31 January 2013

I re-read The Hobbit the other day, and felt like drawing Bag End.

13 January 2013

I drew these as part of an absolutely wonderful Secret Santa art exchange over the holidays. My gift-ee wanted these two characters during Christmas in WWII, and I had a blast doing it. I do realise that it’s after the holidays, but I wanted to wait for the secrecy to end before posting.
Hopefully, the person for whom they were intended enjoyed receiving these as much as I enjoyed drawing them. 

06 January 2013

Additionally, I very likely need to stop doodling in the margins of every piece of paper that gets handed to me. But, I had fun with her hair. I am a simple person. These are the things from which I derive pleasure.

As a sneak peek - have the initial thumbnail sketch which has now turned into something requiring epic storyboarding. I blame Heather Dale.

04 January 2013

So, on New Year’s day, I finally got around to watching some of The Hollow Crown productions. By which I mean: a friend and I watched three of them, and it was brilliant. All we have left to watch is Henry V, but so far all of them have been wonderful.
And, it resulted in a lot of sketches. I thought I might share a few.
To start: several sketches of Richard II (because that will always be my favourite of Shakespeare’s histories):

Also, a few from Henry IV Part I:

There are plenty of these in my sketchbook. I might post more later.

A quick value sketch for an illustration of Ophelia.

There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them:
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

(Hamlet, Act IV, sc. vii)

Some doodles of Renaissance-era women. Mostly due to the fact that I enjoy drawing their headwear.