Scum and Villainy: Star Wars TCG & Pocketmodels

Everybody has an off day.

A sick day.

A day where it is impossible to force your pyjamas anywhere past your fucking knees.

One of those days where you don't make it beyond the bathroom or refrigerator depending on the layout of your domicile.  Yesterday being of those days; while I wallowed in my own fetid distillery-stench and self-loathing I spied something odd peeking out at me from a cracked dresser drawer that I haven't touched since 2008 - at least.

 

Boba Fett, silently judging me amongst a mass of old, too large, too colourful clothing that I've been too lazy to even consider thinking about for the past four years.

Mechanix

Wanna see how art school teaches you how the creative process is just as mechanical and repetitive as every other job?  No?

Oh...well.

I'm not really an art student.  I'm actually majoring in bullshit with a minor in self-loathing.

As you can see - I pencil things digitally because I draw with all the finesse of a bag of hammers being dropped down a flight of stairs.  It's just faster and easier for me to see what I'm actually doing.  This is generally what my things look like freshly scanned after they've been inked, the motorcycle image to the right of that however, is where I've messed with the levels and threshold.  Much cleaner, and ready for digital editing!

This is the first time I've ever applied a digital screentone before, I've used the original zip-a-tone sheets before to drop textures by hand, but this was just so much less time consuming.  I ended up using a grey-tone wash sheet scan to make my tones look just a bit more organic than the all inclusive flat digital fade.  The wash also seems to print better at a larger format than the digital texture.  Asymmetry for the masses!

Then, finally - I had to do my titles by hand, which is a pain.  I look at how the old masters incorporated titles and text into their splash pages and I cringe at how bad I am at it.  But either way, I puked these out in a hurry and scanned these babies in, dropped them where I wanted them.

And the final product of all of this?

Swanky.

I need to edit them some more, do some hand lettering with their names below their boxes like in the pencils - maybe moving the title for the Heavenly host to that giant white floating space.

But that's how it always goes, nothing ever seems finished.

Supply Wars

Supply-wise all artists have their own personal favourites.  Musicians have their go-to suppliers for instruments, amps, mics, etc.  Every knitter has their own yarn that they fully endorse, and there are painters that will only use one or two brands of paint because of the chemical breakdown that allows such pigments to be so stubbornly bright, or so inevitably sheer and full of light.  Dancers tend to use one brand of equipment because it 'preforms best' or 'lasts forever'.  Even farmers have their own certain seed-brands or tractor equipment that they're attracted to.

And as a artist, I feel even less of an artist because I have so very few brands that I jump on and go "THIS, THIS IS FOR ME."

I suppose it's because I'm so indecisive, but sometimes, in the face of the array of supplies I'm privy to, that I feel so blatantly uneducated and unsure of myself that I don't even know my arse from a hole in the ground.

Surely you say "RUBE, DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT YOU LIKE?"

And lo, I say "NO, NO I FUCKING DON'T.  I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT I'M GOING TO GET WHEN I'M GOING THROUGH A DRIVE-THROUGH OF MY OWN CHOICE UNTIL I SEE THE GODDAMN MENU USUALLY."

The rapture is coming.

Fuck You, I'm Boba Fett

 That one's a real 'fixer-upper.'

I've got a collection of bounties posts in various states of lucidity finish, and I really should, you know.  Finish at least one.  They range from 'vaguely interesting' (my mad-rad everlasting jacket painting skills and the little things that help paint bond to leather/ I do dumb things to found furniture / art dumps / nifty action figures / weird-o comix / a full length essay on why I think the whole upper floor of my apartment shakes when my flatmates do 'it 'and exactly how we're all going to die) to HALLOWEEN JUNK.

I really need to get motivated.  But that takes time, planning, blood, sweat, tears, grammar, spelling, and this weird thing called 'vague original thought.'

Ugh.

I feel your sex-rays.

Look , sex.

I'm going to assume nobody in my immediate posting radius is offended by this harmless image. I'm pretty sure some of you even thought it was kind of neat, blinding colours, retro-action, and some goddamn Rebel Alliance affiliation rapped up into one awesome psychobilly band package.

So why do people react to it so adversely when I wear it?

Excuse my mess, I'm in the middle of packing for a move and my method of madness is to move things from one room to the other and back and forth until everything is in a proper box. Please enjoy 'Lensflare: The Castle Rubenstein Caper.'

Honestly, what's the problem? I'm used to middle-aged folks and on in my area being offended by the fact that I still dress like I'm in my late teens. This isn't perplexing in the least - but the fact that just about every male I run into who expresses interest in the 'top' of the shirt either looks at me with distaste after realizing what it says, or they turn into an ultra-creep.

EVEN MEN I KNOW??? CLOSE FRIENDS. PARENTS OF CLOSE FRIENDS. People who are used to my nonsensical bullshit seem to be nonplussed by the existence of this shirt.

I get more flack for this shirt than I do for either of my Alien Sex Fiend shirts. Maybe because there's immediate shock value there? And no sexualized laydees?

Either way, I'm at a loss for what to do with this information.

Today, I had a guy who seemed semi-interested in me, who started chatting me up until he asked me what my shirt said, wherein he expressed immediate disinterest after learning what my shirt actually communicated. Thereafter, I continued perusing awesome Halloween masks from 1992 and onward.

And then I realized I'm pretty boss, and if you don't like me for my taste in eye-candy then you can gtfo.