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Description
Yet another assignment for Illustration...this time we were told to write a piece about/or taking place in our childhood home (a bit of a difficult proposition for me, there've been quite a few) and then illustrate out written piece according to it's tone (as in, not literally)
Unfortunately I completed the entirety of this 2-week assignment in the space of the night before and morning of the day it was due. It's a shame my favorite class takes place on friday...it just encourages maximum procrastination. Anyways, I'm not totally displeased, I did the linework the night before and all the coloring and writing before the class in the morning. And even if it was rushed, I still feel like this was an important piece for me to do. The book was Martin the Warrior and it was the first. Here's the written portion:

Holland, 1997

The first place I would recognize as home. The first place I would yearn for years later ina time when the word "home" began to become and unclear thing. A young boy with an wakward bowl haircut and an uncomfortable kind of intensity caught in the midst of grades, girls, and the advent of homework; a foreign tongue and strange custom to hold me in awe. New and beautiful complications crowded in on every side to distract and beckon me.
The same young boy walks into Waterstone's British Bookshop in downtown Ansterdam on a sunny Saturday afternoon spinning again and again to take in every shelf and spine, smelling the distinct and overpowering smell of fresh pages unturned. On the second floor a colorful binding beckons. The cover: a mouse, robed against a vivid sunset, tiny sword held aloft, leading the charge with a battle cry as hundreds of beasts rushed past him towards a dark fortification on the horizon (Fortress Marshank, though he did not yet know it).
At home he curls up in his bed and begins a tale of epic vistas and deep sadness. A reality more real than the haze of green and gold streaming through the barred window of his bedroom. A world that colors every edge of each classroom moment with strange creatures calling vengeance from distant ramparts, or huddling together around a fire deep in the forest.
A place to be home again, never having left.

Description
Yet another assignment for Illustration...this time we were told to write a piece about/or taking place in our childhood home (a bit of a difficult proposition for me, there've been quite a few) and then illustrate out written piece according to it's tone (as in, not literally)
Unfortunately I completed the entirety of this 2-week assignment in the space of the night before and morning of the day it was due. It's a shame my favorite class takes place on friday...it just encourages maximum procrastination. Anyways, I'm not totally displeased, I did the linework the night before and all the coloring and writing before the class in the morning. And even if it was rushed, I still feel like this was an important piece for me to do. The book was Martin the Warrior and it was the first. Here's the written portion:

Holland, 1997

The first place I would recognize as home. The first place I would yearn for years later ina time when the word "home" began to become and unclear thing. A young boy with an wakward bowl haircut and an uncomfortable kind of intensity caught in the midst of grades, girls, and the advent of homework; a foreign tongue and strange custom to hold me in awe. New and beautiful complications crowded in on every side to distract and beckon me.
The same young boy walks into Waterstone's British Bookshop in downtown Ansterdam on a sunny Saturday afternoon spinning again and again to take in every shelf and spine, smelling the distinct and overpowering smell of fresh pages unturned. On the second floor a colorful binding beckons. The cover: a mouse, robed against a vivid sunset, tiny sword held aloft, leading the charge with a battle cry as hundreds of beasts rushed past him towards a dark fortification on the horizon (Fortress Marshank, though he did not yet know it).
At home he curls up in his bed and begins a tale of epic vistas and deep sadness. A reality more real than the haze of green and gold streaming through the barred window of his bedroom. A world that colors every edge of each classroom moment with strange creatures calling vengeance from distant ramparts, or huddling together around a fire deep in the forest.
A place to be home again, never having left.