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La Boheme ch.1. interlude - 7 by AnthropomorPhillie
La Boheme ch.1. interlude - 7
I can't write Japanese, alright!

Again I can't help but feel I move too quickly, composition-wise, especially in the top panels. I feels as if there should be something between them to show how it goes from the can of water to someone dipping a brush in the water/ash mix. And I can't draw hands. And the perspective looks haywire in the bottom left panel. And this time the artistic liberty I took is not explainable later, anyone who's ever tried painting quickly with watercolour knows that would not happen. And I half-regret not writing in any sound effects.
But other than those things I'm pretty happy with this page. It feels well-balanced and pretty to look at. It also took me a little less than four days to make, rather than the usual five I need. So improving speed is improving.
La Boheme ch.1. interlude - 6 by AnthropomorPhillie
La Boheme ch.1. interlude - 6
Critique, or comment and fave. In that order.

And just like that this is a horror manga.

Six weeks and six pages, and I'm frustrated with how slow this is going. Still, there's evidence to say I should slow down even more. I'll admit the relief turned out alot better than I expected, but just look at that man's face! And he has no eyebrows! :ohmygod: And why does the sky outside look like a solid steel door! :rage:
Let's take this in order.
The relief. By far what I was the most worried about in this piece. The 3D-effect is alot better than I expected, but it's still gone very wrong, and I didn't manage to add the blown away dust effect I was intending. That said, considering the inhalation lines weren't very clear in the previous page I suppose this works to achieve the effect I was going for.
The face. I was worried about too little contrast, so I went and overdid it instead. Now he looks as if he's woken up to read his own mortuary. I'm satisfied with the shape of his spiky backslick hair, but not so much the contrast. In itself I think it works, but because of the huge contrast in his face it looks all too dark. It makes him look brown-haired I think, and as I've already explained he's blonde. To explain the over-the-top shading, if you've never painted with watered out india ink, two liquids can appear equally black but still create wholly different shades. What you see there is a mixup of tones when I painted his ear, and an attempt to bodge. And he has no pupils. Or nostrils. Or eyebrows.
Another mistake is the outside behind him. For a moment I'd forgotten how to create a toning effect, and the result is turning the sky outside the sliding door uniformally brown. I was tempted to fix it with acrylic white, but the purist in me would have none of it.
The hands in the darkness. I pretty much winged it here, with the shadows, and I'm not satisfied with how it turned out. I was trying to create shadows to illustrate the depth and shape of the hands, but what I did was instead make Ulquiorra-Murciélago-style painted nails on the fingers. On the other hand, I did manage to create a pleasing skin tone.
And I forgot to paint the darkness inside the mortar, and the shading on the pestle is inverted.
And the motion lines here aren't clear enough.
Further on I'm a bit unhappy with the way I constructed it. I feel I move a bit too fast to illustrate the tranquil momentum I've been going for.

All of that said, looking at it now I am quite happy with the light effect on the relief.

Mature Content

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I picture a man of resources. A man of experience and accomplishment. I see a man who has made himself what he is, and he is far above his peers. A man who encourages people to make their own destiny, and then sacrifice them to further himself. A man more than others, and believe only people truly like him can rise up while he leads them to a cliff face.
He knows she's coming for him. With the patient intent of a glacier, and the speed of a creeping fog he knows she walks towards him. Her feet thump softly against his marble designs. He sees her moving through cocobolo he has crafted. He wonders why she is coming for him, but he is a man who doesn't question. Instead he draws his sword and wait for his enemy, padding towards him through darkened halls.
A brief moment to reflect upon his defiance of the inevitable. In his life he was like a ship in the Bermuda triangle on Fell Earth. He has always refused reality's whims. As vices squeezed nearer he forced them apart even as tendons broke. As snares pulled and severed he tugged and broke free. He defied gravity by will alone and rose to the places from which he'd fallen. He has justified his existence through effort, strife and dedication, and his life has always been under his control, and he will not let fate defeat him like this.
The first arch notches her stomach, a sweep of vermilion gossamer flowing into the air. She steps back and look down to the hurt and again the silver edge slash the air. Her neck opens like a dumb mouth to sputter and vomit bloody bile. She's about to fall, and victorious he raise the blade high to cut her down, when her bended knee straightens like an angry spring.
Weakly the blade knacks her right shoulder when she drives him into the wall. Winded, the falls from his hand. He raise his left hand to strike her, and find it's caught in her right hand as her left holds him to the wall.
Her shoulder bleeds from a wound deep enough to have cut muscle, yet her grip on his hand is like granite. She stands tense and steady while red liquid turning black runs from her stomach. Her head hangs limply and starts to curve up, her placid face rising to reveal her throat. It yawns open with red threads clinging to its roof and floor, surrounding the severed caverns of her undulating esophagus and wheezing windpipe. Pitch spreads through the blood like ink flowing through watered paper and stubborn threads standing like needle-thin teeth begins undulating like anemone, turning the wound into a vile mockery of an angler fish's mouth. The threads move to sheath into the wound, stitching together the severed flesh and closing the cut skin.
Her dead eyes are as colourless as a glaring full moon, marred by thin slits. Her wounded arm seem to break loose on a slow burst of obsidian, rising high and bringing his hand with it. Bent like a cobra it holds his arm up and as hard as he struggle and fight it does not break loose. Twisting ripples spread up the towering pillar, layering twist upon twist until its surface is akin to a fine screw or a twisted band of rubber.
Time stops and like a hammer blow cold cracks down his back and through his body, splitting into needles stinging his skin from the inside as he realize what's about to happen. Time flows from a standstill when the tension is released and his arm turns, his skin twines, his muscles tears, his bones breaks, and his arm is twisted from his body. The room is painted red in a very fine spray of blood from the severed limb whirling in her hand. He screams. In torture he wails and cries, trying to reach the severed root trying to find what should be where torn flesh hangs raggedly from a bleeding surface and knackered bone.
She throws the dead limb away and retract the black torrent into her facsimile body, holding the squirming, kicking man down with her other arm. Saliva and flegm froth at the corners of his mouth and his flushed crimson skin is covered in a reflective sheen of sweat. Her right arm, now attached to her elbow again, stretch across his chest and press with such force his tortured screams are choked from leaving his lungs. Her left hand catch his remaining, floundering arm across his elbow and with a flick a wet plop his humerus is dislocated from his shoulder girdle.
Despite the overwhelming pressure across his chest his panicked movements grind the bone and muscles together. His face has gone purple and his eyes blank from lack of air and she relents enough pressure for him to breathe again. He catch the musty smell of his soiled underwear and tears of humiliation joins those of suffocation. Unfazed she holds his arm around her own and begins to twist it like a crank and wring symphonies of suffering from him.
She moves slow to let him feel every burning tear and grinding of bone against bone as his skin develop the same layers like twisted rubber her limb had carried just seconds ago. Vessels rupture and colour the skin further purple and the twisting flesh folds into itself where the shoulder is no longer attached. By the third turn a sound like ripping cloth joins his screams and in a torrent of choked blood the dying limb comes loose from his body. With just a few strings left she pulls it off and simply lets it go.
Her ears are ringing from his wails, but she would not go deaf. There was something enjoyable in the discomfort of his screams, though she didn't understand it. There were many things she didn't understand about this human behaviour, but she generally didn't understand why she act the way she does until she's been giving it some thought. She doesn't know whay she's done this, but given some time she was sure it would become clear to her. By then she'd know why she did this, and perhaps whether it was "good" or "bad".
She looked down upon him. He was wailing like a hurt child, staring in disbelief from one of his shoulders to the other. His arms were obviously gone, so why was he having trouble understanding that? Was it the catastrophic pain and blood loss which dulled his perceptions? The simple presence of them across his perceived life? She couldn't decide, but she'd give it some thought.
She left, quietly trying to think of why she'd done this, and left him alone. The soft wetness of his excrement inside his underwear ground into him as he sat, trying to find some semblance of reality across this surreal nightmare. He couldn't see his arms where they should have been. One was in the corner and the other by his side. Why, what had happened? She had turned up, torn his limbs off and left him. There was no sense in it, it was lunacy. There'd been no rage or hatred in her eyes, she'd almost looked bored. No reason, no explanation, it has happened like how a wind brings down a tree.
His breathing was panicked and his head was being washed away by oceans of infinity, dissolving like a sand castle in the breakers of a beach at night. Nausea swam through him and a loud whooshing noise sounded through his ear. As the world started to grow black he fell onto his side in a puddle of escaping blood and urine, his mind searching so far for a fulcrum point to anchor it to reality it dossolved before darkness swallowed him.
Just a bit of torture porn
No real story here, just an idea I had and decided to go with before it flew out the window. Not even proofread. Title says it all.
Dea - significant improvement
Bored with alternating between manga and anatomy I decided to revisit my Dea. I have to admit I see a significant improvement from before, particularly considering I only used one reference, and I only used it as a model to get the pose and angle right.
Mind you, when I say improvement I am referring to her most obvious anatomy. Her face looks awful, but I think the sharp contrast shadow I used took care of that quite well. I just wish I could have bodged her eyebrow as well. I still haven't decided on the shape of her eyebrows, so I just went with the modern beauty standard, and it looks awful.
The poem is a slightly altered excerpt from 'Will' by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

"You will be what you will to be;
Let failure find its false content
In that poor word environment,
But spirit scorns it, and is free.

It masters time, it conquers space,
It cows that boastful trickster Chance,
And bids the tyrant Circumstance
Uncrown and fill a servant's place.

The human Will, that force unseen,
The offspring of a deathless Soul,
Can hew the way to any goal,
Though walls of granite intervene.

Be not impatient in delay,
But wait as one who understands;
When spirit rises and commands,
The gods are ready to obey.

The river seeking for the sea
Confronts the dam and precipice,
Yet knows it cannot fail or miss;
You will be what you will to be!"

By the way, why do so many believe that poem was written by James Allen?

I'm considering stumping it, to make it appear smoother, but I worry I'll just end up ruining it if I do that. In any case, it's up here now and I'll be able to look at it and remember it, if I stump it and ruin it. I also realize I forgot to finish her pants, but that's negligeable.
Although I am slightly ashamed having made my first approvable realistic drawing of her a pinup.


Real name: Classified by S─PO.
Artist | Student | Traditional Art
My real name is not Viktoria RosÚn. Let's get that out of the way. All the implications of that I leave to you to figure out. All great artists have a stage name or an alter ego or a psuedonym, and that's mine.
I am not a great artist and I don't want to be one either for the very simple reason - artists are no better than orthodox religious people, from the nihilistic Buddhists to the inbred Creationists. I am here to become better at my Craft and document the process along the way as well as make a name for myself, but do not ever delude yourself into thinking I'm an artist. To be clear, I define an artist as someone who does something inteligent and mistakable for original in a creative way for his/her own sake without any kind of pragmatic reason, and since DA hardly has a single person matching that description I figure it's as good a place as any to start. Don't get me wrong, I am not saying there's anything wrong in being an artist, I'm just saying I don't want to be an artist because I find no satisfaction in that thinking.
I am here to develop and hone above all my ability as an illustrator - find my style, learn to work creatively, do it proficiently, which means I want criticism for all my work. What was good, what was bad, how you liked it.
The reason is I am developing the base for a longer series or of novels based in a futuristic Cthulhu cycle exploring themes of independence, religion, personality, power, evil and goodness, all set within a erotic sci-fi/fantasy drama called "Who Durst Defy", and while I am driven I am far from near being able to pull that off. That's the main reason why I want to hone my artistic ability, but more than that I have discovered I have a generally creative mind and feel good when I do creative things such as write or draw and I would rather do that than anything else the average drone's life has to offer. I don't want to do this to make money (I am not that stupid) but I want to get by on it one day.
Most obvious things you'll learn about me is I am a nyctophile, meaning I find alot more comfort in darkness than in light, and I am an anthropomorphile, a faculty term I've invented meaning "a strong, passionate, sexual as well as spiritual desire and/or connection to a entity defineable as more than human" but that does not mean I like Furry. Porn is one thing, a starved woman can't be a picker, but other than that I do not want any connection to Furry as a movement because I do not care for nor follow that style. I draw anthropomorphs, not furry, and there is a difference between the two. Anyone who claims anything different is either living in denial or plain ignorant. Yes, there are similarities, but it's like comparing wolves with those chihuahuas you see in handbags. I've thought a bit about what it is that seperate these two genre's and I think I've come up with a fairly good explanation of the differences between them. Before you read though, let me make it plain I have little against furries as such, I simply want it plain that what I draw isn't furries as such.

1. Furry is a part of Anthropomorphism, not the other way around.

Fred Patten, a historian born in 1940 who have been able to follow the evolution of the genre first-hand, claims it originated at a sci-fi convention in the 1980's, tough furries as we've come to know them has existed since much earlier in the 1900's (take Disney's Robin Hood for example). Anthropomorphism on the other hand is exceedingly much older than any of these examples, and much more diversified. Stories of human-like animals or animals with human minds and reasoning or humans with animalistic features can be found on every continent and in every culture. The Germanic werewolves, the Greek Minotaur, La Belle et la Bŕte, the Dove of the Old Testament, the Were-lions of Africa, these are just a few of the many.

2. Furries are without exception depicted in a cartoon- or manga style.

By this I mean furry artists generally don't bother with making realistic drawings, they're always stylized, and often in a manner similar to one-another. A common denominator is I have yet to see a furry artist bothering to draw fur, but simply making a field with a few "pointy edges" to give the character a feeling of having fur. If I am unclear as to what I mean with this, the works of Walt Disney, :iconjaynaylor:, Kadath, and :iconkaboozle: ought to clue you in. Now you may point out old depictions of for example werewolves, woodcuts and the like, have a smilar style, to which I say more often than not the entire depiction is given an even fur pattern, and when it's not it's often meant to depict shades, depth, light, et cetera. Another denominator is furries can give human facial expressions no matter how their faces are designed. Of course, animals can do expressions we can interpret as simimilar to our own and it can be argued that furries therefor can do them to, and I could let it slide should it be an expression not unrealistically exaggerated. On a sidenote, furries can pronounce human words and sounds which we know are impossible for animals to replicate with a snout for example.

3. Furries are unimaginative parodies of the entire concept of the borderline between human and animal.
This is probably the most offensive title of the argumentation for where furry ends and anthropomorphism begins but I can explain why it is also very accurate. The Furry fandom is very closed-off if you compare it to the rest of all that anthropomorhism can be. The word "Anthropomorphism" is actually a synonym for "personification" and it applies not just to animals, but everything. Everything not human with human-like features and capabilities is an anthropomorph. Death as a skeleton with a scythe in black robes is a anthropomorph and so is an Easterly wind depicted as a cherub blowing ships across the sea. But for now we'll focus on the animalistic. By "unimaginative" I mean furries are essentially completely human. The one thing seperating a furry and a human is its exotic body. More often than not furries can wear clothes, they can use machines, they have a human society, and they have a human capacity for reasoning and empathy. Anthropomorph's are supposed to be in-between human and animal, and that in itself opens a world of possibilities very rarely utilized in furry. Which brings me to "parody of the concept between human and animal". What I mean by parody is the mocking trivialization of the world of possibility that lie there. "Between human and a human with a nearly human body." It's almost disrespectful. Almost. Anthropomorph's are very rarely not meant to symbolize something, usually that humans are animals in one way or another, which we through-out history have been struggling hard to deny, or put a Devil's stamp on (take the vampire, which is essentially the embodiment of the deadly sins) but it can be so much more and often is.

4. Furries is not taken seriously.

There's a very good reason people mock Furry fandom - it has yet to be depicted in a way that can be taken seriously. You have to admit all in all furry can be split into three undergenre's - porn, childrens TV-series, and minor psuedo-drama's. Furry porn is not taken seriously because it's porn and while porn in itself is often mocked furry can all to easily be interpreted as "beastiality in denial". Kid's TV-series with furries is directed at a very distinct audience - kids. What we like as kids is very rare to like as adults because we are taught to put childish things behind us as we grow older because they're often clashing with reality, which we need to embrace if we are to function in society (we are taught). This I really blaim the most for furries not being taken seriously. Finally, what I mean by "psuedo-drama's" is a general drama that not only isn't very good, but could function just as well with humans as with furries, because all characters are essentially humans with fur. Anthropomorph's aren't taken very seriously either, but it is mocked to a much smaller degree than furries. I think the reason is because everything I have already argumented - anthropomorphic animals are in total percieved as more realistic in depiction as well as mentality and nature.

Of course, this is just a generalization and depictions of furry/anthropomorphism often cross these lines in one way or another. These are just a few rules of thumb that I have written down to help maintain the distinction.
This is who I am, and there's nothing else to say.
"Life has no Point, so we can shape it as we wish."
- Viktoria RosÚn
I was an idiot to only update the description in without publishing it. I've posted two pages by was of apologising, and I will be more careful, noticing what I'm doing next week.

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gusavancini Featured By Owner Feb 20, 2015  Professional Digital Artist
Thanks for the fave :)
AnthropomorPhillie Featured By Owner Feb 20, 2015  Student Traditional Artist
You're welcome.
vesssel Featured By Owner Feb 20, 2015
Thanks for the fave! Feel free to check out my Facebook page for more art. :D
AnthropomorPhillie Featured By Owner Feb 20, 2015  Student Traditional Artist
You are welcome.
AraNaja Featured By Owner Feb 2, 2015   General Artist
Thanks for the fav :)
AnthropomorPhillie Featured By Owner Feb 3, 2015  Student Traditional Artist
You are welcome.
suttonQjuggernaut1 Featured By Owner Dec 9, 2014
Thank you for the fave..Sweating a little... 
AnthropomorPhillie Featured By Owner Dec 9, 2014  Student Traditional Artist
You're welcome. :)
WillWorks Featured By Owner Dec 6, 2014   General Artist
Thanks for the :+fav:
AnthropomorPhillie Featured By Owner Dec 7, 2014  Student Traditional Artist
You're welcome. :)
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