Goodness Gracious

I have been doing so many trashy sketches. Observe. Sorry about the blur.

Aristides

Vimes!

Vimes!
Vimes!
Vimes!
Yeah.
I'm being fangirly.
Shaddup.
(Vimes!)
Heh.
O. Uh...here's a piccy of Jono Strange. Oyez. Ginger magicians! It's a WIP.

Shiny and Neeeew!

'This, Bella, is the skin of a killer!'
*sparkles*
Teehee.
Guess what, guess what, guess what?!
I read five pages of Twilight by Stephanie Meyer, and I didn't actually upchuck!
Well, it was a near thing. I felt out of sorts for the rest of the day.
Sparkly vampires.
I cannot get over that.
It's fecking hilarious.
Wait wait wait. Look at this!
Tee
hee.

Uh...

Just some weekend sketches.
I KNOW Gavroche is meant to be an underfed little minger, but...but he has a cheeky smile and hollow eyes. Soh. Yez.
As for the other...well...I don't know. He has some rawkin hair, though. And a cruel mouth. Which is always good.
Uh...probably about forty minutes spent on each.

All Knowledge...

...is worth having.
Probably about an hour of concentrated work, spread finely over a weekend, a devo or two, and a meeting. Nekkid bishi with art nouveau hair!

How Very Traditionalist of Me

I have a new fictive crush.
His name is Sam Vimes.
Yes. The copper.
He's cerebral and clever and has way too many bad habits, including being a natural knurd.
I need to get away from liking reformed alcoholics.
Heh.
HUB-serve!
Are you my cow?
'Buglit!'
Tee hee.
If you get my knee-deep fic-references, you are as bad as I am, and SHAME ON YOU!

Losing No Faith

In case you were wondering.
These are for you. In order, we have:
1. Study after WJSolha's 'Study in Gold,' only, without the beard. Seriously, have you ever tried painting facial hair in watercolour? It is a pain. As evidenced by
2. The Tricolour. Yes. I would like to say it was influenced by some real feeling of revolutionary right, as moved by something pontificating like The Rights of Man, or even by Les Misérables, but I think we all know that I just really, really like Enjolras. *blushes* Next we have
3. a WIP, the preliminary sketch of a study after Michelangelo Buonaroti (sic?). It will, eventually, be in oils, if I am not entirely embarrassed by it, more WIPs may be forthcoming. If I can be arsed. And, speaking of studies after Renaissance masters, I figured
4. this would be in order. It's a study of the hand from Leonardo da Vinci's Lady with an Ermine. This is also a WIP, first underpainting. Trust me, you are much better off for not having seen the abysmal sketch. And lastly, to scorch your eyeballs, is
5. something with no title. Also a WIP. This is the last underpainting layer (the fourth), and from here on out we will be experimenting with glazes. Wish me luck.
Soh...that is mostly what I've been busy doing, beside being influenced (unfortunately) by mah Betsy, whose big arse fetish is rubbing off (yeesh, bad phrasing) on me. I sketched the little cutest little Cirque de Soleil type bird with a puffed sleeve bodysuit or something. And the rawkingest headdress. Or hair. Not sure which to make it.
Anyhow, just so you know that I'm not entirely through with drawing and painting androgynous boys. Cause I'm sure that's very important to the lot of you.

I've never...

...thought of Edmond Dantès quite like this.
Go watch Gankutsuou. It is very, very deeply acceptable.

okay seriously

Am I the only person who thinks David Tennant is mindbendingly sexy?
Yah. Mkay. I needs help.

Ohai Hugh!

FINALLY! Other women who agree with me about a guy being attractive. Apparently Hugh Jackman is the 'world's sexiest.'
Ch...yeah.
Have you SEEN the 'Australia' adverts? I mean...I'm not super into overmuscled blokes, but this...is...just...well see for yourself.
Boys from Oz are the best.

ROCKETBOOTS!

YAY!

I don't think I've ever been so in love.

On the Metro

You might remember, if you've known me long enough, how a long, long, time ago I was madly in love with a tall, slim brunet with big blue eyes and a flirty wink. He was called 'Drake,' but I determinedly called him my Adonis.
Well.
He has been effectively replaced.
By a skinny little man who gives me free coffee and shortbread.
I love my Nicky.
I will fight you for him, Aimee.
Also, David Tennant.
Here, c'est moi.

Man Candy

I am sick to DEATH of people telling me I look like Halle Berry.
If I looked like Halle Berry, I would have a gorgeous man-piece like Gabriel Aubry.
So there.
Been grooving to Radiohead...actually, just two of their tracks, Karma Police and No Surprises, both from OK Computer. I've got the most depressing playlist on my mp3 player right now...it even has Blue Eyed Soul by Wilco on it, but then suddenly starts spritzing up with Delivery by Babyshambles, which, incidentally, is the catchiest fucking tune in the history of catchy tunes. Long live Shotter's Nation, mah lovelies!
Urb. I'm going to go to bed and dream about blond Adonislike gods.
Observe.
Though, to be perfectly honest, I've been less and less about perfectly chiselled good looks lately, and more about scruffylooking men with killer smiles. Weird, huh?
I accosted some poor, random bloke in the mall the other day just cause he had the most glorious beard...and he was a blond. Obviously, fair men usually have kind of patchy facial hair..but he had this fabulous full on golden beard, all vikingly, and a great smile and all dimply through it.
Oh. I'm experimenting with watercolour canvas.

Pettru?

Yeah, so I'm not really into Apocalyptica, but their third cello is mind-bogglingly hawt.
Here. Have some completely gratuitous metal manflesh.
Brutal.
Giggle snort.
Oh, yeah, and Skwisgaar Skwigelf is also completely delish, despite also being completely fictional.

Beastly

Mood: Five Minutes to Bed-Time
Listening To: Albion, Babyshambles
Reading: The Golestan of S'adi, S'adi
Eating: Nothing. All bloody day.
Drinking: the ink from my pen
If you're looking for a cheap sort set in false anticipation,
I'll be waiting in the photo booth at the underground station,
Oh, come away, say you'll come away, we could go
Anywhere in Albion.
This song is the sex. Almost as much the sex as Jeremy Brett. You know, I just realised he's the little poufter who plays Freddie in My Fair Lady. I always thought he was such a little wanker, letting himself get dragged about by a girl who didn't really care about him. And he's so masterful as lovely S.H., you'd never know he was a poncy little Scorpio boy who smoked sixty cigarettes a day. Brings a whole new meaning to desperately needing a fag.
Who am I kidding? Nothing's going anywhere, and neither will it.
Nothing new under the sun, and all that.
I really just want to be snuggled, damn it. And the damned Ocker's gone away. So I shall indulge myself in petty nonsense like this.
Beastly Little Things!

Me Too! Me Too!

Apparently, this is so much an epidemic that they had to make a tea towel out of it. Damn. My initiation was about three nights ago. In my defense, he was naked, yes, but standing on a dais in contrapposto in some marvellous light which really brought out the nice richness of his skin, with some fantastic Tyrian purple and terre vert drapery behind him, and holding a very yellow apple.
As Benedict would say, 'There's a double meaning in that.' Though, really, the thought of a bucknude Daniel Craig taking time out of his undoubtedly busy schedule to provide me with live reference is really, really a lovely thought, though I almost would rather Adrian Brody.
Don't hurt me, ladies. Really. Mr. Craig looks like a frog, but he has fantastically lovely malamute-pup eyes, and, yes, even my eyes went a little glazed when he minced out of the ocean in Casino Royale wearing a pair of barely-there skivs. Yes, I do own a libido, thankyouverymuchly. But still. Adrian Brody. Honestly. Tall and lean and brown-eyed, and cerebral-looking. Or Jason Isaacs.
*eyes glaze*
Oh, deep-fried calendula blossoms!
*slaps self*
Erb. I wanted to say something useful.
I'm working on the Lavertezzo painting again, as well as contemplating opting out of this whole grisaille business. It's not quite as intimidating as a full colour portrait, but it's a double portrait, and I've never painted an infant before.
Eli! Eli! Lama sabacthani!
Actually, it's not that bad. It doesn't merit crucifixion garment-tearing, or the heaping of ashes on my head. Speaking of which, I curtailed my hair. A bit. Makes me happy.
I did a little sketch, a couple evenings ago, with a little set of pastels I got myself as a shiner prize for being such a good girl, as well as a pack of about three hundred sheets of manila paper. There are two black pastels, a bistre, a terracotta (I wish they'd used sanguine instead), and white. I did a fun little sketch after Lucian Freud, a man's head, very fun expressive lines and funkeh shading. Big, amused eyes. I love the expression as it turned out, very cynical and bizarrely warm at the same time. I haven't drawn for a while with chalk, so it was entertaining.
I've been doing tons of faces, also, with pencil, ranging in detail from four-hour drawings to half-hour thumbnail sketches. Gettin' back in the groove. My next big mission is to figure out some cool art nouveau-esque border design for this Mucha copy I've just nearly finished. I have to wait till the lines are dry, though, again, because of the heavy use of copal medium to thin the paint. Buh. I'll post when she's finished. She's a gift for someone, so you can't see her yet.
Well, of course it's a she. Mucha--HELLO!
My toes have been freezing all day, but now they're wonderfully warm.
Also, the slice in my thumb has finally healed up, and I'm tentatively starting to play guitar again. God, I'm rubbish. My voice sounds fantastic, though. Swear I've lost a bit of range, though. My tones are improving, and I can project better. Probably all the yelling and cursing I've been doing at my paintings.
Buhhh.

Cutest Fights Ever

Courtesy of Scott Campbell.

Long Lost Twins