quinta-feira, 19 de janeiro de 2012

Igor e Zulmon (Igor and Zulmon)


Lembrei o quão divertidas eram as aulas de arte na escola. Sobretudo desenho livre. 

Uma coisa que sempre notei, é que todas as pessoas amam responder questionários fáceis e dar opiniões. Vemos todo dia inúmeras pessoas preenchendo formulários divertidos, contando sobre sua vida gratuitamente e opinando em temas diversos, nas redes sociais. De alguma forma, responder algo que sabemos nos dá uma espécie de prazer. Desenho livre sempre foi assim para mim. O papel funcionava como uma pergunta cuja resposta correta seria qualquer uma que eu desse.

Quando você está cansado de desenhar coisas que tem de desenhar e precisa urgentemente dar uma respirada, se você ama o que faz, o resultado não pode ser outro: desenho livre. 

Apelidei de Igor e Zulmon esses personagens\ilustrações que criei para exercitar uma técnica que deduzi. Gostei do resultado e foi bastante rápido. Desenho simples e divertido. 

Os criei como rivais, inspirados em games. Tem um pouco de Mário, de The King Of Fighters, e um monte de jogos e desenhos que marcaram os tempos.

Enfim.

Toda criação é uma liga de outras criações esfareladas. Quanto menor o grão, mais original.

Sem pretensões de ser original, só por diversão, o resultado foi esse:




Igor and Zulmon

I reminded how fun were the art classes in school. Especially free drawing. 
A thing I've always noticed, is that all people love to answer easy questionaries and to give opinions. Everyday we see many people filling fun forms, freely telling their lives and giving their opinions in various themes, in social networks. Somehow, answering something taht we know gives us some kind of pleasure. Free drawing was always like that for me. The paper was like a question which the correct answer would be anyone I would give.

When you are tired of drawing things you have to and you wanna desperatly take a breath, if you love what you do, the result cannot be different: free drawing.
I named Igor and Zulmon these characters/illustrations that I created to exercise a technique that I deduced. I enjoyed the result, and it was pretty fast. Simple and fun drawing. 

I created them as rivals, inspired in games. It has a little from Mario, The King of Fighters, anyway, a lot of games and cartoon characters that marked the times.

Anyway.

Every creation is a league of other powdered creations. The smaller the grain, the most original it is.

With no pretension of being original, only for fun, the result was this:


 Igor




 Zulmon







 

Daí que surgiram as duas personagens. Sempre gosto de esboçar 
no meu caderno de rascunho. Desde que comprei esse tenho obsessão 
por desenhar nele, como quem anseia completar um livro de figurinhas.

(So, the two characters came out. I alwas like to sketch in my sketchbook.
Since I bought this, I have an obsession for drawing in it, like someone who 
eagers to complete a sticker album.)
  




sábado, 14 de janeiro de 2012

O Boneco (The Doll)

Sobre os concursos de desenho que encontramos:

Lição número 1: Evitem participar de concursos que não sejam realmente auditados. Infelizmente muitos jurados acham assinaturas mais interessantes que as ilustrações de fato.

Lição número 2: Nunca participe de concursos com prêmios ridículos.

Lição número 3: nunca participe de concursos que não divulguem com exatidão o cronograma.

Até hoje espero o resultado do concurso que participei com a ilustração abaixo.

O tema a ser explorado era “bonecos”.  Definitivamente não tive o intuito de inovar. Uma história pode ser contada mil vezes, desde que cada versão lhe faça sentir algo que valha a pena o tempo perdido. Partindo desse princípio tentei reforçar o sentimento da cena.

Pensei no que seria bizarro envolvendo bonecos...

Parti da idéia de um cenário...

Imaginei um quarto escuro...

Escuro mesmo...


O silêncio das luzes apagadas ocultava as formas do quarto de criança. Cômoda azul, guarda-roupa, baú de brinquedos, televisão... nada se via. O pretume era como um manto denso e confortável para o garoto que, infelizmente, iria acordar em instantes.  Antes disso, trocava os últimos golpes contra um imenso gorila. Vivia mais um de seus pesadelos noturnos.

A porta rangeu. Uma lâmina de luz cortou o quarto não mais tão preto. O garoto ainda dormia. Tinha os olhos apertados. Suava. Não demorou a acordar. Fez isso puxando ar como quem sai de um mergulho. Ainda sonolento, com os olhos embaçados viu a porta de seu quarto aberta. Luz. O corredor aceso cegava seus olhos negros. Estava tonto de cansaço... Tonto demais para prestar atenção em qualquer coisa.

Algo cruzou a parte inferior da porta, por fora. Era pequeno. Podia ser o Lessy. Bom, não importava, deveria dormir logo, se demorasse muito perderia o sono. Virou-se. Amaciou o travesseiro. Bocejou. Cobriu-se um pouco mais e lacrou os olhos pesados. Ouviu a portar ranger. Deveria ser o vento...

Não, não podia ser.

 As janelas sempre eram fechadas às noites em sua casa... Tinha de ser o Lessy...

Tinha de ser...

Sentiu medo. Natural, era uma criança depois de um pesadelo.

Seu sono começava a se despedir.

Seu coração bateu forte.

Cansaço ou medo, não se virou. Transformou-se em pedra, coberto pelo seu cobertor grosso. Tinha de dormir. Ignorou o rangido da porta que se repetiu. Fechou os olhos. Impossível. Era mais fácil suportar um minuto sem ar que aqueles dez segundos claustrofóbicos que se seguiam.

Silêncio.

Não se moveu.

Sabe quando você sente que não está só? Quando você acha que algo te segue. Aquele momento em que descemos as escadas escuras e subimos olhando para trás... Quando acendemos as luzes para nos certificar... Enfim, o garoto vivia esse momento.
Nada se ouvia, enquanto a presença parecia aumentar. Energia ruim. Coração batendo forte. O que antes era apenas sensação em menos de dez segundos virou certeza: havia alguém atrás dele.

...

Confirmação. Sabe quando você sente um peso leve em cima da cama, um peso que não é o seu? O garoto sentiu. Seu coração explodia. Não tinha coragem nem para gritar. Seus pulsos pareciam gelar. Barriga e pernas dormentes. O peito denunciava seu pânico. Batia cada vez mais forte.

Sentiu algo tocar de leve teu ombro.

Meu deus!

Sentiu de novo...

Algo lhe arranhou.

Não podia mais adiar. Tinha de olhar para trás.
Olhou.

Lessy.

...

Alívio. Pôde respirar.

O cãozinho mimado queria algo. Com seu rabo abanando guiou o garoto até cozinha, onde recebeu duas bolachas de maisena e bebeu água em sua tigela que estava vazia.
Eram 2 horas da manhã! Hora de dormir. O menino apagou as luzes, inclusive a do corredor.
Fechou a janela da sala, que foi esquecida aberta por alguém. Fechou as cortinas, pois tinha medo de olhar através do vidro.

Depois, a caminho do seu quarto, encontrou uma tesoura jogada no chão. Guardou-a numa gaveta.

Foi no banheiro...

Lavou as mãos...

Depois foi dormir.




Boneco feito em tons de cinza com nanquim e corretivo, depois colorido e 
finalizado no Photoshop
(Doll made in gray shades with ink and liquid corrector, then colored and 
finalized in Photoshop)








The Doll

About the contests that we see around:

Lesson number 1: Avoid joining contests that are not really audited. Unfortunately many judges find the signatures more interesting than the actual illustrations.

Lesson number 2: Never join contests where the prizes are ridiculous.

Lesson number 3: Never join contests that don´t show the exact chronogram.

Until now I wait the result of the contest I participated with the illustration below.

The theme to be explored was “dolls”.  Definitely I didn’t have the intention to innovate. A story can be told a thousand times, since every version makes you feel something that is worth the time wasted. From this principle, I tried to reinforce the feeling of the scene.
I thought of what would be bizarre involving dolls…

I started from the idea of a scenary…

I imagined a dark room…

Really dark...

The silence of the shut lights was hiding the shapes of the child room. Blue chest of drawers, wardrobe, toy trunk, TV… nothing could be seen. The darkness was like a thick and comfortable veil to the boy that unfortunately would wake up in a minute. Before that, he was giving the lasts hits in a giant gorilla. He was living another of his nightmares.

The door creaked. A sheet of light cut the dark room. The boy was still asleep. He had tight eyes. He was sweating. Didn’t take him long to wake up. He did this draining the air as someone who comes out from a diving. Still drowsy, with the blurred view he saw the open door of his room. Light. The alight hall was blinding his dark eyes. He was dizzy from weariness… too dizzy to pay attention in anything.

Something crossed the bottom part of the door, outside. It was small. Could be Lessy. Well, didn’t matter, He should sleep soon, if it takes long he would lose the sleepiness. He turned in bed. Softened the pillow. Yawned. He covered himself a little more and shut the heavy eyes. He heard the door creak. Could be the wind…

No, it couldn’t be…

The windows were always shut at night in his house… had to be Lessy…

It had to be…

He was scared. Natural, he was a kid after a nightmare.

His sleepiness was saying goodbye.

His heart was beating fast.

The silence of the shut lights was hiding the shapes of the child room. Blue chest of drawers, wardrobe, toy trunk, TV… nothing could be seen. The darkness was like a thick and comfortable veil to the boy that unfortunately would wake up in a minute. Before that, he was giving the lasts hits in a giant gorilla. He was living another of his nightmares.

The door creaked. A sheet of light cut the dark room. The boy was still asleep. He had tight eyes. He was sweating. Didn’t take him long to wake up. He did this draining the air as someone who comes out from a diving. Still drowsy, with the blurred view he saw the open door of his room. Light. The alight hall was blinding his dark eyes. He was dizzy from weariness… too dizzy to pay attention in anything.

Something crossed the bottom part of the door, outside. It was small. Could be Lessy. Well, didn’t matter, He should sleep soon, if it takes long he would lose the sleepiness. He turned in bed. Softened the pillow. Yawned. He covered himself a little more and shut the heavy eyes. He heard the door creak. Could be the wind…

No, it couldn’t be…

The windows were always shut at night in his house… had to be Lessy…

It had to be…

He was scared. Natural, he was a kid after a nightmare.

His sleepiness was saying goodbye.

His heart was beating fast.

Weariness or fear, He didn’t turn to see. He turned himself into stone, covered by the thick blanket. He had to sleep. He ignored the squeak of the door that was repeated. Closed his eyes. Impossible. It was easier to bear a whole minute without air than that claustrophobic ten seconds that were following.

Silence.

He didn’t make a move.

You know when you’re not alone? When you think that something is following you. That moment that we go down the dark stairs and we climb up looking behind… When we turn on the lights to make sure… So, the boy was living this moment.
Nothing was heard, at the same moment that the presence seemed to increase. Bad energy. His heart was beating fast. What was only a sensation, in less than tem seconds became surety: that was someone behind him.


Confirmation. You know when you feel a light weight on the bed, a weight that is not yours? The boy felt it. His heart was exploding. He didn’ have courage even to scream. His wrists seemed to freeze. His belly and legs were numb. His chest was betraying his panic. His heart was beating faster and faster.

He felt something gently touching his shoulder.

My God!

He felt again...

Something scratched him.

He couldn’t hold anymore. He had to look behind.

He looked.

Lessy.
...

Relief. He could breathe.

The spoiled dog wanted something. With his moving tail, guided the boy to the kitchen, where he was given two milk cookies and drank water from the bowl that was empty.
It was 2 of the morning! Time to sleep. The boy shut the lights, including the one from the hall.
He shut the window of the living room, which was forgotten opened by someone. He shut the curtains, as he was scared of looking through the glass.

Then, going to his room, he found a scissor tossed on the floor. He put it in a drawer.

Went to the bathroom…

Washed his hands…

Then he went to sleep.


quinta-feira, 5 de janeiro de 2012

O Grande (The Great)


Há um tempo escrevia um projeto de livro. Comecei no terceiro ano do colegial. O nome: “Ruggly, o grande”. Atmosfera medieval fantasiosa. Amava isso. Contava a história de um garotinho depressivo e seu amigo gigante, o Ruggly.

Construí as duas personagens enfatizando o psicológico e a ingenuidade diante do mundo a ser descoberto. Mundo esse que, confesso, esculpia na hora ao alcance da vista do eu - lírico do livro. No caso, o garotinho.

Comecei a escrever numa fase ruim de minha vida. Fazia isso como quem tenta transformar o monitor num portal para outro mundo. Ao meu redor as luzes se apagavam, a minha frente um redemoinho luminoso se acendia. Girava. O tempo passava. De repente perdia a consciência do que sou. Primeiro esquecia das horas, da data, depois, da sede, da fome, dos problemas. Já não era mais eu. Me tornava o movimento das folhas, as aranhas, a terra, a umidade, me tornava Ruggly, Doritéia, o que eu quisesse ser.

Escrevo mal. Cheio de erros(fato). Escrevia ainda pior naquela época.

Mas mesmo assim, amava.

Tinha descoberto que escrever é mais que uma terapia. É todo poder que um homem sonha ter. O poder de moldar corpos, histórias, de inundar mares, puxar montanhas, cavar vales e criar construções faraônicas. O poder de dar um final ou um início a algo. Quando se escreve, não existe tempo e espaço real.

Só você,

sua vontade

e nenhum limite.


Abaixo, uma pintura digital em desenvolvimento, construída em cima de um desenho a lápis. O homem retratado chama-se Orion Grotto, gigante pai do Ruggly frente ao seu exército. É uma ilustração digital relativamente antiga.



The Great

Some time ago, I was writing a project of a book. I began in senior high school. It was called: “Ruggly, the great”. Medieval fantasy atmosphere. I loved that. It was the story of a depressive little boy and his giant friend, Ruggly.

I built the two characters focusing the psychological and the ingenuity before the world to be discovered. World that I, I confess, was building at the momente at the sight of the speaker. In this case, the little boy.

I began to write in a dark phase of my life. I did this as someone who tries to change the monitor into a gate to another world. Around me the lights were turning off, before me a whirlwind of light would turn on. It spinned. The time was passing. Suddenly, I would loose the conscience of who I was. First, I would forget of the hours, the date, and then, of the thirst, the hunger, the problems. It wasn't me anymore. I became the movement of the leaves, the spiders, the ground, the moist, I became Ruggly, Doriteia, what I wanted to be.

I don't write well. Full of mistakes (fact). I used to write worst back then.

But, even though, I loved it.

I found out that writing is more than a therapy. It's all the power that a man dream of posessing. The power to create bodies, stories, to flood the seas, pull mountains, dig valleys and create pharaonic buildings. The power of giving an end or a start to something. When you write, there's no real time and space.

Just you,

your will, 

and no limits.

Below, a unfinished digital painting, made over a pencil drawing. The portraited man is called Orion Grotto, a giant that is the father of Ruggly in front of his army. It is a relatively old digital illustration.



 

Ilustração inacabada (Unfinished illustration)

Close-up
Licença Creative Commons
Este trabalho de P. Torinno, foi licenciado com uma Licença Creative Commons - Atribuição - NãoComercial - SemDerivados 3.0 Não Adaptada.