There's a bunch I have to talk about regarding my last few lost days, but I feel the need to address something more pressing than any of that. That thing is Japan.
Admittedly I'm late to the party on this one, and I completely cop to not being any good at talking about monumental and earth-shattering events. Indeed, I usually find myself without the words and I firmly believe that words, for the most part, are inadequate to begin with. Suffice it to say that what has happened in Japan — or I should say "is happening" — has been devastating to that country and has implications that will be felt globally for some time to come. My heart goes out to Japan and its people, and I wish there was something I could do.
A month or so ago, I was offered the opportunity to go to Japan for a Magic Pro-Tour event this June. The event, to be held in Nagoya, seemed like a lot of fun and a chance to see a country I know little to nothing about. I accepted the offer without hesitation. I was looking forward to the trip quite a bit. Obviously, with the quake and subsequent worries, there was some doubt as to whether or not the event would even take place.
Last night, I got an update from the event's organizers. While the Pro-Tour event that was to happen in Kobe this weekend was understandably postponed, the event in June is currently a go. Still, I was given an out should I have concerns about traveling to Japan. At present I have none, though I completely understand that events are still unfolding and that the situation could change enough to cause plans to be altered substantially. There is no telling if, when or where the other shoe will drop... or even if there's another shoe to begin with.
Some might wonder what the point of something as trivial as a Magic tournament is in all this madness — a reaction I completely understand. It's hard to see what place a game has in this world when the earth is tearing itself apart. Heck — why did David Letterman begin broadcasting again within a week after 9/11? What place does comedy have amidst so much tragedy? Simple. Sometimes you need the distraction. You need some sense of normalcy, something to hold onto. Sometimes when the world is falling apart, the familiar is the only thing that helps you get through it. For some, it's a comedy show. For others it's a game. Like it or not, life continues to move on, and often it's those little things that help us get back into our groove.
No matter what, I will ride this one out. If the event in Japan should remain tenable, than I will be there. It seems to me that the best thing I can do is to go to Japan, sign as many Magic cards as the fans put in front of me, and spend a few bucks while I'm there.
The Work and Musings of Illustrator Steven Belledin
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Writus Interruptus
I'll be taking a last minute break on this blog starting tomorrow. I need to go down to New York and do some work on my old apartment. Not sure if I'll have internet access and such, and I'm not sure how much time I'll actually have to put towards this old blog. If circumstances allow, I'll try and polish up something that's already written. We'll see.
Anyway, the work I'll be doing will include but is not limited to: re-grouting the shower, filling nail and screw holes, and fixing water damage.
I'm also going to take the opportunity to see my accountant and deal with this year's taxes.
Hopefully I'll be able to pry some time in there to see some friends and hang out. After all, my building won't let me make loud noises past 6:00pm, which means I'll have to stop working by then. Sure, many of the activities I have to do are relatively silent ones, but they're the type of things that are sure to solicit loud swearing on my part. While the swearing itself might not cause problems, the volume will.
With any luck, there'll be at least one more post this week. If not, I'll be back next week with more stuff for you fine folks to read.
Anyway, the work I'll be doing will include but is not limited to: re-grouting the shower, filling nail and screw holes, and fixing water damage.
I'm also going to take the opportunity to see my accountant and deal with this year's taxes.
Hopefully I'll be able to pry some time in there to see some friends and hang out. After all, my building won't let me make loud noises past 6:00pm, which means I'll have to stop working by then. Sure, many of the activities I have to do are relatively silent ones, but they're the type of things that are sure to solicit loud swearing on my part. While the swearing itself might not cause problems, the volume will.
With any luck, there'll be at least one more post this week. If not, I'll be back next week with more stuff for you fine folks to read.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Steve Vs. Skiing
Before this past weekend, I had never gone skiing. While I have had the opportunity to in the past, I haven't followed through because of a fundamental lack of interest. I was (and continue to be) about as interested in skiing as I am in contracting the ebola virus.
Okay, that's a bit hyperbolic, but there's an element of truth to it. There is certainly a school of thought that states that I should try it to find out if I like it or not. While I understand where the students of this school are coming from, it still doesn't address that underlying disinterest. I'm not interested in skiing, in the same way that I'm not interested in sky diving, spelunking, or reading Ayn Rand. I understand basic elements of all of these things and much of what they entail, and that is precisely what makes me want to turn the page.
However, there is one small, nagging thing that kept me from completely turning the page on skiing. And that small, nagging thing was my wife. I know, I know, it's horrible to say such things. But, she is small and she has been nagging me about skiing for over a decade. You see, she likes skiing. She's been doing it since she was a child. She hasn't gone much in the years we've shared together because we didn't have the time, the money or, on certain occasions, I was holding her back. And during our conversations on the subject, I would profess my lack of interest quite firmly. Yet, years ago in a moment of weakness, instead of reinforcing my feelings, I made the mistake of promising to try it once. Just once. Thus the nagging began, and rightfully so. I left the door the slightest bit ajar, and Amy kept trying to kick it wide open at every chance she got.
You see, we keep our promises. With one glaring exception we hold each other to our word. This glaring exception involves the purchase of a wedding dress long after a more casual affair had been agreed upon. The compromise in that case was that she got to have the wedding dress, and I got to complain about it for the rest of our natural lives together. I think we'd agree that this compromise worked out well for both of us. Aside from this one instance, though, we do actually follow through. And so I finally did this past weekend with my promise to ski.
This is how I found myself at Mt. Ellen, Vermont this past weekend, taking my first skiing lesson. A lesson given by one of the strangest teachers I've ever met. I want to take a moment and discuss how important it is to have a teacher that's a good fit. While there are some excellent teachers out there in their respective fields, not all good teachers are right for you. Teaching styles and personalities don't always jive. I found this out the hard way in college, and I urge you to always keep in mind that it's okay to find a new teacher if the one you've got just isn't working for you...provided another teacher in available. Which there wasn't in my case. I was given a pretty lousy hand, in fact.
While I will not post his name or go into any physical description, I will tell you that my skiing instructor was just not a good fit for me. He was really into Eastern philosophy, had his own vocabulary for things that were a complete mystery to me (and the seasoned skiers I quoted them to), and was just not someone who I could really meet on any level. There was a lot of discussion about "going with the flow" and how snow was just another form of water. There was not a lot of discussion on more academic things like how to slow yourself down or even how to walk uphill while wearing skis. These things I learned more from watching and overhearing other instructors teach five-year-olds about ten minutes before my own lesson was over. I heard them talking about "making a pizza" and seeing the kids' skis turn toward one another, making a wedge that resembled a slice of pizza. I mimicked these lessons fairly successfully and was pretty happy with the progress I made in that least ten minutes. Turns out I understand "making a pizza" but don't understand "going with the flow."
The other thing that I really felt held me back was that I was not issued ski poles. I was told that I didn't get them due to my neophyte status. Apparently folks are apt to use the poles as a crutch and develop bad habits if given them straight away. While I understand this, there is one academic thing that poles assist in where I really could have used their help: getting up after falling. Suffice it to say that I fell a lot, and the poles certainly would have been a useful tool in leveraging my increasingly heavy body into an upright position from relatively flat ground. It turns out that repeatedly pulling yourself up from a prone position with skis attached to your feet can be quite taxing. Though amusing at first, it got old fast and I can't help but think that having the poles could have prevented some of the falls in the first place, and made recovering from them a little easier.
These two factors and a couple of others that I won't get into made the two hour lesson among the longest two hours of my life. Time has flown by faster while watching a Terrence Malick flick (I don't care which one — any of them). The difference is that watching a Terrence Malick flick is more mentally exhausting, and repeatedly picking yourself up from a ski slope for two hours is more physically exhausting. It took just two hours to completely use up the vast majority of energy I had that day, and I came out smiling not because I'd successfully learned to ski, but because it was over. In fact, I think it's fair to say that I did not actually learn to ski at all. I never made it onto the lifts, because I was unable to stay upright for any real period of time.
I've heard it said that in order for an activity to become truly enjoyable, you have to attain a certain level of proficiency at it first. Gaining that level of proficiency at skiing is not really how I see myself spending my time, though. Still, I feel like whether or not I attempt to ski again is up in the air. Personally, I preferred how I spent the hour and a half after my lesson was over: eating lunch then spending some quality time drinking good beer and drawing on cocktail napkins at the lodge bar. It was easier, more fun, and frankly far cheaper.
Okay, that's a bit hyperbolic, but there's an element of truth to it. There is certainly a school of thought that states that I should try it to find out if I like it or not. While I understand where the students of this school are coming from, it still doesn't address that underlying disinterest. I'm not interested in skiing, in the same way that I'm not interested in sky diving, spelunking, or reading Ayn Rand. I understand basic elements of all of these things and much of what they entail, and that is precisely what makes me want to turn the page.
However, there is one small, nagging thing that kept me from completely turning the page on skiing. And that small, nagging thing was my wife. I know, I know, it's horrible to say such things. But, she is small and she has been nagging me about skiing for over a decade. You see, she likes skiing. She's been doing it since she was a child. She hasn't gone much in the years we've shared together because we didn't have the time, the money or, on certain occasions, I was holding her back. And during our conversations on the subject, I would profess my lack of interest quite firmly. Yet, years ago in a moment of weakness, instead of reinforcing my feelings, I made the mistake of promising to try it once. Just once. Thus the nagging began, and rightfully so. I left the door the slightest bit ajar, and Amy kept trying to kick it wide open at every chance she got.
You see, we keep our promises. With one glaring exception we hold each other to our word. This glaring exception involves the purchase of a wedding dress long after a more casual affair had been agreed upon. The compromise in that case was that she got to have the wedding dress, and I got to complain about it for the rest of our natural lives together. I think we'd agree that this compromise worked out well for both of us. Aside from this one instance, though, we do actually follow through. And so I finally did this past weekend with my promise to ski.
This is how I found myself at Mt. Ellen, Vermont this past weekend, taking my first skiing lesson. A lesson given by one of the strangest teachers I've ever met. I want to take a moment and discuss how important it is to have a teacher that's a good fit. While there are some excellent teachers out there in their respective fields, not all good teachers are right for you. Teaching styles and personalities don't always jive. I found this out the hard way in college, and I urge you to always keep in mind that it's okay to find a new teacher if the one you've got just isn't working for you...provided another teacher in available. Which there wasn't in my case. I was given a pretty lousy hand, in fact.
While I will not post his name or go into any physical description, I will tell you that my skiing instructor was just not a good fit for me. He was really into Eastern philosophy, had his own vocabulary for things that were a complete mystery to me (and the seasoned skiers I quoted them to), and was just not someone who I could really meet on any level. There was a lot of discussion about "going with the flow" and how snow was just another form of water. There was not a lot of discussion on more academic things like how to slow yourself down or even how to walk uphill while wearing skis. These things I learned more from watching and overhearing other instructors teach five-year-olds about ten minutes before my own lesson was over. I heard them talking about "making a pizza" and seeing the kids' skis turn toward one another, making a wedge that resembled a slice of pizza. I mimicked these lessons fairly successfully and was pretty happy with the progress I made in that least ten minutes. Turns out I understand "making a pizza" but don't understand "going with the flow."
The other thing that I really felt held me back was that I was not issued ski poles. I was told that I didn't get them due to my neophyte status. Apparently folks are apt to use the poles as a crutch and develop bad habits if given them straight away. While I understand this, there is one academic thing that poles assist in where I really could have used their help: getting up after falling. Suffice it to say that I fell a lot, and the poles certainly would have been a useful tool in leveraging my increasingly heavy body into an upright position from relatively flat ground. It turns out that repeatedly pulling yourself up from a prone position with skis attached to your feet can be quite taxing. Though amusing at first, it got old fast and I can't help but think that having the poles could have prevented some of the falls in the first place, and made recovering from them a little easier.
These two factors and a couple of others that I won't get into made the two hour lesson among the longest two hours of my life. Time has flown by faster while watching a Terrence Malick flick (I don't care which one — any of them). The difference is that watching a Terrence Malick flick is more mentally exhausting, and repeatedly picking yourself up from a ski slope for two hours is more physically exhausting. It took just two hours to completely use up the vast majority of energy I had that day, and I came out smiling not because I'd successfully learned to ski, but because it was over. In fact, I think it's fair to say that I did not actually learn to ski at all. I never made it onto the lifts, because I was unable to stay upright for any real period of time.
I've heard it said that in order for an activity to become truly enjoyable, you have to attain a certain level of proficiency at it first. Gaining that level of proficiency at skiing is not really how I see myself spending my time, though. Still, I feel like whether or not I attempt to ski again is up in the air. Personally, I preferred how I spent the hour and a half after my lesson was over: eating lunch then spending some quality time drinking good beer and drawing on cocktail napkins at the lodge bar. It was easier, more fun, and frankly far cheaper.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Cheese Platter 2
• I have seen the "Top Gun" more than any other movie. As a kid, I dubbed a copy of it and would watch it constantly. By my estimation, I have seen it well over a hundred times. I'm not bragging. I'm pointing out how wasted my youth clearly was. Just think of all those hours I could have been watching something good, or running around outside getting exercise.
• My Grandmother had an antique, cast iron clothes iron she used to keep her back door open during the summer. Well, it's inner parts were iron, but there was a steel case that enveloped it with a latch and a turned wooden handle. The idea, apparently, was that you would have more than one of the cast iron cores. One you'd have heating by the fire while the other was in use. When the one in use became too cool, you could flip the latch and swap cores thereby always having a hot iron. That this somehow reminded me of a swapping clips in a gun is kind of interesting. Of all the things I could have likened it to, strange that it always went immediately to a firearm analogy.
• I don't like ice skating. Sure, I've only been twice, and I fell an awful lot. Falling, however, is not my biggest fear. Having someone skate over my hand is. As improbable as this sounds, I have met four people in my life who have either themselves had a finger severed while ice skating, or had a family member who has. Statistically speaking, I'm pretty sure it's abnormally high to have run into so many. Each story I've heard has reinforced my fear. So, I don't skate. In fact, I don't think I'd even skate if I were the only one on the ice. I'm pretty sure that if there's a way to cut your own finger off while ice skating that I would find it.
• My Grandmother had an antique, cast iron clothes iron she used to keep her back door open during the summer. Well, it's inner parts were iron, but there was a steel case that enveloped it with a latch and a turned wooden handle. The idea, apparently, was that you would have more than one of the cast iron cores. One you'd have heating by the fire while the other was in use. When the one in use became too cool, you could flip the latch and swap cores thereby always having a hot iron. That this somehow reminded me of a swapping clips in a gun is kind of interesting. Of all the things I could have likened it to, strange that it always went immediately to a firearm analogy.
• I don't like ice skating. Sure, I've only been twice, and I fell an awful lot. Falling, however, is not my biggest fear. Having someone skate over my hand is. As improbable as this sounds, I have met four people in my life who have either themselves had a finger severed while ice skating, or had a family member who has. Statistically speaking, I'm pretty sure it's abnormally high to have run into so many. Each story I've heard has reinforced my fear. So, I don't skate. In fact, I don't think I'd even skate if I were the only one on the ice. I'm pretty sure that if there's a way to cut your own finger off while ice skating that I would find it.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
10,000 Strong... And Growing
When I started this blog in August of last year, I didn't think it would be much more than a blip on anyone's radar. It turns out I was wrong. Well, sorta.
In the grand scheme of things, this blog doesn't really receive a whole lot of traffic. Still, yesterday I passed 10,000 hits and this will be my 84th post. For me, that's a lot of hits. Considering that I'm a middling artist who is late to the blog party, and considering also just how many art blogs there are I'm pretty happy with how things have turned out. Fact is, I didn't expect to reach this point within my first full year. I was just hoping to get to the point where I might reach 1,000 hits per month by then.
In all reality, I have three other sites to thank for much of my blog's traffic, and I'll take this opportunity to plug them.
First is Matt Stewart's blog (link). While I'm unsure whether or not he's ever specifically mentioned me in a post (I've been following and I really can't remember), I cannot imagine what I did to get listed among his friends. The fact that I'm on that list has funneled quite a few folks in my direction, and I thank him.
Second is Star City Games website (link) where my FAQ entry about card alterations was mentioned in an article about collecting all things Magic. According to said article, "Steven Belledin is strongly anti-alteration," which I guess if fair, though I would qualify that with my being against doing alterations rather than being strictly anti-alteration as a while. Still, the article sent a lot of folks my way, and is actually a nice article in general for the collectors and the collected. It's always good to see how folks on the other side of the table see things. So, thanks to
In the grand scheme of things, this blog doesn't really receive a whole lot of traffic. Still, yesterday I passed 10,000 hits and this will be my 84th post. For me, that's a lot of hits. Considering that I'm a middling artist who is late to the blog party, and considering also just how many art blogs there are I'm pretty happy with how things have turned out. Fact is, I didn't expect to reach this point within my first full year. I was just hoping to get to the point where I might reach 1,000 hits per month by then.
In all reality, I have three other sites to thank for much of my blog's traffic, and I'll take this opportunity to plug them.
First is Matt Stewart's blog (link). While I'm unsure whether or not he's ever specifically mentioned me in a post (I've been following and I really can't remember), I cannot imagine what I did to get listed among his friends. The fact that I'm on that list has funneled quite a few folks in my direction, and I thank him.
Second is Star City Games website (link) where my FAQ entry about card alterations was mentioned in an article about collecting all things Magic. According to said article, "Steven Belledin is strongly anti-alteration," which I guess if fair, though I would qualify that with my being against doing alterations rather than being strictly anti-alteration as a while. Still, the article sent a lot of folks my way, and is actually a nice article in general for the collectors and the collected. It's always good to see how folks on the other side of the table see things. So, thanks to
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Kingkillers and Strange Packages
Back in 2008, I received a mysterious package in the mail. It was one of those bubble envelopes containing what I thought at the time was product from Magic. I was living in our place in Jackson Heights and the package took up the majority of our tiny mailbox. As I often did, I took the mail and laid it on the kitchen table to be picked through later.
At lunchtime, I went ahead and started perusing the mail. After looking the bills over, I finally got to the package and quickly realized that my assumption that it was from Wizards of the Coast was wrong. There was no Magic product contained therein. In fact, I didn't recognize the address at all, nor the name of the sender. I shrugged, tore open the package and pondered its contents. This is what was inside:
This was a first for me. No one had ever sent me a book before. Well, no one had ever sent me a book that I had nothing to with, anyway. It was weird. But pretty cool all the same. However, there were many unanswered questions. First of all, who had sent this book to me? I looked at the return address. It said "Patrick Rothfuss." I looked at the book. It, too, said "Patrick Rothfuss." Weird coincidence, that.
Then I wondered, why had Patrick sent this book to me? There was nothing in the package that I could find aside from the book. So, no apparent explanation. I flipped through the book's pages to find that it was signed by the author. Curious. Then, I flipped through the pages again, only this time a business card fell out. It was Patrick's business card. I turned the card over, and found the beginning of the answer I'd been looking for:
So, Patrick is the author, the author had sent me the book, and the author is a fan. Of me. But how? Why? Whu?
I had to know. So I emailed him. He gave me his business card, after all. After a few emails back and forth it became clear to me that we'd talked for a while at Gen Con. I had no idea who he was, and I'm not sure whether he knew who I was before then, either. But we'd talked. After finally seeing a picture of him, I was able to conjure the memory of having the conversation, though I cannot even begin to tell you what we spoke about. I like to think that it was a lofty conversation about artistic ideals and the danger of cliche, but since I was involved in said conversation it likely centered around something far more crude and bass. Either way, I somehow made an impression on him. Or at least my work did.
I realize, in retrospect, that this was among the cooler things that have happened to me over the years. At the time, however, I was too dumbfounded to understand how cool it actually all was. No one had ever gifted me with something like this before, and it's only happened once since (on a book I'd worked on). And as the confusion started to ease over the day, I actually did become pretty elated. There was just one hitch: I never learned to read.
Okay, so I can read.
There really was an issue, though. I don't generally read fantasy books. This might be a weird statement considering the genre I work in, but it's completely true. I avoid immersing myself in the genre on all fronts. I already work primarily in fantasy, a lot of the games I play are science fiction or fantasy games. I tend to watch a lot of movies in the genre, as well. Books, on the other hand, are something else entirely. The time investment means that I choose my books carefully, and most of my selections are a vacation from what I do day in and day out.
Still, someone had sent me this book. The author had sent me this book. It seemed that the least I could do was actually read it. Right?
Right.
And so I did. And I liked it. I liked it a lot. It is one of the few books in the genre that I have recommended to anyone who will listen to me. I have shouted its merits at conventions, at bars with friends, and on planes with strangers. I liked it enough to run out and try and procure a 1st edition, 1st printing of the hardback edition, but have found much to my horror and disappointment that it's more than I can afford. So, I settled instead for a 5th printing, which sits proudly on my bookshelf among the various other tomes that I have collected over the years. It stands as one of the few books that I have reread multiple times, and something from which I have drawn inspiration. It's also the only book I have even threatened to do any kind of fan art for and still may.
So why do I bring this up? What gives? I'll tell you. This has all been a shameless plug for something that I had nothing to do with. You see, yesterday the book's sequel came out. The Wise Man's Fear. I have not gotten my copy yet, but I wait with much anticipation. In just a few days, I will have it and will tear through it just as I did The Name of the Wind. Judging from it's Amazon sales ranking (I think it at least go up to number 8), it would appear that many people will be doing the same. Given that many reading this are likely to be reading that, the shameless plug may be unnecessary. But if I bring one new reader to the series (there are a planned 3 total), then I think it's been worthwhile.
At lunchtime, I went ahead and started perusing the mail. After looking the bills over, I finally got to the package and quickly realized that my assumption that it was from Wizards of the Coast was wrong. There was no Magic product contained therein. In fact, I didn't recognize the address at all, nor the name of the sender. I shrugged, tore open the package and pondered its contents. This is what was inside:
This was a first for me. No one had ever sent me a book before. Well, no one had ever sent me a book that I had nothing to with, anyway. It was weird. But pretty cool all the same. However, there were many unanswered questions. First of all, who had sent this book to me? I looked at the return address. It said "Patrick Rothfuss." I looked at the book. It, too, said "Patrick Rothfuss." Weird coincidence, that.
Then I wondered, why had Patrick sent this book to me? There was nothing in the package that I could find aside from the book. So, no apparent explanation. I flipped through the book's pages to find that it was signed by the author. Curious. Then, I flipped through the pages again, only this time a business card fell out. It was Patrick's business card. I turned the card over, and found the beginning of the answer I'd been looking for:
So, Patrick is the author, the author had sent me the book, and the author is a fan. Of me. But how? Why? Whu?
I had to know. So I emailed him. He gave me his business card, after all. After a few emails back and forth it became clear to me that we'd talked for a while at Gen Con. I had no idea who he was, and I'm not sure whether he knew who I was before then, either. But we'd talked. After finally seeing a picture of him, I was able to conjure the memory of having the conversation, though I cannot even begin to tell you what we spoke about. I like to think that it was a lofty conversation about artistic ideals and the danger of cliche, but since I was involved in said conversation it likely centered around something far more crude and bass. Either way, I somehow made an impression on him. Or at least my work did.
I realize, in retrospect, that this was among the cooler things that have happened to me over the years. At the time, however, I was too dumbfounded to understand how cool it actually all was. No one had ever gifted me with something like this before, and it's only happened once since (on a book I'd worked on). And as the confusion started to ease over the day, I actually did become pretty elated. There was just one hitch: I never learned to read.
Okay, so I can read.
There really was an issue, though. I don't generally read fantasy books. This might be a weird statement considering the genre I work in, but it's completely true. I avoid immersing myself in the genre on all fronts. I already work primarily in fantasy, a lot of the games I play are science fiction or fantasy games. I tend to watch a lot of movies in the genre, as well. Books, on the other hand, are something else entirely. The time investment means that I choose my books carefully, and most of my selections are a vacation from what I do day in and day out.
Still, someone had sent me this book. The author had sent me this book. It seemed that the least I could do was actually read it. Right?
Right.
And so I did. And I liked it. I liked it a lot. It is one of the few books in the genre that I have recommended to anyone who will listen to me. I have shouted its merits at conventions, at bars with friends, and on planes with strangers. I liked it enough to run out and try and procure a 1st edition, 1st printing of the hardback edition, but have found much to my horror and disappointment that it's more than I can afford. So, I settled instead for a 5th printing, which sits proudly on my bookshelf among the various other tomes that I have collected over the years. It stands as one of the few books that I have reread multiple times, and something from which I have drawn inspiration. It's also the only book I have even threatened to do any kind of fan art for and still may.
So why do I bring this up? What gives? I'll tell you. This has all been a shameless plug for something that I had nothing to do with. You see, yesterday the book's sequel came out. The Wise Man's Fear. I have not gotten my copy yet, but I wait with much anticipation. In just a few days, I will have it and will tear through it just as I did The Name of the Wind. Judging from it's Amazon sales ranking (I think it at least go up to number 8), it would appear that many people will be doing the same. Given that many reading this are likely to be reading that, the shameless plug may be unnecessary. But if I bring one new reader to the series (there are a planned 3 total), then I think it's been worthwhile.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Frequently Asked Questions 7
Can I get a high-res version of this piece?
If you're not my client waiting to get my high-res file, the answer is no. No. No. No. While I really don't have to give you a reason for this, I'm going to anyway. Because I'm cool like that.
Because I'm Not Allowed To
The first potential reason that I may not be willing to give you a high-res version of a piece is that I legally don't have the right to. You see, many companies I work for buy up all usage rights of the images they commission save those allowing for me to use said images for self-promotion or to make prints. What this means is that I can use the image in my portfolio (printed or digital), on the various websites I've uploaded my work to, in mailings to art directors, and so forth. Basically, if I'm using the image to fish for work, I am using it for self-promotion.
Giving you a high-res version of the piece does not fall into this category, and so I am obliged to decline. You see, spreading around high-res versions of work when I don't have the right to endangers my livelihood. I'm not interested in living on the street, so I play by the rules of my contracts. If you still want a high-res file, I will direct you to the company that owns the image and you can take it up with them directly. Good luck with that.
Because It Might Hurt Me
The second reason I may not want to give you a high-res version of my work is that I may want to make prints. As mentioned before, even the clients who buy up most of the rights to an image typically grant me the right to manufacture prints. I don't know about anyone else, but I charge for my prints. Not a lot, mind you — I'm not making limited edition giclees or anything. But, prints are part of my income. And being an artist, I need all the income I can get.
Were I to give you high-res scans of my work, what's to prevent you from making prints of your own? How do I know that you're not going to turn around and start selling prints, yourself? How do I know that you're not just going to keep passing along the files to other people? Quite frankly, I don't. There's no assurance that I won't be hurt by it.
I really don't care to speculate on your motivations for wanting the high-res file. Be it that you wish to design a desktop wallpaper, intend to undercut me on prints, want to claim it as your own work, or want to put it in your own project, it really doesn't concern me. Even if your intentions were pure, there's no telling what someone else's might be should you get hacked or have your files stolen.
I also don't care what the laws of your land happen to be, or what common practice might dictate in your culture (something that has come up in one or two of these requests). And you're right, I don't trust you. I don't even know you! Of course I'm not going to trust you. That this is a surprise or is met with any kind of indignation is a little odd to me. Nevertheless, the answer is still no.
Lastly, I don't care that you think me a jerk for refusing your simple request. I'm also not going to respond well to your pestering me for two weeks on the subject. Accept that it's just not going to happen. Please, just enjoy the images in the forms that are offered to you and stop asking for more. It doesn't become you. You're a better person than that.
At the end of the day, these images are a commodity. They're my commodity. And I'm not going to treat them lightly.
If you're not my client waiting to get my high-res file, the answer is no. No. No. No. While I really don't have to give you a reason for this, I'm going to anyway. Because I'm cool like that.
Because I'm Not Allowed To
The first potential reason that I may not be willing to give you a high-res version of a piece is that I legally don't have the right to. You see, many companies I work for buy up all usage rights of the images they commission save those allowing for me to use said images for self-promotion or to make prints. What this means is that I can use the image in my portfolio (printed or digital), on the various websites I've uploaded my work to, in mailings to art directors, and so forth. Basically, if I'm using the image to fish for work, I am using it for self-promotion.
Giving you a high-res version of the piece does not fall into this category, and so I am obliged to decline. You see, spreading around high-res versions of work when I don't have the right to endangers my livelihood. I'm not interested in living on the street, so I play by the rules of my contracts. If you still want a high-res file, I will direct you to the company that owns the image and you can take it up with them directly. Good luck with that.
Because It Might Hurt Me
The second reason I may not want to give you a high-res version of my work is that I may want to make prints. As mentioned before, even the clients who buy up most of the rights to an image typically grant me the right to manufacture prints. I don't know about anyone else, but I charge for my prints. Not a lot, mind you — I'm not making limited edition giclees or anything. But, prints are part of my income. And being an artist, I need all the income I can get.
Were I to give you high-res scans of my work, what's to prevent you from making prints of your own? How do I know that you're not going to turn around and start selling prints, yourself? How do I know that you're not just going to keep passing along the files to other people? Quite frankly, I don't. There's no assurance that I won't be hurt by it.
Just Because
Look, I've got decent sized images of my work available for all to see on various sites throughout the interwebs. My work has appeared in print and can be attained quite easily at game stores, online, and wherever books are sold. I've also been in shows all over the country where you could even see my work in person. You want to get up close and personal to it? There are plenty of opportunities.I really don't care to speculate on your motivations for wanting the high-res file. Be it that you wish to design a desktop wallpaper, intend to undercut me on prints, want to claim it as your own work, or want to put it in your own project, it really doesn't concern me. Even if your intentions were pure, there's no telling what someone else's might be should you get hacked or have your files stolen.
I also don't care what the laws of your land happen to be, or what common practice might dictate in your culture (something that has come up in one or two of these requests). And you're right, I don't trust you. I don't even know you! Of course I'm not going to trust you. That this is a surprise or is met with any kind of indignation is a little odd to me. Nevertheless, the answer is still no.
Lastly, I don't care that you think me a jerk for refusing your simple request. I'm also not going to respond well to your pestering me for two weeks on the subject. Accept that it's just not going to happen. Please, just enjoy the images in the forms that are offered to you and stop asking for more. It doesn't become you. You're a better person than that.
At the end of the day, these images are a commodity. They're my commodity. And I'm not going to treat them lightly.
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