Value of Time, Worth and Money

It's already going on 2am, and it has certainly been a long day, but I thought I could punch in some blog time all the same. I was already in the car and traversing town before I'd properly woken up. By the moment of me rising from bed, I was already descending the stairs and into the seven seated courier to my latest 'job'. I've in honesty been putting it off, for one because of the weather and two to recover from something. Hands felt stiff and sore for a bit, but that's eased off now.

In the interim period however, I fired up maya and I've been modelled a test mesh for a character Cadeaux, whom will be one of the protagonists in future DoaM animations. One of the few female characters to feature so far! Modelling takes on a different nature when things run smoothly and things seem to work out, but I know I'm soon going to leave my comfort zone of familiar polygonal topology and I'll have to experiment with Maya's hair system. Feeling it'll be worthwhile though.

I'll post up test renders soon.

I've been thinking more on the point of earning money. Time as we know is said to equate metaphorically to money. This as Lakoff states is relected in our culture's system of paying employees by the hour. By this very pattern we can emerge at the comclusion that time is inherently valuable. However, everyone has time, not everyone has money. So the two 'matters' aren't an automatic translation, sadly. However if we invest our time, it may prove beneficial in finding a job...

I'm feeling these odd jobs are a method of building character and I'm learning alot about the way I think and how it applies to more areas than just my art. I have a tendency to reach the end of something, a task, a creation or a period of time and I'm reluctant always to finish whatever that might be in context. It always leaves me less than 'what could have been.' I'm yet to figure out, why this is, and why it remains ever prevalent in all that I do.

I could feel my drive depleting as I got into the latter stages of weeding today. I kept purposefully missing spotted weeds thinking, ah well she's not going to mind one or two remaining. It got to the point where I reached a plateau of expectation. What I thought was expected of me, and what I expected the reactions of my efforts to be. As it were, I was paid before I had finished and this I felt became double edged. I knew I could walk away at any point thereafter (within reason) but I felt then obligated to earn the money given. I tried to guage how much that amount of money would cover in what actions I then undertook.

More later I guess, I want to go read the Artist's Way.~

Working by Day, 'Real' Work by Night

So my life is as thus. Waking to the sound of my father arranging and seemingly re-arranging things around 'my' room, all the while huffing and sighing in a regular pattern regardless of what it is he is doing. Summoned over the phone by my mother to agree to paid work she's managed to organise for me, outwith my knowledge. So far it's been painting her fence, with a rather nifty power spray thing, and a whole lot of gardening re-discovering beneath a jungle of weeds and grass. Today is the back garden of the same allotted owner, and I'm timidly looking forward to this job ending. And then it's on to washing cars!

These fill my daylight hours. By night, I'm designing band logos and putting in some solid hours into playing the Xbox 360 while I have the chance. So far my playlist includes Spiderman 3, GTA IV and Lost Oddyssey. Which are fun, intriguing and highly beautiful yet lacking in real engagement yet, respectfully.

This is really making me consider the nature of the career I'm wandering into. Where my true interests at the moment are being reserved for later hours, and where my usual skillset isn't finding me the money I require. I suppose finding a job is easier if you're not specifically offering a particular service and are willing to work under the title of Lackey. I guess it's not half bad to be inexperienced and be learning new skills -while- you're being paid to do so. I know how to more effectively use a garden fork to better effect on soil and weeds, much to the protest of my palms. I really should have considering bringing old clothes, but who could have foreseen my mother's dexterity in finding work like that?

What is my time really worth either way? What is the value of time itself? It's rather dependant upon the one seeking your time, in context time is variable.

So it is on to battle dogs and rabbits in a bid to free a garden path from the onslaught of rabid dandelion spores! Yarrghh! Armed with a spade, and curved knife, gardening gauntlets and a fortitude to outlast weed kind. Suffer the slings and stench of the uprooted tyranny and reclaim the peace of a well kept garden, all to appease the neighbouring citizens disgust, from over yonder fences.



Oh and here is the logo I'm currently attempting to make legible, if any of you can read this lemme know what you think it is meant to say... I'm cautious about the ambigram-ality of it, and whether effective clarity is suffering. While the design itself looks quite cool, I can't tell if it is delivering the right message at the moment. However this is design 1 of hopefully many.

Also Tidan, got any more work on your minotaur yet!? Love to see it. :P

Boxes upon boxes, in the foritifed junk

I am sitting amid chaos, of the bric-a-brac kind. The floor barely visible, let along treadable to traverse my escape. This is the nature of a world of moving, and packing and taking one world into the next. All of these belongings, belong elsewhere to another one, and I haven't a clue how to make head nor tail of sense of it all.

It's also the reason for the diverted flow of energies and the lack of posting. I'm still doodling when given the chance, but otherwise I'm attempting to remain useful in a 'move this from here to there' kind of way. If only I were telekinetic...

~

I've been getting the sensations in the back of my mind to begin writing again. Maybe it's a summer thing, who knows but it's creeping back. I'd really like to know where to begin but I think that's like trying to figure out which shadow begins the darkness. Awfully pleasant metaphor there... Ah, metaphor. Of course. I plan on reading books about metaphor in my whiling away time down in Kelso, amongst the avid gaming and catching up with relatives of course. Both written or co-written by G. Lakoff, I'm hoping to further my understanding of the nature of metaphor, so that I can better write about it and make it the axis upon which my future works can spin.

There needs to be more 'where's' and 'what's' and 'when's' in the tale of metaphor. Everything begins with a dream though, where the Hatted Fool plummets in a spiral, ever quickening in his descent, racing toward... something. Perhaps it is an epiphany? Some moment of clarity and boom, suddenly there are feet. Hands. A train carriage. Discovery. Whispers. Strangers. Fear. 'Gators. Emptiness. Patiences. Fishing. A door. Bridges. And then.... a void of unknown, yet to be conceived possible potentiality...

Best get started!

Artage in the workage...

Here's some updatage on the two pieces I'm currently working on. The minotaur one was an impromptu challenge from a friend I couldn't pass up. Comments and feedback always welcome.

Now for something animated-ly cool.

Going Greek..

So today was a weird start. I woke up late, which is a result of going to bed late more than likely. But the day has begun slowly and has continued so until i signed into messenger and began chatting with Tidan, and he put to me the challenge of painting a moment from greek mythology, for my Vi asked him if he would paint any other figures from there like his interpretation of Pandora His choice was Theseus and the Minotaur. So I thought I'd post up my Work in Progress on that. This is it after an hour and half, including debates of a creationist nature with Dawkins, author of The God Delusion, and an Iraqi debate on whether the earth is Flat. Of course the earth is not flat. It has hills. Enjoy.

My Rock Got Small...

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For Violet x

This is a idea myself and Vi came up with while walking, and it usually occurs that I would hint that it would make a really cool drawing but never get around to actually drawing it. Well nae mare!

Cats walking, Art talking

So on Thursday my current life ended and a new one began. I managed a couple of observed drawings of people while waiting in the bus station. Happenings began with slumping myself into a bus seat and waiting patiently for the world to move around me. It seemed Glasgow had arrived.

My bearings for a lot more fixed and I managed to find my way to Glasgow Central, or rather beneath the train filled station in a whole new world under the pretense of the arches. I had fallen into 'Fashion' and I was swept along in the tide of it. While creative, it felt like it had some inate surreal aura surrounding everything. Unlike my usual sketching/drawing compatriots, these people dealt with 'people'. As their medium. Art pieces became living things, people who breathed and talked, and looked back at you if your eyes became fixed too long. These artworks moved with a will of their own, pulled their own strings, were animate in a whim.

While I might deal with the illusion of life, these artisans sculpted with it. The bond between make-up artist and model is something I've never witnessed before. Add to that mix, the wandering camera wielders and this felt like a world with invisble rules I had to wing as I went. I spent the most part standing still as best I could, not being in the way. Sketchbook firmly placed in hand, I established myself as a visualist, or some such.

~

Returning to write this after midnight, it is technically still Saturday in my head. It might just take 20 minutes for my mind to catch up with time anyways.

I was recently amazed and in awe of a massive black artist El Coro, especially with his short introduction to his graphic novel, Bum. His storytelling and pacing is matched with his ability to capture light and atmosphere, while his courage to depict unsettling imagery heralds this as a great concepts, masterfully delivered. Well worth checking out.

I have a few sketches of my own brewing, but it'll have to wait til I scan them tomorrow.

Aci out~

Over the Edge, touching clouds...

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And this marks the moment when 3rd year drifts in time, to memory and reflection. Like the ripples in a still pool, churning currents on the embankments. Build me a river, so that I may travel, not to anywhere, but to travel is in the reward unto itself.

I made my presentation. I didn't say a lot of things that I intended on saying, mainly down to nerves. It is true what is said about presenting. There are 3 presentations exist in the ether for every one you are tasked to make. The one you prepare for, all the images and the texts and the thoughts you have beforehand. The presentation which actually occurs, the minefield that it is. And the one which haunts you with hindsight.

"Haunted by Hindsight." or "Hunted by Hindsight" Things to think on.

And now the real test begins, time to pour out of my mind all the things which have been trapped. Time to unveil the thoughts and images which lurk. Time for time, to take and use. Please don't let me waste this summer.

I have to go to Glasgow today for an exhibition for my works with Sian Lidgate. Hope this opens up some doors or something. Work would be nice, especially the kind attached to moneys. Leaving at 3pm... long day.

Aci~

Presentating, Much a Making of a Fool

Having to present yourself, means you think you're worth presenting. This occurring in coincidence with you realising you've been sleep walking through life, and have finally now realised you're at the end of a period of time you can't reclaim. Makes you really question wtf it is you've been doing....

Here's the brief for what I have to do, for Jamie.

Dual of Worthy Note

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Here's another progress shot of the Frogboy/Insediddle painting. Figured it would be worth showing my process... not that I have one. Less of a green sky now, I want to craft it so it adds to the drama... can anyone suggest how I might push the fish more into the background?

Aci~

Time, Thoughts and Hoover Holocausts

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It took me several tries to get a fitting title, even when I thought I had it, I went back to re-edit it. What is the worth in the beginning of things? I seem to see a lot of it, but the energy gives way or the attention shifts.

Here's a WIP I'm currently painting of the Frogboy. Trying to work in a little redesign and thought into his character, as it has been evolving over the time of his being 'made-up'. Any thoughts and comments would be appreciated yo.

I'm rather crafted in interesting beginnings, but once the development begins, I sort of wane. Terribly wane. Okay I just suck particularly badly at finishing things. This is a recurrent fault of mine, like a fault line across my mind and soul. Or some such.

Considering the limitations of one mind and one pair of hands, I need to come to the terms of what I will be willing AND able to keep going daily. I think I'm going to collate all of the efforts I'm currently working on and see which are working and which are not. Which are worth pursuing and which will kick the bucket, at least for now. So that my time is more focused and therefore I hope more valuable/constructive. The results of this I shall probably post in time to come...

A BIG SHOUT OUT HERE FOR ANYONE WISHING TO BOTH LINK TO AND LINK FROM THIS BLOG. Happy to do so, I'll be checking out fellow art bloggers and seeing which I find fascinating. Perhaps a shout out to them each post, just as a means of being communal.

Also I think this needs to go down in some manner of documentation. Nasal hell was unleashed a couple days ago within the enclosed confines of my room. Dormant there for who knows how long, has been a festering reek fest in the hallway. It's alias, The Hoover. The moment the switch was pressed, both mine and Violet's eyes widened questioningly. 'What the hell?' The smell was a combination of wet mould, ash, dust and weed. What a legacy to have left behind. -shudders- So we emptied, dissenfected, ousted and frebreezed the jebus out of the damn thing and hoped for the best...

Aci out~

Metaphor

I recently bought a book. Many books. The different kinds of books come in. Some are full of words, and are for the filling of my head. Some are empty of everything but blank canvas pages, and a longing to be filled by my head. And one of these is Metaphor.

A Metaphor is a metaphor for, is for fondling ideas, carressing them into existence. It is for taking the 2 dimensions of print, and arranging them as portals in a page turning world. Linking images together by feeling, or colour, or intensity or just whatever feels right at the time.

It is for scrawling notes, and words and meanings all for myself.. to horde and savour until the taste makes me dizzy. It is for snippets of otherworldly matters, stuck in adhesively by glue sticks and spit, and sweat, tears and the odd pint of blood.

Metaphor is a journey, and the journey is life. It's 4am dammit.

Reservoir Flood Gates

What I do, and where I write is something not even I'm completely aware of. I don't switch places in an attempt to hide. I don't know what works for me. I'm never completely sure when I begin. I'm willing to try something out, perhaps even when it is half hearted.

I know I have a problem with finishing what I begin. It is not that I find the old things boring, it is not that I feel them inadequate. It is down to circumstances changing, it is about where my head is at the time. If I could do everything I set out to do, I'd have to first work out how to create more hours of every day.

I'm not good with time manangement. Never, ever have been.

I showed you when I was ready to show you. And yet you react like i've done something wrong. Maybe I have, who knows, but it's like you're judging me. Why are you judging me on this? What do I have to do? That's what I'm trying to find out. I'm making the mistakes I need to make.

Busy doing Nothing.

Why am I procastinating, am I nervous. Yes. Am I stessed? I think so. Is there any alleviation from these things? Yes, avoidance. What is the purpose of these words? To fulfil those evasive actions was content, matter, meaning.

I wish I held the reigns of my creative energies more firmly.

Ears, the Anti-Doorbells. And How!

Write something here you mugula snoot!

It appears as though the past version of myself wishes me to attend to his wishes. You see I opened this posting page in my browser the night before, so that when I returned to the laptop, it was waiting for me. A clever device and trap for myself to continue writing on here. It also reveals some level of my thinking at 3 in the morning.

As such though, this journal is more likely to be pre-events of the day, rather than an account of it. Unless of course I make two entries per day. This is all dependant on time though.

I've started posting things on Deviantart again. Seems like something to do. I'm a little less hesitant about putting up things from what I'm working on, even the strongest ideas and so forth. Because well, they're a vital part of my collective works, y'know?

So I now move onto the matter of who or what Mugula Snoot is.. well I imagine from the essence of the sounds inherent in the name that the chracter is left handed. He would shift from one foot to the other often, to distribute the energies spent by each limb. Is a research scientist or inventor of some manner, specialising in the elements and existential variables involved in metaphoral organ transplantation.

Due to metaphors being made of their own very essences, any part of them would contain themselves. This makes transplanting a volatile and unpredictable endeavour. Since the after shock and consequences of grafting 'fragments' into other beings are so unstable, many have fled from the very notion of it. Ridiculing Mugula for his persistence in a damned field. Mugula took this to heart, to the very idea of a heart, and began his lifetime study of it.

Perhaps he was endeavouring to reverse the deaths of metaphors? But this stumbles into theoretical territory now. And contradicts my notion that dead metaphors still function within the world. This is leading somewhere you know. My ears are still blocked and ringing, furk furk furk. I hope they're amended by the time I have to make my presentation.