The merciless beauty to whom I am affianced said last night of my blog's title, "that's very seventeen-year-old of you." Mollified I suppose by the hurt look on my face and my flaccid defence ("I thought it sounded good") she appended an apologetically-inflected "it's cute." Better cutely juvenile than uncutely, you might have tried to brace me up by saying (charitably, friend, charitably) -- but her lance of truth has, as it unfailingly does, nullified the imparted creative inertia of my ego-steed, and made again a bruised terrestrial of its rider -- that is, forced a crashing dismount from mine haught horse. I do love the view from my stallion-mule's back, though, and so, I reattain the saddle.
It is undeniable: there is a teen-aged stink to the name. A sort-of art-school-freshman air. To use a culturally depleted term, it's a bit emo. I tell you, I was not unaware of this. However, I let my liking of the phonics of it overrule my awareness that the name floats in a humorous backwater; it lacks sufficient thrust of meaning to carry it through the gate thrown-up by expectations of sarcasm, and lacks sufficient sarcasm to pay that gate's toll and filter through unmolested.
The name must go, and so it shall. But what in its place? I must confess that as I get older, meaning grows increasingly wearisome. Meaningless sensation is my cup of tea, more and more. Here is what I will do: I will find a sound that I like, or a sound that I like to make with my speaking organs, and I will transliterate it, and that will be the new name. Across from me at this moment is a box of 20-Mule-Team Borax. I like Borax immensely. As a word-sound, I mean -- although as a mineral I find little fault in it as well. Borax. Axbore. Redox. Oxene. X is maybe the finest letter in our little Latin alphabet. Maybe something with X. We'll see.
For a full-stop, a meaningless sensation:
|(Photo swiped from Emily C.)|
The aesthetic of digital painting in illustration these days is fairly homogenous. It's differentiable from traditional media most of the time by a kind of slickness, lack of grit, and the way that everything looks like it's under stage lamps, but otherwise it does tend to look like painting. Artificial painting, perhaps, but it certainly doesn't look "computery". That's a good thing, sure -- the greatness in the potential of digital art is that it doesn't have to look like digital art -- but I happen to love digital art that looks digital. More generally, I love when the limitations or nature of any medium are exposed or exploited -- it adds richness and informational depth to a picture beyond what's being conveyed by the artist -- but I particularly like it in digital art.
The nature of digital art is exposed when we see two things: finiteness of information, and computation. By finiteness, I mean evidence of the individual quanta that make-up an image. This is most simply expressed when we see individual pixels, but also when we see copied-and-pasted arrays of pixels, or limited numbers of colours -- anything that makes us say "this information is being expressed within finite parameters, and we can express any part of it within those same parameters". Computation is exposed sometimes by things being "too perfect" -- geometry and gradients and so-on -- and sometimes by things being "too perfectly imperfect" -- glitches and artifacts and weird colour curves and other evidence of manipulation, corruption, etc..
|C33: DEGAS Elite drawing flipped and tweaked and layered in GIMP and Irfanview.|
|C33.1: A macro photo of a tiny pencil scribble smeared and painted into a face with GIMP, then palettized in Irfanview.|