A couple of tutorials
: Late-breaking news:2007-12-25 to 2008-01-01:
- Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
- Feliĉan Kristnaskon kaj Bonan Novan Jaron!
- Joyeux Noël et Bonne Année!
- Vrolijke Kerstfeest en Gelukkig Nieuwjaar!
- Frohe Weihnachten und Glückliches Neuen Jahr!
- Buena Navidad y Feliz Año Nuevo!
- Buon Natale e Buon Anno!
- Радостным рождеством и с новым годом!
2007-12-01: My first sale! Someone bought The Four Arts v2. I don't know who and I got only 2,18€ of the proceeds but it's a beginning. (I knew all the time that dA is never going to make me rich.)
Hurrah for all the Nice People at deviantART:
(and don't forget the authors of deviations on my ShoutBoard)
First of all,
who welcomed me a few minutes after I signed up.
who commented on Me As Gandalf
seconds after it was put up.
for a nice reply to a message.
for starting an interesting forum thread.
because she has more interesting questions than preset answers.
for his "Comment Revolution" journals, see farther down.
who have not only good-looking bodies, but also more than just cottage cheese inside their skulls. Not that that combination is always easy to live with.
, a Jap girl from Ôsutoraria, who has the habit of smothering people in
, and talks sweetly.
who tried to convince me that my work wasn't worse than hers, only different.
, a nice girl from Singapore. She walks like a hobbit and is not much taller than one, though she hasn't got furry feet.
And she likes my photos so much she's advertising me in her journal taily.deviantart.com/journal/6…
because my friends' friends, if they are true friends, are my friends.
, a self-educated man, and better educated than most of them — the kind of books he prefers would do credit to a university graduate — who has become that rare thing: a true friend.
: I don't really know her, but there is so much tenderness in her drawings, I can't help getting well-disposed towards her.
The Painter of the Kiss... well, not only
who are displaying my not-so-pretty face on their frontpage,
who put my handle in their journals, and
who featured one of my works.
who was (IIRC) the first to
me before I noticed him.
, a Finn, who caught my 3333rd page view.
To the charming
who made me a surprise of a new avatar on 29-Aug-2006.
, authors of stock artwork I have used, for their favourable opinion of my work.
Attention: If I have used your stock, and you want to prohibit use of the derivative work on the deviantMOBILE service, please notify me by sending me a note with "deviantMOBILE" somewhere in the Subject. I have checked all such stock as of 2005/04/10 08:30 GMT but I cannot guess it if you change your mind.
for the tremendous
work she puts up at the deviantART Help Desk.
To all the other which I haven't yet met.
And I'm omitting many people whose art I like, but it doesn't mean they aren't nice people: you can find them out by looking at my Favorites
(including its Scraps section
). But then, I haven't yet finished building my Favorites gallery.Clubs of which I'm a member: Clubs into which I am applying for membership:
I'm still in search of a good urban photography club (if there is one).
Hm. I notice that females constitute a huge majority in the above list. It's just a coincidence, please don't call me sexist.There are also people who are not nice;
but I won't name them; that would be making them too great an honor. If you
feel like calling me names (like 'liar', 'old pervert', etc.), I know who I am, and for the rest, Qui se sent galeux, qu'il se gratte
(Whoever feels scabies, let him scratch himself).P.S.
- Photography Quirks
Now that I have a digital camera, I am learning to use it. I'm jotting here a few strange things that I've noticed.
- My camera can rotate a photograph, and Adobe Photoshop Album sees it rotated but DeviantArt doesn't.
- The easiest way to rotate a photograph (at least in Windows XP) is by means of the "Rotate left" and "Rotate right" buttons in Windows Explorer's Thumbnails view of the concerned folder.
- Technical ("Exif") data is not shown for scraps, not even for images which contain it.
- There is a Photography / Snapshots category, and it even has many subcategories, but none of those exist outside the submission process. As soon as the submission is complete, all those categories disappear and are blanketed out by "Scraps".
- Microsoft Photo Editor (ver. 220.127.116.11) removes any "Exif" data from the images it processes. Adobe Photoshop Album (2.0 Discovery Edition) keeps it, even after rotating the image.
- "Long life", when applied to the batteries of a digital camera, is a misnomer. Don't count on more than 8 hours, and remember that just staying connected to a computer via USB consumes battery power.
- A quote:
Entre nous soit dit, bonnes gens, pour reconnaître
Que l'on n'est pas intelligent, il faudrait l'être.
i.e.: It takes intelligence to notice one's lack of it.
(Brassens, a French 20th century singer / poet, had no toleration for Panurge's sheep, stupid self-important people, parochial people, etc.)
- Another quote: Robert Heinlein on art
From Stranger in a Strange Land (c) 1961 Robert Heinlein.
I believe this falls under "fair use of copyrighted material", it being "a short quotation for purposes of example or illustration". If I'm mistaken, please note me and I'll take it away.
Ben said, "What the deuce? Am I lost?"
"Oh. You haven't seen the new wing. Two bedrooms and another bath downstairs — and up here, my gallery."
"Enough statues to fill a graveyard!"
"Please, Ben. `Statues´ are dead politicians. This is `sculpture.´ Please speak in a reverent tone lest I become violent. Here are replicas of some of the greatest sculpture this naughty globe has produced."
"Well, that hideous thing I've seen before... but when did you acquire the rest of this ballast?"
Jubal spoke to the replica La Belle Heaulmière. "Do not listen, ma petite chère — he is a barbarian and knows no better." He put his hand to her beautiful ravaged cheek, then gently touched one empty, shrunken dug. "I know how you feel... it can't be much longer. Patience, my lovely."
He turned to Caxton and said briskly: "Ben, you will have to wait while I give you a lesson in how to look at sculpture. You've been rude to a lady. I don't tolerate that."
"Huh? Don't be silly, Jubal; you've been rude to ladies — live ones — a dozen times a day."
Jubal shouted, "Anne! Upstairs! Wear your cloak!"
"You know I wouldn't be rude to the old woman who posed for that. What I can't understand is a so-called artist having the gall to pose somebody's great grandmother in her skin... and you having the bad taste to want it around."
Anne came in, cloaked. Jubal said, "Anne, have I ever been rude to you? Or to any of the girls?"
"That calls for opinion."
"That's what I'm asking for. You're not in court."
"You have never been rude to any of us, Jubal."
"Have you ever known me to be rude to a lady?"
"I have seen you be intentionally rude to a woman. I have never seen you be rude to a lady."
"One more opinion. What do you think of this bronze?"
Anne looked at Rodin's masterpiece, said slowly, "When I first saw it, I thought it was horrible. But I have come to the conclusion that it may be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."
"Thanks. That's all." She left. "Want to argue, Ben?"
"Huh? When I argue with Anne, that day I turn in my suit. But I don't grok it."
"Attend me, Ben. Anybody can see a pretty girl. An artist can look at a pretty girl and see the old woman she will become. A better artist can look at an old woman and see the pretty girl she used to be. A great artist can look at an old woman, portray her exactly as she is... and force the viewer to see the pretty girl she used to be... more than that, he can make anyone with the sensitivity of an armadillo see that this lovely young girl is still alive, prisoned inside her ruined body. He can make you feel the quiet, endless tragedy that there was never a girl born who ever grew older than eighteen in her heart... no matter what the merciless hours have done. Look at her, Ben. Growing old doesn't matter to you and me — but it does to them. Look at her!"
Ben looked at her. Presently Jubal said gruffly, "All right, blow your nose. Come sit down."
"No," Caxton answered. "How about this one? I see it's a girl. But why tie her up like a pretzel?"
Jubal looked at the replica Caryatid Who Has Fallen under Her Stone. "I won't expect you to appreciate the masses which make that figure much more than a `pretzel´ — but you can appreciate what Rodin was saying. What do people get out of looking at a crucifix?"
"You know I don't go to church."
"Still, you must know that representations of the Crucifixion are usually atrocious — and ones in churches are the worst... blood like catsup and that ex-carpenter portrayed as if He were a pansy... which He certainly was not. But a poor portrayal is as effective as a good one for most people. They don't see defects; they see a symbol which inspires their deepest emotions; it recalls to them the Agony and Sacrifice of God."
"Jubal, I thought you weren't a Christian?"
"Does that make me blind to human emotion? The crummiest plaster crucifix can evoke emotions in the human heart so strong that many have died for them. The artistry with which such a symbol is wrought is irrelevant. Here we have another emotional symbol — but wrought with exquisite artistry. Ben, for three thousand years architects designed buildings with columns shaped as female figures. At last Rodin pointed out that this was work too heavy for a girl. He didn't say, `Look, you jerks, if you must do this, make it a brawny male figure.´ No, he showed it. This poor little caryatid has fallen under the load. She's a good girl — look at her face. Serious, unhappy at her failure, not blaming anyone, not even the gods... and still trying to shoulder her load, after she's crumpled under it.
"But she's more than good art denouncing bad art; she's a symbol for every woman who ever shouldered a load too heavy. But not alone women — this symbol means every man and woman who ever sweated out life in uncomplaining fortitude until they crumpled under their loads. It's courage, Ben, and victory."
"Victory in defeat, there is none higher. She didn't give up, Ben; she's still trying to lift that stone after it has crushed her. She's a father working while cancer eats away his insides, to bring home one more pay check. She's a twelve-year-old trying to mother her brothers because mama had to go to Heaven. She's a switchboard operator sticking to her post while smoke chokes her and fire cuts off her escape. She's all the unsung heroes who couldn't make it but never quit. Come. Salute as you pass and come see my Little Mermaid."
Ben took him literally; Jubal made no comment. "Now this," he said, "is one Mike didn't give to me. I haven't told Mike why I got it... since it is self-evident that it's one of the most delightful compositions ever wrought by the eye and hand of man."
"This one I don't need explained — it's pretty!"
"Which is excuse enough, as with kittens and butterflies. But there is more. She's not quite a mermaid — see? — nor is she human. She sits on land, where she has chosen to stay... and stares eternally out to sea, forever lonely for what she left. You know the story?"
"Hans Christian Andersen."
"Yes. She sits by the haven of København — and she's everybody who ever made a difficult choice. She doesn't regret it but she must pay for it; every choice must be paid for. The cost is not only endless homesickness. She can never be quite human; when she uses her dearly bought feet, every step is on sharp knives. Ben, I think that Mike walks always on knives — but don't tell him I said so."
"I won't. I'd rather look at her and not think about knives."
"She's a little darling, isn't she? How would you like to coax her into bed? She would be lively as a seal, and as slippery."
"Cripes! You're an evil old man, Jubal."
"And getting eviler each year. We won't look at any others — usually I ration myself to one a day."
"Suits. I feel as if I had had three quick drinks. Jubal, why isn't there stuff like this where a person can see it?"
"Because the world has gone nutty and art always paints the spirit of its times. Rodin died about the time the world started flipping its lid. His successors noted the amazing things he had done with light and shadow and mass and composition and they copied that part. What they failed to see was that the master told stories that laid bare the human heart. They became contemptuous of painting or sculpture that told stories — they dubbed such work `literary.´ They went all out for abstractions."
Jubal shrugged. "Abstract design is all right — for wallpaper or linoleum. But art is the process of evoking pity and terror. What modern artists do is pseudo-intellectual masturbation. Creative art is intercourse, in which the artist renders emotional his audience. These laddies who don't deign to do that — or can't — lost the public. The ordinary bloke will not buy `art´ that leaves him unmoved. If he does pay, the money is conned out of him, by taxes or such."
"Jubal, I've always wondered why I didn't give a hoot for art. I thought it was something missing in me."
"Mmm, one does have to learn to look at art. But it's up to the artist to use language that can be understood. Most of these jokers don't want to use language you and I can learn; they would rather sneer because we `fail´ to see what they are driving at. If anything. Obscurity is the refuge of the incompetent. Ben, would you call me an artist?"
"Huh? You write a fair stick."
"Thank you. `Artist´ is a word I avoid for the same reason I hate to be called `Doctor.´ But I am an artist. Most of my stuff is worth reading only once... and not even once by a person who knows the little I have to say. But I am an honest artist. What I write is intended to reach the customer — and affect him, if possible with pity and terror... or at least divert the tedium of his hours. I never hide from him in a private language, nor am I seeking praise from other writers for `technique´ or other balderdash. I want praise from the customer, given in cash because I've reached him — or I don't want anything. Support for the arts — merde! A government-supported artist is an incompetent whore! Damn it, you punched one of my buttons. Fill your glass and tell me what's on your mind."
- The Unknown Artist Project: I've recently heard of this, and I believe it deserves more exposure. See:
- Featured Artists (latest first):
Sericat, his gallery is here.
. (gallery here) Only a deviant since 21 Feb 2006, and a specialist of Fetish Photography (not everyone will like) but IMHO with great potential.
Go look at her gallery: I don't know why, but I liike everything she does.
- Support the Comment Revolution! See: — all three by .
- The ArtForDeviants project: I'm not yet sure what I must think of it, but it sounds interesting; go see for yourself: the project account is at and its FAQ is at artfordeviants.deviantart.com/…
- The Three-headed Beast, or the Three Mortal Sins against Enlightenment:
The beast raises its three heads all over the world, wherever there is power for the grabbing. Examples are, alas, all too numerous.
- Stupidity, both stupidity of the leaders, and keeping the (muttonhead) masses as little enlightened as possible through populist orations, stultifying TV programs, panem et circenses, and so on and so forth.
- Fanaticism, and the lies which build it up.
- Power-lust, which entices the leaders who have it, to seek their own aggrandizement and not the general good.