Defang

Defang was quite the opposite scenario from Fervent Cathar, which I wrote about yesterday. It was assigned and painted concurrently with that piece, but it was one I had very few doubts about and one that I attacked with some degree of confidence. Here's the art order I received:

ART DESCRIPTION:
Color: White spell
Location: Village setting
Action: Show a vampire that's been taken prisoner by two human soldiers (see "Shake" styleguide pg. 58-64 for devil reference). The vampire's arms are bound so that it can't claw anyone. Also, its lips are pulled back in a sneer-- and we see that its big canine fangs have been removed. The vampire shuffles along in bondage, resigned to its fate. (We don't have to see much of the human guards in-frame; just show enough to tell the story of the vampire's imprisonment... just body language should be enough to sell it)
Focus: The neutered vampire
Mood: A dangerous evil that's been rendered harmless. 

Looking back it's interesting that they didn't actually want to show the teeth being pulled. Also interesting is the fact that I didn't work up that alternative, nor did it occur to me at the time to do so. Considering how the piece came out, I don't think I could have made the piece quite as iconic had I depicted that scenario, anyway. What I imagined instead, was this:

©Wizards of the Coast

Here's our vampire in irons, being muscled through a dark space, lamps hanging directly above, motes of dust whirling in the shafts of light.

I'm not sure why, but I immediately associated the space the vampire finds himself in with the bowels of my grandmother's barn, a space I was never officially allowed in. I remember seeing it once or twice, each time accompanied by my father. I remember it was cool and dark, the light unable to reach the entirety of the room and describe it fully, leaving pockets of mystery throughout. I'm not sure, but I think the space was intended for cows or some other livestock, and it was subdivided into stalls. At least I think it was. Truth is, I kind of like the fact that it's still a mystery to me. That part of the barn evokes much more than memory and I'm happy to keep the blank spaces in place. The one thing I do clearly remember about it was the smell. Decaying wood, rotting hay, rust, mildew, with just a hint of leather and oil. That coupled with the blood is what I imagine the vampire is smelling as he's guided to his final destination.

It was also due to this weird association that I designed the hand restraints the way I did. They're inspired by a straightjacket, a dog muzzle, and horse tack. A leather harness which fastens at the waste and has shoulder straps that cross at the back is put on the victim. Though I didn't depict them, I'd imagine this is all reinforced with groin straps, as well. Attached to this harness are leather straps that buckle repeatedly around the arms all the way down to the wrists where wrought iron cages riveted into the leather work keep the hands from opening fully. These cages are then locked to iron loops bolted or riveted to the harness at the chest, thus restricting the victim's arms to a position most associated with someone laid to rest in a coffin (at least that's what I was trying to suggest).

You know, I put a disturbing amount of thought into that...

Anyway, back to the sketch. I turned the above sketch in and got some notes back. There was a concern that the lack of teeth wouldn't read well when reduced to card size. This was a very valid concern.  So, I cropped in and reworked it a bit. Here's the second version:

©Wizards of the Coast

Cropping in eliminated the escorts, so I put their hands on the vampire's shoulders instead of around his arms. Also, because of the concerns with readability, I got rid of the vampire's tongue. I was worried that it would visually clutter the mouth and make it that much more difficult to discern what was going on. I resubmitted with this sketch and it was approved with one final note from the art director in which he urged me not to be afraid to mess the vampire's mouth up even further — maybe a few broken teeth or something. I told him I'd consider it and went to paint.

©Wizards of the Coast

So here we have the final, it's oil on paper on hardboard, and measures 12"x9".

I set out with two things in mind when I began painting this piece: I wanted there to be sympathy for the vampire, and I wanted the shock of red to be the only bright color in the piece. I'm not sure whether I accomplished the first, but I managed to restrict myself color-wise to pull off the second. I imagine how much sympathy the viewer feels likely is connected to how they feel about vampires in the first place.

Astute viewers will note that I ignored the notes that the art director, Jeremy Jarvis, gave me. The four front teeth are still intact. The truth is that I mulled his suggestion over in my mind the entire time I worked on the piece and decided that I'd paint it as I'd sketched it the first place, then mangle the mouth from there. But when I reached that point, I found that I couldn't actually bring myself to do it. The piece was disturbing enough, I didn't want to make it even more so. Still, I knew that the image as it was wouldn't be enough for someone who's seen just about every horror film ever made and can give you the plot summary of every one of them. So, I decided to create two other mouths digitally, so that Wizards had three to choose from. In Photoshop, I painted one with broken teeth, then another with no teeth. Here's what they looked like:

©Wizards of the Coast

©Wizards of the Coast

Now, I've looked at a lot of disturbing stuff on the internet in order to find reference for Magic paintings. Some of the stuff I had to look at to achieve this piece proved to be truly cringe-worthy, and likely cemented my place on some sort of watch list being kept by some agency somewhere or another. I'd say it's worth it, but that's just me. I suspect that Jarvis would agree. He went with the broken teeth.

From the Flat Files 2

So, another piece from the flat files.  This one was done during my sophomore year at Pratt which spanned 1995-'96.  One of the big stories of the time was the government shutdown.  I won't bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that I did this piece for class with that story in mind.  It's 12"x16" and is mixed media (mostly acrylic and colored pencil).  I'm not saying it's brilliant, but I was pretty happy with it at the time.

After my sophomore year, this piece found itself in my parents' basement (along with all my other work), where it suffered from the damp air.  Consequently, it stuck to the back of another piece and was damaged beyond repair.  Physical repair, anyway.  Photoshop to the rescue!

While I'm at it, here's another one I did that's completely unlike what I do today:

The assignment was to do an advertising piece.  I chose Volkswagen.  This decision was made because I had the idea of incorporating a logo into a crop circle before I had decided on a product.  I needed a product with a graphic, circular logo, and Volkswagen came to mind.  This is obviously putting the cart before the horse and is not actually solving the problem.  In fact, it's kind of cheating.  But, I got away with it and decided to share the piece, anyway.  This one is also mixed media (mostly acrylic, ink and colored pencil) on illustration board, and is 14"x16".

The piece was painted during my junior year which spanned from 1996-'97 and was done for Dave Passalacqua, a legend at Pratt.  He and I didn't always get along very well, and he actually gave me a lot of antiquated advice that wasn't relevant to today's market, but I still have to say he taught me quite a bit and inspired many stories that my friends and I still tell to this day.  Sadly, he passed away in '04, but he's one of those guys that I'll never forget.  His voice, which I can still hear in my head, won't let me.

From the Flat Files

These are my flat files.  Flat files are excellent at crushing fingers.  In fact, I think that they excel at doing that that anything else.  A distant second to crushing fingers, flat files are also good at storing art.  While unpacking, I came across a bunch of stuff and decided I'd go ahead and share some of it each day until the end of the year.  So, here goes...

This first piece is a self-portrait I did in August of 1996.  It is mixed media on illustration board and measures 9.25" x 12".  It was done in about two hours (which I think is pretty obvious).  It also comes with a story and a very important lesson.

I was 19, and was just about to begin my junior year at Pratt Institute and had a few spare hours to do something amid my various responsibilities as a new Resident Adviser in Leo J. Pantas Hall.  The dorm's freshman occupants had not yet moved in, so it was serene.  The halls were empty and the only sounds were the birds singing on the branches of the tree just outside my fourth floor window.  I felt inspired, so I grabbed a spare piece of board and painted this.

As I said, it was a pretty quick piece.  At the time, I worked in a sort of mixed media technique that relied heavily on acrylic paint and this piece is no different.  It's done in a far less methodical way than I usually worked, but contained many of the same ingredients: a pen and ink drawing with water soluble dye washes followed by some acrylic paint.  It was quick and dirty, and there was liberal use of a hair dryer.  I finished it, signed it, and set it aside.

Once classes had started, I took it to a professor of mine, George Pratt.  I was pretty happy with how it had turned out and was pretty hopeful that he would be, too.  I arrived at George's class early to find him playing chess with Richard Clark, a friend of his.  George took a look at the painting and immediately critiqued it.  Though I don't recall all he had to say about the piece, I think I can now guess at a lot of the things he pointed out.  He was his usual, constructive but brutally honest self and was nothing, if not thorough.  I took his criticisms in, thought about them, and thanked him for taking the time to look at my "piece of crap" painting.

George immediately jumped on me.  Why, he asked, was I being so hard on my work?  Why would I refer to this painting as a "piece of crap?"

Because it is, I replied.

While I don't remember his words exactly before this point, I remember his next ones verbatim.  "Man," he said, "don't ever refer to your work like that.  Ever.  If you keep calling your work crap, then eventually you'll believe it's crap.  And once that happens then crap is all it'll ever be."

There are a variety of reasons why I have kept certain pieces over the years, while allowing others to be lost, destroyed, given away, or thrown out.  This piece I keep because of George's words.  Words that have gotten me through some tough times.  This piece is a constant reminder to never give up on myself, and to believe in what I do — two things without which I would be nowhere.

Patterns In Prison

I'm working on a bunch of articles with a bit more substance, but in the meantime, here's something I did in college.

This is a piece I did in my Sophomore year at Pratt Institute.  That would have been 1996 or 1997.  The professor would have been either Rudy Gutierrez or Don Albright, though I think it was Don.  The assignment was to illustrate a story about inmates who had started making clothing in prison.  I don't remember if the clothing was haute couture or not, but I certainly addressed it as though it wasn't.  In case you're wondering the piece depicts sewing patterns hanging out in a dingy cell.

This was done during an almost two year phase during which I abandoned oils almost completely and used mixed media.  This piece started with Dr. Ph. Martin's Water Soluble Inks on top of a pencil drawing.  I then did a layer of pen and ink, followed by some acrylic paint, capped off with a bit of colored pencil.  Between each layer of the various media, a coating of acrylic matte medium was applied, followed by a coating of Krylon Crystal Clear acrylic spray.

I think I went a little overboard with the toothbrush spatter.