Art Meme Finale
octantis cheated on my art meme by asking for a "written sketch" instead of a picture:
"I'd like you to do an intro for me or any one of my characters, as if one of us were being introduced in a story you were writing. Doesn't have to be complimentary or glowing, doesn't matter what situation we're appearing in, could be friendly or menacing or funny or matter of fact."
I'd actually considered doing writing for the meme instead of sketches, but decided writing would be too hard. Despite this, I had a clear idea of what I wanted to write for Octantis's request almost immediately, so I did it anyway. :)
This is Octantis.
He has a fine Irish name and Asian features to not match, making him quite thoroughly American. He has straight black hair that cascades down to his hips, the sort of hair that women envy, that cutting would be criminal. His muscles stand in sharp definition beneath his skin, not because he is fit but because he is preternaturally slender. Not skinny, with ribs and shoulder joints protruding like a famine victim or a fashion model, but an elfin slimness, with no fat and just enough muscle to cover his frame.
Octantis possesses remarkable talent and creativity. His skillful construction lends grace to even his rough sketches; in the stages of his art the viewer can see how simple shapes build to complex forms. He has an eye for composition, for motion, for animation: his subjects are seldom content just to stand and be viewed. His mind is alive with stories and characters, with settings and ideas. He writes as well as he draws, or better: each character endowed with a unique voice and distinct mannerisms, with individual passions, hopes, and fears. Each setting is rich with possibilities, with unusual ideas and outlooks. Different ones suit different mediums: he plans them as novels, or comics, or role-playing games, or video games.
But perfect characters are boring; every person must have his flaws, and Octantis is no exception. For Octantis, you see, knows one of the great and terrible secrets of the universe: nothing matters.
“What?” you say. “How can you call that a secret? You just told it to me!” True - but that doesn't mean you know it. When your best friend breaks the serving platter from your wedding china and you say “It doesn't matter,” you're only pretending. When Octantis says “it doesn't matter”, he knows it's true.
He is chronically late, when he doesn't forget altogether. He starts and stops new projects with wanton abandon. He will spend hours laboring over a sketch only to discard it for no reason. “It's nothing important.” Nothing is. Even the games he plays cannot hold his attention; like art, like stories, like work, like life itself, they are of no consequence. He drifts through life, sleeping often, and doing this or that thing to pass the time. Sometimes doing useful things, because they matter to other people. That's not enough to make them matter to him, but it's enough to make him pretend that they do.
He wishes it were true. He wants something - anything - to be important. But wishing doesn't make it true.
Like an actor on the stage of his life, Octantis asks the director: “Where's my motivation?”
What he does not realize is that the director is waiting to see what he'll do ....
And that's all five of my first batch!
"I'd like you to do an intro for me or any one of my characters, as if one of us were being introduced in a story you were writing. Doesn't have to be complimentary or glowing, doesn't matter what situation we're appearing in, could be friendly or menacing or funny or matter of fact."
I'd actually considered doing writing for the meme instead of sketches, but decided writing would be too hard. Despite this, I had a clear idea of what I wanted to write for Octantis's request almost immediately, so I did it anyway. :)
This is Octantis.
He has a fine Irish name and Asian features to not match, making him quite thoroughly American. He has straight black hair that cascades down to his hips, the sort of hair that women envy, that cutting would be criminal. His muscles stand in sharp definition beneath his skin, not because he is fit but because he is preternaturally slender. Not skinny, with ribs and shoulder joints protruding like a famine victim or a fashion model, but an elfin slimness, with no fat and just enough muscle to cover his frame.
Octantis possesses remarkable talent and creativity. His skillful construction lends grace to even his rough sketches; in the stages of his art the viewer can see how simple shapes build to complex forms. He has an eye for composition, for motion, for animation: his subjects are seldom content just to stand and be viewed. His mind is alive with stories and characters, with settings and ideas. He writes as well as he draws, or better: each character endowed with a unique voice and distinct mannerisms, with individual passions, hopes, and fears. Each setting is rich with possibilities, with unusual ideas and outlooks. Different ones suit different mediums: he plans them as novels, or comics, or role-playing games, or video games.
But perfect characters are boring; every person must have his flaws, and Octantis is no exception. For Octantis, you see, knows one of the great and terrible secrets of the universe: nothing matters.
“What?” you say. “How can you call that a secret? You just told it to me!” True - but that doesn't mean you know it. When your best friend breaks the serving platter from your wedding china and you say “It doesn't matter,” you're only pretending. When Octantis says “it doesn't matter”, he knows it's true.
He is chronically late, when he doesn't forget altogether. He starts and stops new projects with wanton abandon. He will spend hours laboring over a sketch only to discard it for no reason. “It's nothing important.” Nothing is. Even the games he plays cannot hold his attention; like art, like stories, like work, like life itself, they are of no consequence. He drifts through life, sleeping often, and doing this or that thing to pass the time. Sometimes doing useful things, because they matter to other people. That's not enough to make them matter to him, but it's enough to make him pretend that they do.
He wishes it were true. He wants something - anything - to be important. But wishing doesn't make it true.
Like an actor on the stage of his life, Octantis asks the director: “Where's my motivation?”
What he does not realize is that the director is waiting to see what he'll do ....
And that's all five of my first batch!