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Get your creative juices flowing and design a movie poster for "Paper Heart" that focuses on the theme "What Does Love Mean to Me?".
©2008-2009 *TaylorSaville
Details
Submitted: July 11, 2008
File Size: 1.3 MB
Image Size: 312 KB
Resolution: 900×1091
Comments: 56
Favourites & Collections: 106 [who?]
Views
Total: 2,964
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Total: 4
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Thumb
Submitted: July 11, 2008
File Size: 1.3 MB
Image Size: 312 KB
Resolution: 900×1091
Comments: 56
Favourites & Collections: 106 [who?]
Views
Total: 2,964
Today: 0
Downloads
Total: 4
Today: 0
Thumb
Artist's Comments
The drawing was done with ink, graphite (5b), and charcoal. The poem was perhaps one dreadful lapse in sanity that lasted a few days... Hope it amuses.
I know he doesn't look it, but Orth is a young thing.
Orth and the Grackle
Orth shook his wiry head in a great, violent burst,
As he stood among the brambles on the moor.
He sprung forward right quick, with his limbs tensed tight,
Catching scent on the air from the shore.
Orth’s matted hair hung down from his neck, in tangles that were long and black.
His eyes shot sparks and his paws were silent, as the morning sun gently glinted off his back.
His tail trailed behind him and waved to and fro, while his sprint reduced to a swagger.
It acted as a whip that shot straight up, as a reek nearly caused him to stagger.
“My God!” He thought. “That cannot be right!”, confusion leaving him holding his breath.
For little had he known when he chose a different path, that his romp lead him near a mass of death.
Orth made a sudden turn, and his heart began to race,
As he stood with a twinge of mild shock.
This was a happening unexpected, something to him entirely new,
And it left him standing still as a rock.
The breeze had blown East since he began his romps, with no aroma that carried a rift.
He was taken clear aback no longer smelling things lovely, befuddled by this sudden shift.
Before him then was a wood stark and bare, with trees more dead than he could say.
They all looked dull and the bark was chipped, the only colors a hundred shades of gray.
He swiftly found his nerve and he trotted on ahead, snout and tail held high like a gelding.
But as he came within its reaches, the wood seemed to whisper, and in a moment he realized he was trembling.
Orth heard a harsh “Craw!”, and he jumped with a start,
Feeling terror from the awful little sound.
First he looked to the trees, then he glanced to the dirt,
All he saw was a grackle on the ground.
“Was that you?” He asked, with his ears flat back, trying hard to sound quite polite.
“Why yes.” Said the bird with a sparkle in his eye, “Come with me, little one, if you would like.”
The grackle took to the air with a flap and a rustle, and Orth followed rather quickly in his wake,
Soon they passed out of trees and onto flat ground, where the smell was too strong for Orth to take.
He looked before him then to the yard stretching far and wide, and in the distance he saw a sudden drop.
Thinking it was a cliff, he charged on ahead, until he heard the grackle calling to him, “Stop!”
Orth halted in his tracks, and he whirled right around.
For the bird had things it wished to say.
The grackle landed on his back, and spoke to him sternly,
“You will learn weighty things upon this day.”
So onward they walked towards the ominous drop, with Orth taking care in every stride.
He was then feeling cautious at what he might see, when he finally could peer over the side.
When he took his first look he was shaken to his core, and if he could have, he would have started to cry.
For what he saw then was a great rotting trench, filled with corpses piled a hundred feet high.
They were the bodies of men, of women, and children, who had died in a terrible plague.
Orth turned to the grackle, feeling sick with panic, and he spoke with confusion and rage.
“This cannot be real!” Snapped Orth to the bird,
“You are evil, and this is an illusion!”
“I am neither evil nor good,” Said the grackle to him softly,
“But I would never construct confusion.”
“We all lose our life,” said the grackle to our Orth, “You’ll lose yours, and yes, I’ll lose mine.”
Orth looked to the hole and to the grackle once more, feeling tingles running down his skinny spine.
“But what of them?” He asked. “How, bird, can this be? When men are so strong and so wise?”
The grackle was then pithy and he seemed somewhat cross, “Men, are no different from the flies.”
“We all are equal.” Spoke the bird with conviction, “We rely on the waters, the air, and the sun.”
“In the way that we are born, and in the way that we live… in the way that we die we are one…”
Orth widened his eyes in a wave of understanding,
Barely stomaching what he now had to believe.
He tore off for home, never once looking back,
Wondering, “How could I have been so naïve?”
He got there quickly and was clear out of breath, but he tore into the den without a pause.
His parents were stunned and they leapt to their feet, leaving lines in the dirt from their claws.
As he opened his mouth, there formed a lump in his throat, and his heart threatened to beat out of his chest.
But he wasted little time and his urgency was clear, “Mother! Father! Time is more precious than I guessed!”
His parents looked to one another, for they knew what Orth had seen, and their glance was both melancholy and sweet.
His Mother was then gentle and tried to lead him to his bed, “Lie down now, and rest your little feet.”
Orth could not think of sleeping and he raised his little voice,
“Mother, to sleep would be such a dreadful waste!”
She did nothing but smile and she gestured to the hole,
And with that, he left them in haste.
He ran all the way straight back to the moor,
With the intent of pondering alone.
The breeze tugged his fur and he looked to the sky,
Feeling gratitude he’d never really known…
I know he doesn't look it, but Orth is a young thing.
Orth and the Grackle
Orth shook his wiry head in a great, violent burst,
As he stood among the brambles on the moor.
He sprung forward right quick, with his limbs tensed tight,
Catching scent on the air from the shore.
Orth’s matted hair hung down from his neck, in tangles that were long and black.
His eyes shot sparks and his paws were silent, as the morning sun gently glinted off his back.
His tail trailed behind him and waved to and fro, while his sprint reduced to a swagger.
It acted as a whip that shot straight up, as a reek nearly caused him to stagger.
“My God!” He thought. “That cannot be right!”, confusion leaving him holding his breath.
For little had he known when he chose a different path, that his romp lead him near a mass of death.
Orth made a sudden turn, and his heart began to race,
As he stood with a twinge of mild shock.
This was a happening unexpected, something to him entirely new,
And it left him standing still as a rock.
The breeze had blown East since he began his romps, with no aroma that carried a rift.
He was taken clear aback no longer smelling things lovely, befuddled by this sudden shift.
Before him then was a wood stark and bare, with trees more dead than he could say.
They all looked dull and the bark was chipped, the only colors a hundred shades of gray.
He swiftly found his nerve and he trotted on ahead, snout and tail held high like a gelding.
But as he came within its reaches, the wood seemed to whisper, and in a moment he realized he was trembling.
Orth heard a harsh “Craw!”, and he jumped with a start,
Feeling terror from the awful little sound.
First he looked to the trees, then he glanced to the dirt,
All he saw was a grackle on the ground.
“Was that you?” He asked, with his ears flat back, trying hard to sound quite polite.
“Why yes.” Said the bird with a sparkle in his eye, “Come with me, little one, if you would like.”
The grackle took to the air with a flap and a rustle, and Orth followed rather quickly in his wake,
Soon they passed out of trees and onto flat ground, where the smell was too strong for Orth to take.
He looked before him then to the yard stretching far and wide, and in the distance he saw a sudden drop.
Thinking it was a cliff, he charged on ahead, until he heard the grackle calling to him, “Stop!”
Orth halted in his tracks, and he whirled right around.
For the bird had things it wished to say.
The grackle landed on his back, and spoke to him sternly,
“You will learn weighty things upon this day.”
So onward they walked towards the ominous drop, with Orth taking care in every stride.
He was then feeling cautious at what he might see, when he finally could peer over the side.
When he took his first look he was shaken to his core, and if he could have, he would have started to cry.
For what he saw then was a great rotting trench, filled with corpses piled a hundred feet high.
They were the bodies of men, of women, and children, who had died in a terrible plague.
Orth turned to the grackle, feeling sick with panic, and he spoke with confusion and rage.
“This cannot be real!” Snapped Orth to the bird,
“You are evil, and this is an illusion!”
“I am neither evil nor good,” Said the grackle to him softly,
“But I would never construct confusion.”
“We all lose our life,” said the grackle to our Orth, “You’ll lose yours, and yes, I’ll lose mine.”
Orth looked to the hole and to the grackle once more, feeling tingles running down his skinny spine.
“But what of them?” He asked. “How, bird, can this be? When men are so strong and so wise?”
The grackle was then pithy and he seemed somewhat cross, “Men, are no different from the flies.”
“We all are equal.” Spoke the bird with conviction, “We rely on the waters, the air, and the sun.”
“In the way that we are born, and in the way that we live… in the way that we die we are one…”
Orth widened his eyes in a wave of understanding,
Barely stomaching what he now had to believe.
He tore off for home, never once looking back,
Wondering, “How could I have been so naïve?”
He got there quickly and was clear out of breath, but he tore into the den without a pause.
His parents were stunned and they leapt to their feet, leaving lines in the dirt from their claws.
As he opened his mouth, there formed a lump in his throat, and his heart threatened to beat out of his chest.
But he wasted little time and his urgency was clear, “Mother! Father! Time is more precious than I guessed!”
His parents looked to one another, for they knew what Orth had seen, and their glance was both melancholy and sweet.
His Mother was then gentle and tried to lead him to his bed, “Lie down now, and rest your little feet.”
Orth could not think of sleeping and he raised his little voice,
“Mother, to sleep would be such a dreadful waste!”
She did nothing but smile and she gestured to the hole,
And with that, he left them in haste.
He ran all the way straight back to the moor,
With the intent of pondering alone.
The breeze tugged his fur and he looked to the sky,
Feeling gratitude he’d never really known…
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Comments
--
Amber is the color of your energy.
Not too much more to say.
This is the one you were working on before? I like it. I love the contrast specifically between the sharp, clean lines of the brambles and the rough, hatched lines of the wolf itself. It almost seems like the background is more in focus than the subject.
as for the poem, I'm not sure what to say. Let me think on it a bit, I'll get back to you.
--
"Do what thou wilt shall be whole of the Law." -Aleister Crowley, 'The Book of the Law'
I like the frame shade.
--
Clikiticlik
The crow wish'd every thing was black, the owl, that every thing was white.
- William Blake, Proverbs of Hell -
--
'When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left I buy food and clothes'
Desiderius Erasmus
Well done
Dan
--
"Whether King or street sweeper,
Everyone dances with the grim reaper."
[link]
--
"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." -Edgar Allen Poe
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