Sketching generic girl faces and figures, plus a lot of side comments. I’d like to think I’ve improved since the last dump, but if you don’t agree, be brutally honest in the comments. I mean it.
I recently reread comments under my posts and am wondering why I skimmed over the encouraging compliments some kind souls left. That’s odd of me. I’ll make a mental note to bask in that later.
But that’s not what you came here for. Behold!
A Subtle Improvement
I believe I was going for a baseball fit, like something cute you can wear to a baseball . . . viewing. (I have no idea what it’s called. Bear with me.) But fun fact: I know nothing about baseball, except that it has a song with something about four strikes, and apparently, neither do I possess knowledge about the human eyelashes since I sure did go out all with the those the of above girl.
But I like her lone star earring and cap—both of which I’m surprised I didn’t mess up—and the fact that she looks genuinely happy. Good stuff.
Expect all my drawn characters to have a tooth-decaying joy on their faces.
And I still can’t draw men. PAIN.
Inspired by an Instagram post by a superb artist whose account name I forgot. I lost the link to where I got this, which is annoying.
I’m a bit irked that the details on her face are smudged, but that’s probably my camera’s fault. I wanna steal her jacket.
Did you notice where her headphones are connected? Yup. #stolenidea
An attempt at proportions. I cringed.Baby fingers.
I’m not too proud of these, but I once heard bad drawings are part of the process, so there.
Aurora fanart
I love the stylized way Aurora was drawn in the 1959 movie. Sure, she didn’t get as much screen time as her fairy godmothers, but did she still slay?
All the way, peeps. All the way.
Anastasia fanart
She’s basically a Disney princess now! I love how the animated movie portrayed Anya. She isn’t quirky, but her character still jumped off the screen. She wasn’t a girlboss but was still confident and assured. And she’s voiced by Meg Ryan, so what more do you need, am I right?
Ignore the weird muck on her elbow.
This one was an experiment with a slight style change, and I’m pretty happy with it.
But a side note: ballerinas don’t touch the curtains like this. What was I thinking? 😭
Ta-da! The last one’s from Pinterest, by the way. Something about a dancing reference.
Inspired by a Pinterest thing.
That Writer Friend™ told me this was how she imagined Odette, and I’m relatively flattered. I nailed the swoosh of her dress, but the lizard-long neck? Goodness no. I’m satisfied enough with her face, but the angle killed me. I had to erase and redraw that seventeen times. Er, ten. Twenty? Somewhere there.
Edit: Okay, looking at it again, that neck is . . . something else. It might have taken away from the rest of her body, which is why the parts below her shoulders look so cramped.
Unfinished Swan Lake art.
What do you think? Should I finish it? 👀
Moon girl on top; 2000s side character vibe girl on the bottom.
Inspired by Marilyn Monroe. If you squint your eyes, you might just see the resemblance.
codename: Cassandra
Round face represenatation! The revolver and hand are a yes for me. *chef’s kiss*
feat. my fingers
I got her proportions right on paper, but they didn’t translate. Tragic, I tell you. An absolute tragedy.
Her upper half, though.✨ But her hair looks a bit wonky. Let me fix that—
Perks of working with a pencil. 😎
Thank you for reading!
Imposter syndrome is more merciful in my art than my writing, which is reassuring and confuddling.
Share what you think, and [inserts what I usually say in these posts]. Yeah, I’m out of practice.
In which I give a brief show of art, which I’m hoping you’d give feedback on (hint hint) with lots of explanations and extra notes, and showcase something I think is stupendous.
It’s me again. Tired of it yet?
This is going to be a brief post; worry not. Before I continue, remember that post where I said I’d put some reviews up? No? Well, scratch that. I recently discovered that I don’t like giving reviews on things. Not everything can be summarized in a few stars, and I got a little overwhelmed with the idea of doing so with books I’m not sure how I feel about.
Anyway, this week was a rollercoaster, but not to toot my own horn, but I’m pretty sure I succeeded in keeping my priorities straight. Er, sort of.
Enough detouring. Behold!
My Artistic Improvement! (Including a Very Special Fanart Piece)
From February 19, the date I most recently posted a dump, to today, I polished my skills quite a bit, or I’d like to think so. See for yourself.
Let’s arrange this by date.
My imagination of Odette’s appearance shifted from a blonde, fair-skinned young lady to a tanned, brunette girl in planning my version of Swan Lake.
I’m not happy with this, but it’s better than most. See? I can be candid.
The settings automatically changed this picture (I don’t draw horizontally), but I’m too lazy to change it, so tilt your head a bit if you want to enjoy it.
This is a rendition of Halle Bailey without her illustrious fins and sequins. Funny, I didn’t know I was drawing her when I did this because the reference photo was another rendition of her, so I accidentally did a celebrity fanart. Hmm.
Pooping back in to add: Meet my character, Alessia, from That One Fantasy Story I’ll Probably Never Get Around to Do™. She’s a 5’1, 14-year-old female with a hint of Asian descent (which is extremely broad, I know—I should know) who resides in a humble village in a world where Vikings, kings, half-creatures, and iPhones co-exist. She wants nothing more than to please the people she loves, admires, and holds dear, not consisting of her friends. She keeps them at arm’s length; vulnerability is a weakness, and she won’t permit it to ensnare her.
I forgot whom I used as a reference, but the artist was on Instagram. I’m pretty sure she was recreating objects as humans and their outfits; yes, it sounds as cool as it is.
Just a random smirker with a headband.
A random, dimpled girl with—I imagine—pink highlights at the tips of her hair.
The one to the left is a sketch in which I tried a new style. I’m not too proud of it, but it looks fine. The one on the right is a selfier whose hands I am extremely irked with. They look…tentacle-y and bony—not what I was going for.
I have a love-hate relationship with ponytails: I love the ponytail, hate tying it.
…Charlotte Ford from Natalie/The Texas Lass’s novella, Reciprocity!
I worked very diligently on that rifle and apologize for forgetting one doodad or thingamabob. I tried, okay?! Also, I was too lazy to draw her tac vest, as slaving on her weapon took a significant chunk of my time working on the overall result. She wasn’t supposed to have the gun, but I had to put it in. I had to. Well, whaddya think?
(Look. At. Her. HANDS. Then look away right after because they’re not that good.)
(And I don’t know what’s going on with her hair either.)
This is my version, so it might not match how you imagine her when reading the snippets.
…unless you haven’t read it yet. And my, oh my, are you in for a treat!
Or a trick. It’s a two-way street.
And now I’m faced with a predicament: To tag Miss Texan’s posts or not? I intended this to be a surprise, hence, not wanting to notify her, but she deserves her recognition. What to do…
Listen carefully, all right? You will be directed to her homepage. Scroll down and click anything with the word “Reciprocity” in the title. I’d advise the announcement post, but start with the first chapter if you’re impatient (and self-aware).
Of course, you might not like zombies and apocalyptic stuff, but I didn’t either. And trust me, stepping out of your comfort zone is worth it in this situation.
That would be a perfect segue into why you should follow my advice, but I’m so avid that I might run my mouth. No need to get into the eerie feels, well-communicated urgency, and exquisitely planned out backstories—you’ll have to see it for yourself. Which will be a rabbit hole to another thing and the thing after that, which is…
Heyyy! And that’s me running my mouth, kids. Gosh, you’d think the girl would learn.
Hello there, aliens. (I’m being consistent again. Yes!) Below is my entry for the Sawrrie Spring Artistry Tournament.
Click to see Corrie’s post!
My code name (that’s so secret she’s sharing it with all aliens): cinnamon oatmeal~
Next time I’ll make my code name my signature at the bottom of my artwork. Next time!
It looks absolutely horrid! Ha, I beat you to it!
Corrie might see this (and feel obligated to comment and like). She might gush and tell me how beautiful it was, but NO! I don’t wanna hear it!
There’s a backstory to this piece of work, which I’ve entitled “A Whiff of Life.”
The literal backstory is it was acceptable for a while.
I enjoyed creating it with little edits here and there. My baby sister (not so much of a baby, but whatever) commented that “It was good.” She never compliments my artwork. Huh.
Then I took out my fine pen. Oh, woe! I never should have done that. My art is ruined. My mortal enemy will forever be those outline pens… until I learn to properly use them, which is not near.
Seeing it now, it’s not…that bad…
But still.
The figurative backstory is this story I made.
I’ll share it in another post since this one is supposed to be sophisticated. I’m sharing an entry for an art contest. It should, at the very least, look organized!
Her eyes scanned the horizon, and her brows dropped an inch lower than usual. Without words or communication, all that needed to be said was said. Spring was late.
She rested her foot atop the boulder near the verge of the mountainside. Her deep black hair rolled in perfect heaps on her shoulders. For wintertime, her clothes were much too thin, too light. But it didn’t bother her. She was practically queen of the season. Of all seasons, for that matter.
With a nod to the setting sun, she put her foot back in place and headed home. Timmy bounded after her. Her pace was too quick for him to catch her quickly. But slowing his pace once he reached her side, Timmy glanced at her face. The abnormal darkness lining her features didn’t surprise him. She got like that every winter.
It was weird, in his opinion, that her skin became darker and that her hair changed from brown to black during the winters. Shouldn’t it become whiter? That would match the theme of nose-nipping frozenness more. He should ask that to the Wise Old Bear.
“Keep your eyes peeled for the first leaf fall,” she reminded.
But for another time.
He nodded at her, the nameless girl who took him in all those years ago. Who, in all his years, cared for him and never lashed out at him. A change, it was for Tim to be taken into her custody. She seemed cold, harsh, and rude, but she was not. Her show of love was odd—she loved not through physical affection but through service. She would patch him up wordlessly when he cried in the far past from an unprecedented bruise or an ugly cut. No “Are you all right, Timmy dear?” or “Oh, don’t cry, sweetie. You’ll be fine soon!” Nothing of the sort, and he was all right.
He would sell his soul before anyone would know, but he loved the girl. Like a sister. He would go to a little corner to cry when she would hurt herself. He was pained when she was and worked to fix her up. She had done the same for him; it was only fair.
As they trudged on (their home was not too far away), she finally spoke again, “Mrs. Corda might need some help with the move. Go off to help her, would you? I must go off to the Bears’ home after supper.”
His reply was a small smile and a cordial nod. Timmy loved the people of the woods, though people they were not. Every day, he was ordered around, told to go here, told to go there, all around the woods. How significant a 7-year-old boy would be to the woodlanders remains a wonder. But he did his work cheerfully, and that was that.
Mrs. Corda was the nursery teacher whose dream was to own a small school, though it was nearly impossible. Dreams never do stay within the bounds of reality and possibility, do they? So still, the hopeful Mrs. Corda prayed.
Timmy loved visiting the Bears most and considered begging to join her in seeing them. But he decided against it. He must behave.
They reached their home in the hollow, and Timmy melted at the feel of the fire. After warming up, he went to aid Mrs. Corda in transferring her things from her house to where her class would be held the next day. After the quick task, he dashed home, nearly slipping from the snow by the doorway, before slamming into the wooden door, recovering, and clicking it open.
She looked up— the nameless girl—black hair bouncing. On his face shone a toothy grin with a hole in the middle. He lifted his arm in front of him in a blur and so quickly that she had to sit for a bit before her eyes focused. She gasped.
The first leaf. “I found it on the way,” he explained, bouncing by the balls of his feet. She stood and walked over to him. Her eyes stayed glued to the fine specimen in his tiny fingers. Plucking it gently from him, she held it by the stem. The process was slow—she gaped and turned it by her fingers, looking here and there. Then she brought it up to her nose and took a good, deep whiff. Her shoulders drooped at the fabulous, incredible scent—the fragrance they feared would not come soon enough. But it did! Oh, it did!
They should’ve trusted Him. The nameless girl had always been in charge of the seasons. She would make sure it was not too hot, not too cold, not too warm, and not too chilly. She fixed the aroma, she woke the nymphs, she calmed the frantic woodlanders, and she made sure all things were in the right. But He created the seasons. He knew when it would come and go. Sometimes she feared He would reel them in at too late a time or too early, but He always, always, always knew better.
These thoughts flooded her mind as the aroma clouded her senses. She looked down at Tim, whose star-eyed gaze locked in hers. She felt the blackness of her hair slipping and her cheeks warming up. Despite feeling drugged by happiness and joy, she smiled at Timmy and whispered, “Spring is here, Timmy. Life is yet to come.”
I was told to fail as a writer, so I did that. This is the first short story I posted here. And it’s titleless.
Welp, you never can be perfect. I’m a living testimony.
Thank you for reading!
Before I go, I must explain that in my art, I never should’ve put black markings on her hair. The only way I fixed it was by incorporating in my story that the blackness of her hair was slipping off and that a lush fiery redness replaced it, as shown in the art. I need you to UNDERSTAND THAT.
Also, I know close to nothing about springtime. In my country, all we have is the dry season and wet season (which both have their share of dryness and wetness). In all truth, they both should be called ber-month season and it’s-so-hot-I-wanna-shave-all-my-hair-off season.
Please note that all this I wrote in a British accent. ☕️ Also, click the title.
*sigh* You’re probably tired of this.
“Too much art, dear,” you say. But, my, are you in for a treat because there can NEVER be too much AHT!
“Preach, child!”
My big-brained self has conjured up the probability that some of you may be new here. 🧐 (OHR you did NOT check out my previous art posts. 🤨 What is one to do?!)
See them first so you may delight in my improvement! (That doesn’t sound too proud, does it? 😬)
What’s Going On? (Because truly, when do we really know what we’re dealing with? 🧐)
ENOUGH TALK! Let’s art. ✍️
The Art…. actually, WAIT.
Before we begin, there’s something I must explain: I forgot my art style. I viewed many different ahtists absolutely scrumptious renditions and original works, and… I got discouraged. Seriously and very deeply discouraged. How could one ever reach the bar they’ve set?
I snapped out of it by God’s grace! I would say that figuring out some stuff about myself through the lens of the Word of God was also beneficial. BUT THAT’S MUCH TOO DEEP FOR NOW.
Related: Monthly Wrap-Up (Feb 2023), which is more of a mid-month wrap-up since FeB’S NOT OVER YET. (But no one reads mid-month wrap-ups, amirite, dearies? 😏 )
BEFORE the Breakdown
‘TIS SO DIRTY!!!
I have this horrid tendency of not taking care of the scraps of paper which I use for certain drawings. Being, y’know, MYSELF, I love drawing on scratch paper! 😃
[The one to the right] Not my PROUDEST creation but a creation nonetheless.
I feel it’s important to note that I filter out some of my sketches since some of them are 🤢… too revolting to share. I hope you understand. 😅
DURING the Breakdown
Someway, somehow, past Breanna knew of her dilemma. At the back of her mind, she was aware of the disappointment her drawings brought. They just weren’t good enough. She just wasn’t good enough.
So she stopped.
No drawing.
No sketching.
No art.
nothing.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
After the Breakdown 😎
Ehehehe, I’m definitely over-exaggerating my past situation because on the same day of the “breakdown,” I made these lovelies. 👆
OH WAIT, NOW I get it. The picture during the breakdown was actually after a big hiatus I took from art. (If you ever feel overly pressured from something, consider taking a break!) Apologies for the misunderstanding! 😃
DEN I read some articles on how to draw. Sometimes you need to return to the basics. 👌
Good 👍
Not so good 👎
A huge shoutout and thank you to Cameron Mark Art. (MA DUUUUUDE!) Thank you for showing your art to the world so amateurs like me can imitate and acquire motivation from them.
When I hit a block, I genuinely tried discontinuing my art journey. But I couldn’t. It was a chunk of me that couldn’t be removed.
No matter how terrible I believe I am, I can’t stop. I won’t stop. And no human deter me.
(EXCEPT FOR YOU, MOM AND DAD! I’D GIVE UP ART FOR YOU ANY DAY! 😃)
… Lez move on
(I revealed my hand to remind you aliens that I’M NOT A BOT.)
I’M SO VERY PROUD OF THIS!
HARUMIIII inspired by the 13th to the last sketch of this post by Bea
Her body proportions are WHACK. But I attempted to fix it the best I could, so whack it shall stay.
Allow me to take a moment to explain who Harumi is.
Rumi/ HarumI
In a series called Ninjago, Harumi was (take note: was) this perfect princess. White hair adorned her head, and her lips were always cherry red. (RHYME!) The first time the ninja—Surprise, surprise, Ninjago is about ninjas!—met Harumi, she wore her royal gown and crown, face lathered in the required make-up of the Jade Princess (another name of hers).
(Ninjago fans, I’ll skip some backstory cuz I’m kinda sus about her.) Lloyd, one of the main characters, identified with her since she also felt like a bar was set for her (as a princess but for him as the Green Ninja)—a bar she felt she could never reach. *cough* She was also adopted. *cough*
Lloydie-toydie develops a crushy-wushy, cuz he’s a BIG OL’ BABY! (That’s a half-meant joke. 😏 Watch Ninjago to understand!) She’s aware of his feelings…
⛔️ Warning: MAJOR SPOILER! Do not read if you wanna watch the show. ⛔️
…THEN USES IT TO BRING HIS “DEAD” DAD BACK FROM IMPRISONMENT IN ANOTHER REALM BECAUSE SHE WAS ACTUALLY EVIL THIS WHOLE TIME AND WAS USING LLOYD’S EMOTIONS TO GET WHAT SHE WANTED.
😮💨
🧘♀️
What did she want, you ask? Well, dearies, you’re in for a treat: Lloyd’s father was overcome by evil and therefore detained in a place, not part of yet still sort of part of their LEGO world. Yes, it’s lego. Hard to wrap your head around, but let me continue: Before he was “fully” evil, he stopped this ginormous snake from destroying all of Ninjago. The people credited the victory to Lloyd’s father, Garmadon, despite the ninja doing most of the work.
Here’s the kicker: Harumi’s parents died because of the destruction the snakey caused. From then on out, she “worshiped” Garmadon, and dedicated her life to resurrecting him. On the other hand, she loathed the ninja and vowed to annihilate them. (Or at least torture them until they wish she had.) She spent years upon years undercover, forming a band of bandits to bend upon her will. Lloyd crushing on her only helped her cause. (LLYOD, WHY?)
The only thing that fueled her was her hatred of the ninja. But somehow she gets over that…
…but not before dying. 🙂
Just… just watch it.
HENCE THE SKETCH! She’s a sassy boss, which I would have been okay with had…had she not emotionally manipulated Lloyd. Ya.
Thank You for reading!
I WROTE THIS POST ENTIRELY ON A PHONE! Huzzah!
Applaud me, aliens. 👏 👏 👏
Oh, and if ever you read this again, do it out loud in your best British accent. Thank you.
Dear Aliens,
Something's going on. It's severe, maybe fatal. I don't know if I can withstand it. And can you guess what's worse?
I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT IS!
Firstly, I must clarify that this is a pathetic post—a no-good filler. The type of post squished between two good ones when you have something to say but can’t pinpoint it. TURN BACK NOW.
Fellow bloggers, you know my plight, don’t you?
Secondly, art. My coping mechanism.
✨zE aRt✨
Haha, it was 1/18/2023 not 11/18/2023. I can’t time travel.
1/18/2023
(Apologies for the bad lighting and the glint. I tend to capture them during night hours.)
Ask me why I share these, and I won’t give a proper answer. Something along the lines of:
“Oh, I dunno. I’m just scared my notebooks’ll be burned down one day, and I’ll never have a record of my sketches.”
Besides, I warned you of illogical posts. My media storage is already reaching record-breaking levels.
“Then why do you-“
I can’t answer that.
School
GUYS! URGENT MESSAGE:
I need prayers. I’m backlogged. This already happened last year, and I pulled through in the end. But things have GOT to take a dramatic, unrealistic, only-possible-through-God swerve in the right direction for that to happen again.
You may not understand my dilemma. If so, allow me to explain, Sir or Miss conventional schooler:
Homeschoolers manage their own schedules. They have deadlines, but it’s a little more- the regulations- they don’t-
IT’S LAXER. There, I said it! Or at least the way my homeschool school does it is laxer.
(Don’t get the wrong idea that homeschoolers are less intellectually advanced, however! 🤨 Search Google for ‘are homeschoolers smarter than conventional schoolers.’)
I, the overdoer and pro at crastinating, took advantage of it and am currently reaping the consequences. Perrrrrrrrrrrrrrfection!
Logically, one should cram and make ado rapidly. This girl, however, is still fumbling with her shoelaces while the others are running the race. It’s-it’s pretty bad.
My parents are an immense help, but in the end, I have to make decisions and make choices alone, for better or worse.
Please pray for me, aliens. It’ll be much appreciated.
Piano
OoOoOoOoOoOoOh, guess what? By next Tuesday, I’ll be taking my exams! How fun is that?
I can’t stop laughing! I’m so evil. 😭
I’m TERRIFIED. My hands will be shaking when I do take them.
Please, PLEASE pray for that too, dear aliens. Man, I’m asking for a LOT, aren’t I? Allow me to return the offer: share your prayer requests below, too—no matter how menial. 😉👍🏻 It’s much easier when a stranger across the globe adds you to her list. But don’t undermine the effects! Last I checked, our God knows no barriers for stuff like this. 🙏🏻
Thank you for enduring that!
Wow, two rambles in a row, huh? Followers who have yet to unfollow, thank you for your patience. ☺
A Christian Kid's Journal 