He hasn't had real art supplies in ages. He hasn't wanted to touch them, hasn't wanted to risk finding out that he can't do what he used to do. But he doesn't notice the fact right now that there's no tremor in his hand. He doesn't notice the fact that he's doing something original, even. All he's focused on is the unsettling decay of the houses, the way the open sky (slowly going blue under pastel pencils) seems more like a threat than a nice day. The picture taking shape is quaint, should have a Rockwell quality almost, but...
It doesn't. He does it with the angles. He does it with the way he shades things a little darker than they should be here and there, brighter than they should be other places. It makes the whole scene--complete with the people starting to take shape on the hard-packed dirt road--seem like a manic attempt at normalcy.
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He hasn't had real art supplies in ages. He hasn't wanted to touch them, hasn't wanted to risk finding out that he can't do what he used to do. But he doesn't notice the fact right now that there's no tremor in his hand. He doesn't notice the fact that he's doing something original, even. All he's focused on is the unsettling decay of the houses, the way the open sky (slowly going blue under pastel pencils) seems more like a threat than a nice day. The picture taking shape is quaint, should have a Rockwell quality almost, but...
It doesn't. He does it with the angles. He does it with the way he shades things a little darker than they should be here and there, brighter than they should be other places. It makes the whole scene--complete with the people starting to take shape on the hard-packed dirt road--seem like a manic attempt at normalcy.