Now, that's it is coming around to the end of the school year, I'm looking at all of my sketches and ideas I had over the course of this class. I'll explain each of them in detail.
This first painting was an idea I had for the second project. My inspiration was a picture of a mountain in the Himalayas I saw on Instagram. I was in the middle of a DND campaign to I had a lot of fantasy vibes. The picture depicts a red dragon coming down from a mountain, and a person on a horse carrying a flag.
The next is a sketch of an idea in which I had a dream. I wrote down my dream from my perspective which you will read now.
I’m running. My bare feet hit the stiff grass, stray rocks pricking the bottom of my heels and arches. I need to hurry. I just got a warning.
I look to the left. The clouds stopped not even a half mile away, and the sun shines down on the land below. I look up and there is a storm over head. Dark clouds that make you think it’s night time when it’s midday. No rain. Rough wind blows through me, pushing me from the way I want to go.
I’m running. I need to get to someone. Am I hurt? I feel hurt. I run into the forest, glancing at the sunlight that was so close, but too far away. I shake my head. Something will get me if I’m not quick. My breath comes out ragged and wet. I don’t know how far behind me they are. A few feet, a mile. Makes no difference, they are still behind me. Still after me. They? It? What is it?
I follow the trail I’ve run down a hundred times. I’ve picked raspberries on this trail. I’ve biked down this trail. Each step felt like a mile.
Trees eventually envelop me, and I suddenly feel protected. I feel as if I’ve entered a safe haven. This small section of land and green. Someone’s domain? His domain? Maybe it’s his, maybe it’s not. All I know is that I’m safe for now. But I can’t stay here for long.
There he is. He’s running towards me, his mane flying behind him. Hooves pounding into the ground. Though dirty, his white hair shines like a beacon in the darkness cast by the clouds. Large ribs poking out through his white coat. Too thin skin covering what muscles he has left. Running to me, he asks,
“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”
I run to him and collide with his torso into a hug.
“I’m fine,” I gasp out, out of breath. I’m just relieved that he’s here.
We breathe for a moment.
I feel his muscles shift as he looks up to the darkened sky and cries out, “Is this it? Is this all there is?!”
He waits.
I know he isn’t angry. He is scared. He yells out these words with disbelief and hopelessness. He was once a mighty beast. He raced through the forest and fields. Magic and power with every beat of his hoof. He has been there for me and I loved him like a dear friend. He was not perfect, but he had influence and was generous with it.
Now he is starving. Ribs poke out, stretching his skin. The hair in his mane once luxurious, hangs limp and unkempt. Dirt covers his white coat in patches. His legs now kobby and awkward. Still strong, but growing weaker every day.
I know he does not call out to mourn his lost power. He yells for a sign of hope for us, for others. I would have mourned if I lost that much. I would’ve been angry. I would have shook my fist and howled at the sky. I think I would.
The wind whips at us, making leafs clatter around our bodies and rake up my arms. They are indifferent to our distress, but they weren't before.
Branches creek, and the clouds above shift above us, creating different shades of darkness.
“Just endless violence?!”
Hopelessness, fear, and anger swirl within me as I hear this once powerful beast, my friend, beg the sky for answers.
My emotions fight each other battling for a place in my heart.
Anger wins.
The next is a digital recreation of my watercolor painting, which I realize I haven't posted here.
This next one was an idea I had for an oil Painting. Growing up I always saw paintings and sculptures of men abducting women. Hades and Persephone, Zeus and Europa, Helen and Troy.
Always the women in the fetal position, in a position of submission, and the man standing tall and dominant. I wanted to recreate that, but the "roles" are switched.
The sketch itself is not done but the movement line is there and the women is in the position of lifting.
This next is the digital recreation of my painting Ophelia. The face could be better, but the hair is awesome!!
