June 14th, 2005


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It's gonna be disgusting today.

The temperature is expected to crack 100, which wouldn't be that bad, if the air wasn't wringing wet. Even at 9:30, stepping outside is like being smacked in the lungs with a hot towel.

The sky over Minnesota was a watery sky. It had a peculiar tendency to try to sneak green into the acceptable palette of sky, and you'd get storms the color of absinthe, and muted sunsets where orange slunk into green into blue into night; wavery, hesitant sunsets rendered in watercolor, flecked with bats and puddling up around the occasional heron. Every now and then you'd get a sky full of clouds that looked completely off, long banks of blue egg carton foam and absurdly crisp gradients in teal and cornflower, the sort of clouds that makes you think the artist just got Photoshop.

The sky over Arizona was hard. It was a sky where water vapor feared to tread, and it was hard, the sort of brittle, glittering sky that you ought to be able to rap with your knuckles, and shatter into a razor-edged mosaic. You'd need stitches after messing with that sky.

The sky here is not hard. Even when it's clear, like today, there is an odd, fibrous quality to it, the haze playing hell with the specularity, so that half the sky has a creeping, airbrushed paleness. If you hit this sky, it would give a bit, and spring back, and you'd come away with damp bits of blue clinging to your hand. It's that sort of sky.

(no subject)

Today, I'm mellow. So far, I have three 8 x 10 pieces for Anthrocon, and a fourth in progress. One has a background, making it marginally higher priced, but most are just bits from the Random Moments In Ursula's Brain collection. At some point, I'll probably have to do some 5 x 7s, just to cover all the range, but I rather like the 8 x 10 size for vignettes--you can pack in some good detail without getting absurdly priced.

As often happens in cases like this, where I try to cook up a number of little pieces in rapid succession, I find myself revisiting old friends--in addition to the usual multi-purpose mice, there's a Battle Hamster diva, and the one in progress is one of our old buddies, the Happy Trolls. (I have a terrible soft spot for the happy trolls.) Eventually, I'm sure a pink lizard and a slug will make an appearance, or maybe one of the Snocketbeasts. I haven't noticed any particular sales spike for recurring characters--the pink lizards do pretty well, but I haven't heard from anybody actively collecting any particular type of character--but contemplating it does make me realize how many weird little critters populate my brain. I never think of them in terms of "This Is My Character" the way that you see it in fandoms--when I think of a character of mine, I think Digger, or Ed, or Chu, or whoever. Or, to a much lesser extent, Eland the antelope, and the Donkey and Goldfish. Creatures like the mouse-tailed gnomes and the Battle Hamsters and the happy trolls, though, who aren't really recurrent individuals, are more like...I dunno. They fall somewhere between a sort of personal symbolic vocabulary* and on-site field studies of purely mental wildlife.

Which is way too much thinking about a happy troll, so I'm gonna go get lunch before my sinking blood sugar leads me to write the Trolls In Art Manifesto or something equally absurd.

*This is way too big a phrase to apply to a neurotic pink lizard with a straight face.