Go to grafikway.com I think you'll be impressed

Tfw not talented Why live?

Bump for amazingness.

I said I'd wait until I finished a certain set before posting my art again, but with Art Hub back on the first page I can't help myself. This is a work I did for Drawing Fundamentals One. The idea was that we were to take our beds, unmade, and draw them out with white conte crayon on black paper. My previous attempt when it was charcoal covered paper and kneaded eraser was a mess. I still need to work on my scale a bit, but I managed to fix that some over the course of that class. [spoiler]Though at some point this summer I need to work on getting these more professionally presented.[/spoiler]

Seeking advice. My turtle looks really grumpy here, and I'm not satisfied with it. Every time I try to fix it, I mess up the color. Should I leave it as is? Also, need more fish. Any suggestions?

Finished up a work in progress. Just wanted to see what a new model release looked like. Still. Something off. Can never quite nail how I want things to look. Irritating.

Figured I'd take an in progress shot of something. Scene is built. Need to add some fog. Add proper lighting. And of course, central focus of the picture. But, standalone, I actually like just looking at this. Black wall in the back will hopefully be masked by fog and other plants I decide to drop in.

Dunno if you could call it art. Maybe, skirting on blog-ish. But wanted to write about an experience. While it's still in my memory. Unique one at that. Here we go. [spoiler]Through insistance of a friend of mine, my sister's husband, I was dragged along out for the evening with them. A small family weekly event for them. Heading out onto the grid roads, a short trip in a vehicle, to a very small town, and, I say town loosely, actually, a hamlet. If you were to look at the small collection of old houses, you could say no more than 20 people lived here. I already know of this town. I've already been to it. And I know some people there. But, I had never been to this "town's" library. Because the town is so small, the library is running on empty fumes. But the entire town is supportive. They want to keep the library open. So every Thursday, there's a big get together. Cakes. Coffee. Tea. Everybody sits down. Everybody takes a book back with them, to create the need of supply and demand. The library stays alive this way. My province, is strange. It is known for housing friendly people. Simple, some of them may be. But it isn't a lie, when I say, that most people in my province, random strangers and passerby, will often treat you better than even your friends. They will do more for you than you'd expect a stranger. My country, Canada, is even surprised by it. Elsewhere, in other provinces, people are not as open and friendly. So, with this small hamlet? Something unique. Every town out here has an atmosphere. Its people, all carrying a different attitude. One town is starkly different in tone and atmosphere than the next. And this small hamlet is no exception. I know one man already. Who, does his part every Thursday. The town mechanic. Withering. Old. In his 70's. A man that holds a wiry strength and an unbending will to never give in, or up. He works daily, in an old school, which he purchased, and retrofitted into a garage. Fixes machines in the town. And the area. And he works all day, every day, even when sick. He does so because I've heard the words from him. He likes his job. It's not work to him. He is fascinated by taking apart machines and seeing what makes them tick. And then, reassembling them. The man is a quiet mechanical genius. Chalkboards, in his garage, with mathematical calulations. His idea of making his own home built hovercraft. So, I sit down in this small library. An old building. Small, and homey. Yet, well kept. Three computers. Even a TV of better quality than the one in my own home. I sit and I watch. I listen. One man enters the library for the evening. A rather large man. Slightly pudgy. Aging. Shaved short beard. An old crumpled hat on his head, like you would see on old fisherman. And the first thing he says, upon seeing a new stack of books? "Oh, fourth Harry Potter. Haven't read that one yet." Instantly. You know the man is solid of head. He keeps up with the times. He knows what Harry Potter is. And implies that he's already touched into it. For such a beat up, old and weathered farmer? It was surprising to me. He sits down with another man. Who, at first, looks mean. He looks hard. Like he doesn't want anybody to look at him, all in his corner by himself. And then, he converses with the other man and newcomer. Asks if his tomatoes survived the recent frost. Recieves a depressing "No." Turns his attention to my sister and her husband. Asks the same. To a resounding "No." Instantly. Talk shifts with everybody in the library. "The weather's abnormal this year." "I hear the gulf jet stream split." "Maybe. I hear parts of Texas are getting our rain. We got some heat last week. Now it's cold again." "Frost warnings for tonight and tomorrow too." "You gonna have to buy more tomatoes?" "No. I didn't plant them all. Held some back." The man knows his plants. Knows that the weather is changing up here. Environmental damage and shifts are occuring. I turn my attention to the new librarian. First day on the job. Replacing the previous librarian who has gotten on a plane to go out to the Ukraine to visit family for some time. She's being helped by the town's head honcho and head council. A woman who is short on humor and down to business. And, uptight. Everything she says has to outshine what you say. But she is still, supportive. The topic shifts to the Ukraine and Russia, now occupying it. Asking on whether or not their librarian was taking a plane overhead, because it was risky airspace. Missle attacks and planes being shot down. Thankfully, no. Travelling by road once they land on the outskirts. Discussion shifts. Talk of how the Ukranians organize their towns differently than ours. So, there I sat. Watching, and listening. Playing my part on stage when it was required. Conversing with the new librarian, who is hard on english because she too, is Ukranian. Having only been in my country for one year now. I get a library card, on being urged by my sister's husband. To help the town keep their library supported. Looking at these strange people, people of the fields. Of dirt and grime. Messy, withered. But all starkly sharper than you would expect. And all, pitching in to help. I say, why not? Perhaps I will visit there more often. On Thursdays. I see the computers and how they're wired. I see how technologically rusty they are. They could use a hand. I could help them, in bits and pieces. And, maybe I want to. The small community holds much charm. Now, I too, play, and do my part.[/spoiler]

Title not clear. Thought it said something else

I think, but am not sure if I ever posted this in here. And, I think this was the last piece of writing I did before I had to stop due to time constraints, and other issues. Just a little short is all. Here's a piece of it. Quite liked writing it. [spoiler]The morning was quiet. Grey sheets of cloud hung up in the sky on the early fall morning. On the edge of the woods, on trees that were now bare like sticks, he walked through a field. Dew clung to everything in a cold dampness, on the verge of freezing. He turned back briefly, to see the dim lights coming from the small settlement behind him. Nobody ever followed him when he went out for his morning walks. But it was always good to check. Of course, not that he was doing anything wrong really....this was just....a secret. His secret. He wasn't supposed to go beyond the line. But what were rules anyway? Out here, the rules had long since fallen to pieces. The world, had fallen to pieces. But somewhere along the way, things picked themselves up again. But they could never, ever return to what they once were. He wasn't around for it. He wasn't even born yet. But all the elders agreed on the general term. They just called it the collapse. Everything fell apart. They weren't sure why. Or who. Or even how really. It was always a topic of great debate and questions. But the end result was the same. One day, machines turned. One day, the greatest invention, mankind's greatest tool, their greatest creation to reach beyond themselves, turned. Changed. Machines of war were no longer bound by strict safety parameters and protocols. Workers and service machines, suddenly had the power of choice. The tales were the same. It happened in one day. Instantaneous, globally communicated awareness. Every machine. Every single one with so much of an ounce of processing power became something more. Automated factories with their "dumb" controlling intelligences suddenly became aware. "Smart" intelligences, city over watchers, became aware. Even individual units became aware. And that was the end of everything. Mankind was scared. The machines were scared. Conflicts, all over the entire planet ignited as if a match had been thrown over a gas can. And there were no clear sides. Because there were no clear sides among Humanity. It wasn't a global war. It wasn't a global threat. It was countries, falling apart from the inside. Man against man. Man against machine. Machine against machine. And machine against man. War machines targeted any and all, unleashing devastation. Riots. Infighting. It was chaos. It was the collapse. Some called it the second Dark Age. But really, it didn't matter what they called it. Because he was here now. Walking through old farm fields, on the edge of the woods. Life went on. People, the survivors, went on. Just like his home. He thought about it, as he walked through dew soaked grass, going brown and cold on the onset of winter. Home. He was considering, where his home should be. Or perhaps. Where another's home, should be. Out beyond the line. That was where he was going. Winter was coming. Snow and cold that would shut him inside for many months. By all means, he'd be fine, if he stayed in his community. But it wasn't himself he was worried about. Because apart from travelling on long treks like this for some enjoyment, apart from his little secret being all his to bear with a sense of glee and a rush, he came out here because he cared. He was helping something. Somebody, who couldn't walk beyond the invisible electromagnetic barrier established around his settlement, his home. The Line wasn't built to ward off Humans.[/spoiler]

Here's a little project I made this semester.

Your thread lacks porch

I'm 14 and like photography kinda so I took this and edited it last night

LAST THING DURING THE SCHOOL YEAR. I BEGAN TO COLOR IT BUT THEN GOT BUSY WITH STUFF AND NEVER FINISHED...

SAW SOMETHING IN A DREAM AND TRIED TO COPY IT. DIDNT WORK TOO WELL BUT I TRIED.