Cosmic Tales: Hands, day two.

As it turns out the Loomis Head and Hands book is more of a head book, really. Like most, I prefer head to hand, but hand is what is required in this instance.

So I picked up Bridgeman's Book of a Hundred Hands. I'm on about hand 17, (after about 6-8 hours drawing today) right now, but I'll spare you the pictures of my studies until I am on my second or thrid trip through. That should be next week or the week after.

I got his Constructive Anatomy as well, because the intro spoke to me.

An (way better than me) artist friend of mine insisted that some guys were just going to be naturally better than other guys- and no amount of practice will change that. I don't know if that is true or not. I choose to not to believe. After all, what the fuck is in it for me? Not a fucking thing, that's what.

Anyway, hands are one of those things that are notoriously difficult to draw, and lots of aspiring artists give them up as beyond their capacity before they even start. I am pretty good at faking (symbol drawing, if you will) like four or five handsets, but have otherwise avoided these fuckers for years.

However, since the change in my inking style, I have come to realize that I have no idea of what my true limits really are or what is (or is not) possible. That said, the path forward seems pretty clear to me. I have decided to indulge in my most hubristic delusions of adequacy, whilst working like a bastard to keep ahead of the impending doom of reality. I have to do something, anyway, 3.50 USD gas trending down has likely killed all my field work for the rest of the summer.

Thanks Obama?

Anyway, last week I had a dream that Jack Kirby came into my subterranean fastness and broke my drawing table over his knee. That can't be good.

In honor of that, here's a picture of the King with Frank Zappa. I'm out, take care, and do something for yourself today, for fucks sake.