Why are your prints so expensive?
Those aren't prints. They're original oil paintings.
Wait, you work in oils? I thought you worked digitally.
Nope. Oils.
But I thought you had to work digitally to work on Magic.
"Could you rephrase that in the form of a question? After all, this is 'Frequently Asked Questions.'"
Oh! Okay. Ahem.
Do you have to work digitally to work on Magic: the Gathering?
Why thanks for asking that question, good sir and/or madame. Allow me to address it in some sort of official blog-type capacity:
It is my belief that artists hoping to get work doing art for Magic can work in any medium. Okay, well, maybe not cast bronze or wrought iron. Let's say any 2-dimensional medium that can be reproduced well. Watercolor? Yup. Oils? Absolutely. Acrylic? You bet. Pastel? Why not? A mixture of several types of media? If it meets the criteria of reproducing well, then yes.
Obviously digital art isn't a problem. Just look at the virtual who's who of digital artists who either currently work or have worked on Magic in the past. There are some amazing folks who've produced some absolutely gorgeous work. But the digital medium itself wasn't why they managed to get their foot in the door. It was the quality of their work. It's my belief that if any of them had done equally good work in a traditional medium, they'd have met with equal success.
So, if getting an opportunity to work on Magic is your goal, then I suggest the following: stop worrying about the medium and do good work.
Seriously. That's it.
Okay, that's not entirely it. I confess that there is some specificity lacking in that statement. I should say, rather, that you should do good work that's appropriate for Magic: the Gathering. This means that it should be fairly realistic and in the fantasy genre. Stylization is not out of bounds, but the end result should still be a fairly realistic take on an imaginary world.
Now, I could elaborate on the best way to go about accomplishing realistic fantasy work, but that would be a little off topic and redundant to hundreds of posts scattered throughout the internet and a bunch of really good books available at bookstores everywhere and perhaps even at your local library. There are more free and low-cost resources out there for you to consume than ever before and I encourage you to seek them out.
However, if the part about making work appropriate for Magic is where you're falling short then I urge you to really look at recent Magic work and figure out what is lacking in your work that is present in the Magic art before you. Is it a matter of design? A matter of readability at reduced scale? A lack of a decent figure/ground relationship? I could go on, but going into depth about what makes a good Magic image would likely take longer than the entirety of this entry and
therefore warrants its own article. The short version, though, is that
if you put your work next to the work of that which gets printed
currently on Magic cards, it should feel at home.
All in all, the most important thing is quality. Medium, I assure you, is not the determining factor. How do I know this? Well, for one, the current lead art director for Magic is a water color artist. Water color, I'm sure you're aware, is a traditional medium. I find it extremely unlikely that such a person would discriminate against his fellow paint pushers.
But why listen to my conjecture? Why don't we look at some facts to back up my claim? With each new Magic set, there are typically one or two new artists brought into the fold. Off the top of my head, here are three new additions to Magic's roster that work traditionally: Lindsay Look, Mike Sass and Scott Murphy. All three use real, live, brushes (some of which even have real hair in 'em) and paint that comes in tubes (some of which is highly toxic and should not be spread on toast and taken internally). And they're not even the only three. So clearly, traditionally produced illustration is not dead in Magic. But I have to confess that it sometimes feels rare.
Of course, this is due mainly to the fact that illustrators who work solely traditionally are rare (at least when compared to the numbers of folks who work digitally). It's becoming less and less common to see folks leaving art school with a portfolio that is completely full of traditional work. Obviously that increasing infrequency is reflected in the ranks of Magic's current artist roster. But like I said, the medium really doesn't end up mattering.
Look, I have no doubt that there are companies out there that require artists to work digitally. Magic just happens not to be one of them. And I don't think that will change anytime soon. So if you're looking to work for Magic, feel free to rock whatever medium it takes for you to do your best work.
The Work and Musings of Illustrator Steven Belledin
Showing posts with label Frequently Asked Questions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Frequently Asked Questions. Show all posts
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Thursday, February 6, 2014
Frequently Asked Questions 11
Does it bother you out when your art gets put on a crappy card?
Though I've worked on other card games in the past this question primarily comes from Magic players, and my feelings on the matter are simultaneously simple and complex... which I guess makes them just complex.
Anyway...
Before I delve into the matter, I feel it important to first make something absolutely clear: I do not control the cards my art gets put on. As of January 2014, I have illustrated somewhere in the neighborhood of 110 Magic cards. Of these cards, I have been given the option to assign which cards my art is put on exactly zero times. And I'm not alone. Ask any Magic artist and you'll hear the same thing. I do not know the whys or hows of who gets assigned the art for which card. For all I know, it's determined by a machine that, using advanced algorithms, assigns art using such factors as the dates of our various births, our star signs, and the number of letters in our accountants' names. Or it could be done through trial by stone. Or a dartboard. Point is, where my art ends up within the confines of Magic isn't really within my sphere of influence.
Now that I've gotten that out of the way, let me explain to you the complex feelings I have about this: yeah, I kind of care if my art ends up on a crappy card.
The primary reason for this feeling is simply that lesser cards result in less exposure. See, I make this stuff so that people will look at it. If the work ends up on cards that people don't want to play, then obviously there are fewer people taking note of my art — something that is especially annoying when the art in question is a piece I'm particularly proud of.
From the folks who do take note of the work, at best I might hear, "that's some cool art, too bad it's on a crappy card." But despite this qualifying as taking note, truthfully their interest in such work pales in comparison to their interest in work I've done that is on better cards. That's the stuff they get excited about seeing in real life and those are the pieces they drag their friends over to take in. Meanwhile, the art from the lesser cards gets relegated to being filler at my convention table. It's the stuff that people flip past to get to the "good" art.
Inherently the work from lesser cards is less marketable. Far fewer folks end up having any interest in the artist proofs or prints or the original painting. This is not to say that I'm stuck with the art from crappy cards, but if you were to look at my list of available Magic originals, you'd see that most of what's still available are paintings from cards that just don't see a lot of play.
So, clearly I care on some level. But the question of whether or not I care is kind of the wrong one, in my opinion. The real question is how much I care.
The answer (predictably) is not much. When I sit down to make a piece of art, I sit down to make something I'm proud of and am happy with. My goal is always to make something that I'd be happy to put on my own wall should I never be able to sell it. That doesn't always happen, of course, but even my biggest failures began with a great deal of excitement about how cool this next painting was going to be. What I've never thought was how cool this next card was going to be. The fact that the art is part of a card game is (to an extent) arbitrary to me from the onset.
After the work has been handed in and the cards produced, I'm fairly removed. I'm already on to the next set. Inevitably, however, I find out what's popular and what's not and I'd be lying if I said there wasn't even the smallest twinge of disappointment when I discover that a piece of my art is on a card that no one uses. But being told that my art is way better than the card it's associated with is high praise indeed. At the very least, it's praise I'm not too ashamed to take.
The fans who share such sentiment are not the only ones that, for me, raise up such work. At events, I quite relish meeting those folks who just appreciate the work for what it is and divorce it from its context. Such folks take the time to look far beyond the rules text and the card name, and ignore such things as resale value. If only for a few seconds, they are appreciating what matters most to me, and all else becomes secondary. If only for a little while there is no card. Only art.
It's a smaller audience, for sure. But not a lesser one. And their interest gives even the crappiest card's art some value... which is why I really don't care all that much about the whole thing.
Though I've worked on other card games in the past this question primarily comes from Magic players, and my feelings on the matter are simultaneously simple and complex... which I guess makes them just complex.
Anyway...
Before I delve into the matter, I feel it important to first make something absolutely clear: I do not control the cards my art gets put on. As of January 2014, I have illustrated somewhere in the neighborhood of 110 Magic cards. Of these cards, I have been given the option to assign which cards my art is put on exactly zero times. And I'm not alone. Ask any Magic artist and you'll hear the same thing. I do not know the whys or hows of who gets assigned the art for which card. For all I know, it's determined by a machine that, using advanced algorithms, assigns art using such factors as the dates of our various births, our star signs, and the number of letters in our accountants' names. Or it could be done through trial by stone. Or a dartboard. Point is, where my art ends up within the confines of Magic isn't really within my sphere of influence.
Now that I've gotten that out of the way, let me explain to you the complex feelings I have about this: yeah, I kind of care if my art ends up on a crappy card.
The primary reason for this feeling is simply that lesser cards result in less exposure. See, I make this stuff so that people will look at it. If the work ends up on cards that people don't want to play, then obviously there are fewer people taking note of my art — something that is especially annoying when the art in question is a piece I'm particularly proud of.
From the folks who do take note of the work, at best I might hear, "that's some cool art, too bad it's on a crappy card." But despite this qualifying as taking note, truthfully their interest in such work pales in comparison to their interest in work I've done that is on better cards. That's the stuff they get excited about seeing in real life and those are the pieces they drag their friends over to take in. Meanwhile, the art from the lesser cards gets relegated to being filler at my convention table. It's the stuff that people flip past to get to the "good" art.
Inherently the work from lesser cards is less marketable. Far fewer folks end up having any interest in the artist proofs or prints or the original painting. This is not to say that I'm stuck with the art from crappy cards, but if you were to look at my list of available Magic originals, you'd see that most of what's still available are paintings from cards that just don't see a lot of play.
So, clearly I care on some level. But the question of whether or not I care is kind of the wrong one, in my opinion. The real question is how much I care.
The answer (predictably) is not much. When I sit down to make a piece of art, I sit down to make something I'm proud of and am happy with. My goal is always to make something that I'd be happy to put on my own wall should I never be able to sell it. That doesn't always happen, of course, but even my biggest failures began with a great deal of excitement about how cool this next painting was going to be. What I've never thought was how cool this next card was going to be. The fact that the art is part of a card game is (to an extent) arbitrary to me from the onset.
After the work has been handed in and the cards produced, I'm fairly removed. I'm already on to the next set. Inevitably, however, I find out what's popular and what's not and I'd be lying if I said there wasn't even the smallest twinge of disappointment when I discover that a piece of my art is on a card that no one uses. But being told that my art is way better than the card it's associated with is high praise indeed. At the very least, it's praise I'm not too ashamed to take.
The fans who share such sentiment are not the only ones that, for me, raise up such work. At events, I quite relish meeting those folks who just appreciate the work for what it is and divorce it from its context. Such folks take the time to look far beyond the rules text and the card name, and ignore such things as resale value. If only for a few seconds, they are appreciating what matters most to me, and all else becomes secondary. If only for a little while there is no card. Only art.
It's a smaller audience, for sure. But not a lesser one. And their interest gives even the crappiest card's art some value... which is why I really don't care all that much about the whole thing.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Information, Advice and Old Man Pants
Back in my day, we didn't have no internet. And by my day we're talking mid to late nineties. You'd be correct to point out that that statement is an outright lie as the world wide web was certainly a thing back then, but I'll counter with the fact that it just wasn't the same. In the years of my schooling, and for many subsequent, you could feel yourself aging as images downloaded a pixel at a time and appeared magically from left to right, top to bottom. If there was video content to speak of, it was certainly not the kind of thing that mere mortals could view with their substandard connections, and primeval, hamster-driven machines. There was email, of course, and there were chat rooms and webpages, but what hadn't really happened yet was the explosion of content out there for artists and art enthusiasts alike. There were no blogs, no demo videos, no podcasts or streaming content, and there certainly weren't extensive message board threads about the type of paint someone used, what Daarken's digital brush settings are, or how I don't know anything about the anatomy of creatures that don't actually exist.
What did we have to work with? Why, let me put on my old man pants and tell you!
While all those things listed above were certainly to come, my search for information about how other artists did things was limited to books (many of which were long out of print and thus difficult and expensive to find), obscure films that you were lucky to stumble upon a thrice budded VHS cassette of, and actually cold calling people and asking them directly. There was occasionally a lecture or live demonstration here or there, but there just wasn't the wealth of information so readily available like there is today.
At this point I pull up my old man pants and point at you meaningfully (even though it isn't polite) as I say that I hope you all appreciate the opportunities this goldmine presents. I'm happy to be living among you, late to the party in some ways, early in others, enjoying the sheer wealth of information about many of my heroes and how they won so many of their canvas duels.
But there's one thing that has begun to nag at me. The information didn't come alone. No. Uninvited, it brought along its idiot cousin as a plus one. That idiot cousin is free advice.
Now, I'm willing to take much of the information out there at face value — after all, why would someone lie to you about using a number two round dipped in a mixture of Cadmium Red Light and Yellow Ochre?Seriously. What's in it for JoJo down at the shopping mall to lie about using an airbrush to make all those t-shirts he sells? I just don't see the angle. But all those opinions out there? All that free advice? Excuse me while I get my bucket of salt, some waders, and a shovel.
Without further ado, here's some advice about that advice.
Do Some Research
I know this may seem obvious, but it's kind of important to know a little about who the advice is coming from. Figure out whether they're worth your time, what their motives are, and whether there's actually some aspect of their work that's applicable to you. For example, were I looking for oil painting tips I'd be unlikely to go to someone who works digitally. This isn't a prejudice against digital work, mind you, as I'd be just as unlikely to consult a water colorist. And if it's a bigger issue of artistic fundamentals you're looking to solve (like composition, drawing problems, or visual communication issues), it helps to turn to someone whose sensibilities and qualities have something in common with your own — which is not to say that you should only be looking to people who do work that looks exactly like yours. Indeed, the illustrators I turn to have work that looks nothing like mine, but there are underlying threads that keep our work in the same ballpark. Similar approaches to solving problems, similar interest in story telling, etc. That synchronicity automatically makes any opinions they share more effective, as I understand better where they're coming from.
Don't Settle
While potentially overwhelming, the untold quantity of advice mines also give you the luxury of choice. As you sift through your options, it's important to remember not to settle for advice given by artists who are at your level or only marginally better than you. Sure, you might like that one piece that JoJo down at the mall did, but like an art director once told me, "everyone has one good piece in them." So what's the rest of JoJo's work look like? Why not look to someone who has a whole portfolio of good pieces? Pieces that you think are beyond what you could ever hope to achieve. And while we're at it, how about someone with a whole portfolio of good pieces and a decent amount of experience and has made a career of it? The point is, don't skimp. You don't have to. Sure it can be intimidating to contact someone you don't know, and sometimes it takes a while for these total strangers to get back to you, but it's better to wait for advice from a professional who knows what they're talking about than it is to get your instant two cents from JoJo.
More = Better
So you've ignored me and insist on going to JoJo for all his artistic ravings — I understand, he has a wise face. That's one opinion and one opinion is good. You know what's better? Two opinions. Or even three! Hearing more than one thought can help patterns emerge and can also help solutions become clearer. Plus, not everyone is going to pick up on the same things, and you might end up with multiple issues to address. While this seems like a headache, it can also help your work improve multiple times over, and in a far more compressed period of time.
Look, it's never a bad idea to get opinions from multiple sources. You can't determine the direction of a line from a single point, so it always helps to find another point...of view. See what I did there? (I hate myself for writing that). But seriously, it's a lot harder to get to the truth of things from one person's opinion, and gathering insight from more than one source is going to give you a lot more options, and may even counter-intuitively help you hone in on the best answer for you.
Have the Salt Ready
There are a lot of folks out there spouting off on their blogs like it's the gospel as told by the illustration god, Illustrut, himself. They shout with their conviction and dazzle with neat pictures and large, bold typography. Heck, JoJo is sporting a whole cart that's got a big sign on top of it. Clearly these kind of things and the fact that they've been paid to illustrate at some point make all those guys experts and they obviously know more than you. Right?
Ahem.
Perhaps not. The most important thing to remember about advice is that it's just an opinion. Sure, it might be based on facts and experiences, and sure they might be working illustrators, but such things do not turn their wisdom into a law chiseled in stone by Hammurabi*, himself. Advice can apply to you and your work, and it can also be pretty far off base, so it's vital to learn to take in what applies and ignore the rest. Part of making art is having intentions and making real choices. You know what you're trying to do better than the person giving you advice, so be sure that adhering to some of that advice doesn't betray those intentions and choices in some way.
Which brings me to my final point. While I've dispatched some advice as well as a fair amount of information about my work and process on this blog of mine, everything I've passed along has been based on my own experience. What knowledge I've provided is what worked for me, nothing more. I've also tried to include what hasn't worked whenever pertinent. Much of the advice I've given is pretty general. Indeed if you go from blog to blog looking for the secrets of life and illustration you'll note that the advice often is. There are themes of hard work and perseverance woven throughout, and many universal truths are present that you just can't get around. But remember, it's the internet, and the internet is still the Wild West. Any idiot can express their opinion half-intelligently and sound like they know what they're talking about — which includes me, by the way.
Still, I'm a big proponent of getting help on the fundamentals and then figuring the nuances out for yourself. The building blocks of what we do, while largely comprised of repetition, are often molded by other hands. A slight nudge here, a slap on the wrist there, not to mention the meticulous study and outright thievery of the work of our heroes. The big ticket items are what I go seeking information about and look to others for advice to improve. But deciding what brush to use or what colors to mix? That's all trial and error. Sure I've taken advice on that stuff, but it was me driving the bus and deciding which passengers to let on. I'm just as likely to drive right by. Remember that it's the oddities of process, the quirks, the mistakes and hiccups along the way that make our artistic endeavors our own.
So go out there and seek that advice whenever you need it, but arm yourself with a shovel of your own, and don't forget to leave some time to actually paint along the way.
* Survey of Art History 101 for the win!
* Survey of Art History 101 for the win!
Monday, April 23, 2012
More Advice
On the heals of Randy Gallegos' very nontraditional but all around awesome bit of advice over at ArtOrder, as well as my own, more traditional chunk of wisdom from last week, I bring you a few additional spoonfuls of what some might deem common sense. Nevertheless, I'm here to offer these tasty morsels up for your consideration. Why? Because we've reached the time of year where art students far and wide start sweating their futures. With the days of their doing projects within a structured environment coming to a close, many of them begin shooting off emails and making phone calls to folks like myself, hoping to get some insight, advice or a paid internship. While I can't do the third, I just might be able to help with the other two.
Now, some or all of what I might share herein may be old hat to those of you perusing the letters which, when assembled, form words. But my own observations of some of the folks entering the field each year have indicated that there are certainly those who might benefit from some of what I'm about to get into. And so, without further interruption, I shall.
Learn To Talk About Your Work
Learning to draw and paint is fine and good, but in addition to developing such fine and admirable skills, you might want to take some time out to figure out how to discuss your work articulately. And no, I'm not talking about learning to write well for your blog and such (though that's not a bad idea, either). I'm talking about actual, spoken words — you know, with inflection and everything! When I was in school, I was expected to actually talk about what it is I did and to eventually get to the point where I could describe my work, style, genre and subject matter in one, concise sentence. Nowadays, I'm guessing you'd need to be able to do that in 140 characters. Still, it's not a bad idea to be able to chat about your process, to be able to speak about your choices and to intelligently defend them. While such a thing as vocalization may seem obsolete now that the internet is here, like it or not there are still art directors out there who might actually want to meet you in person at some point, and if at all possible, it'd be nice if they can actually have a conversation with you. Trust me, they seem to like that kind of thing.
Learn Humility
While learning to talk about yourself and your work, remember to keep it simple and humble. Don't be that guy who thinks he's the second coming of the illustration god, Illustrut (I made that up, like it?). We all know him. He's the guy who adds pretentiousness where none is needed, the guy who inflates the importance of his work and profession. Most illustrators I know avoid that guy, and most illustrators are the opposite of that guy — they're humble and don't buy into their own hype. Personally, I find it difficult to take myself too seriously. I paint zombies and dragons and such. I churn out the odd clunker now and then that is more than enough to damage what little self-esteem I actually have. I have loved only a handful of my own pieces, and one day hope to love another handful. While I'm not saying you should aspire to be some self-flagellating illustration martyr, I think it's worth remembering that when Illustrut returns to us, he will likely embody someone who isn't you.
Learn When Not to Self-Promote
There are some excellent resources out there on self-promotion. I'm not going to link any, because I fail at research, but I know they're out there because people have told me about them, and I believe everything everyone tells me. What I'm getting at is that it's a deeper topic than this post can accommodate and I think it's sometimes more valuable to touch on what not to do. The gist is, there's a time and a place for everything. Learn when to self-promote, and when to just plant the seed of self-promotion — the I'll-catch-up-with-you-tomorrow-and-we-can-talk-about-it, kind of thing. This is a tough tightrope to walk, and it's something I think you have to learn through experience, but my rule of thumb is that if it feels natural to the occasion to whip out my portfolio or start handing out my business cards, then fine. If it's going to result in any kind of awkwardness, I'll try and find a way to plant a seed. If that still feels awkward, I leave it for another day and carry on. There are definitely those who feel that's too passive and that you should be a touch pushier, but it's just not in me. Figuring out what feels comfortable to you can take a while, but it's a necessary thing. Just remember that there are times when you need to skip the used car salesman routine, and if you're asking yourself whether or not this is one of those times, it probably is.
Learn To Feed Your Head
While I can't say this is a common thing, I can't exactly say it's uncommon, either. I've heard tell tale of artists cloistering themselves in order to keep influences away. They want to keep their work pure. While I understand the mentality, I also think it's pretty flawed. Becoming a hermit limits you to what's in your own head. But if you take as much in as possible, you have a whole world to explore and more fodder than you could ever consume in a lifetime. I suggest taking it all in. Roll everything around in your mind a while, try each thing on and see what fits. It is all going to be churned through that lovely, unique brain of yours, so you'll always be present in what comes out. Your brain will filter every tidbit you cram in there, your hand will drive every stroke. And weaving all those disparate, corrupting influences together will be your own sensibilities, your own will. Feed your head, feed your heart. It's what the beast needs to grow, and if the beast doesn't get what it needs it will whither and die.
That's it! I swear. If you managed to get through all that, color me impressed. And while this advice is free (except for all the time you've spent reading that you'll never get back), it may not necessarily be any good. Which is what I'll be talking about next time.
Now, some or all of what I might share herein may be old hat to those of you perusing the letters which, when assembled, form words. But my own observations of some of the folks entering the field each year have indicated that there are certainly those who might benefit from some of what I'm about to get into. And so, without further interruption, I shall.
Learn To Talk About Your Work
Learning to draw and paint is fine and good, but in addition to developing such fine and admirable skills, you might want to take some time out to figure out how to discuss your work articulately. And no, I'm not talking about learning to write well for your blog and such (though that's not a bad idea, either). I'm talking about actual, spoken words — you know, with inflection and everything! When I was in school, I was expected to actually talk about what it is I did and to eventually get to the point where I could describe my work, style, genre and subject matter in one, concise sentence. Nowadays, I'm guessing you'd need to be able to do that in 140 characters. Still, it's not a bad idea to be able to chat about your process, to be able to speak about your choices and to intelligently defend them. While such a thing as vocalization may seem obsolete now that the internet is here, like it or not there are still art directors out there who might actually want to meet you in person at some point, and if at all possible, it'd be nice if they can actually have a conversation with you. Trust me, they seem to like that kind of thing.
Learn Humility
While learning to talk about yourself and your work, remember to keep it simple and humble. Don't be that guy who thinks he's the second coming of the illustration god, Illustrut (I made that up, like it?). We all know him. He's the guy who adds pretentiousness where none is needed, the guy who inflates the importance of his work and profession. Most illustrators I know avoid that guy, and most illustrators are the opposite of that guy — they're humble and don't buy into their own hype. Personally, I find it difficult to take myself too seriously. I paint zombies and dragons and such. I churn out the odd clunker now and then that is more than enough to damage what little self-esteem I actually have. I have loved only a handful of my own pieces, and one day hope to love another handful. While I'm not saying you should aspire to be some self-flagellating illustration martyr, I think it's worth remembering that when Illustrut returns to us, he will likely embody someone who isn't you.
Learn to Critique
Now, I'm sure that most of you reading this will roll their eyes over this one, but it's an essential skill. Most schools out there expect you to participate in critiques of your fellow classmates' work. But, if managed to got through school without acquiring this important skill, then I suggest you find a group of folks you can rely on and trust, and start doing it as soon as possible. And I'm not suggesting this because I'm some twisted mashochist who wants to shower in the tears of those being critiqued. Critiquing the work of others trains your eye, so that when you turn it toward your own work it is more effective. And while you might be looking forward to the end of such public critiques come graduation, I sincerely hope you don't abandon the practice altogether. Fourteen years after graduating from college, I still regularly show sketches and finished work to several guys who I know will cut right to the heart of any visible weakness in a piece. Work I've stared at to the point of bleariness can instantly be tidied with fresh eyes once I've lost all objectivity, and such an asset is invaluable.Learn To Take a Critique
Think you only need to be able to give a good critique? Think again. If you can't take as good as you give, you have to figure out how to develop a thicker skin. While it can be extremely difficult to have someone rip your favorite piece to shreds, you have to find a way to look at those comments objectively. If you're getting defensive when on the receiving end of a critique, it just might be possible that in your heart of hearts you know there's some truth to what's being said to you. I know that that is certainly the case whenever the urge to become defensive wells up within me during critique. And, believe it or not, learning to take criticism helps make you better at giving it. This, in turn, makes you better at receiving critiques, and so on. Look, I know it's tough to have someone point out the flaws in a piece you've labored over and poured a bit of your soul into, but believe it or not, there's an excellent chance that whoever is trying to drive that stake through your heart is doing it to make you a tougher vampire.Learn When Not to Self-Promote
There are some excellent resources out there on self-promotion. I'm not going to link any, because I fail at research, but I know they're out there because people have told me about them, and I believe everything everyone tells me. What I'm getting at is that it's a deeper topic than this post can accommodate and I think it's sometimes more valuable to touch on what not to do. The gist is, there's a time and a place for everything. Learn when to self-promote, and when to just plant the seed of self-promotion — the I'll-catch-up-with-you-tomorrow-and-we-can-talk-about-it, kind of thing. This is a tough tightrope to walk, and it's something I think you have to learn through experience, but my rule of thumb is that if it feels natural to the occasion to whip out my portfolio or start handing out my business cards, then fine. If it's going to result in any kind of awkwardness, I'll try and find a way to plant a seed. If that still feels awkward, I leave it for another day and carry on. There are definitely those who feel that's too passive and that you should be a touch pushier, but it's just not in me. Figuring out what feels comfortable to you can take a while, but it's a necessary thing. Just remember that there are times when you need to skip the used car salesman routine, and if you're asking yourself whether or not this is one of those times, it probably is.
Learn To Be Careful Of What You Shoot At
There's a lot of art out there I don't like. There are some of my fellow artists who annoy me to no end, and I likely do the same to them. And I've worked under some nightmare scenarios with companies I'd never work with again. Despite all this, I try not to talk much about any of them. At least not publicly. Sure, I believe everyone is entitled to their opinion and are free to express it, but I try and avoid yammering on about many of my professional opinions when out amongst my peers, and especially on the internet. Why? Well, just as you can be fired from a job for writing the wrong thing on Facebook, you can lose a client doing the same. As far as I'm concerned, the internet is akin to a soapbox and megaphone, only your voice carries much further online. It's best to assume that anything said about anyone will eventually get back to them. So, I avoid saying anything I wouldn't otherwise say publicly to a person's face. Sure I might gripe and commiserate behind the scenes with a few people I hold as confidants (an important thing to have), but like it or not ripping another artist or their work, or complaining publicly about a client can come back to haunt you. You never know who their friends are and how vengeful they can be. This business is hard enough, try not to make it harder.Learn To Feed Your Head
While I can't say this is a common thing, I can't exactly say it's uncommon, either. I've heard tell tale of artists cloistering themselves in order to keep influences away. They want to keep their work pure. While I understand the mentality, I also think it's pretty flawed. Becoming a hermit limits you to what's in your own head. But if you take as much in as possible, you have a whole world to explore and more fodder than you could ever consume in a lifetime. I suggest taking it all in. Roll everything around in your mind a while, try each thing on and see what fits. It is all going to be churned through that lovely, unique brain of yours, so you'll always be present in what comes out. Your brain will filter every tidbit you cram in there, your hand will drive every stroke. And weaving all those disparate, corrupting influences together will be your own sensibilities, your own will. Feed your head, feed your heart. It's what the beast needs to grow, and if the beast doesn't get what it needs it will whither and die.
That's it! I swear. If you managed to get through all that, color me impressed. And while this advice is free (except for all the time you've spent reading that you'll never get back), it may not necessarily be any good. Which is what I'll be talking about next time.
Friday, April 20, 2012
The Lack of a Silver Bullet
A little while back, I got an email that contained the following:
This is a question I have been asked many, many times, and when faced with this question without a portfolio of work to examine for a more specific critique, I typically answer with a fairly stock reply. But I think it's a pretty good one, so I'm going to share my response. Here goes:
I am curious as to how all of you artists are so insanely fantastic with drawing, sketching, painting, etc. Although I love art a lot, my art (if anyone would ever call it such), is amateur at best. I was hoping to request one tip if any at all from someone that seems like a profession artist.
This is a question I have been asked many, many times, and when faced with this question without a portfolio of work to examine for a more specific critique, I typically answer with a fairly stock reply. But I think it's a pretty good one, so I'm going to share my response. Here goes:
I wish I could tell you that there's a magic bullet. I wish there was a simple thing you could adjust that would take your work from being okay, to professional quality. I really wish I could tell you that it's easy. But it's not.
The quality reached by the many artists who work on Magic: The Gathering tends to come from a combination of two sources: innate talent and hard work.
Innate talent is something no one has any control over. I knew guys in college who could draw me under the table without making any real effort to do so. There was something in their brains that clicked naturally, and it was pretty clear that my brain just wasn't wired that way. I knew I had some raw skills, but not to the level of some of these other folks. To this day I know a lot of folks who are far better than I am at drawing, painting, what have you. Some of my betters haven't even picked up a pencil or brush in years but when they do they create things that would give one the impression that they've been at it the whole time. It's frustrating and awe-inspiring, but the disparity of natural talent from one person to another is something you have to accept. The sooner you do so, the quicker you can concentrate on the second source, which happens to be the only one you actually have control over: the amount of work you put in.
The old adage that it takes 10,000 hours of doing something to become truly proficient at it is pretty daunting. While I can't say that it's a universal rule, I think it was true for me. I had to spend a lot of time doing bad work in order to get to the point where I was doing good work. I must confess, however, that even after doing this full-time and professionally for eleven years, I'm still putting out the occasional clunker. Still, I do make a living painting, and I got to where I am by putting in the hours. Hours doing what? Everything I could. I drew during every moment I could spare. I drew when I sat on the subway, or waited for the bus. I drew when I watched t.v. I drew when I hung out with friends. I went to life drawing to draw the model, but I also drew my fellow train passengers. I drew the trees outside my window, the washing machine at the laundromat, and even freeze frames from my favorite movies. On top of this, I spent a lot of time putting my ideas down. Problems to solve visually, and various ways to address those problems. Designs for cool machines, weird armor ideas, random mythological critters. Whenever possible, I put those ideas to use in fully fleshed-out paintings. Many of my earlier efforts no longer exist as I've destroyed most, but the fact that I painted those paintings at all made a huge difference.
Hard work is truly what defines many professional artists out there. I have known some who I once thought should consider hanging their brushes up and finding another way to make a living — people who I thought were lost causes and too old to be as bad as they were. But they kept at it, put in some really hard work and have gone on to do really great things. Regardless of how much talent they were born with, it's the man hours that made the difference.
The fact is that their success in art came down to staying hungry. Hungry for better quality, better ideas, better work. It's all about dedication to a trade, and the willingness to follow through. Getting into the art field is knowing that you're in it for the long haul. It's not a job. It's not even a career. To those who've been in it all their lives, it's who they are. It's not a four years of school and you're done kind of scenario. It's a lifetime of learning and work in order to continue to get better.
Now, I'm totally aware of how this kind of advice sounds. To some it's inspiring. To others it's heartbreaking. To most, it results in a mixed bag. If it gives you pause, it should. It's not an easy road, and it sometimes involves quite a bit of sacrifice. There are days where the decision to get into art feels like a huge mistake, but then you realize that you cannot even conceive of doing anything other than struggling with that piece that has frustrated you to the point of tears and taken you to the verge of quitting. The hard, chunky bits that grate on you are a dream compared to the office cubicle that might otherwise await you. If you're one of the ones who can't see yourself living any other life, then you'll find it in yourself to do the hard work. Mediocre talent can be overcome. Success can be achieved. You just have to be willing to break your back a little.
One last bit of advice: while you toil away, remember to be kind to yourself — but not too kind. Beating yourself up won't make you better. Conversely, constantly patting yourself on the back and being amazed by your own success won't either.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Frequently Asked Questions 10
Do you trade paintings?
Okay, before I answer, I have to cop to the fact that this one is going to exclude a lot of the general audience. I apologize. While this is a frequently asked question, it's one that is asked solely by other artists, so I guess this one is pretty much just for them.
Alright, my answer: Yes, I do trade paintings. But the conditions have to be right.
I'll tell you a story. The second Gen Con I ever attended (and the first one I ever showed at), I saw a couple of artists agree to a trade. This is how it went down: Artist A came over to Artist B's table, selected a piece from his wall, and they both walked back to Artist A's table to complete the trade. I didn't get to see the other half of the trade, but I did get to see Artist B walking back to his table staring down at the piece he'd gotten in return. His expression was one of deep regret and disappointment. It was clear what had happened. It was a bad trade.
I've heard it said that you should never accept a gift that eats. A bad trade is like this. Only it does not raid your refrigerator. It nibbles at your happiness. I have been in Artist B's shoes. I have felt the sting of a trade I was unhappy with. I followed through out of politeness, and I would take the whole thing back in a heartbeat. But I can't.
As a result, I have developed simple guidelines when it comes to trading paintings. Should you ever want to swap a painting or two, maybe they'll be helpful. Maybe not. Either way, here they are:
1. Be honest with yourself. This is the toughest one of the lot and it's first because it directly affects whether a trade is proposed to begin with. Unfortunately, it's also very hard to describe. Let me put it this way: I have a pretty good idea of who would be willing to trade paintings with me. It's kind of obvious. At the same time, I know that I'm not going to be able to walk up to Michael Whelan or Donato and get either of them to swap anything with me. I'm just not there yet. I may never be there. And that's cool. Like it or not, there are artists who may be out of your reach when it comes to trading. I can only urge you to accept it and move on. I assure you it's not the end of the world. If nothing else, use this knowlege as motivation to become good enough that they someday come to you.
2. The trade does not happen if either party is unhappy. The ideal result of a trade is that both parties are as happy or happier with the paintings they've traded as they would have been had the trade not occurred at all. Some are of the opinion that the goal is to feel as good about the piece you've gotten in the trade as you would have felt had you sold the piece you traded. However you measure it, both parties need to walk away satisfied. Anything less is a bad trade.
3. Check your ego at the door. In the event that you don't have anything that the other party is willing to trade for, be okay with that. It's not personal, and it's not a commentary on how good you are. It simply may be a matter of personal taste — after all, you don't know what color the furniture is in the room where they intend to hang the piece. Your work might clash with the drapes — who knows? It could also be about the subject matter. For example, I know a guy who will only trade for paintings of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. He's willing to trade with me, I just don't happen to have any paintings of Leonardo hanging around. It may even be about extenuating circumstances beyond both your control, like your work not passing the "Spouse Test." I've lost several trades where the artist liked my work but their spouse didn't. It stinks, but that's just how some people roll. The take away is that you just have to accept that the trade isn't going to happen, and trust that it's not a slight... Unless it's explicitly stated otherwise, in which case you should probably get started on that blood feud.
4. Be honest, but don't be a jerk. Just as you should be cool with someone not wanting anything of yours, you should also be up front with them if the shoe is on the other foot. Sometimes you just don't see anything that floats your boat, and that's okay. The important thing is to just be honest and let them know that you don't want to follow through. Make up some excuse if you have to: someone offered to buy the piece they want to trade for, your spouse asked you to keep it, whatever — just don't follow through out of obligation. And whatever you do, don't put the reason for not wanting to trade on the other artist's shoulders. This is not the time to be critical of their work or to let them know that you really don't like them as a person. You'd think I wouldn't need to write that, but I've seen it happen.
As far as when to trade, I recommend doing so at shows or cons when both parties are present. In such cases, I usually make an overt offer to trade early in the show. It allows me to see if the other party is interested. If they are, I tend to make a mental note of three or four pieces I wouldn't mind having. In general, folks I know tend to wait until the show is almost over before actually making the trade, so as to give both parties a fair shake at selling their various wares. Then, it's all about hammering out a deal.
Some may be wondering why we wait. If both parties want to trade, isn't it best to go after the pieces they most want? Well, I suppose in certain cases this might be the route you go. For the most part, however, the business side of things tends to win out. We try and sell what we can so as to pay for the con, show, etc. There's always an economic aspect that must be met. That's why I always make a mental note of three or four pieces. Should one or two sell, I've still got work I'm interested in.
Rarer for me have been trades that have occurred via phone or email. These usually started out as casual comments that became trades unexpectedly. I've even had artists I admired and never before spoken to contact me for the express purpose of swapping paintings. These tend to be specific trades, or were situations where only four or five pieces were offered up in either direction. The only thing that can be worrisome in these cases is that you don't get a chance to look at the paintings themselves, but rather scans or photographs. You just have to trust that the work looks as good as the digital file being presented. So far, I have yet to be disappointed. No matter what, it's important to keep in mind that despite the circumstances being a little different, the guidelines still apply. No smiles, no swapping.
Now, I have one final note about the whole trading thing. It is a warning. Among the various folks willing to trade, there are a group out there that many artists would refer to as "Cherry Pickers." These are folks who will want to get their hands on the very best work you've ever done and only be willing to trade their lesser work in exchange. In the story I wrote above, Artist A was a Cherry Picker, and the whole scenario caused Artist B to swear off trades ever again. While I can't tell you what to do when dealing with these folks, I personally tend to shut down any proposed trade with them. Believe it or not, it's actually not personal. I understand the impulse to do that kind of thing — it's not too different from trying to buy something for the cheapest price possible, or attempting to have cake and eat it, too. It's a fundamental of human nature. My reason for not trading with Cherry Pickers is simply that I know that I won't be happy with the end result. I've already got three or four pieces sitting in my flat files that I wish I could take back and I think that's just about my limit.
Okay, before I answer, I have to cop to the fact that this one is going to exclude a lot of the general audience. I apologize. While this is a frequently asked question, it's one that is asked solely by other artists, so I guess this one is pretty much just for them.
Alright, my answer: Yes, I do trade paintings. But the conditions have to be right.
I'll tell you a story. The second Gen Con I ever attended (and the first one I ever showed at), I saw a couple of artists agree to a trade. This is how it went down: Artist A came over to Artist B's table, selected a piece from his wall, and they both walked back to Artist A's table to complete the trade. I didn't get to see the other half of the trade, but I did get to see Artist B walking back to his table staring down at the piece he'd gotten in return. His expression was one of deep regret and disappointment. It was clear what had happened. It was a bad trade.
I've heard it said that you should never accept a gift that eats. A bad trade is like this. Only it does not raid your refrigerator. It nibbles at your happiness. I have been in Artist B's shoes. I have felt the sting of a trade I was unhappy with. I followed through out of politeness, and I would take the whole thing back in a heartbeat. But I can't.
As a result, I have developed simple guidelines when it comes to trading paintings. Should you ever want to swap a painting or two, maybe they'll be helpful. Maybe not. Either way, here they are:
1. Be honest with yourself. This is the toughest one of the lot and it's first because it directly affects whether a trade is proposed to begin with. Unfortunately, it's also very hard to describe. Let me put it this way: I have a pretty good idea of who would be willing to trade paintings with me. It's kind of obvious. At the same time, I know that I'm not going to be able to walk up to Michael Whelan or Donato and get either of them to swap anything with me. I'm just not there yet. I may never be there. And that's cool. Like it or not, there are artists who may be out of your reach when it comes to trading. I can only urge you to accept it and move on. I assure you it's not the end of the world. If nothing else, use this knowlege as motivation to become good enough that they someday come to you.
2. The trade does not happen if either party is unhappy. The ideal result of a trade is that both parties are as happy or happier with the paintings they've traded as they would have been had the trade not occurred at all. Some are of the opinion that the goal is to feel as good about the piece you've gotten in the trade as you would have felt had you sold the piece you traded. However you measure it, both parties need to walk away satisfied. Anything less is a bad trade.
3. Check your ego at the door. In the event that you don't have anything that the other party is willing to trade for, be okay with that. It's not personal, and it's not a commentary on how good you are. It simply may be a matter of personal taste — after all, you don't know what color the furniture is in the room where they intend to hang the piece. Your work might clash with the drapes — who knows? It could also be about the subject matter. For example, I know a guy who will only trade for paintings of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. He's willing to trade with me, I just don't happen to have any paintings of Leonardo hanging around. It may even be about extenuating circumstances beyond both your control, like your work not passing the "Spouse Test." I've lost several trades where the artist liked my work but their spouse didn't. It stinks, but that's just how some people roll. The take away is that you just have to accept that the trade isn't going to happen, and trust that it's not a slight... Unless it's explicitly stated otherwise, in which case you should probably get started on that blood feud.
4. Be honest, but don't be a jerk. Just as you should be cool with someone not wanting anything of yours, you should also be up front with them if the shoe is on the other foot. Sometimes you just don't see anything that floats your boat, and that's okay. The important thing is to just be honest and let them know that you don't want to follow through. Make up some excuse if you have to: someone offered to buy the piece they want to trade for, your spouse asked you to keep it, whatever — just don't follow through out of obligation. And whatever you do, don't put the reason for not wanting to trade on the other artist's shoulders. This is not the time to be critical of their work or to let them know that you really don't like them as a person. You'd think I wouldn't need to write that, but I've seen it happen.
As far as when to trade, I recommend doing so at shows or cons when both parties are present. In such cases, I usually make an overt offer to trade early in the show. It allows me to see if the other party is interested. If they are, I tend to make a mental note of three or four pieces I wouldn't mind having. In general, folks I know tend to wait until the show is almost over before actually making the trade, so as to give both parties a fair shake at selling their various wares. Then, it's all about hammering out a deal.
Some may be wondering why we wait. If both parties want to trade, isn't it best to go after the pieces they most want? Well, I suppose in certain cases this might be the route you go. For the most part, however, the business side of things tends to win out. We try and sell what we can so as to pay for the con, show, etc. There's always an economic aspect that must be met. That's why I always make a mental note of three or four pieces. Should one or two sell, I've still got work I'm interested in.
Rarer for me have been trades that have occurred via phone or email. These usually started out as casual comments that became trades unexpectedly. I've even had artists I admired and never before spoken to contact me for the express purpose of swapping paintings. These tend to be specific trades, or were situations where only four or five pieces were offered up in either direction. The only thing that can be worrisome in these cases is that you don't get a chance to look at the paintings themselves, but rather scans or photographs. You just have to trust that the work looks as good as the digital file being presented. So far, I have yet to be disappointed. No matter what, it's important to keep in mind that despite the circumstances being a little different, the guidelines still apply. No smiles, no swapping.
Now, I have one final note about the whole trading thing. It is a warning. Among the various folks willing to trade, there are a group out there that many artists would refer to as "Cherry Pickers." These are folks who will want to get their hands on the very best work you've ever done and only be willing to trade their lesser work in exchange. In the story I wrote above, Artist A was a Cherry Picker, and the whole scenario caused Artist B to swear off trades ever again. While I can't tell you what to do when dealing with these folks, I personally tend to shut down any proposed trade with them. Believe it or not, it's actually not personal. I understand the impulse to do that kind of thing — it's not too different from trying to buy something for the cheapest price possible, or attempting to have cake and eat it, too. It's a fundamental of human nature. My reason for not trading with Cherry Pickers is simply that I know that I won't be happy with the end result. I've already got three or four pieces sitting in my flat files that I wish I could take back and I think that's just about my limit.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Frequently Asked Questions 9
Is it Steve or Steven?
Off the bat, I'm going to admit to this being a pretty mundane question, but it just might be the most frequently asked question of them all, so it seems worth addressing.
Anyway, the short answer is that I don't care. Call me either one, or simply "Belledin," if that's easier for you. I likely will answer to any of them, so don't sweat it. I'm sure that this lax attitude regarding my name will cause about one percent of you to then wonder why I use "Steven" over "Steve" to begin with, if there is no preference. For the curious, I will provide an answer.
When I showed up on the scene of gaming illustration, there were already several guys with the name "Steve" working in the genre. Steve Prescott and Steve Ellis were two guys that I not only knew of, but then was privileged enough to get to know personally. So, straight away you've got three of us, and it so happens that we usually end up in close proximity to one another at conventions and such. Then there was this guy called Steve Argyle who came along. Suddenly the industry begins to feel Steve-heavy. Add to that other artists who currently work or have worked in the industry like Steve White, Steve Firchow and Steve Luke, and things really started to feel quite crowded.
While our last names are all wildly different, I figured it might be worth separating myself a little further. My first option was using my first two initials then my last name. Seems like a good idea, but I've never been referred to in that way my entire life. I don't have initials that work as a second name like A.J. or C.J, either. My initials are far too clunky, so I tossed that idea aside and kept moving. The second option I came up with was to use the initial for my first name and go my middle name instead. I knew a few folks in college who did this, and it seemed like a viable possibility. Once again, it just felt awkward and clumsy so that idea got a pass, as well. The only real option remaining was just to keep the full name of "Steven" in there. Sure it's a little more formal, and possibly pretentious, but it's used far less in the industry. Obviously it's the option I went with and so it remains — it is my name, after all.
The choice to use "Steven" instead of "Steve" has had its good sides and bad. There's at least a point of difference at a glance, and so on the page it sticks out (though only just a little). It's not major, I admit, but it's there and I'll take what I can when there's a room full of signs for various Steves. The other nice thing is that there's a specificity to it. It somehow feels more precise, though I guess it's really not. That might just be the pretentiousness seeping in. On the other hand, it does provide a bit of alliteration with my last name, so there's that.
One of the biggest downsides early on was that it made finding me online a little more difficult. Before search engines became as advanced as they are now, entering in "Steve Belledin" brought up slightly different results than "Steven Belledin." One of the biggest differences in the two was that my website would appear in the results only if the "n" was included. "Steve Belledin" typically brought up online conversations about how terrible I am at this whole art thing. Fortunately, things have advanced enough where you can get both kinds of results by entering either name. Gotta' love the internet!
As far as I'm concerned, "Steven Belledin" is what I like to be credited as. I do art, "Steven" gets the credit. I make a sign, "Steven" is the illustrator. "Steven" also has business cards, prints... all kinds of stuff that clutters the house. As I've already stated, however, you're welcome to call me "Steve." Where this really falls apart, however, is at conventions and such where there is at least one other Steve — something that happens quite frequently (there being so many of us and all). Add to the mix all the artists whose names happen to be "Stephen," and there's a fair chance that some confusion (and possibly hilarity) will ensue.
Off the bat, I'm going to admit to this being a pretty mundane question, but it just might be the most frequently asked question of them all, so it seems worth addressing.
Anyway, the short answer is that I don't care. Call me either one, or simply "Belledin," if that's easier for you. I likely will answer to any of them, so don't sweat it. I'm sure that this lax attitude regarding my name will cause about one percent of you to then wonder why I use "Steven" over "Steve" to begin with, if there is no preference. For the curious, I will provide an answer.
When I showed up on the scene of gaming illustration, there were already several guys with the name "Steve" working in the genre. Steve Prescott and Steve Ellis were two guys that I not only knew of, but then was privileged enough to get to know personally. So, straight away you've got three of us, and it so happens that we usually end up in close proximity to one another at conventions and such. Then there was this guy called Steve Argyle who came along. Suddenly the industry begins to feel Steve-heavy. Add to that other artists who currently work or have worked in the industry like Steve White, Steve Firchow and Steve Luke, and things really started to feel quite crowded.
While our last names are all wildly different, I figured it might be worth separating myself a little further. My first option was using my first two initials then my last name. Seems like a good idea, but I've never been referred to in that way my entire life. I don't have initials that work as a second name like A.J. or C.J, either. My initials are far too clunky, so I tossed that idea aside and kept moving. The second option I came up with was to use the initial for my first name and go my middle name instead. I knew a few folks in college who did this, and it seemed like a viable possibility. Once again, it just felt awkward and clumsy so that idea got a pass, as well. The only real option remaining was just to keep the full name of "Steven" in there. Sure it's a little more formal, and possibly pretentious, but it's used far less in the industry. Obviously it's the option I went with and so it remains — it is my name, after all.
The choice to use "Steven" instead of "Steve" has had its good sides and bad. There's at least a point of difference at a glance, and so on the page it sticks out (though only just a little). It's not major, I admit, but it's there and I'll take what I can when there's a room full of signs for various Steves. The other nice thing is that there's a specificity to it. It somehow feels more precise, though I guess it's really not. That might just be the pretentiousness seeping in. On the other hand, it does provide a bit of alliteration with my last name, so there's that.
One of the biggest downsides early on was that it made finding me online a little more difficult. Before search engines became as advanced as they are now, entering in "Steve Belledin" brought up slightly different results than "Steven Belledin." One of the biggest differences in the two was that my website would appear in the results only if the "n" was included. "Steve Belledin" typically brought up online conversations about how terrible I am at this whole art thing. Fortunately, things have advanced enough where you can get both kinds of results by entering either name. Gotta' love the internet!
As far as I'm concerned, "Steven Belledin" is what I like to be credited as. I do art, "Steven" gets the credit. I make a sign, "Steven" is the illustrator. "Steven" also has business cards, prints... all kinds of stuff that clutters the house. As I've already stated, however, you're welcome to call me "Steve." Where this really falls apart, however, is at conventions and such where there is at least one other Steve — something that happens quite frequently (there being so many of us and all). Add to the mix all the artists whose names happen to be "Stephen," and there's a fair chance that some confusion (and possibly hilarity) will ensue.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Frequently Asked Questions 8
Do you hand in one sketch or multiple sketches?
The simple answer is that it depends. Sometimes I hand in one, sometimes more than one. "What does it depend on?" you ask.
"Why is there always a follow-up question?" I ask, in turn.
Concerned stare as I talk to myself... Fine. I'll elaborate.
First off, it depends on the actual art order itself. As I've mentioned before, sometimes art orders are extremely specific. When this is the case, for me the specificity of the description tends to suggest a single image. I draw that image on a piece of paper, scan it, and turn it in. Sometimes things aren't quite that simple, though. As an art description becomes more vague, there may be several options that come to mind. In cases such as this, I draw several images, scan them, and turn them in.
The second factor is the art director. Thus far in my career, I've never met an art director who would cry themselves to sleep over getting more than one option. In all reality, who among us doesn't like having options? I know I do. Art directors — being a lot like regular humans — like options too. What needs discovering is how important having more than one option is to any given AD. Now, I've had art directors who really liked to see more than one sketch every time. And, I've had art directors who didn't care one way or the other. Sometimes you get art directors who have a preconceived notion of what they want to see, and sometimes you have art directors who have no idea what they want to see and will let you know when you've come close. Getting a feel for an art director's personality isn't always easy, but it comes in time if you're lucky enough to work with them more than once. While sometimes the job itself dictates whether or not there's more than one sketch, sometimes it's the art director that requires it.
Even so, a normally decisive art director may still have no idea about a specific job and need to see more than one option. And this can happen even in the instance where the art order is rather clear and detailed.
The third factor that comes into play is deadline. Admittedly this is something that has only been a factor a few times in my short career, but it can be a factor. Sometimes a job is a rush job. And rush jobs need a quick turn around. In the editorial illustration world, the time between a piece's commissioning and when it's due can be mere hours. For me, the fastest I've had to turn something around has been a few days. When this has happened, everything has been quick and dirty. Ugly sketch that gets put together, nailed down, and approved as hastily as possible in order to set aside more time to paint. In these rush jobs, it's been pretty clear what was required of me. In fact, there has always been a verbal exchange between the art director and myself where we agree on a concept and visual direction before I even touch pencil to paper. The sketch is more or less the proof that I understood what we were talking about in the first place. So, it was more of a formality than anything.
Mind you, this does not exclude the possibility that you will have a rush job that requires more than one sketch. You might find yourself with some heady concept that's due tomorrow with an art director who has no advice on how to address the problem, or has no time to dedicate to the matter. You never really know what the circumstances may be. So, it's always possible that you'll find yourself putting together multiple sketches.
As I said above, sometimes I offer more than one sketch, sometimes I don't. With the clients I've worked with before, I know what is expected and they've grown to understand what I'm going to deliver. If it's a new client, I always offer more than one option out of the gate. It's a good rule of thumb. In fact, I'd say it's a good rule of thumb to offer up more than one sketch in general. You can never really go wrong by doing so. Above all, whether you've turned in one sketch or many, be prepared to do more sketches.
Throughout all this, keep in mind a universal truth of offering multiple sketches. More often than not, the sketch you're least interested in bringing to a finish will be chosen as the direction to go. My professors in college always spoke of this and I only half believed it as some hardened illustrator grumbling. Sure enough, however, it has proven true time and time again. The best defense against this is to not offer anything you wouldn't want to actually paint. Easy to say, more difficult to accomplish. Still, it's a goal to shoot for, and I'll be sure to let you know when I've achieved that goal, myself.
The simple answer is that it depends. Sometimes I hand in one, sometimes more than one. "What does it depend on?" you ask.
"Why is there always a follow-up question?" I ask, in turn.
Concerned stare as I talk to myself... Fine. I'll elaborate.
First off, it depends on the actual art order itself. As I've mentioned before, sometimes art orders are extremely specific. When this is the case, for me the specificity of the description tends to suggest a single image. I draw that image on a piece of paper, scan it, and turn it in. Sometimes things aren't quite that simple, though. As an art description becomes more vague, there may be several options that come to mind. In cases such as this, I draw several images, scan them, and turn them in.
The second factor is the art director. Thus far in my career, I've never met an art director who would cry themselves to sleep over getting more than one option. In all reality, who among us doesn't like having options? I know I do. Art directors — being a lot like regular humans — like options too. What needs discovering is how important having more than one option is to any given AD. Now, I've had art directors who really liked to see more than one sketch every time. And, I've had art directors who didn't care one way or the other. Sometimes you get art directors who have a preconceived notion of what they want to see, and sometimes you have art directors who have no idea what they want to see and will let you know when you've come close. Getting a feel for an art director's personality isn't always easy, but it comes in time if you're lucky enough to work with them more than once. While sometimes the job itself dictates whether or not there's more than one sketch, sometimes it's the art director that requires it.
Even so, a normally decisive art director may still have no idea about a specific job and need to see more than one option. And this can happen even in the instance where the art order is rather clear and detailed.
The third factor that comes into play is deadline. Admittedly this is something that has only been a factor a few times in my short career, but it can be a factor. Sometimes a job is a rush job. And rush jobs need a quick turn around. In the editorial illustration world, the time between a piece's commissioning and when it's due can be mere hours. For me, the fastest I've had to turn something around has been a few days. When this has happened, everything has been quick and dirty. Ugly sketch that gets put together, nailed down, and approved as hastily as possible in order to set aside more time to paint. In these rush jobs, it's been pretty clear what was required of me. In fact, there has always been a verbal exchange between the art director and myself where we agree on a concept and visual direction before I even touch pencil to paper. The sketch is more or less the proof that I understood what we were talking about in the first place. So, it was more of a formality than anything.
Mind you, this does not exclude the possibility that you will have a rush job that requires more than one sketch. You might find yourself with some heady concept that's due tomorrow with an art director who has no advice on how to address the problem, or has no time to dedicate to the matter. You never really know what the circumstances may be. So, it's always possible that you'll find yourself putting together multiple sketches.
As I said above, sometimes I offer more than one sketch, sometimes I don't. With the clients I've worked with before, I know what is expected and they've grown to understand what I'm going to deliver. If it's a new client, I always offer more than one option out of the gate. It's a good rule of thumb. In fact, I'd say it's a good rule of thumb to offer up more than one sketch in general. You can never really go wrong by doing so. Above all, whether you've turned in one sketch or many, be prepared to do more sketches.
Throughout all this, keep in mind a universal truth of offering multiple sketches. More often than not, the sketch you're least interested in bringing to a finish will be chosen as the direction to go. My professors in college always spoke of this and I only half believed it as some hardened illustrator grumbling. Sure enough, however, it has proven true time and time again. The best defense against this is to not offer anything you wouldn't want to actually paint. Easy to say, more difficult to accomplish. Still, it's a goal to shoot for, and I'll be sure to let you know when I've achieved that goal, myself.
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.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Frequently Asked Questions 6
Why doesn't artist "X" work for product "Y" anymore?
This is a question that confounds me. I might get asked this more often than other illustrators because I'm friends with a few art directors. Or, it might be that I just have one of those all-knowing, all-seeing faces. Or, it could be that there's something about me that screams "gossip monger." I don't know.
Like it or not, there are fans out there who care enough to find out why their favorite artist has gone AWOL, and will devote a fair amount of time discussing the various possible answers to the question, both in person and on the internet. And, like it or not, this question gets asked.
Now, I could answer this question with another question, like "why do you think they're not working on that project anymore?" I could just tell folks to ask the artist in question, themselves. I could even tell folks that the artist stopped working on said project because of something these folks did (which is exactly what my Mom told me in the movie theater when I asked why the film broke in the middle of the Hoth assault in The Empire Strikes Back, in 1983 — a comment that caused me to seriously consider my roll in the world, any impact I might have on films running properly, and a comment which has scarred me for life).
But I digress...
In all reality, when faced with this question, I tend to admit ignorance. Fact is, I don't have any inside information and haven't heard the latest rumors. I don't like to speculate about anyone's career or choices. It's frankly none of my business. However, for the fun of it, let's explore some possibilities as to why artist "X" isn't around anymore.
1. The artist is difficult to work with (your art direction is nice and all, but I do things my way and only my way, so you can kiss my [expletive deleted]).
2. The artist doesn't do his paperwork (what do you mean I need to hand in a contract and invoice before I get a check? What is this, Soviet Russia?).
3. The artist's work has declined in quality (meh, you can see what I was getting at...we'll fix it in post).
4. The artist's arms have fallen off rendering them unable to paint effectively (you know, I'd pick them up and put them back on, if I only had arms to do it with).
5. The artist's strengths no longer mesh with the direction the project is headed in (there's just no room for realism now that the whole game's gone anime).
6. The artist has broken contract or violated a non-disclosure agreement (psst...you wanna hear about the latest Magic storyline? Meet me behind the Stop and Shop with a stack of unmarked bills in a manilla envelope...oh, and make sure you're not followed).
7. The artist is no longer alive (do I even need to explain this?).
8. The artist has left the project due to personal reasons (I don't have to tell you nothin' — it's personal).
9. The artist has decided to explore the exciting world of accountancy (yeah, I think we can write that PS3 off...).
10. The artist got drunk and was sick all over the art director's carpet causing the art director to sever all ties to the artist (it was a rental and the damage was taken out of the art director's security deposit — who could blame them for doing this?).
11. The art director no longer runs the project and a new art director has come in with a different stable of artists (your crane style is no match for my tiger style).
12. The art director has found better artists to bring into the fold (this new guy really puts into perspective just how mediocre Belledin was all along, I'm really glad we were able to replace him).
13. The art director doesn't like the artist's face (you know, your right eye is one millimeter higher than your left. It's symmetry or nothing for me, sir).
14. The art director's boss doesn't like your face and instructs the art director not to use the artist anymore (seriously — that extra millimeter makes all the difference).
15. The company the art director works for has failed to pay its phone and internet bills leaving the art director no other option than to hire only those whose mailing addresses he can remember off the top of his head (what's the postal abbreviation for New York again?).
Hopefully at least one of those was vaguely entertaining, outlandish as they may be. Still, there are bits of truth in some of them that are potential hazards which illustrators can be and have been hurt by. And while there are many possibilities that are discussed among fans and fellow illustrators alike as to why their favorite artist just isn't around anymore, one potential reason seems to be brought up quite rarely:
16. Maybe, just maybe, the artist has found an amazing new project that he or she wants to devote their time to that doesn't allow time for project "Y."
At the end of the day, why someone no longer works on a given project is between the artist and the art director. Digging up the reason isn't going to change the facts. If you still want to ask questions, I recommend this one: what is artist "X" working on now?
This is a question that confounds me. I might get asked this more often than other illustrators because I'm friends with a few art directors. Or, it might be that I just have one of those all-knowing, all-seeing faces. Or, it could be that there's something about me that screams "gossip monger." I don't know.
Like it or not, there are fans out there who care enough to find out why their favorite artist has gone AWOL, and will devote a fair amount of time discussing the various possible answers to the question, both in person and on the internet. And, like it or not, this question gets asked.
Now, I could answer this question with another question, like "why do you think they're not working on that project anymore?" I could just tell folks to ask the artist in question, themselves. I could even tell folks that the artist stopped working on said project because of something these folks did (which is exactly what my Mom told me in the movie theater when I asked why the film broke in the middle of the Hoth assault in The Empire Strikes Back, in 1983 — a comment that caused me to seriously consider my roll in the world, any impact I might have on films running properly, and a comment which has scarred me for life).
But I digress...
In all reality, when faced with this question, I tend to admit ignorance. Fact is, I don't have any inside information and haven't heard the latest rumors. I don't like to speculate about anyone's career or choices. It's frankly none of my business. However, for the fun of it, let's explore some possibilities as to why artist "X" isn't around anymore.
1. The artist is difficult to work with (your art direction is nice and all, but I do things my way and only my way, so you can kiss my [expletive deleted]).
2. The artist doesn't do his paperwork (what do you mean I need to hand in a contract and invoice before I get a check? What is this, Soviet Russia?).
3. The artist's work has declined in quality (meh, you can see what I was getting at...we'll fix it in post).
4. The artist's arms have fallen off rendering them unable to paint effectively (you know, I'd pick them up and put them back on, if I only had arms to do it with).
5. The artist's strengths no longer mesh with the direction the project is headed in (there's just no room for realism now that the whole game's gone anime).
6. The artist has broken contract or violated a non-disclosure agreement (psst...you wanna hear about the latest Magic storyline? Meet me behind the Stop and Shop with a stack of unmarked bills in a manilla envelope...oh, and make sure you're not followed).
7. The artist is no longer alive (do I even need to explain this?).
8. The artist has left the project due to personal reasons (I don't have to tell you nothin' — it's personal).
9. The artist has decided to explore the exciting world of accountancy (yeah, I think we can write that PS3 off...).
10. The artist got drunk and was sick all over the art director's carpet causing the art director to sever all ties to the artist (it was a rental and the damage was taken out of the art director's security deposit — who could blame them for doing this?).
11. The art director no longer runs the project and a new art director has come in with a different stable of artists (your crane style is no match for my tiger style).
12. The art director has found better artists to bring into the fold (this new guy really puts into perspective just how mediocre Belledin was all along, I'm really glad we were able to replace him).
13. The art director doesn't like the artist's face (you know, your right eye is one millimeter higher than your left. It's symmetry or nothing for me, sir).
14. The art director's boss doesn't like your face and instructs the art director not to use the artist anymore (seriously — that extra millimeter makes all the difference).
15. The company the art director works for has failed to pay its phone and internet bills leaving the art director no other option than to hire only those whose mailing addresses he can remember off the top of his head (what's the postal abbreviation for New York again?).
Hopefully at least one of those was vaguely entertaining, outlandish as they may be. Still, there are bits of truth in some of them that are potential hazards which illustrators can be and have been hurt by. And while there are many possibilities that are discussed among fans and fellow illustrators alike as to why their favorite artist just isn't around anymore, one potential reason seems to be brought up quite rarely:
16. Maybe, just maybe, the artist has found an amazing new project that he or she wants to devote their time to that doesn't allow time for project "Y."
At the end of the day, why someone no longer works on a given project is between the artist and the art director. Digging up the reason isn't going to change the facts. If you still want to ask questions, I recommend this one: what is artist "X" working on now?
Monday, February 7, 2011
Frequently Asked Questions 5
Do you listen to music while you paint? If so, what do you listen to?
That this question has been asked of me as many times as it has is kind of surprising. No real commentary there, I'm just honestly surprised... Yeah, so I guess I'll just answer it then.
While I do sometimes listen to music while painting, more often than not I have a movie or television show playing. I always pick something that's somehow tonally or thematically linked to the painting or paintings I happen to be working on. The longer it is, the better. That way I don't have to get up, as often. Also, tv shows with a "play all" option are always preferred over the ones that don't for the same reason.
Some of you may wonder how I am not distracted by what's on the tv. Simple: I don't get distracted because I've seen it before. I never, ever watch something for the first time while working (barring the random sporting event that I may have tuned into). So, it's always stuff where I know what's coming.
The biggest reason I prefer movies over music is that I like to have something that I can look away to that cleanses my mental palette. While painting, I can end up staring at a piece for hours with few breaks. This can sometimes cause me to lose perspective and end up with some mediocre drawing or painting that I only come to see after walking away — be it for lunch or at the end of the day. If I have a movie on, I can watch it periodically for a minute or so at a time, allowing me to reset my brain enough to get a fresher look at my painting when my eyes finally return to it.
As for what kind of movies I watch, you'll find a lot of James Cameron, Sam Raimi, Peter Jackson, Ridley Scott, David Fincher, and Michael Mann in my collection. Television shows include a lot of Futurama, Venture Brothers, the Simpsons, and South Park, as well as Rome, Deadwood, Band of Brothers, the Pacific, and Battlestar Gallactica. Probably a lot of obvious and stereotypical stuff, but it gets the job done.
Regarding sporting events, despite they're being live, I don't get distracted for two main reasons. One, I'm not really that emotionally invested in them. Two, you can gauge well what's worth looking at by the roar of the crowd and can rest assured you'll catch anything you missed in the instant replay. Still, I find football and baseball good background fodder — even without the emotional or tonal link as mentioned above.
Now, every once in a while, music will be more appealing to me. I can't say whether it's linked to the tides, the day of the week, or that some glow stick in my brain has snapped and caused my feelings on the subject to shift temporarily. So what do I listen to on these occasions?
Sometimes it's film scores. Sometimes it's classical. Most of the time, it's rock or alternative. I'm a big fan of classic rock (something that now apparently includes the 80's according to my local classic rock station). I'd say that The Who is probably my favorite band, but things like the Strawbs, Queen, and Bad Company come up a lot. I still listen to stuff from the grunge era, and I've even gotten into some 80's pop... You know, I guess I'll listen to just about anything as long as it's not country, isn't too repetitive, too electronic, or too grating. I'm not very big on jazz, nor am I big into the blues, but I'll even listen to them should the piece I'm working on feel like it's required. Fact is that my musical tastes were molded in the 80's and pre-boyband 90's. Even so, I've tried to keep up with stuff that's actually been released in the last decade, so I'm not totally out of the loop but at the same time am by no means an expert.
On any given day you can find any given thing playing in my studio. I like to keep changing things up, much the same way that I keep changing up aspects of my process. I guess I'm kind of fickle, and I find that I get bored pretty easily, so by staying out of any regular pattern I somehow manage to keep the boredom at bay.
If anyone reading this has a question they'd like answered in the ongoing FAQ series, by all means ask it in the comments section below.
That this question has been asked of me as many times as it has is kind of surprising. No real commentary there, I'm just honestly surprised... Yeah, so I guess I'll just answer it then.
While I do sometimes listen to music while painting, more often than not I have a movie or television show playing. I always pick something that's somehow tonally or thematically linked to the painting or paintings I happen to be working on. The longer it is, the better. That way I don't have to get up, as often. Also, tv shows with a "play all" option are always preferred over the ones that don't for the same reason.
Some of you may wonder how I am not distracted by what's on the tv. Simple: I don't get distracted because I've seen it before. I never, ever watch something for the first time while working (barring the random sporting event that I may have tuned into). So, it's always stuff where I know what's coming.
The biggest reason I prefer movies over music is that I like to have something that I can look away to that cleanses my mental palette. While painting, I can end up staring at a piece for hours with few breaks. This can sometimes cause me to lose perspective and end up with some mediocre drawing or painting that I only come to see after walking away — be it for lunch or at the end of the day. If I have a movie on, I can watch it periodically for a minute or so at a time, allowing me to reset my brain enough to get a fresher look at my painting when my eyes finally return to it.
As for what kind of movies I watch, you'll find a lot of James Cameron, Sam Raimi, Peter Jackson, Ridley Scott, David Fincher, and Michael Mann in my collection. Television shows include a lot of Futurama, Venture Brothers, the Simpsons, and South Park, as well as Rome, Deadwood, Band of Brothers, the Pacific, and Battlestar Gallactica. Probably a lot of obvious and stereotypical stuff, but it gets the job done.
Regarding sporting events, despite they're being live, I don't get distracted for two main reasons. One, I'm not really that emotionally invested in them. Two, you can gauge well what's worth looking at by the roar of the crowd and can rest assured you'll catch anything you missed in the instant replay. Still, I find football and baseball good background fodder — even without the emotional or tonal link as mentioned above.
Now, every once in a while, music will be more appealing to me. I can't say whether it's linked to the tides, the day of the week, or that some glow stick in my brain has snapped and caused my feelings on the subject to shift temporarily. So what do I listen to on these occasions?
Sometimes it's film scores. Sometimes it's classical. Most of the time, it's rock or alternative. I'm a big fan of classic rock (something that now apparently includes the 80's according to my local classic rock station). I'd say that The Who is probably my favorite band, but things like the Strawbs, Queen, and Bad Company come up a lot. I still listen to stuff from the grunge era, and I've even gotten into some 80's pop... You know, I guess I'll listen to just about anything as long as it's not country, isn't too repetitive, too electronic, or too grating. I'm not very big on jazz, nor am I big into the blues, but I'll even listen to them should the piece I'm working on feel like it's required. Fact is that my musical tastes were molded in the 80's and pre-boyband 90's. Even so, I've tried to keep up with stuff that's actually been released in the last decade, so I'm not totally out of the loop but at the same time am by no means an expert.
On any given day you can find any given thing playing in my studio. I like to keep changing things up, much the same way that I keep changing up aspects of my process. I guess I'm kind of fickle, and I find that I get bored pretty easily, so by staying out of any regular pattern I somehow manage to keep the boredom at bay.
If anyone reading this has a question they'd like answered in the ongoing FAQ series, by all means ask it in the comments section below.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Frequently Asked Questions 4
Will you draw on my play mat?
Once again, I will start out by explaining to the uninitiated what this entails. One of the interesting things about collectible card games is the market of peripheral items that exist to support them. Everything from card boxes to store the cards in, to individual protective card sleeves can be purchased in a wide variety. Another item that can be found are play mats, which are kind of like mouse pads (something that is almost an anachronism itself) on steroids. They usually measure somewhere in the neighborhood of 14"x24" and come in a wide variety of colors. Some even have images printed on them. I suppose their purpose is to prevent the cards from getting scuffed on a given surface. Either that or their purpose is solely to get signed and drawn upon. I really couldn't say.
The short answer to this question is under certain circumstances, yes. The circumstances are these: I must be at a convention or Magic event, present at my table, and have enough time to complete the task as requested. Oh yeah, and it's helpful if you have money.
I know, I know. I charge? How can this be?! Outrageous!
Before you grab your pitchfork and light a torch let me explain. The fact is, the surfaces of play mats are less than desirable. In fact, they're awful. I have never drawn on a surface that is so destructive to the drawing tools themselves. There have been instances where, while drawing, a play mat has destroyed a brand new Sharpie in a single go. Now, I'm not talking about running out of ink. No, no, no. That's not such a big deal — it's to be expected with any given pen over time. I'm talking about having the pen's tip shredded to the point where the ink contained in the pen no longer flows, and thus never has a chance to run out. The result of this is that I blow through pens on play mats right quick, and getting through a drawing can be pretty frustrating.
Second, there is a question of time. It takes me quite a while to do these things, and many of the requests can be painstaking at best. For example, a common request I've had is to reproduce a given image I did as a Magic painting on a play mat, which can be quite tedious. I'm not complaining, I'm just stating a fact. The moment you have another image to live up to, things tend to take longer and the exactness required is increased significantly (provided you're attempting to do the original image any justice).
If the demands on my time are great, I will just go through the arrangements of the deal with the person requesting the drawing and set the mat aside to be worked on when I have some free time, and to be picked up at a later point. The downside to this is that I may end up with no free time, or have so many play mat requests that I am forced to draw all night in my hotel room, after hours. I can assure you that this is less than the pinnacle of fun — especially when there are a whole host of other illustrators present at said event who I want desperately to hang around with.
So, yeah, if you should stroll over to my table at a convention or Magic tournament or some such, I'll likely draw on your play mat if we can agree on all the particulars. However, should I turn down your request for a play mat drawing, know that it is for a good reason. It may be that I don't have the time, it may be that I have a wrist cramp (something that's been happening more frequently to me as I've gotten older), or maybe it's just because I'm not in the mood. No matter what the reason, look at it this way: if I turn you down, I'm saving you from a mediocre final result. If I don't have time, it'll be rushed and crappy. If I'm in pain, it'll be ugly and crappy. If I'm not in the mood, it'll be just plain crappy. And in the end, who wants that?
Once again, I will start out by explaining to the uninitiated what this entails. One of the interesting things about collectible card games is the market of peripheral items that exist to support them. Everything from card boxes to store the cards in, to individual protective card sleeves can be purchased in a wide variety. Another item that can be found are play mats, which are kind of like mouse pads (something that is almost an anachronism itself) on steroids. They usually measure somewhere in the neighborhood of 14"x24" and come in a wide variety of colors. Some even have images printed on them. I suppose their purpose is to prevent the cards from getting scuffed on a given surface. Either that or their purpose is solely to get signed and drawn upon. I really couldn't say.
The short answer to this question is under certain circumstances, yes. The circumstances are these: I must be at a convention or Magic event, present at my table, and have enough time to complete the task as requested. Oh yeah, and it's helpful if you have money.
I know, I know. I charge? How can this be?! Outrageous!
Before you grab your pitchfork and light a torch let me explain. The fact is, the surfaces of play mats are less than desirable. In fact, they're awful. I have never drawn on a surface that is so destructive to the drawing tools themselves. There have been instances where, while drawing, a play mat has destroyed a brand new Sharpie in a single go. Now, I'm not talking about running out of ink. No, no, no. That's not such a big deal — it's to be expected with any given pen over time. I'm talking about having the pen's tip shredded to the point where the ink contained in the pen no longer flows, and thus never has a chance to run out. The result of this is that I blow through pens on play mats right quick, and getting through a drawing can be pretty frustrating.
Second, there is a question of time. It takes me quite a while to do these things, and many of the requests can be painstaking at best. For example, a common request I've had is to reproduce a given image I did as a Magic painting on a play mat, which can be quite tedious. I'm not complaining, I'm just stating a fact. The moment you have another image to live up to, things tend to take longer and the exactness required is increased significantly (provided you're attempting to do the original image any justice).
If the demands on my time are great, I will just go through the arrangements of the deal with the person requesting the drawing and set the mat aside to be worked on when I have some free time, and to be picked up at a later point. The downside to this is that I may end up with no free time, or have so many play mat requests that I am forced to draw all night in my hotel room, after hours. I can assure you that this is less than the pinnacle of fun — especially when there are a whole host of other illustrators present at said event who I want desperately to hang around with.
So, yeah, if you should stroll over to my table at a convention or Magic tournament or some such, I'll likely draw on your play mat if we can agree on all the particulars. However, should I turn down your request for a play mat drawing, know that it is for a good reason. It may be that I don't have the time, it may be that I have a wrist cramp (something that's been happening more frequently to me as I've gotten older), or maybe it's just because I'm not in the mood. No matter what the reason, look at it this way: if I turn you down, I'm saving you from a mediocre final result. If I don't have time, it'll be rushed and crappy. If I'm in pain, it'll be ugly and crappy. If I'm not in the mood, it'll be just plain crappy. And in the end, who wants that?
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Frequently Asked Question 3: Signatures
Would you mind signing cards for me? Or a variant thereof being: how much do you charge to sign cards?
The answer to the first question is no. If I’m at an event or convention, I’ll happily sign your cards. I don’t mind doing it at all. However, what can be an issue is when folks give me stacks of cards several inches thick. In these cases, depending on whether there’s a line to talk to me, I may be forced to decline or will ask that the cards be left with me to sign at my leisure. I just don’t like forcing someone to wait to have one card signed because I’m busy signing 200 for someone else.
Other artists I know will refuse a tall stack of cards outright. I don’t blame them — my hand cramped so severely at GenCon this year that I had to leave my table for an hour to get some ibuprofen and rest. At this time, however, I choose to sign as many things as I can. That’s why I’m at the event in question.
I’m also happy to sign cards sent to me through the mail. I ask only 2 things. First, I ask that a self-addressed, stamped envelope be included. Second, I ask that you email me before sending the cards. Catch that? I said “before.” Why? Simple: I travel a lot. While traveling, cards don’t get signed and people are left waiting. I don’t want folks to have to wait, so if contacted beforehand, I can tell folks to hold off due to travel. The other problem with travel is that my mail piles up. This wouldn’t be a big deal if I had a door with a mail slot, or a big old mailbox. But, as things are now, I live in an apartment building and I have a mailbox that makes a shoebox seem like a spacious mansion complete with indoor pool and 10-car garage. One weekend’s worth of mail could fill the box and my mailman isn’t bashful about cramming stuff in there. The last thing I need is to have someone’s cards get bent in half because my mailman decided to ram home my mailbox’s contents with a rolled up copy of the latest Vogue. (My wife’s subscription — I swear).
I think the above are minor requests, personally. Especially because — to answer the question’s variant — I don’t charge to sign things. Signatures are free. Pretty straightforward, I think. Now, there are others who have a tip jar at their table. This is something else I understand. Pens cost money and with few exceptions, we sign with our own pens. It’s nice to have the money to replace said pens when they run dry, so we can keep signing. Personally, I don’t have a tip jar. If people feel compelled to give me money for signing their cards or books or playmats, I’m happy to take it. It’s always nice to receive a tip. I just don’t feel the need to have the jar there.
Truth be told, I get a real kick out of giving autographs. It’s never gotten old to me. I remember being a kid, waiting in line to have comic artists sign my comic books, never dreaming that I would one day be the guy behind a table doing the same thing. Fans are a big part of what I do, and taking the time to sign one or two things is the least I can do for all the love I’ve gotten from them. So, my pen is ever at the ready.
The answer to the first question is no. If I’m at an event or convention, I’ll happily sign your cards. I don’t mind doing it at all. However, what can be an issue is when folks give me stacks of cards several inches thick. In these cases, depending on whether there’s a line to talk to me, I may be forced to decline or will ask that the cards be left with me to sign at my leisure. I just don’t like forcing someone to wait to have one card signed because I’m busy signing 200 for someone else.
Other artists I know will refuse a tall stack of cards outright. I don’t blame them — my hand cramped so severely at GenCon this year that I had to leave my table for an hour to get some ibuprofen and rest. At this time, however, I choose to sign as many things as I can. That’s why I’m at the event in question.
I’m also happy to sign cards sent to me through the mail. I ask only 2 things. First, I ask that a self-addressed, stamped envelope be included. Second, I ask that you email me before sending the cards. Catch that? I said “before.” Why? Simple: I travel a lot. While traveling, cards don’t get signed and people are left waiting. I don’t want folks to have to wait, so if contacted beforehand, I can tell folks to hold off due to travel. The other problem with travel is that my mail piles up. This wouldn’t be a big deal if I had a door with a mail slot, or a big old mailbox. But, as things are now, I live in an apartment building and I have a mailbox that makes a shoebox seem like a spacious mansion complete with indoor pool and 10-car garage. One weekend’s worth of mail could fill the box and my mailman isn’t bashful about cramming stuff in there. The last thing I need is to have someone’s cards get bent in half because my mailman decided to ram home my mailbox’s contents with a rolled up copy of the latest Vogue. (My wife’s subscription — I swear).
I think the above are minor requests, personally. Especially because — to answer the question’s variant — I don’t charge to sign things. Signatures are free. Pretty straightforward, I think. Now, there are others who have a tip jar at their table. This is something else I understand. Pens cost money and with few exceptions, we sign with our own pens. It’s nice to have the money to replace said pens when they run dry, so we can keep signing. Personally, I don’t have a tip jar. If people feel compelled to give me money for signing their cards or books or playmats, I’m happy to take it. It’s always nice to receive a tip. I just don’t feel the need to have the jar there.
Truth be told, I get a real kick out of giving autographs. It’s never gotten old to me. I remember being a kid, waiting in line to have comic artists sign my comic books, never dreaming that I would one day be the guy behind a table doing the same thing. Fans are a big part of what I do, and taking the time to sign one or two things is the least I can do for all the love I’ve gotten from them. So, my pen is ever at the ready.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Frequently Asked Question 2: Alterations
Do you do alterations? Or, will you alter the picture for me?
First, let me explain what this means to the uninitiated so we’re clear on what this entails. I do a lot of work for Magic: The Gathering, a collectable card game. Given the collectable nature of the game, it is often desirable to some people to have an artist physically alter the card’s image in some way, in order to have a unique version of the card. A very small original piece of art, say. Here is an example of what I mean:
So, to answer the question: no.
There are a couple reasons for this, but first and foremost is that I don’t like doing them. To my eyes, the end result always looks pretty bad.
For the most part, I’m asked to do alterations at conventions and other appearances. At these appearances, the tools at my disposal are very limited and usually include a variety of Sharpie pens, paint pens, ballpoint pens, and pencils. The ballpoint pens and pencils are right out due to the fact that they damage the surface of the cards. I avoid using paint pens at all costs due to the drying time. So, the primary tool for the job is the trusty Sharpie in all its various sizes and colors.
Even the finest point Sharpie is too unwieldy for the job, due to the fact that the printed illustration on every Magic card is a mere 2 1/16 inches wide by 1 1/2 inches tall. It’s basically like drawing with something the size of a broom handle on a standard letter-size sheet. No matter what you do, the alteration feels horsy and ham-fisted.
Another problem with the Sharpie is that it doesn’t play well with the picture. The ink just sits there on top of the surface, not even remotely integrating itself into the image. No matter what I do, at best it ends up looking makeshift, and at worst it looks like an afterthought. (For more about my complex on this matter, I invite you to read a previous entry, “The Circle On the Oaktag”).
At this point you might remind me that I have, in fact, done alterations in the past. This is true. It took doing them to realize that I don’t like to do them. Plus, I stumbled upon an alteration that had been done by someone on a card that I had signed. The fact that my signature and an alteration were done on the same card insinuated strongly that I had done said alteration. I hadn’t. It was enough to make me want to stop and so I did.
In all reality, I have no sense of whether or not alterations add value, subtract value, or have no impact. It is likely that it’s not even about value, so much as having something special and unique. While I appreciate that, I can’t bring myself to continue to create these little drawings that cause me to cringe.
In truth, I regret every alteration I’ve ever done, but am a little relieved to know that there are probably less than a hundred out there. But of those hundred or so, only one has written upon it, “Last Alteration Ever” and is thus the only alteration I kind of like.
First, let me explain what this means to the uninitiated so we’re clear on what this entails. I do a lot of work for Magic: The Gathering, a collectable card game. Given the collectable nature of the game, it is often desirable to some people to have an artist physically alter the card’s image in some way, in order to have a unique version of the card. A very small original piece of art, say. Here is an example of what I mean:
 |
| I mocked this up digitally. It does not exist. I hated doing it, but it's for clarity's sake. |
So, to answer the question: no.
There are a couple reasons for this, but first and foremost is that I don’t like doing them. To my eyes, the end result always looks pretty bad.
For the most part, I’m asked to do alterations at conventions and other appearances. At these appearances, the tools at my disposal are very limited and usually include a variety of Sharpie pens, paint pens, ballpoint pens, and pencils. The ballpoint pens and pencils are right out due to the fact that they damage the surface of the cards. I avoid using paint pens at all costs due to the drying time. So, the primary tool for the job is the trusty Sharpie in all its various sizes and colors.
Even the finest point Sharpie is too unwieldy for the job, due to the fact that the printed illustration on every Magic card is a mere 2 1/16 inches wide by 1 1/2 inches tall. It’s basically like drawing with something the size of a broom handle on a standard letter-size sheet. No matter what you do, the alteration feels horsy and ham-fisted.
Another problem with the Sharpie is that it doesn’t play well with the picture. The ink just sits there on top of the surface, not even remotely integrating itself into the image. No matter what I do, at best it ends up looking makeshift, and at worst it looks like an afterthought. (For more about my complex on this matter, I invite you to read a previous entry, “The Circle On the Oaktag”).
At this point you might remind me that I have, in fact, done alterations in the past. This is true. It took doing them to realize that I don’t like to do them. Plus, I stumbled upon an alteration that had been done by someone on a card that I had signed. The fact that my signature and an alteration were done on the same card insinuated strongly that I had done said alteration. I hadn’t. It was enough to make me want to stop and so I did.
In all reality, I have no sense of whether or not alterations add value, subtract value, or have no impact. It is likely that it’s not even about value, so much as having something special and unique. While I appreciate that, I can’t bring myself to continue to create these little drawings that cause me to cringe.
In truth, I regret every alteration I’ve ever done, but am a little relieved to know that there are probably less than a hundred out there. But of those hundred or so, only one has written upon it, “Last Alteration Ever” and is thus the only alteration I kind of like.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Climbing the Ladder
Recently, over at Jon Schindehette’s ArtOrder blog, he’s had several artists describe how they “made it” in the business. “Making it” is a phrase I shy away from because I don’t like to get too comfortable. This is not to say that I am critical of people who use the phrase or honestly feel that they have made it, it’s that I choose not to apply that phrase to myself. In my mind, it’s essential to keep the precariousness of my position at the forefront of my brain. Thinking this way ensures that I am always prepared for the worst and that I continue trying to push my work as far as I can in order to keep my clients happy lest the worst actually occur. Consequently, I really don’t feel like I’ve “made it” at all, and so I can’t offer such a story. But, I suppose I can tell you how I got where I am.
Let me begin by saying that it is criminal in many ways to gloss over my formative years given how substantial the contributions of the teachers who inspired and trained me as an artist were. Rather than get into it at this point, I will concentrate instead on those more immediate events that directly led me into the business and leave the tales of my education for another date.
I graduated from Pratt in 1998 with a portfolio full of book and editorial illustration that — like so many student portfolios — had little congruity and didn’t gel as a whole. The book work mostly targeted the young adult market while the editorial work was fairly standard political and social commentary. For several months I called and mailed work to many art directors throughout book, magazine, and newspaper publishing and even managed to get interviews with a few. I mailed postcards and packets, did drop-off days and cold calls, but what I failed to do was update my portfolio and after a year of trying had no work to show for my efforts. So, I got a job and ended up in public relations.
One of the best friends I made in college was a guy by the name of Jeremy Jarvis. We met our freshman year when he lived a few doors down from me in the dorm. He, too, wanted to be an illustrator and after graduation began pursuing a very different facet of illustration than I had: fantasy/sci-fi gaming illustration. Initially I had no interest, but one day he called me and offered me work. You see, after working in the gaming field for a while, he eventually was asked to art direct a game for some small-time company that would require a lot of artwork to be commissioned. For some reason, he thought of me, and just like that, Jeremy dragged me into the field of gaming illustration.
As I said, I had a job at this time, so I could only paint at night and on weekends. So, during the week I worked my eight hours, came home, painted until I couldn’t keep my eyes open and went to bed. Rinse and repeat. I painted twenty-one pieces for Jeremy, but through no fault of his, I was only paid for three. I was pretty frustrated by the experience, and it would have been nice to have the money, but it wasn’t a total loss because I now had a new portfolio of gaming art.
Being the friend that he is, Jeremy then gave me a few names of people to call and send my work to; people in the gaming industry. I did as he suggested and was shocked when I started getting work with my new portfolio. The companies I was working for didn’t pay very well, but I still had my job and I was still getting paid to improve and diversify my new portfolio. This improved portfolio got me work from new, better paying clients, which in turn, improved my portfolio further, still. Through this method, I went from company to company until I finally got my foot in the door at Wizards of the Coast.
In April of 2001, I got laid off from my day job. My wife and I discussed our situation and she encouraged me to take advantage of being laid off and make a go at becoming a full-time freelancer. The gamble paid off. By the end of 2001, I had consistent work from Wizards of the Coast and several other companies, and was successfully paying our bills.
In 2005, I flew out to Washington for a friend’s wedding and seized the opportunity to meet with all the art directors I’d worked with in the Seattle area for lunch. I was going to be visiting the Wizards of the Coast offices, so I took a shot and emailed the art director for Magic, who at the time was Jeremy Cranford, and asked if I could meet with him while I was there. I was surprised when he said yes, and so the date was set. To say that it was one of the scariest interviews of my life is an understatement. This is partially because I was out of practice, and partially because I wanted so bad to work on Magic. Through some miracle, I managed to stumble my way through the interview, and after bluntly, constructively, and critically reviewing my portfolio, he agreed to give me work.
Today, my most regular client is Magic and in an odd twist of fate, it is now art directed by my friend, Jeremy Jarvis. My career has been built upon hard work, long hours, sacrifice, and trying to make the most of the opportunities presented me. Many people opened doors for me along the way and I have many to thank for where I am today, but Jeremy Jarvis opened the first door and so I say this: I got where I am because I have a really good friend.
Let me begin by saying that it is criminal in many ways to gloss over my formative years given how substantial the contributions of the teachers who inspired and trained me as an artist were. Rather than get into it at this point, I will concentrate instead on those more immediate events that directly led me into the business and leave the tales of my education for another date.
I graduated from Pratt in 1998 with a portfolio full of book and editorial illustration that — like so many student portfolios — had little congruity and didn’t gel as a whole. The book work mostly targeted the young adult market while the editorial work was fairly standard political and social commentary. For several months I called and mailed work to many art directors throughout book, magazine, and newspaper publishing and even managed to get interviews with a few. I mailed postcards and packets, did drop-off days and cold calls, but what I failed to do was update my portfolio and after a year of trying had no work to show for my efforts. So, I got a job and ended up in public relations.
One of the best friends I made in college was a guy by the name of Jeremy Jarvis. We met our freshman year when he lived a few doors down from me in the dorm. He, too, wanted to be an illustrator and after graduation began pursuing a very different facet of illustration than I had: fantasy/sci-fi gaming illustration. Initially I had no interest, but one day he called me and offered me work. You see, after working in the gaming field for a while, he eventually was asked to art direct a game for some small-time company that would require a lot of artwork to be commissioned. For some reason, he thought of me, and just like that, Jeremy dragged me into the field of gaming illustration.
As I said, I had a job at this time, so I could only paint at night and on weekends. So, during the week I worked my eight hours, came home, painted until I couldn’t keep my eyes open and went to bed. Rinse and repeat. I painted twenty-one pieces for Jeremy, but through no fault of his, I was only paid for three. I was pretty frustrated by the experience, and it would have been nice to have the money, but it wasn’t a total loss because I now had a new portfolio of gaming art.
Being the friend that he is, Jeremy then gave me a few names of people to call and send my work to; people in the gaming industry. I did as he suggested and was shocked when I started getting work with my new portfolio. The companies I was working for didn’t pay very well, but I still had my job and I was still getting paid to improve and diversify my new portfolio. This improved portfolio got me work from new, better paying clients, which in turn, improved my portfolio further, still. Through this method, I went from company to company until I finally got my foot in the door at Wizards of the Coast.
In April of 2001, I got laid off from my day job. My wife and I discussed our situation and she encouraged me to take advantage of being laid off and make a go at becoming a full-time freelancer. The gamble paid off. By the end of 2001, I had consistent work from Wizards of the Coast and several other companies, and was successfully paying our bills.
In 2005, I flew out to Washington for a friend’s wedding and seized the opportunity to meet with all the art directors I’d worked with in the Seattle area for lunch. I was going to be visiting the Wizards of the Coast offices, so I took a shot and emailed the art director for Magic, who at the time was Jeremy Cranford, and asked if I could meet with him while I was there. I was surprised when he said yes, and so the date was set. To say that it was one of the scariest interviews of my life is an understatement. This is partially because I was out of practice, and partially because I wanted so bad to work on Magic. Through some miracle, I managed to stumble my way through the interview, and after bluntly, constructively, and critically reviewing my portfolio, he agreed to give me work.
Today, my most regular client is Magic and in an odd twist of fate, it is now art directed by my friend, Jeremy Jarvis. My career has been built upon hard work, long hours, sacrifice, and trying to make the most of the opportunities presented me. Many people opened doors for me along the way and I have many to thank for where I am today, but Jeremy Jarvis opened the first door and so I say this: I got where I am because I have a really good friend.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Frequently Asked Question 1
Without a doubt, the single most commonly asked question of me at conventions is some variation of this one:
So, do you they tell you want to paint or do you come up with the idea on your own?
The most concise answer to this question is that my clients do, in fact, tell me what to paint. However, this response is an over simplification, and so I try to expound upon what the client tells me to do versus what I come up with on my own, citing specific examples for clarity, and trying desperately to make it sound interesting. I will now attempt to do just that here.
Illustrations tend to be commissioned to fill a specific need, and the client sums up this need in the art order. An art order can vary from client to client, but they all tend to have some basic information included, like due dates and the size of the space the printed image needs to fit into. What does tend to vary — not only from client to client but job to job — is the art description.
Art descriptions come in many shapes and sizes from a single sentence that merely hints at what is needed, to several, single-spaced pages that detail everything down to color palette and composition. Sometimes the descriptions aren’t descriptions at all, but rather a series of reference pictures attached to an email, which serve the same function. Despite their many varieties, the type of descriptions I most often get are like the ones below:
ART ID: 96882 TITLE: [Phobian Phantasm] SIZE: SKETCH DUE: 11/4/2005 12:00:00 AM ART DUE: 12/6/2005 12:00:00 AM ART DESCRIPTION: Color: Black Location: Ice Age setting Action: Show an evil horrifying eyeless, snake tongued ghost/spirit of your design. It needs to be able to fly/float/drift somehow. Focus: the ghost Mood: Needs to be scary as shit Notes: This is a flying creature. It should be shown in flight.
This is a test of your imagination. Be creative. =====================================================
ART ID: 96875 TITLE: [Hibernation's End] SIZE: SKETCH DUE: 11/4/2005 12:00:00 AM ART DUE: 12/6/2005 12:00:00 AM ART DESCRIPTION: Color: Green Spell Location: ancient icy forest Action: This spell represents the hibernation season coming to its end and the forest beasts reemerging to feed. One way to show this is polar bears coming out their dim, frozen caves. Focus: emerging beasts Mood: hungry =====================================================
These just happen to be Magic descriptions, but many of my non-Magic clients give about the same amount of information. At first glance, there’s not a lot there; both descriptions are about the same length and contain much of the same information. Upon closer inspection, however, it is clear that what was asked of me in each is very different.
While I was told that I needed to paint a “Phobian Phantasm” in the first art description, it was up to me to define what the Phantasm actually looked like, and so I pretty much got paid to paint something that I came up with. Of course there were a couple constraints listed that hint at a direction, but the blanks were mine to fill in, and it led to this:
The second description had a more straightforward path that required less invention, but was more about creating the proper mood, a good composition, and a compelling image, resulting in this:
This was the first Magic job I ever got and the Art Director, Jeremy Cranford, provided me with two very different problems to solve. While not overly constrictive in this case, there are almost always guidelines to follow and there is often a chance to invent and create within those guidelines. At the end of the day, there is always some invention going on, even with the pieces that have several page long art descriptions. As artists, things are filtered through our minds and hands and transformed, and through that transformation, we can’t help but make a piece our own.
So, do you they tell you want to paint or do you come up with the idea on your own?
The most concise answer to this question is that my clients do, in fact, tell me what to paint. However, this response is an over simplification, and so I try to expound upon what the client tells me to do versus what I come up with on my own, citing specific examples for clarity, and trying desperately to make it sound interesting. I will now attempt to do just that here.
Illustrations tend to be commissioned to fill a specific need, and the client sums up this need in the art order. An art order can vary from client to client, but they all tend to have some basic information included, like due dates and the size of the space the printed image needs to fit into. What does tend to vary — not only from client to client but job to job — is the art description.
Art descriptions come in many shapes and sizes from a single sentence that merely hints at what is needed, to several, single-spaced pages that detail everything down to color palette and composition. Sometimes the descriptions aren’t descriptions at all, but rather a series of reference pictures attached to an email, which serve the same function. Despite their many varieties, the type of descriptions I most often get are like the ones below:
ART ID: 96882 TITLE: [Phobian Phantasm] SIZE: SKETCH DUE: 11/4/2005 12:00:00 AM ART DUE: 12/6/2005 12:00:00 AM ART DESCRIPTION: Color: Black Location: Ice Age setting Action: Show an evil horrifying eyeless, snake tongued ghost/spirit of your design. It needs to be able to fly/float/drift somehow. Focus: the ghost Mood: Needs to be scary as shit Notes: This is a flying creature. It should be shown in flight.
This is a test of your imagination. Be creative. =====================================================
ART ID: 96875 TITLE: [Hibernation's End] SIZE: SKETCH DUE: 11/4/2005 12:00:00 AM ART DUE: 12/6/2005 12:00:00 AM ART DESCRIPTION: Color: Green Spell Location: ancient icy forest Action: This spell represents the hibernation season coming to its end and the forest beasts reemerging to feed. One way to show this is polar bears coming out their dim, frozen caves. Focus: emerging beasts Mood: hungry =====================================================
These just happen to be Magic descriptions, but many of my non-Magic clients give about the same amount of information. At first glance, there’s not a lot there; both descriptions are about the same length and contain much of the same information. Upon closer inspection, however, it is clear that what was asked of me in each is very different.
While I was told that I needed to paint a “Phobian Phantasm” in the first art description, it was up to me to define what the Phantasm actually looked like, and so I pretty much got paid to paint something that I came up with. Of course there were a couple constraints listed that hint at a direction, but the blanks were mine to fill in, and it led to this:
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| Phobian Phantasm ©Wizards of the Coast |
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| Hibernation's End ©Wizards of the Coast |
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