Doodle!

This started out as an experiment with some of those soft feathery background brushes and ended up here... Been listening to a little too much psychobilly lately, I guess.

Beatrice Goodbrough

I had a small gap of time to fill one night this week, and went fishing through some older folders for inspiration. Some old moodboards did the trick, and I started idly doodling...

Process wasn't anything fancy here. Just a sketch and cleanup, followed by some flats, flat texture and finally some gradients and overlays. A nice break from the precise renders I usually lean towards. It's not really a fully polished piece, but fun nonetheless.

Ode to the Unfinished #1 - What makes it 'Done'?

Like every artist everywhere, I have my fair share of unfinished work.

In many cases, these images have been pushed to near-completion and lack only the finishing touches. I find myself flipping through the 'Unfinished' folder and thinking: "Why the hell don't I just... finish these?" In many cases, the ideas are pretty good, and they would make successful images (Trust me, there's another folder for the abject failures).

So what's stopping me?

Is it that I hate the final polish steps of illustration? (Because I do)
Is it because they are so old that I'd have to go back and fix so many things that I now know? (Because I would)

It's a little bit from column A, a little bit from column B, I suppose, but another realization hit me recently. I saw that whatever I was trying to accomplish and learn with a given image, whether it was how to make reflective materials, or how to set up a story within a scene, actually had been accomplished. Regardless of their level of polish, these images had given me what I was personally looking for. And ultimately, I draw and invent and create for my own knowledge and enjoyment first.

Sounds nice, right?

It is, in a way, but the flipside is that I also like to share what I do. I like interacting with others, seeing their reactions and absorbing them to improve myself. I'll be talking more of Input vs Output at a later date, but I feel there is something stagnant and stifling about creating only for yourself. You're missing out on what everyone around you can teach you through their own observations.

So what's the solution? There may be none. Perhaps it's only a matter of plowing through and finishing things before I get distracted by the next challenge. Perhaps being aware of my own subconscious intentions will change the way I work (ha.). Or perhaps I can simply share the unfinished, from time to time, and hope that the intent comes through.

In that light, here is a piece that has bee loitering in the Unfinished folder for a few years. It started as a sketch, then, after I did a few studies (of reflections on muscle cars) I started on a clean render. I got bored at some point after doing the face, and as often happens, started feeling it wasn't such a great image... something else soon caught my eye.

Is this successful? Is it done? Probably not on either count. But I did learn a few things, even if it was what to avoid in terms of design (High-heels on robots. And that abdomen. WTF). And while this would never count as show-worthy in another context, in my mind I can already see what it looks like complete, and it's as good as done.

Does that mean I shouldn't finish it? Nope.
But it does mean I've made peace with it, and the guilt that came every time I looked at that 'Unfinished' folder with a sigh. I'm over it.

Flashback Friday #2 - Search for Simplicity

I remember a time when the most intimidating thing about painting was simplicity. How to render a form or an idea with as few colors and brushstrokes as possible. It's still something I have to watch out for, and that I consciously apply in my current work:

More detail does not make the image better.

And yet even while knowing this, I'd still produce images like this one, full of photo-texture and background detail. Exhausting to work on, and with an end result that was, well... muddy. I'd be left vaguely uncertain as to whether I'd succeeded.

Almost simultaneously, I would be exploring exercises like those below, trying to force myself to do more with less. At the time, I felt them to be abysmal failures. Hardly worth a second glance. If you ask me which I prefer now... well. 

What makes these work is their readability and clear intent. It's something I've been missing the mark on during the broad explorations of style that have marked most of my work.

Perhaps only a handful of images I've created over the years (a small handful--like a two-year-old's hand) give me a level of satisfaction where I feel they really work. Or perhaps it's more fair to say: they feel like what I want to be making. None of this wishy-washy faded color high-texture stuff.

Simple, bold and legible. Images that have the guts to just be. Everything in its place because it belongs there, and nothing more.

Looking back on these old exercises, I know it's a realization I could have come to long ago, but that doesn't cause me any fuss. Every mishap and meander takes you to interesting places, and as long as you're moving ahead, it's all worth it.

Just take some time to look behind and remember where you've been :)

Flashback Friday #1 - Forgotten work

Recently I managed to re-access my previous defunct blog and, as often happens, ran across some old forgotten work. Surprisingly, it wasn't bad. Like many artists I have a pretty brutal opinion of my own work. Very rarely can I look back without cringing--even at things made weeks ago.

Considering this stuff is from the mid 00's, I'm surprised at my own reaction. Maybe because I forgot this existed? Or maybe because I can identify what I was learning then, and can appreciate the effort it took at the time. Or maybe I grew up a little and I'm willing to cut myself some slack.

What I liked about this batch is the loose story that grew around it. I've since forgotten the details, but enough of the thematic remains to get the general gist of the world I was trying to create.

I liked the grunge and desperation, the clockwork monstrosities and the dim promise of hope... but it never did evolve past a basic pretence to make some art.

Will I ever get back to this world? In all likelihood no. Like with any idea, it was quickly supplanted by something else. Which was then kicked out by another idea and another...

Often, when I have just the germs of an imperfect idea, I'll pick it up again years later, merge it with others, modify it, pull it apart and put it back together. If I'm lucky, it survives and is added to the backlog that sits in my subconscious ( and on my Trello ). But for each of those, there are dozens more that just fade away.

All those lost stories are kind of sad--so much time and potential wasted right? Wrong. Or at least I feel so. Any artist will tell you that even the pieces they discard have served to teach them something, and by the same logic, stories and themes that don't make the cut still served to develop your thought process along the way.

Besides--isn't it great to know that there are always more ideas? I know many creatives who hold onto their ideas, fearful they'll be stolen or that they won't be able to do them justice.

That's the real waste.

Get it done, get it out there--then get over it and make something else. It will be better. I promise.

Side Projects - Collaboration vs Flying Solo

So I mentioned that I'd been working on a longer-term project, and I wanted to leak a little bit of that. But first, some backstory:

I love collaborating with others, bouncing ideas off them and building creative projects that utilize everyone's strengths--that's the reason I work in video-games and would, I think, get bored as a solo freelancer. But I noticed a funny thing, over the years: Collaborative projects that I undertook, be it for a small indie game project, a board game, a comic or simply an image--never seemed to get very far.

My assumption was that having to answer to others would keep me in line. It's hard to maintain the energy and focus for a side project.

Well, you know what? It's even harder to do that with another person. Make it a small group, and you're asking for it. What you embark upon is not only a creative project, but also an exercise in relationship management.

You become the one who cajoles others into spending time on the project. You make excuses for yourself. You occasionally drop communication and return to things weeks later, and wonder why no one did anything... What I'm saying is that it requires group discipline to have all members keep their pace and enthusiasm until completion.
Does that mean it's impossible?

Heck no.

But it's something I came to see as an additional hurdle. And as much as drawing from the strengths of my talented friends and colleagues is exciting and motivating--I realized that I don't need to.

To be completely transparent here, I'm all too aware that my solo projects also struggle in the dark and slowly die away. But collaboration wasn't the answer to that. The only thing that solves problems of discipline, whether self- or group-, is just sitting butt-to-chair and doing the work.

And it's far better to scold and cajole myself, than to do so to others.

So here's a little teaser of a graphic novel I'm working on, by far the most organized project I've undertaken.

After the initial gush of inspiration, I approached it methodically, revising my drafts, getting feedback, dividing it into pages... Then I took a few hours to input everything, page by page, into Trello. I pasted in my script snippets on each card. I created checklists. I added labels to indicate which pages had tension, action, flashbacks-- In short, I got so caught up in the organization of the thing, that I I didn't realize I was putting off working on it.

Clearly, I would never be prepared enough.

It was one of my colleagues (who was also the art director who got me started in the games industry) who gave me the best advice. Just start the damn thing.

And I did.
And I've made multiple mistakes, and kept going. I've had lazy periods and periods of intense productivity. I've changed the way I do things, and stopped worrying that I wouldn't be able to draw well enough. That the story was flat.
At this point, I'm just happy to be producing. I can open the project up, see where I am, finish a page, and look at this cheery sight:

And it feels awesome.