I need to set right. I work on that every other day, and then my art. It's going better than I expected but it's still hard to say when it'll be done. 

Coming home I suddenly have a few things added to my schedule - video editing, CG model posing in blender, and figuring out how photoshop works. Considering I've been drawing for the past two years I know it's a bit late to get into photoshop, and I have been very bull-headed about not wanting to do it, but the fact is I need to learn it or I will never have any future as an illustrator. The traditional approach is dead and buried, sadly. In response to this extra work, rather than keep working in hour-and-a-half shifts I have cut it down by ten minutes, to one hour and twenty minutes, and instead of half an hour I will have twenty minute breaks instead. That way I can fit these new things and still get the bulk done.

School starts next week and I'm still not sure how the new course will take shape, but I am going to assume I will need to make sacrifices in my schedule. In the past my school has focused a lot on individual responsibility and have very rarely bothered with a schedule in the traditional sense, but since I am now signed into the wholly new Concept Art course (earlier I went Free (as in Liberated) Art) I have no idea what to expect. My school only have three teachers, so I don't think we'll have classes in that sense but I can imagine us getting assignments we need to complete, and that will take up time. The first week will be mostly info, and as it progresses and I get a sense for it I will adjust this thing accordingly. ZnZ still takes priority over everything else of course.

Beyond that I have come to realise I'm actually pretty isolated, and have been living in a comfortable fantasy bubble regarding my place in the Zootropolis fandom. For one thing, I lived under the delusion I am the dark bastard of the community, but then I found out about Zistopia. The art is poor, but the story and sentiment has me in pleasurable shivers. It just isn't the way it should be, so delightfully unfair and amazingly written. It is feels porn, but it is extremely well-made feels porn. Fair enough, for the past three weeks I've been posting snippets of Katrina being genocidal in a crowded street, but the whole point of ZnZ is for me to inject darkness into that happy world of possibility, while Zistopia has completely removed that element of it. It's not a story I would write, but it's a story I love to read. Further on, I lived under the delusion I had complete check on Zootropolis's extended story community, because I assumed it was all posted to the one site I got all my tips from. Turns out you need to actually use google to get the complete picture. Finally, and this is the biggest delusion I've lived under because I find no reason for not thinking of it other than habit, I thought I was a hardcore fan because I bought the movie from Amazon and payed through the nose for express delivery instead of waiting a month or two for it to be released in Sweden, but I have yet to check out any of the extras, I haven't watched the documentary Making Zootopia, I have barely even watched the deleted scenes. I just thought "Yes! I am a huge fan" and was happy with that. I haven't actually acted on it. And I could blame it on being tired and not having a lot of time, but that's just parts of my reality I need to learn to surpass. Not just for this, in general, but this is what irks me about it at the moment.

I think that's it. I will give you last week's snippet now.
-

   Maurin had left him for a moment to put in an order for food – real, cooked food and not tasteless stomach filling – for them, and she’d have him sit down. It was a U-like seating arrangement curving around a table with red padding along the back support and seats that reminded him of sofas, except for the peculiar shape. The situation reminded him a bit of a communal cafeteria when he sat down, but he’d never felt as pointed out as in that moment. There were a few similar patterns to a cafeteria; the windows were lined with...patrons for a view, and corners for close-knit friends that wanted some privacy, and to be as far from any of them as possible Maurin had sat him down in the middle of the room.
It was usually a goal he saught himself and he didn't complain but sat with his head down, looking at his clasped hands at the table. Still, he was curious about the things around him and the placement gave him opportunity to nervously glance at them, keeping his head down. It was a technique he'd perfected over years in pressurised social environs - mostly focus on his eager hands and then flick his eyes to the sides without lifting his head, but only to the sides because looking up along the forehead was more noticeable. First he glanced after Maurin, who'd ignored the queue entirely and skittered up to stand on the counter to make the order, and behind the counter he saw a thin, white outline. At first he couldn't make out what it was from the angle, but after a few increaingly bold glances he saw it was a cervine of some sort, with the powerful neck, long face, leaf-like ears and black nose. He remembered a lot of what he'd read about animals when he was young, and at first he thought it was some sort of deer, but he could not remember a deer species with two long, twisting horns instead of branching crowns. They were decorated with some sort of carvings and polished white and it occured to him it could have just cut off all the branchings, but he could not think of a reason why it would do that.
The thing was whispering as it spoke to Maurin while Maurin announced to the whole restaurant, and it became more and more agitated for every response. "I didn't want to leave it in the car. It could get bored and break a window.", "Then maybe I wanted an audience. You know us stoats love eyes on us.", "So just serve me then. Sea lover's special, extra bug-bab, medium-sized. I live for left-over pizza." Maurin sounded more and more like she talked to a kid and not a grown up and part of Erik was sure  the deer-thing was about to smash her into the counter and he kept tensing his legs as he waited for it, but Maurin just turned away from the deer-thing, jumped off the counter, and arrowed her way back to him. He glanced up a single more time, but seeing the huge brown eyes of the thing looking back at him his head jolted back down to look at his hands, and then Maurin as she shot up on the table from the seats opposite Erik. It felt like a minute before he eventually heard the thing sigh and then walk on those clopping hooves off, back to the kitchen.

- So where are you from?

Erik had barely felt the tension vanish from the thing walking away before Maurin opened her mouth. She lay splayed out on her back with her feet towards the end of the table and arms steadying herself, looking up at him. If he'd reached out his finger he could have touched her, so he drew back against the support of
A Mess I Made
Sometimes that monster inside just squashes your guide for no other reason than it's pissed off. And sometimes you make a mass when you try to catch it on paper. It's the lack of contrast that does it. It all melts together if you don't look at it close. I was too preoccupied with trying to get it right (that eternal, abstract Right you take with you from when you were a kid) it didn't occur to me to try and make it look good as well. It's not perfect on that front either, but it is what I made my goal and the reason I didn't discover it until it was too late.

Other than the contrast issues, I don't think I did too bad a job. For one thing, unlike for example the Imaginaerum piece I made, the faded "frames" actually work here. That I give myself a pat on the back over. I quite like the shading on Katrina's face in the upper left corner. I don't like Maurin's expression, beneath the boot though. It doesn't look as terrified as I would have wanted it. The same can be said of Katrina's face in the upper right. I have yet to learn expressings from odd angles. Further on, if you look closely you'll see white lines from where I have sketched and then erased. Then there are the overall depth, anatomy and angle problems I won't even bother mentioning.

So what is actually going on here? Not sure where I got this idea from, but I recently started feeling like I have lost control somewhere, and everything I hold myself by has just started to seem like a flimsy rope. You could give this some sort of meaning that way, where the monster inside me - Katrina - squashes my guide - Maurin. The real backstory is I just wanted something heart-wrenching (to me), and Katrina squashing Maurin was as good as any. Then I went out of my way to make it difficult for myself, stretching my wings and so on. I'm satisfied with it.
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Lover's Brawl by IchorData
Lover's Brawl
"- We have been playing this game for the past 100 years. Have you ever thought about calling it quits, and skip ahead to the good stuff?
- I have thought about it. And I think you would never forgive me if I did."

Or something along those lines. :giggle:

Just a bit of fan art and gift art at the same time of :iconhattonslayden:'s characters, Mar and Shesheik. They're the man's favourite characters, engaged in a continuous lover's brawl where Mar will only allow Shesheik to sleep with him if she can best him in battle. Though initially that sounds a bit rapey, along the lines of a conqueror burning a village and laying claim to the people in it, you only know the story from a bird's perspective, and not the intimate intricacies of it. Mar and Shesheik have been in love for most of their lives, and would not consider anyone other than each other. That said, for them to just go ahead and do each other like rabbits...or like a human and a wolf/bug girl hybrid, would cheapen their feelings for each other, like a fairy tale cliché, and they do not live in that sort of sugary sweet world. It's clear they both think the other is worthy, but neither of them have actually done anything to deserve the other. Their battle is a sort of flirt, as well as courtship they need to engage in to not cheapen it, but reaffirm it and make them treasure it.

So big muscle man giggles as he tease bug girl who then does swing her long katanas around to deserve muscle man. It's a male fantasy, but it's not a rape fantasy.

It was fun working on this, especially considering how it usually turns out when I experiment on drawings, but I had an idea of Mar reflected in her sword and went for it, and it turned out really well. :) I did muck up his armour, both in its shape and contrasts and colour-to-bw conversion, but I was trying to make it feel like a reflection in the blade and not just an inserted photo. Something it did demonstrate to me is I really need to move on from pen and paper if I will ever have a chance to make it as an illustrator. It's simply not worth the time it takes, for everyday, money-bringing drawings and paintings.
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deviantID

IchorData
Real name: Classified by SÄPO.
Artist | Student | Traditional Art
Sweden
My real name is not Viktoria Rosén. Let's get that out of the way. All the implications of that I leave to you to figure out. All great artists have a stage name or an alter ego or a psuedonym, and that's mine.
I am not a great artist and I don't want to be one either for the very simple reason - artists are no better than orthodox religious people, from the nihilistic Buddhists to the inbred Creationists. I am here to become better at my Craft and document the process along the way as well as make a name for myself, but do not ever delude yourself into thinking I'm an artist. To be clear, I define an artist as someone who does something inteligent and mistakable for original in a creative way for his/her own sake without any kind of pragmatic reason, and since DA hardly has a single person matching that description I figure it's as good a place as any to start. Don't get me wrong, I am not saying there's anything wrong in being an artist, I'm just saying I don't want to be an artist because I find no satisfaction in that thinking.
I am here to develop and hone above all my ability as an illustrator - find my style, learn to work creatively, do it proficiently, which means I want criticism for all my work. What was good, what was bad, how you liked it.
The reason is I am developing the base for a longer series or of novels based in a futuristic Cthulhu cycle exploring themes of independence, religion, personality, power, evil and goodness, all set within a erotic sci-fi/fantasy drama called "Who Durst Defy", and while I am driven I am far from near being able to pull that off. That's the main reason why I want to hone my artistic ability, but more than that I have discovered I have a generally creative mind and feel good when I do creative things such as write or draw and I would rather do that than anything else the average drone's life has to offer. I don't want to do this to make money (I am not that stupid) but I want to get by on it one day.
Most obvious things you'll learn about me is I am a nyctophile, meaning I find alot more comfort in darkness than in light, and I am an anthropomorphile, a faculty term I've invented meaning "a strong, passionate, sexual as well as spiritual desire and/or connection to a entity defineable as more than human" but that does not mean I like Furry. Porn is one thing, a starved woman can't be a picker, but other than that I do not want any connection to Furry as a movement because I do not care for nor follow that style. I draw anthropomorphs, not furry, and there is a difference between the two. Anyone who claims anything different is either living in denial or plain ignorant. Yes, there are similarities, but it's like comparing wolves with those chihuahuas you see in handbags. I've thought a bit about what it is that seperate these two genre's and I think I've come up with a fairly good explanation of the differences between them. Before you read though, let me make it plain I have little against furries as such, I simply want it plain that what I draw isn't furries as such.



1. Furry is a part of Anthropomorphism, not the other way around.

Fred Patten, a historian born in 1940 who have been able to follow the evolution of the genre first-hand, claims it originated at a sci-fi convention in the 1980's, tough furries as we've come to know them has existed since much earlier in the 1900's (take Disney's Robin Hood for example). Anthropomorphism on the other hand is exceedingly much older than any of these examples, and much more diversified. Stories of human-like animals or animals with human minds and reasoning or humans with animalistic features can be found on every continent and in every culture. The Germanic werewolves, the Greek Minotaur, La Belle et la Bête, the Dove of the Old Testament, the Were-lions of Africa, these are just a few of the many.




2. Furries are without exception depicted in a cartoon- or manga style.

By this I mean furry artists generally don't bother with making realistic drawings, they're always stylized, and often in a manner similar to one-another. A common denominator is I have yet to see a furry artist bothering to draw fur, but simply making a field with a few "pointy edges" to give the character a feeling of having fur. If I am unclear as to what I mean with this, the works of Walt Disney, :iconjaynaylor:, Kadath, and :iconkaboozle: ought to clue you in. Now you may point out old depictions of for example werewolves, woodcuts and the like, have a smilar style, to which I say more often than not the entire depiction is given an even fur pattern, and when it's not it's often meant to depict shades, depth, light, et cetera. Another denominator is furries can give human facial expressions no matter how their faces are designed. Of course, animals can do expressions we can interpret as simimilar to our own and it can be argued that furries therefor can do them to, and I could let it slide should it be an expression not unrealistically exaggerated. On a sidenote, furries can pronounce human words and sounds which we know are impossible for animals to replicate with a snout for example.



3. Furries are unimaginative parodies of the entire concept of the borderline between human and animal.
This is probably the most offensive title of the argumentation for where furry ends and anthropomorphism begins but I can explain why it is also very accurate. The Furry fandom is very closed-off if you compare it to the rest of all that anthropomorhism can be. The word "Anthropomorphism" is actually a synonym for "personification" and it applies not just to animals, but everything. Everything not human with human-like features and capabilities is an anthropomorph. Death as a skeleton with a scythe in black robes is a anthropomorph and so is an Easterly wind depicted as a cherub blowing ships across the sea. But for now we'll focus on the animalistic. By "unimaginative" I mean furries are essentially completely human. The one thing seperating a furry and a human is its exotic body. More often than not furries can wear clothes, they can use machines, they have a human society, and they have a human capacity for reasoning and empathy. Anthropomorph's are supposed to be in-between human and animal, and that in itself opens a world of possibilities very rarely utilized in furry. Which brings me to "parody of the concept between human and animal". What I mean by parody is the mocking trivialization of the world of possibility that lie there. "Between human and animal...is a human with a nearly human body." It's almost disrespectful. Almost. Anthropomorph's are very rarely not meant to symbolize something, usually that humans are animals in one way or another, which we through-out history have been struggling hard to deny, or put a Devil's stamp on (take the vampire, which is essentially the embodiment of the deadly sins) but it can be so much more and often is.




4. Furries is not taken seriously.

There's a very good reason people mock Furry fandom - it has yet to be depicted in a way that can be taken seriously. You have to admit all in all furry can be split into three undergenre's - porn, childrens TV-series, and minor psuedo-drama's. Furry porn is not taken seriously because it's porn and while porn in itself is often mocked furry can all to easily be interpreted as "beastiality in denial". Kid's TV-series with furries is directed at a very distinct audience - kids. What we like as kids is very rare to like as adults because we are taught to put childish things behind us as we grow older because they're often clashing with reality, which we need to embrace if we are to function in society (we are taught). This I really blaim the most for furries not being taken seriously. Finally, what I mean by "psuedo-drama's" is a general drama that not only isn't very good, but could function just as well with humans as with furries, because all characters are essentially humans with fur. Anthropomorph's aren't taken very seriously either, but it is mocked to a much smaller degree than furries. I think the reason is because everything I have already argumented - anthropomorphic animals are in total percieved as more realistic in depiction as well as mentality and nature.

Of course, this is just a generalization and depictions of furry/anthropomorphism often cross these lines in one way or another. These are just a few rules of thumb that I have written down to help maintain the distinction.
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"I'll never ask you to trust me, just listen to what I say."
- Viktoria Rosén
Interests
It's been one week of pretend school, and I'm already loosing my wawvj db mind.

Those aren't words, they're just key-pressing.

The irony, that creative school pulls me away from creative work is not lost on me. I barely know what the course is like yet, because this first week we've just been having info and playing a few illustrative games. It still leaves me tired and wanting to relax when I get home, not immediately get back to work on ZnZ, not to mention all the other practices I want to get into. I had a nightmare the other day where five dogs were dying and in order to keep an eye on them while trying to get them help I was going to try tying them up but as soon as I turned my back to get the leashes they'd all run away. Dream interpretation and subconsciousness telling us things through our dreams is not a trust-worthy science, but it does sum up the way I feel about it. We're having a three day journey to museums and sculpture parks tomorrow! I don't need that shit!

I will try a new approach to it - relax while at school and just do what I'm told to do without trying to squeeze my own work into it, and then be up to it when I get home again. See if that helps. I don't think it will though and to be honest I don't think this is a problem. It's the first layer of difficulty I've had, and it's something I need to overcome. I've been thrown another weight on my bench press, and it's hard and I want to start crying when I think about it, but I'm going to embrace the pain. I've been paining myself with work all of summer, if I can retain enough energy and motivation I should be able to make it work. As for the journey I'll bring the ZnZ work with me in my little art bag and write on my laptop. It'll be good training for when I have a job and will need to do all my creative work this way. Further on I need to retain focus on the sweet rewards of accomplishing all I set out for.

The dream did end with my fetching a bucket of food and they all willingly came back to me. Then I woke up.

It has been a good long while since I actually applied any of my know-how. I think it's been something like three weeks since my last drawing that was not ZnZ work, and I miss that. I know whatever I do I need to start working on drawings or paintings outside of ZnZ, and pull my thumb out of my ass about the ones I am working on. You may be interested to know I am making tentative steps in Photoshop, working on the latest one. It's an interesting experience but I miss brushes and oil paint or watercolours. Still, I am intrigued by the possibilities it presents. I'm being ambitious, but at the very least I could recreate the colour scheme from the movie, closely enough. I am still on area colour and cell-shading though. What I do know is if I am still working on that one thing by next week I will put it aside. I can't keep spilling time on something I need to think about for every line I draw.


14100402 1135275883207528 3860643443478551639 N (1 by IchorData
That would not work, much as I liked the expressions.

14055200 1136121349789648 8357459123714912553 N (1 by IchorData
Needed to redesign them. 

 14045969 1136191246449325 5403112066166231889 N (2 by IchorData
Lots of redesign them. May have lead to trying to learn how to draw them free-handedly and forgetting why I was doing it. I think it was good
for me though and need to do it more. 


Thoughts over a Pizza PS WIP2 by IchorData
Will look much better by next week I think. Especially Erik's eyes.


As for the story, I know I said I was going to focus on Erik, because I'd given too much focus to Katrina, but I found myself inspired by suddenly realising I'd lost much of my base for Katrina and needed to remind myself of what she was, and after spending thirty minutes writing down my growing up I was struck with inspiration and capitalised on it. So this is a brief draft of a quick glance into Katrina's past. I hope you like it.


---

There is something proud in a righteous living. Interwoven with its threads that carry nostalgia, playing hide and seek beneath its beautiful patterns of good behaviour and fulfilled duty. It's the pride of accomplishment and success, and good moral conduct. Civil General Pius Spinnings was not a thinking man but he still knew this was true. He'd experienced the satisfation of maintaining a just living and it was as true as the quench of water or the warmth of a fire.
   He dressed his offices to reflect it, with walls covered by cared for wooden book shelves that still had shine through a hundred years of history, bearing leather-bound paper books on subjects such as empathy towards those without means, the purpose of civilisation to care for and improve lives in society, the establishment of farming in Mesopotamia, hygiene and risk reduction in the face of epidemic, the rights and duties of citizens living under martial law, ethical triage for the survival of the majority, religious texts, the folk tales of Jacob and Willhelm Grimm, the forgotten lives of everymen through-out the ages, and conservative collections of poetry and stories that spoke of a milder, less complicated time he hoped would come again some day.
Green walls looked inside the room between the bulging testaments to the worth of a human being, like inverted pillars to uphold it's romantic construction. On them hung recognitions of the man's service and good character. Black opal picture frames set beneath shaded light fixtures boasted about his fine work as an administrator of civilian relief aid and care. A diploma for domestic allegiance in the face of danger, recognition for diplomatic actions to protect innocents against bandit insurgents. There was a photograph of the portly greying man next to a bandaged man in a gurney he was feeding supplements, a capture of the time he had been in the voluntary relief corps. Another was the opening ceremony of a state-run orphanage, school and food preparatory he had instigated to give the children a real chance to build a future that was not hopeless, to teach them the value of compassion and show them how a good society really worked.
Pious Spinnings would often let his eyes rest on these old memories of worthwhile triumphs and good virtues when he was unsure about his present. In this moment he was inspecting the image of a family of four. Between himself, his wife and first daughter, his interest was turned to the image of a young girl with long, curling blonde hair, dressed in his old brown military trench coat. It was twice as long as she was and hung from her shoulders like a bathrobe, and she was smiling like exploring the huge mantle-like cloth was a great big adventure in itself. He could remember her running on the sofa, jumping on the floor and take another sprint from the couch, trying to take off and fly. She was laughing so much and then she'd crawl up into his lap and fall asleep as he told the stories of the tiger mouse and the cat who loved a blanket before dinner. She was barely five back then and he could will  himself to  tearing up when he looked into her eyes and it seemed to him like he was looking up into a whole universe, full of adventures and innocence he could only remember from his own youth. There was something beautiful, where nothing wasn't allowed and bad things were nowhere to be seen.
He looked on the young girl to remember the days when she would still tell him about how her day had been, and when she'd come knocking on his door with tears in her eyes in the middle of the night and crawl up next to him for comfort when she'd had a nightmare.

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:iconfabiolistrani:
FabioListrani Featured By Owner Jul 23, 2016  Professional Digital Artist
Thank you so much for the watch! :D ...have a nice weekend! :ahoy:
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:iconichordata:
IchorData Featured By Owner Jul 27, 2016  Student Traditional Artist
Thank you and you're welcome. It's a fascinating style to me, the way you only seem to use computer models without painting them over. It makes them look like stills from a game or, as thumbnails, movie posters with a somewhat art nouveu feel to them. Also, they look a bit like certain romantic paintings I've seen, and to get that traditional feel from something as modern as CG is very interesting.
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:iconthewolfcreek:
thewolfcreek Featured By Owner Jan 1, 2016  Hobbyist Photographer
Thank you for the fav...
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:iconichordata:
IchorData Featured By Owner Jan 3, 2016  Student Traditional Artist
You're welcome.
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:icongusavancini:
gusavancini Featured By Owner Feb 20, 2015  Professional Photographer
Thanks for the fave :)
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:iconichordata:
IchorData Featured By Owner Feb 20, 2015  Student Traditional Artist
You're welcome.
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:iconvesssel:
vesssel Featured By Owner Feb 20, 2015
Thanks for the fave! Feel free to check out my Facebook page for more art. :D
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:iconichordata:
IchorData Featured By Owner Feb 20, 2015  Student Traditional Artist
You are welcome.
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AraNaja Featured By Owner Feb 2, 2015   General Artist
Thanks for the fav :)
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:iconichordata:
IchorData Featured By Owner Feb 3, 2015  Student Traditional Artist
You are welcome.
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