tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57868068780326733842024-02-06T20:08:29.020-08:00P. TorinnoP. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-60864032617316294312013-02-02T14:36:00.001-08:002013-02-02T14:40:21.146-08:0002 de fevereiro<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #990000;">(CLIQUE NA IMAGEM PARA AUMENTAR)</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyITEmNRz87iQSScDv6k6G5_XdOHThRssF2KkS7TV_ZUgFCPkfGTzmdMNSTUBRvTxRNn2K8kQ8caXOt15P1wr3BU1b0Kk0Qlfged9wx6QlLFrYPpnwpMap28mIGsxaCGTPYQya0b56Gw8/s1600/Iemanja+ptorinno(final+low+res+rgb).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyITEmNRz87iQSScDv6k6G5_XdOHThRssF2KkS7TV_ZUgFCPkfGTzmdMNSTUBRvTxRNn2K8kQ8caXOt15P1wr3BU1b0Kk0Qlfged9wx6QlLFrYPpnwpMap28mIGsxaCGTPYQya0b56Gw8/s640/Iemanja+ptorinno(final+low+res+rgb).jpg" width="452" /></a></div>
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(Minha homenagem a Iemanjá. Salvador, BA, 2013)</div>
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P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-15602286552756308742013-01-20T07:20:00.001-08:002013-01-20T07:39:49.397-08:00Endless Day (Fan art of Left 4 Dead)<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The process...</b></span></div>
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Is this!<br />
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P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-40085543385671334182012-11-12T12:47:00.001-08:002012-11-12T12:47:51.049-08:00Apostando na Segurança Pública<br />
As autoridades estão apostando na segurança pública de São Paulo<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0LeobegOveBiqDH_-TWSEqFcCjXVwt30j8It4hD7kcjFxyHK9mUdk-YAEeq-501AErWk6hr3xUsie9QTcuvhdKmhPaHKiNoEoaxj7r6UKdx4s-bg9F16Ipvkq_GjA5Z_SR6QE1fii8b4/s1600/seguran%C3%A7a+publica+PTORINNO+(200+dpi+vis).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0LeobegOveBiqDH_-TWSEqFcCjXVwt30j8It4hD7kcjFxyHK9mUdk-YAEeq-501AErWk6hr3xUsie9QTcuvhdKmhPaHKiNoEoaxj7r6UKdx4s-bg9F16Ipvkq_GjA5Z_SR6QE1fii8b4/s400/seguran%C3%A7a+publica+PTORINNO+(200+dpi+vis).jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-50987569019168012582012-10-24T12:53:00.001-07:002012-10-24T13:00:34.111-07:00Um Incentivo<br />
Hoje estava especialmente frustrado.<br />
Dentre os dissabores do dia a dia de um ilustrador em ascensão eis que surge um pequeno ponto de exclamação. Um incentivo. <br />
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Uma ilustração minha saiu na revista Zupi(expoente de ilustração nacional). Quem tiver interesse pode dar ver na edição 31, página 64. <br />
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Amo digital, ver o desenho na tela. Mas confesso que poder tocar me atrai mais.Ver um trabalho impresso para mim é das melhores partes (quando não frustrante, por sair escuro, avermelhado, embaçado, etc). Sobre essa ilustra, já postei anteriormente no blog algo sobre esse personagem (orc cozinheiro). Quem quiser pode dar uma conferida.<br />
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P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-79815175127957626902012-09-24T14:35:00.002-07:002012-09-24T14:58:08.438-07:00Viagem para Morro de São Paulo<br />
Há um tempo fiz uma viagem com minha namorada para ver o pai dela em Valença e partir para Morro de São Paulo.<br />
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Foi
tudo muito especial. Tudo mesmo, desde o escorregão que ia levando na
escadaria até o vinho barato tomado a noite na beira do mar. Saudade do
pastel e da pequena pousada com "self-self" (ou self-service pros
leigos). Saudade daquele sol foda (que é o mesmo daqui) mas emoldurado
por aquele mar azul banhado de liberdade e paz. <br />
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Pastel, vinho, areia, frio e ela. Mistura perfeita.<br />
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Saudade.<br />
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São em viagens como essa que toda a fadiga do dia a dia vale apena.<br />
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Bom,
muito tempo depois recebi da Editora a tarefa de criar a
capa\contracapa de um sketchbook. Todos sabem que amo sketchbooks (livro
de rascunhos). AMO. Teria mais uma vez (como quase sempre) liberdade
criativa. <br />
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Mas o que por?<br />
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Naturalmente, minha saudade me conduziu à idéia. <br />
O resultado foi esse:<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>(clique para ampliar a imagem)</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A caminho de Morro de São Paulo. Ainda em Valença. No barco, lugar ideal para esboçar em um sketchbook</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Frente do sketchbook</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Fundo do sketchbook</span></div>
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Comentários são sempre bem vindos</div>
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P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-16203853652399395022012-08-21T14:48:00.001-07:002012-08-21T14:49:51.202-07:00Eu, ou quase isso (Me, or something like that)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi4C0PWplNA-tUqMH6bQvD0a7ABbA0Fx2vzM3ezekyL6v17XiEtC9u4BkF0wT99hjk7MmEYbWgIhadDizd4rgN14QRGfLr6pRbho2TSLkzghjRAH-fEtyPfJo1tPZY_xt4CYqStFHN-Qo/s1600/Eu+3+pontos.+visualizacao+200+dpi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi4C0PWplNA-tUqMH6bQvD0a7ABbA0Fx2vzM3ezekyL6v17XiEtC9u4BkF0wT99hjk7MmEYbWgIhadDizd4rgN14QRGfLr6pRbho2TSLkzghjRAH-fEtyPfJo1tPZY_xt4CYqStFHN-Qo/s640/Eu+3+pontos.+visualizacao+200+dpi.jpg" width="456" /></a></div>
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Eu, ou algo proximo a isso, por mim mesmo. Não cosutmo me desenhar... aliás não costumo desenhar ninguém existente... amo criar. Acredito que o barato do desenho seja isso... Tirar do plano um universo.<br />
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Bom, fiz esse desenho especialmente para um projeto em andamento, em parceria com um ótimo blog de quadrinhos.<br />
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Breve todos saberão.<br />
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<i>Me, or something close to that, by myself. I'm not used to draw myself... actually, I'm not used to draw anything that exists... I love to create. I believe that the cool thing in drawing is this... take a universe from a plain paper.</i></div>
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<i>Well, I made this drawing specially for a project in progress, along with a great comics blog.</i></div>
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<i>Soon, everybody will know it.</i></div>
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P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-55252600744307999542012-08-01T17:10:00.000-07:002012-08-01T17:10:10.616-07:00O Meu Caderno de Bolso<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="hasCaption">Tattoo Art (Salvador - BA). </span><span class="hasCaption">Estava fazendo hora, sentado no sofá (esperando Laila e Raiza, fazendo uma tattoo nova). <br /> </span></div>
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<span class="hasCaption">Fui diretamente influenciado pela atmosfera dos trabalhos de JP repletos de dragões, e resolvi esboçar o meu. <br /> </span></div>
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<span class="hasCaption">Parti do movimento dos dois chifres tradicional inspirado no que JP
riscava na pele de um cara, era algo parecido com dois chifres saídos da
nuca. Bom, adicionei meu toque sombrio e pus no papel meu próprio
dragão. Aí está. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHY_k989LgZ_qwwB0RPy8xMADt_h2-gJb_z5g1kc04eaPOrC6f1CXRSq0AajDfI6URANVDYKRBJke8F-OcjQbSpxs25fXG06dsTfKkL-T8-vqhOY9cAbfP72Rjumos7fWeorLs0LFCz0A/s1600/213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHY_k989LgZ_qwwB0RPy8xMADt_h2-gJb_z5g1kc04eaPOrC6f1CXRSq0AajDfI6URANVDYKRBJke8F-OcjQbSpxs25fXG06dsTfKkL-T8-vqhOY9cAbfP72Rjumos7fWeorLs0LFCz0A/s400/213.jpg" width="291" /> </a></div>
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<span class="hasCaption"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Caderno de rascunhos A5 tilibra (deve ser papel pólen, só Deus sabe rs) </span></span></div>
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<span class="hasCaption"><span style="font-size: x-small;">e caneta nanquim 02.</span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT-kwSOO6AkDcxf1baTswhmI-_PI0fHg8qybNHtQ8jg_k_2nfd2NIcwbnx96wPxi6bpCOXffIYPMRWkViZz8808se7CHd2y5UIgL3csYhdXcVuHRONFbTI-ORoQE24a8ryTxU7DX4_OAQ/s1600/SAM_2841.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT-kwSOO6AkDcxf1baTswhmI-_PI0fHg8qybNHtQ8jg_k_2nfd2NIcwbnx96wPxi6bpCOXffIYPMRWkViZz8808se7CHd2y5UIgL3csYhdXcVuHRONFbTI-ORoQE24a8ryTxU7DX4_OAQ/s400/SAM_2841.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Mesmo processo. Ainda no mesmo dia comecei esse. Adicionei aquarela</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY7IM3hHP8y9MdebieJIozoZTWzcQUieXgcpfA4kIFdRM4HXNxwLPczfhNSw151ax6w4rZi0CkwiOvRT8ZCTqai3bE6_fC__MwCnNrYWlz8ll2QakZP6KMGfgsb1R-bq-O57xVhRuNjwM/s1600/estudo+ferido+aquarela+e+nanquim+_+PTORINNO+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="385" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY7IM3hHP8y9MdebieJIozoZTWzcQUieXgcpfA4kIFdRM4HXNxwLPczfhNSw151ax6w4rZi0CkwiOvRT8ZCTqai3bE6_fC__MwCnNrYWlz8ll2QakZP6KMGfgsb1R-bq-O57xVhRuNjwM/s400/estudo+ferido+aquarela+e+nanquim+_+PTORINNO+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Mesmo processo</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxRrO3tMryYUcz3L18j8hH8MazqQHBvzpt8kvJtp2T6PeTDASPCM-HsyYmKkD4FxeZ2Bur4kPu5lCTFCRpDLDOmtAlaij74E_ywJe_2JRMdjLNdwqbk1-hF9q1D6lItj-MACPd8QnMmmA/s1600/SAM_2838.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxRrO3tMryYUcz3L18j8hH8MazqQHBvzpt8kvJtp2T6PeTDASPCM-HsyYmKkD4FxeZ2Bur4kPu5lCTFCRpDLDOmtAlaij74E_ywJe_2JRMdjLNdwqbk1-hF9q1D6lItj-MACPd8QnMmmA/s400/SAM_2838.JPG" width="280" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Sim. Eu desenho assim mesmo. Estranho? Já ouví todo tipo de piada, mas não parei. rs. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Mais a frente ,vou fazer um quadrinho explicando a história disso.)</span></div>
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<br /></div>P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-19744257115115414832012-07-03T15:55:00.000-07:002012-07-03T15:55:01.433-07:00Estudo de Rosto de um Orc Cozinheiro<br />
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A intenção era criar um orc
cozinheiro para um teste.</div>
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(para os que estiverem interessados
em saber o que é um orc: <a href="http://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orc">http://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orc</a>
)<br />Fiz um estudo do rosto do mesmo personagem em diferentes fases
de sua vida. Tentei explorar fontes de luz com cores diferentes,
sempre mostrando um pouco de sua personalidade áspera.</div>
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Fiz com nanquim(pincel e caneta) e
corretivo, escaneei e colori no Photoshop.</div>
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Gostei bastante do resultado.
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Breve posto a ilustração dele de
corpo inteiro (em sua fase final como cozinheiro) e também outras
ilustrações no traço.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiraXCVXOXTq2pwJlmUvXpclIkCLQQc9MJGrtSod_RpvGKMfKEFHsdo7QJ_yTnxQYv6KHXKChtXI20wMkBZ5Mm4PnJtM511LZ3az5tvdEa-BmpQNeV5_Bo4wdXdpk17aH7c_qYKmeTp6f8/s1600/orc+coz.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiraXCVXOXTq2pwJlmUvXpclIkCLQQc9MJGrtSod_RpvGKMfKEFHsdo7QJ_yTnxQYv6KHXKChtXI20wMkBZ5Mm4PnJtM511LZ3az5tvdEa-BmpQNeV5_Bo4wdXdpk17aH7c_qYKmeTp6f8/s400/orc+coz.jpg" width="305" /> </a><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Etapa 1: lápis!</span><br /><br /><br /> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_AZtVkZYIcSneYrBRYHVny7G-zVsWfL8CWHolFgbqhgaMDz7ybMY5hDaNVhqpolyLZ8Ne_DcRhta3y713EwGdj8eZwXys4urEEc0Y99Xdyq_jOUEjQh98z4W_phhYmdhrUgDtEdHU3QM/s1600/PIC66C.tmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_AZtVkZYIcSneYrBRYHVny7G-zVsWfL8CWHolFgbqhgaMDz7ybMY5hDaNVhqpolyLZ8Ne_DcRhta3y713EwGdj8eZwXys4urEEc0Y99Xdyq_jOUEjQh98z4W_phhYmdhrUgDtEdHU3QM/s400/PIC66C.tmp.jpg" width="281" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Etapa 2: nanquim. Definitivamente é aí que meu desenho ganha forma</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiraXCVXOXTq2pwJlmUvXpclIkCLQQc9MJGrtSod_RpvGKMfKEFHsdo7QJ_yTnxQYv6KHXKChtXI20wMkBZ5Mm4PnJtM511LZ3az5tvdEa-BmpQNeV5_Bo4wdXdpk17aH7c_qYKmeTp6f8/s1600/orc+coz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt5SlAS_HN-7NhO4kvUC_10pED6oYAjuvwjNNhRXXgAhXtQEe5RzOqRfy70TrWbLOFcVMOalNniR1pxKFNV5-8i6AK1C_tjZwDe47vwOXnvrNInDi8fuf_ZbNgLV9lj5uTy8NJHSutPvQ/s1600/orc_chef_torinno(FINAL+VIS+200+DPI%29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt5SlAS_HN-7NhO4kvUC_10pED6oYAjuvwjNNhRXXgAhXtQEe5RzOqRfy70TrWbLOFcVMOalNniR1pxKFNV5-8i6AK1C_tjZwDe47vwOXnvrNInDi8fuf_ZbNgLV9lj5uTy8NJHSutPvQ/s640/orc_chef_torinno(FINAL+VIS+200+DPI%29.jpg" width="451" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Resultado final com o Photoshop</span></div>
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<br /></div>P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-7855418196479402822012-07-03T15:45:00.000-07:002012-07-03T15:45:19.588-07:00ESTUDO DE ROSP. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-47226259926997663482012-06-12T17:57:00.002-07:002012-06-12T17:57:32.227-07:00Dia dos Namorados (Valentine's Day)<br />
"Em algum lugar, a gente se perdeu..."<br />Onde?<br />
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Meus parabéns para os que amam. Feliz Dia dos Namorados.<br />
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<i>"Somewhere we lost each other..."</i><br />
<i>Where?</i><br />
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<i>My congratulations for those who love. Happy Valentine's Day.</i><br />
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<br /></div>P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-77357495171025398632012-06-10T13:24:00.000-07:002012-06-10T15:21:05.464-07:00MC Verídico<div style="text-align: justify;">
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Desde minha infância na Boca do Rio que conheço<i> </i>Edilton. </div>
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Para ser sincero, ele não sabe, mas era uma das minhas
referências quando pequeno. </div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Queria ser aceito por ele, o irmão dele, Éder, e o meu irmão.
Todos mandavam muito bem na arte.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Juntos formavam um grupo de desenhistas adolescentes,
vizinhos. Eram sonhadores. Para eles Marvel e DC eram o céu. <i>Roger Cruz</i>, <i>Madureira</i>, enfim. Amavam muito quadrinhos (na época em que X-men custava
dois e cinqüenta (se não me engano, rs). Se fechava com meu irmão em seu grupo
de desenho. Talvez fosse minha pouca habilidade, ou até mesmo minha pouca idade
na época (meu irmão é sete anos mais velho que eu), mas não deixavam eu
participar. Rs. </div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Vida louca...</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Amavam quadrinhos:
meu irmão, Éder, e Edilton.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Engraçado lembrar o passado agora...</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Tudo parecia melhor...</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Talvez tenha sido mesmo, né?</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Não. Talvez esse
saudosismo seja o medo do futuro. Medo esse que nos faz recuar para trás, onde
foi tudo estável, seguro,... “leve”. </div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
...</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Bom, muito tempo passou. Muita coisa mudou. Muitos sonhos
foram varridos, lágrimas, experiências, distância, contatos se perderam, enfim,
muita coisa aconteceu mesmo.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hoje virei desenhista.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Meu irmão há tempos largou o quadrinho, trabalha com
programação visual.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Éder, o irmão de Edilton, foi obrigado a abandonar o desenho
quando perdeu a visão por conta da diabetes, pouco antes de partir... o mais
habilidoso dos três desenhistas daquele grupo sonhador... hoje que Deus o
tenha...</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Escrevo isso com olhos em água...</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
...</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
..</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Vida efêmera...</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Talvez de todos, o único que ainda desenhe seja eu... que nem pertencia ao grupo.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
No tempo em que amigos de rua se perderam e se foram, meu
amigo, Edilton se encontrou.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hoje, se tornou o MC Verídico.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Prestes a gravar seu primeiro CD.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
E é sobre a arte dele que vou falar agora.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Bom, <i>Veridico</i> me
perguntou se poderia fazer a arte. Era meu antigo amigo. Amo o rap também. Claro.
Aceitei.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Tive toda liberdade para criar e buscar uma identidade. Seja
na cor, na forma, etc. Pus muito de mim nesse trabalho. Apesar de simples
esteticamente é muito incomum para o cenário do Rap. Espero que essa pequena
inovação funcione. Carrega muito da estética do quadrinho e muito do nosso
passado.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Posso resumir esse trabalho com algumas palavras chaves: <b>rua</b>; <b>cidade </b>(prédios); <b>vítimas </b>(representada por crianças de rua, que sempre serão vítimas sociais, uma vez que desde seu
primeiro passo são passivas do mundo) e <b>reação</b>
(voz, rap, representado pelo megafone).</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> Bom,
vejam as imagens. </span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSitiODUv2P-6nYCJatUUoe1osoyue_xEnzJGeyBhNHneklALJlaGpiyB5dsfKQUH0y8_ig77ifbnP4sQJui_N8J2qGuPxZ9LQU69ij5qz_W4IIb9DBOfn-kQb-wPc7kcvZy2rJ-nxreI/s1600/CD+capa+%28visualiza%C3%A7%C3%A3o+200+dpi%29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSitiODUv2P-6nYCJatUUoe1osoyue_xEnzJGeyBhNHneklALJlaGpiyB5dsfKQUH0y8_ig77ifbnP4sQJui_N8J2qGuPxZ9LQU69ij5qz_W4IIb9DBOfn-kQb-wPc7kcvZy2rJ-nxreI/s400/CD+capa+%28visualiza%C3%A7%C3%A3o+200+dpi%29.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Arte
da capa. A estética noturna reforça o lúdico à medida que estampa </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">o </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">título do álbum
“Vamo Além” na lua. Fica como um foco, um objetivo, </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">ou </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">até mesmo, </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">um convite
para chegar lá. Vamo além? É possível tocar a lua.</span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJSfAHCEvEXVfV7YoeBqrPUGYL_XEdOI8EldjSBEVVn3-jhJq_nc1wfG29PKmZUTXL7FgKio2LNjjOWZ7aed0wMVgvLmwyPvXDr0jCXseulTgQ_bLPtsL5eZo-2SPbQ6wS5r03-rgVfdI/s1600/cd+interno%28300+dpi+VISUALIZACAO%29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJSfAHCEvEXVfV7YoeBqrPUGYL_XEdOI8EldjSBEVVn3-jhJq_nc1wfG29PKmZUTXL7FgKio2LNjjOWZ7aed0wMVgvLmwyPvXDr0jCXseulTgQ_bLPtsL5eZo-2SPbQ6wS5r03-rgVfdI/s400/cd+interno%28300+dpi+VISUALIZACAO%29.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Arte
do miolo da capa do CD. Por trás do prédio em primeiro plano, sai o CD, em forma de lua.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 115%;"><i>(clique para ampliar)</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimnbe0d29eLzBNpUeTwVgk-hzgUQWtD023lbfV6wth8cWnEdIJJXAS3Fs5eVHp9j59MtavotYFajBd_07Xw7eVTkO_cTwMyMwN1z6gXLyx69a8vIcPcD47-e63VQ8o0RsbcmBtsiV5ft8/s1600/Veridico+desenho%28250+dpi+VISUALIZACAO%29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimnbe0d29eLzBNpUeTwVgk-hzgUQWtD023lbfV6wth8cWnEdIJJXAS3Fs5eVHp9j59MtavotYFajBd_07Xw7eVTkO_cTwMyMwN1z6gXLyx69a8vIcPcD47-e63VQ8o0RsbcmBtsiV5ft8/s640/Veridico+desenho%28250+dpi+VISUALIZACAO%29.jpg" width="441" /></a> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Arte do fundo. Verídico, o próprio</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Verídico (links):</b></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/vamoalem" target="_blank">https://www.facebook.com/vamoalem</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://twitter.com/#%21/veridico_ba" target="_blank">https://twitter.com/#!/veridico_ba</a>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><span style="color: blue; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="http://www.myspace.com/vamo">http://www.myspace.com/vamo</a>alem</span></u><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="http://www.orkut.com.br/Main#Profile?uid=4956157763663062814" target="_blank">http://www.orkut.com.br/Main#Profile?uid=4956157763663062814</a>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="http://soundcloud.com/veridico" target="_blank">http://soundcloud.com/veridico</a>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Vendas e beats:</b></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://soundcloud.com/otrobeatz" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;" target="_blank">http://soundcloud.com/otrobeatz</a></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-52353077984255830242012-05-13T17:23:00.000-07:002012-05-13T17:35:04.028-07:00A Enorme Fera de Pedra<br />
<br />
<br />
A lenda refere-se a um gigante nômade que vivia há muito, muito tempo na ilha... <br />
<br />
Provavelmente ele já esculpia no mundo sua história, poucos séculos depois da última erupção do Maunga Terevaka.<br />
<br />
História triste, impulsionada pela fé e saudade.<br />
<br />
Saudade do seu irmão.<br />
<br />
.<br />
<br />
Nas mãos, ferramentas. Nas pedras, bustos e corpos entalhados.<br />
<br />
Suor e determinação. O gigante não parava. Esculpia sem parar a mesma figura com pequenas mudanças. Dia e noite, podia ser visto sozinho entre monolitos enormes, dando forma sempre às mesmas figuras, ao mesmo rosto.<br />
<br />
Loucura?...<br />
<br />
Os nativos sabiam sua história. <br />
<br />
Diziam que ele buscava a forma exata do rosto de seu irmão, que ainda jovem fora devorado por um cão enorme, enquanto dormiam. <br />
<br />
Diziam também que as esculturas repetitivas do gigante eram apenas a sua esperança cega de que, em uma noite de tempestade, sob um relâmpago divino, a estátua ganhasse vida e fizesse companhia a ele.<br />
<br />
Sonhava apenas com um raio... <br />
<br />
Só se ouvia o barulho seco de suas ferramentas nas rochas, mais nada.<br />
<br />
...<br />
..<br />
.<br />
<br />
Em relação à sua mais fascinante criação,<br />
a distinta,<br />
foi justamente em um dos maiores temporais já vistos... <br />
<br />
Era noite. <br />
<br />
Na costa, o mar ameaçava despencar sobre a terra. Água escura, espumas altíssimas flutuavam imponentes no pretume gélido. Aliás, as duas palavras que traduziam a ilha naquela noite eram: frio e medo. Os raios furavam o chão, incandesciam a noite com ira supranatural. Vento, chuva, muita chuva. Era um cenário inóspito em que o movimento grosseiro contrastava com o vazio. Nenhuma criatura viva ousava se exibir em tal cenário. Nenhuma, com exceção do gigante. Revolta. Entre lágrimas e velozes gotas d’água, as mãos duras do gigante tentavam dessa vez libertar da pedra o destemido cão que o aprisionou no isolamento eterno.<br />
<br />
A tristeza em seu peito era mais fria que o vento.<br />
<br />
Vento forte que abafava o barulho de seus golpes no monolito.<br />
<br />
Os raios interrompiam o barulho.<br />
<br />
Trovões e raios.<br />
<br />
Lágrimas.<br />
<br />
Golpes.<br />
<br />
Dentre o barulho da chuva e do relâmpago, um som irrompeu. Foi como se uma rocha do tamanho da lua se chocasse extremamente forte com outra igual. Uma batida alta e grave.<br />
<br />
Um raio.<br />
<br />
O tão esperado raio.<br />
<br />
Silêncio.<br />
...<br />
..<br />
.<br />
Enfim um sopro de vida...<br />
<br />
O gigante olhou para cima,<br />
<br />
<br />
Em poucos instantes teria a paz almejada.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJPtIp3yBHDUr1xGjTDKWSRpsN7MjI5NBcQtrjiTmK-CsBvnHmRzWzNucGFRgoeZKJFcw0-pbMTG9CBmD5_3QlBHjWUcmAlxwCHeEGHTHl0YW_l4ZXrcPUC0CvQqhAieURqcQa4FoccAQ/s1600/MOCATRI_P_Torinno+%28MEDIU+RES+BLOG+FINAL%29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJPtIp3yBHDUr1xGjTDKWSRpsN7MjI5NBcQtrjiTmK-CsBvnHmRzWzNucGFRgoeZKJFcw0-pbMTG9CBmD5_3QlBHjWUcmAlxwCHeEGHTHl0YW_l4ZXrcPUC0CvQqhAieURqcQa4FoccAQ/s400/MOCATRI_P_Torinno+%28MEDIU+RES+BLOG+FINAL%29.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Fiz o esboço pequeno a nanquim, depois colori e ajustei no Photoshop.<br />(ainda dá para ver um pouco do preto da caneta nanquim)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-57912362962600834302012-05-08T15:37:00.000-07:002012-05-08T15:39:31.826-07:00O Fantástico Pé de Feijão (The Fantastic Beanstalk)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYl2YFSsFgx-Lk8-eP8nlYv2C1dwtWrPsSiI2qB_2q2trS_4zVk0aNrc3TAA2LVpyOjmCXJhT4KYnuSuceZF6On-ft8hHHKTQ9CpCo-TyFoULss4u5FuolC5bu2ETIfOCqrxeKxq5h_BE/s1600/O+Fantastico+Pe+de+Feijao+(blog).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYl2YFSsFgx-Lk8-eP8nlYv2C1dwtWrPsSiI2qB_2q2trS_4zVk0aNrc3TAA2LVpyOjmCXJhT4KYnuSuceZF6On-ft8hHHKTQ9CpCo-TyFoULss4u5FuolC5bu2ETIfOCqrxeKxq5h_BE/s640/O+Fantastico+Pe+de+Feijao+(blog).jpg" width="452" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Técnica: nanquim e Photoshop)</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(Technic: ink and Photoshop)</i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span><br />
<br />
<br />
Breve postarei o making of.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Soon I'll be posting the making of</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-41326713695873952902012-05-01T17:11:00.001-07:002012-05-02T13:24:31.952-07:00O Ímpar (The One)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsCxobwSIwmOfs9laYBmFUjGFGUfUgTLqSsGkizPACc5FFnZltJaktU_v9wy2CdmctG3n_zbhTyHbHGIuwqTKOAFIj_vugDYGuYE0QHOjDzW658_e1w3TUX3nvgsVIGNt2DJlId2ehRg/s1600/O+impar+Logo+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="365" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsCxobwSIwmOfs9laYBmFUjGFGUfUgTLqSsGkizPACc5FFnZltJaktU_v9wy2CdmctG3n_zbhTyHbHGIuwqTKOAFIj_vugDYGuYE0QHOjDzW658_e1w3TUX3nvgsVIGNt2DJlId2ehRg/s400/O+impar+Logo+copy.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Ela se foi. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Só depois o herói conseguiu enxergar as coisas como
realmente eram...</div>
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<br /></div>
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O silêncio, em sua caverna, serviu para ele como um sermão.
Um sermão que nunca em sua vida dura se preparou para ouvir. Viveu ocupado
demais. Ora protegendo vilas de criaturas diabrescas, ora colhendo flores raras,
em reinos distantes, para sua amada. Construiu nome em batalhas. Honra sobre
sangue e lágrimas. Suas feridas se sobrepunham umas às outras. Não havia tempo
para cicatrização. Os anos voavam em suas viagens. As guerras deformavam seu
corpo. Sua pele virara uma massa dura,
com uma textura asquerosa. Os pelos caíram. Fogo, sal, ferro. Mudava por fora,
para manter por dentro o mesmo objetivo:</div>
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Voltar para casa e presentear sua princesa de olhos azuis
com ouros, joias e as flores mais raras que pudesse encontrar.</div>
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Flores...</div>
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<br /></div>
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Ela tinha um fascínio inexplicável por elas. Pelo menos antigamente...</div>
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...</div>
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<br /></div>
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O amor é ilógico.</div>
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<br /></div>
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O corpo humano tem mecanismos involuntários que reagem, instantaneamente,
afastando-se de qualquer coisa que possa ameaçá-lo. Reage assim quando
submetido a objetos quentes, cortantes, enfim. Ele funciona como uma bússola
perfeita para a sobrevivência. O corpo todo, exceto o coração. Sentimos ciúmes,
sangramos por dentro e, ao invés de nos afastarmos do que machuca, nos
aproximamos mais. Sufocamos e nos sufocamos. Outra prova da ilógica sentimental
está na solidão. Por que, quando estamos agonizando por dentro, nos sentindo
sozinhos, tendemos a nos isolar ainda mais, nos enterrar mais? Não existe nada
dentro de nós que nos aponte uma direção. Muito pelo contrário. </div>
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O coração nos empurra para o caos e a dor sempre.</div>
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Aquele homem, naquela situação, fugia do mundo como um
verdadeiro eremita. Fazia isso como que submetido a um ato involuntário de seu
próprio peito. Queria se isolar. Queria um abraço da noite e somente dela. Não
queria ver ninguém. Uma pena não poder se desvencilhar da pior presença. A mais
acusadora de todas. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Estava encurralado naquela caverna de frente para sua
própria cara. Cara monstruosa e massuda, revelada por uma delicada poça
d’água, iluminada pela luz da lua. </div>
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Mas, o que fizera com ele próprio?...</div>
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Sua carne seca não conseguia jorrar lágrimas. Desejou poder fazer isso. Não conseguiu.</div>
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Da caverna podia olhar para o céu. Fez isso. </div>
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<br /></div>
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No alto, muitas estrelas. Eram como lindos confetes de
diamantes congelados no breu. Distantes e frias. O vento alisava a pele seca e
insensível do homem. Corpo cansado. Desejava muito conseguir dormir.
Infelizmente um dos grandes tormentos do sofredor é a insônia. Já era muito
tarde e ele sabia que o sono não vinha por um motivo, sua alma precisava de um
destino para viajar. Exausto e triste, ainda insistia em não querer outro lugar
que não fosse ao lado de sua amada.</div>
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E onde ela estava?...</div>
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Seu corpo e alma não cansavam de perguntar.</div>
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Olhando para as estrelas, a certeza sádica de que a princesa
vivia em algum lugar sob elas doía no peito. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Se fazia perguntas. Seus olhos distantes enxergavam as
histórias mais cruéis que seus sentimentos amargos conseguiam lhe contar. Todas
estrelando quem outrora fora sua mulher, em um presente longe dele.</div>
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Dor...</div>
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Talvez ela não merecesse as joias... </div>
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Talvez não merecesse as flores... </div>
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Todos os mimos...</div>
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<br /></div>
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Talvez não merecesse os sonhos e a fé do herói...</div>
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<br /></div>
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Os esforços e as guerras... </div>
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Talvez não merecesse nada...</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Nada... </div>
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...</div>
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O que fizera com ele próprio?</div>
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<br /></div>
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Sozinho e bizarro...</div>
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<br /></div>
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Conseguiu chorar. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Antes, seu sangue por ela. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Hoje, uma lágrima por ele mesmo.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Chorou mais, deixando difusa a água da poça.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Só depois o herói conseguiu enxergar as coisas como
realmente eram.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Ela se foi. </div>
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.</div>
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E ponto.</div>
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...</div>
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<br /></div>
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Tentou dormir por horas e horas... </div>
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....</div>
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<br /></div>
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O sono não vinha...</div>
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</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglpW1ibftO7QNLADc5GXrlskNeSw5Xb40bQYJ9Lt3Sl2T2ewf3Au0dVnj2Jt5d6BTh9d_9RRObfmbCqx3IygezaFhVF_pd8qtgrX8w6MY7W4gNAm6TO9xiVb4C4fVAmd6J6pKI7l45CYY/s1600/chave+amanda+-+Paulo+Vitor+medium+res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglpW1ibftO7QNLADc5GXrlskNeSw5Xb40bQYJ9Lt3Sl2T2ewf3Au0dVnj2Jt5d6BTh9d_9RRObfmbCqx3IygezaFhVF_pd8qtgrX8w6MY7W4gNAm6TO9xiVb4C4fVAmd6J6pKI7l45CYY/s640/chave+amanda+-+Paulo+Vitor+medium+res.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<i>(Translation soon)</i><br />
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<i> </i></div>P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-70413727745995922522012-04-20T15:48:00.000-07:002012-04-20T15:48:24.545-07:00Pecado (Sin)Ao contrário do que
costumamos ver em filmes, o Diabo não gargalha, nem nos olha nos
olhos. Ele não nos convence em um discurso torto com palavras ágeis.<br />
<br />
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Não.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
O Diabo nos move em
silêncio, com a indiferença dos que caminham em nossa frente e
nunca ao nosso lado.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Fiz essas duas
ilustrações há um tempo para concorrerem em um Salão. Graficamente,
não gosto muito delas hoje em dia. Quanto ao conteúdo, não pude
evitar as imagens pesadas ao pensar no tema proposto: PECADO. </div>
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<i>On the contrary of what
we are used to see in movies, the devil doesn't laugh, nor looks us
in the eyes. He doesn't persuade us in a crooked speech with agile
words.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>No.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>The devil moves us in
silence, with the indifference of those who walks in front of us,
never by our side.</i></div>
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<i><br />
</i></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>I made these two
ilustrations some time ago to run in a saloon. In the graphic sense,
I don't like them very much nowadays. As to the content, I could't
avoid the heavy images when I thought of the suggested theme: SIN.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGkWuRZxhLeZxswWiyvDM1c7hWqI1vrEVfRIYlvfk8P1zSbh_7BpI_hiApG8P5KJ2h_fyYXJYpO7pwapzi-3hNp7DpOgy1wFWItc03ErUrPX4O0R7Gr7hi3fS-X3BGY-eu5A2SAFoM_mE/s1600/Contrato+Social+-+Paulo+V%C3%ADtor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGkWuRZxhLeZxswWiyvDM1c7hWqI1vrEVfRIYlvfk8P1zSbh_7BpI_hiApG8P5KJ2h_fyYXJYpO7pwapzi-3hNp7DpOgy1wFWItc03ErUrPX4O0R7Gr7hi3fS-X3BGY-eu5A2SAFoM_mE/s400/Contrato+Social+-+Paulo+V%C3%ADtor.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>"Contrato Social"</b>.
Técnica: crayon sobre kraft, nanquim sobre reciclato e jornal e
digital</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(<i><b>“Social Contract”</b>
Technic: crayon over kraft paper, ink over recycled paper, newspaper
and digital painting.</i>)</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTnDZiVJJ88GTz71fzzLgZMvMzxgQssRCz6XW8TUAP6M3ML8Dhk_FvAmT2sYs4tbSDxQ3saMx-OHCs_BAn4X3kgTvvog6pGAnD3Bte9K4AwSLm2v4mP13GDWX0-WPVV3Thiw_BGH2AvP8/s1600/Retroceder+jamais+-+Paulo+V%C3%ADtor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTnDZiVJJ88GTz71fzzLgZMvMzxgQssRCz6XW8TUAP6M3ML8Dhk_FvAmT2sYs4tbSDxQ3saMx-OHCs_BAn4X3kgTvvog6pGAnD3Bte9K4AwSLm2v4mP13GDWX0-WPVV3Thiw_BGH2AvP8/s400/Retroceder+jamais+-+Paulo+V%C3%ADtor.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>"Retroceder
Jamais"</b>. Título inspirado numa música de MV Bill. Técnica
usada: nanquim e colorização digital</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(<i><b>“Never Retreat”.</b>
Title inspired in song by MV Bill.Technic: Ink and digital painting.</i>)</span></div>
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<br />P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-17049039326536946572012-04-05T18:59:00.004-07:002012-04-06T13:33:34.013-07:00No ônibus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfQt8qPg0XwF4r8wGaimZKKTHLYlo6m4Y2hl0oRD6VyolY_MdckLCbMfBEcHeOuw2DZ69St5cAlXE8K9urBy8o2Wu0JVuUdoHQKBbExe9vSj52y0bga-Z6aJgcFpdMS4lBQcibscdvPo/s1600/no+onibus+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Sobre criar....<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfQt8qPg0XwF4r8wGaimZKKTHLYlo6m4Y2hl0oRD6VyolY_MdckLCbMfBEcHeOuw2DZ69St5cAlXE8K9urBy8o2Wu0JVuUdoHQKBbExe9vSj52y0bga-Z6aJgcFpdMS4lBQcibscdvPo/s1600/no+onibus+.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfQt8qPg0XwF4r8wGaimZKKTHLYlo6m4Y2hl0oRD6VyolY_MdckLCbMfBEcHeOuw2DZ69St5cAlXE8K9urBy8o2Wu0JVuUdoHQKBbExe9vSj52y0bga-Z6aJgcFpdMS4lBQcibscdvPo/s400/no+onibus+.jpg" width="400" /></a> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Paredes.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Elas correm e desaparecem com desprendimento invejável.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Queria eu ser tão meu e não pertencer a todas elas.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Daquele banco em movimento deixo exalar toda minha essência para fora da janela.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ela flutua</div><div class="MsoNormal">Expande-se.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Aos poucos vou abraçando toda a cidade</div><div class="MsoNormal">Posso sentir a aspereza dos muros,</div><div class="MsoNormal">O frio e o calor deles</div><div class="MsoNormal">Vejo o mar</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sinto mar.</div><div class="MsoNormal">O salitre preenche cada rua de meus pulmões.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ruas em movimento, enquanto minha saudade se movimenta por todas elas.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Calçadas, casas, casos...</div><div class="MsoNormal">Busco o mar</div><div class="MsoNormal">Não me pertenço mais.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sou as pessoas, </div><div class="MsoNormal">Passos,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sou os apartamentos,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lugares,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Meios ,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Centros,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lados,</div><div class="MsoNormal">O lodo. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Na boca, o sabor da areia</div><div class="MsoNormal">Do picolé</div><div class="MsoNormal">Das crianças pegando jacaré.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Definitivamente não pertenço a mim.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Posso ser tudo.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Trago o mundo para dentro de meu peito </div><div class="MsoNormal">E jorro para fora todo o vento que lambe a casca mundana.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Meu olho é o sol.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ao alcance de minha consciência, tudo pode ser visto.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Em um segundo, milhões de vidas se acendem para mim.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Bilhões de vozes.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Gestos</div><div class="MsoNormal">Jeitos.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Pessoas.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Trilhões de histórias.</div><div class="MsoNormal">O mundo sou eu.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sentado, naquele banco de ônibus</div><div class="MsoNormal">Com um caderninho amarelo apoiado sobre minhas coxas,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Respiro fundo.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Escolho alguém.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Desenho um rosto.<br />
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</div>P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-34866940107831000112012-03-08T16:23:00.009-08:002012-03-08T16:48:37.039-08:00Última Gota (The Last Drop)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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O cartum fala por si...<br />
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<i>The cartoon speaks for itself</i>...<br />
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....P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-59543463294694481862012-03-07T16:03:00.003-08:002012-03-07T16:15:21.686-08:00História em Andamento (Comic Strip in Progress)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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Capa de uma história em quadrinhos em andamento. Na verdade, falta escanear e colorir. Fase do nanquim concluída a muito tempo. Esse é um dos meus trabalhos que mais gosto. Talvez um dos que tenha mais de mim.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Comic Strip in Progress</span></i><br />
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<i>Cover of a comic strip in progress. Actually, it needs to be scanned and colored yet. The ink step was made a long time ago. This is one of my works that I like the most. Maybe one that has the most of me.</i>P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-33273645066221482882012-03-06T06:35:00.002-08:002012-03-06T06:37:04.216-08:00O Boneco – Desenvolvimento (The Doll - Developing)<style type="text/css">
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">Comecei essa ilustração com o costumeiro esboço a lápis. Em seguida, na fase do nanquim, lapidei a formas não evidenciadas no lápis. Apliquei também sombras sólidas. Usei tanto caneta quanto pincel. O legal é que pinceis velhos e acabados proporcionam texturas interessantes. Nunca os dispenso.</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
A próxima etapa foi a aguada de nanquim, respeitando o claro escuro. Depois usei corretivo para acrescentar mais claro e enfatizar as texturas do desenho. Salpiquei corretivo para dar um aspecto desgastado e sujo à composição.</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
Por último, Photoshop.</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
Fim.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</style> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><i>I started this illustration with the old pencil sketch. Then, in the ink step, I built the shapes that were not highlighted in the pencil sketch. I applied solid shadows too. I used the pen and the brush. The nice thing is that the old and damaged brushes end up giving interesting textures. I never put them away.</i></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
<i>The next step was the ink wash, respecting the light and dark. Then I used a liquid corrector to add more light and emphasize the textures from the drawing. I scattered the liquid corrector to give a rough and dirty appearence to the composition.</i></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
<i>And last, the Photoshop.</i></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div>P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-40820177223974670212012-02-27T14:55:00.001-08:002012-02-27T14:56:00.062-08:00Combustível (Fuel)<style type="text/css">
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">A aprovação ou a ânsia por ela , o que chamamos de fé, são grandes combustíveis para QUALQUER pessoa.</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Hoje, pude pegar a edição de número 27 da revista Zupi. Fiquei muito feliz ao ver que saíram 3 ilustrações minhas .</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Para os que acham que não é importante, quero deixar claro que CADA comentário, crítica construtiva ou elogio que recebi ao longo de toda minha vida curta, me fizeram refletir, me animar ou não.</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Acredito que toda pessoa é relativa a todos. Altos são altos por que existem baixos, lentos porque existem rápidos, enfim. Quero agradecer a todos que me ajudaram direta e indiretamente a ser o que sou.<br />
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Cada ponto de luz que se ascende ajuda a me guiar pra onde realmente quero ir.</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>The approval or the longing for it, what we call faith, are great fuels for ANY person.</i></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Today, I could get the edition number 27 of Zupi magazine. I was very happy to see that there were 3 of my illustrations.</i></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>For those who think that this is not important, I want to make clear that EVERY comment, critic or praise that I received during my whole, yet short, life, made me think, cheer me up or not.</i></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>I believe that every person is relative to all. Tall people are tall because there are short people, fast because there is slow, anyways. I want to thank everyone that helped me direct and indirectly to be what I am.</i></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Every dot of light that rises helps to guide me to where I really wanna go.</i></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div>P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-48452065814510425382012-02-21T11:23:00.001-08:002012-02-21T11:31:37.501-08:00Dezenove de Fevereiro de 2012 (February 19th of 2012)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Frebruary 19th of 2012</i></span><br />
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Para muitos, Carnaval. Para mim, dezenove de fevereiro de 2012.<br />
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Técnica: nanquim, corretivo e aquarela sobre opalina dapple.<br />
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<i>For many, Carnaval. For me, February 19th of 2012.</i><br />
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<i>Technic: ink, liquid corrector and watercolor over opalina dapple.</i>P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-7312462606245769942012-02-03T15:07:00.000-08:002012-02-03T15:15:38.810-08:00Picolé<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">História publicada na Tudo Com Farinha - A Saideira, no final de 2011.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Picolé (<i>Popsicle</i>)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Story published on "Tudo com Farinha - A Saideira" in the end of 2011.</span></i> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-71156116120436332622012-01-19T14:52:00.001-08:002012-02-15T12:54:16.142-08:00Igor e Zulmon (Igor and Zulmon)<style type="text/css">
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Lembrei o quão divertidas eram as aulas de arte na escola. Sobretudo desenho livre. </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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. </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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. </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Enfim.</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Toda criação é uma liga de outras criações esfareladas. Quanto menor o grão, mais original.</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Sem pretensões de ser original, só por diversão, o resultado foi esse:</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Igor and Zulmon</i></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><style type="text/css">
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<i>I reminded how fun were the art classes in school. Especially free drawing. </i></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>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.</i></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>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></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>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></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>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.</i></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Anyway.</i></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Every creation is a league of other powdered creations. The smaller the grain, the most original it is.</i></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>With no pretension of being original, only for fun, the result was this:</i></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwmVjnqL73hus7E_fEgm7_AAxdNVTOEJnfKOcdtXo7CEYI_pAYgqors4zkUEDFuuIbkSyBdXcYtm_xXS1zoS9U-CirIN6NH8uJgMIo1J8ET_nDogdFPqIPn0PTfc-XJfmHWeLy-5ErM8I/s1600/Igor_P_Torinno+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwmVjnqL73hus7E_fEgm7_AAxdNVTOEJnfKOcdtXo7CEYI_pAYgqors4zkUEDFuuIbkSyBdXcYtm_xXS1zoS9U-CirIN6NH8uJgMIo1J8ET_nDogdFPqIPn0PTfc-XJfmHWeLy-5ErM8I/s400/Igor_P_Torinno+.jpg" width="288" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">Igor</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1E9U9o71XVFcnkA_rPKYVaWw4T5HL1pFunnA7zHwpkJBbMYIe66l28V-8SqSRKSVMtTNNOEncNVA2KGH7zcfXtdK1AU0a59NHv0UGePo9pXerv9wdNMEcT47wXIXnrGFfOWRaYumn08/s1600/rasc+zoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1E9U9o71XVFcnkA_rPKYVaWw4T5HL1pFunnA7zHwpkJBbMYIe66l28V-8SqSRKSVMtTNNOEncNVA2KGH7zcfXtdK1AU0a59NHv0UGePo9pXerv9wdNMEcT47wXIXnrGFfOWRaYumn08/s400/rasc+zoon.jpg" width="392" /></a> </div><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Daí que surgiram as duas personagens. Sempre gosto de esboçar </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">no meu caderno de rascunho. Desde que comprei esse tenho obsessão </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">por desenhar nele, como quem anseia completar um livro de figurinhas.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(<i>So, the two characters came out. I alwas like to sketch in my sketchbook.</i></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> Since I bought this, I have an obsession for drawing in it, like someone who </i></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>eagers to complete a sticker album.)</i></span></div> <br />
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</div>P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-81307993027275572462012-01-14T14:51:00.000-08:002012-01-17T15:33:54.611-08:00O Boneco (The Doll)<div style="text-align: justify;">Sobre os concursos de desenho que encontramos:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Lição número 1: Evitem participar de concursos que não sejam realmente auditados. Infelizmente muitos jurados acham assinaturas mais interessantes que as ilustrações de fato.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Lição número 2: Nunca participe de concursos com prêmios ridículos.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Lição número 3: nunca participe de concursos que não divulguem com exatidão o cronograma.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Até hoje espero o resultado do concurso que participei com a ilustração abaixo.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Pensei no que seria bizarro envolvendo bonecos...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Parti da idéia de um cenário...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Imaginei um quarto escuro...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Escuro mesmo...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqb9IOK4A17UGcNRLDqhLAZKhRJyBo_s35slrylafqpqYXiUyY-XSWFY8KEKb7wU-49t7O0P6oInOKB5MGyoHmY8cxxYSzW09PfzGTG7sCTHQGnCBi7lQjGp7OyPjuO3XmrxJgwucY9Ps/s1600/O+boneco+blog+cor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqb9IOK4A17UGcNRLDqhLAZKhRJyBo_s35slrylafqpqYXiUyY-XSWFY8KEKb7wU-49t7O0P6oInOKB5MGyoHmY8cxxYSzW09PfzGTG7sCTHQGnCBi7lQjGp7OyPjuO3XmrxJgwucY9Ps/s320/O+boneco+blog+cor.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Não, não podia ser.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
As janelas sempre eram fechadas às noites em sua casa... Tinha de ser o Lessy... </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Tinha de ser...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Sentiu medo. Natural, era uma criança depois de um pesadelo.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Seu sono começava a se despedir.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Seu coração bateu forte.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Silêncio.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Não se moveu.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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.<br />
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.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Sentiu algo tocar de leve teu ombro. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
<i>Meu deus!</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Sentiu de novo...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Algo lhe arranhou.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Não podia mais adiar. Tinha de olhar para trás.<br />
Olhou.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Lessy.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Alívio. Pôde respirar. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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.<br />
Eram 2 horas da manhã! Hora de dormir. O menino apagou as luzes, inclusive a do corredor. <br />
Fechou a janela da sala, que foi esquecida aberta por alguém. Fechou as cortinas, pois tinha medo de olhar através do vidro. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Depois, a caminho do seu quarto, encontrou uma tesoura jogada no chão. Guardou-a numa gaveta. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Foi no banheiro... </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Lavou as mãos...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Depois foi dormir.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXPp222l_qyXEv-bT7X3oKdSKv5byr0iy8JYh26-zjKK3aUWM-vmwbFPAN00ujVX3k9djluOFtWMHpo19MKBJS5ernVxocM-MMOOXQ1dS4Dh7LAE0UoRBVQpFNLzmpFoi_JhaxFOUHd5M/s1600/Boneco+a3+-+Paulo+V%25C3%25ADto+final+low+res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXPp222l_qyXEv-bT7X3oKdSKv5byr0iy8JYh26-zjKK3aUWM-vmwbFPAN00ujVX3k9djluOFtWMHpo19MKBJS5ernVxocM-MMOOXQ1dS4Dh7LAE0UoRBVQpFNLzmpFoi_JhaxFOUHd5M/s640/Boneco+a3+-+Paulo+V%25C3%25ADto+final+low+res.jpg" width="451" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Boneco feito em tons de cinza com nanquim e corretivo, depois colorido e </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">finalizado no Photoshop</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Doll made in gray shades with ink and liquid corrector, then colored and </span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">finalized in Photoshop</span></i>)</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">The Doll </span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;">About the contests that we see around:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Lesson number 1: Avoid joining contests that are not really audited. Unfortunately many judges find the signatures more interesting than the actual illustrations.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Lesson number 2: Never join contests where the prizes are ridiculous.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Lesson number 3: Never join contests that don´t show the exact chronogram.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Until now I wait the result of the contest I participated with the illustration below.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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.<br />
I thought of what would be bizarre involving dolls…</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
I started from the idea of a scenary…</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
I imagined a dark room…</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Really dark...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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…</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
No, it couldn’t be…</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
The windows were always shut at night in his house… had to be Lessy…</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
It had to be…</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
He was scared. Natural, he was a kid after a nightmare.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
His sleepiness was saying goodbye.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
His heart was beating fast.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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…</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
No, it couldn’t be…</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
The windows were always shut at night in his house… had to be Lessy…</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
It had to be…</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
He was scared. Natural, he was a kid after a nightmare.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
His sleepiness was saying goodbye.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
His heart was beating fast.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Silence.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
He didn’t make a move.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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.<br />
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.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
…</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
He felt something gently touching his shoulder.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
<i>My God!</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
He felt again...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Something scratched him.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
He couldn’t hold anymore. He had to look behind.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
He looked.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Lessy.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">... </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Relief. He could breathe.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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.<br />
It was 2 of the morning! Time to sleep. The boy shut the lights, including the one from the hall.<br />
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.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Then, going to his room, he found a scissor tossed on the floor. He put it in a drawer.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Went to the bathroom…</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Washed his hands…</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Then he went to sleep.</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786806878032673384.post-32215545461874805172012-01-05T04:43:00.000-08:002012-01-14T15:00:47.590-08:00O Grande (The Great)<style type="text/css">
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<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Há um tempo escrevia um projeto de livro. Comecei no terceiro ano do colegial. O nome: <i>“Ruggly, o grande”.</i> Atmosfera medieval fantasiosa. Amava isso. Contava a história de um garotinho depressivo e seu amigo gigante, o Ruggly. </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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. </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Escrevo mal. Cheio de erros(fato). Escrevia ainda pior naquela época.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Mas mesmo assim, amava.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Só você,</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">sua vontade</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">e nenhum limite.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i><br />
</i></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">The Great</span></i><br />
<br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><style type="text/css">
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</style> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>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></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>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></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>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></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>I don't write well. Full of mistakes (fact). I used to write worst back then.</i></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>But, even though, I loved it.</i></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>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.</i></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Just you,</i></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>your will, </i></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>and no limits.</i></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>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.</i></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i><br />
</i> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i><br />
</i> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i><br />
</i> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i> </i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyqgEJWkgP2ba3mBQQezn3KbIsV8usPnPQ3I-_AEWJp1sj4mzBmivQ5LQDmxVcB7WS7OHWUFpq4nPWol833c1hq0h2027EdwyB_bLt_6tlDWdyQyuFFPwgPffDCR0v2UeVvLcAlmQkoAI/s1600/Orion+Grotto+e+soldadoss+digita+%2528recente%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyqgEJWkgP2ba3mBQQezn3KbIsV8usPnPQ3I-_AEWJp1sj4mzBmivQ5LQDmxVcB7WS7OHWUFpq4nPWol833c1hq0h2027EdwyB_bLt_6tlDWdyQyuFFPwgPffDCR0v2UeVvLcAlmQkoAI/s640/Orion+Grotto+e+soldadoss+digita+%2528recente%2529.jpg" width="446" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ilustração inacabada (<i>Unfinished illustration</i>)</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr6sGL9u67FT7f3ZgY8Q5Eyz2FTHWB4WqmdAdv0k-XQNlWrhlJxwn6uXQYR5i2JwhWsNGHaJrhslxSWZDxXH9vo-wjyADFyJGB58NOYtCFAZYtwcnPgwqX4TfEnQORZmYdvwf2Uk9leIY/s1600/Orion+Grotto+e+soldadoss+digital%2521+zoom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr6sGL9u67FT7f3ZgY8Q5Eyz2FTHWB4WqmdAdv0k-XQNlWrhlJxwn6uXQYR5i2JwhWsNGHaJrhslxSWZDxXH9vo-wjyADFyJGB58NOYtCFAZYtwcnPgwqX4TfEnQORZmYdvwf2Uk9leIY/s400/Orion+Grotto+e+soldadoss+digital%2521+zoom.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Close-up</span></div>P. Torinnohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08561360957467427346noreply@blogger.com0