#Smitt's Art | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wedieunbl00med · 9 months

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•the rogue prince•

an illustration of daemon targaryen portrayed by matt smith in the hbo's show 'house of the dragon'. can't wait to watch the second season!!

⚔️prints⚔️

#artists on tumblr #illustrators on tumblr #digital art #fanart #poster #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd hbo #tv series #hbo series #daemon targaryen #hotd daemon #daemon hotd #matt smitt #malwina gaj

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salientseraph · 1 year

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SOOO UMMMM BOYFRIEND LINEUP!!!!!!!!

#supernatural #spn #castiel #11th doctor #doctor who #connor dbh #dbh art #dbh #detroit become human #connor detroit become human #eleventh doctor #misha #misha collins #matt smitt #bryan dechart

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henryticart · 1 year

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hi guys i sketched some more doctors

#artists on tumblr #clip studio art #doctor who #doctor who fanart #david tennant #matt smitt #jodie whittaker #peter capaldi #christopher eccleston #i think that’s everyone #my art

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creepedfinnart · 6 months

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when it still doesn't end well even in that fantasy where you ARE together

#got the lesbian blues huh #my art #art #drawing #doodle #doodles #ghost club #torriku sotaru #torriku sotaru ghost club #ghost club harper moore #ghost club emily smitt #gc harper #gc emily

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lddarts · 9 months

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Boondocks x Doctor Who

I'm really proud of this one! It's just REALLY COOL!!!!

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ask-the-rose-brigade · 7 months

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Hello! Might I just say you all look very dashing this fine evening.

"Mandisa is not much of a people person anymore..." A mystery voice had chimed through, keeping herself hidden within the shadows. "However, I suppose once you get to know her, she'll be a tad bit kinder..."

(in order of sketches: Silas, Celeste, James, Lacrimosa, Mandisa)

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artmill-danaan · 1 year

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I've been wanting to paint those 2 for a while now, but Real life and a number of Sandman project already ongoing had me waiting.

Hair painted with real silver watercolor paint 😉

#watercolor #house of the dragon #daemon x rhaenyra #rhaenyra #deaemon #dragonstone wedding #traditional art #my art #HotD fanart #rhaenyra targaryen #house targaryen #matt smitt #ema d'Arcy

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dojae-huh · 8 months

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My art loving buddy, Jaehyun-ie. Comrade.

Which reminds me, I always thought of him as looking at Doyoung as a man of art and art. This smitteness with Dorsen and D&G BA. It's so fitting for him to have "the voice of Korea" for a boyfriend. He is like a patron of art, just instead of money he provides moral support and assistance.

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random-blurbs-and-tales · 10 months

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When I was young, I believed that snakes migrated for the winter. No, not believed. Knew. It was a feeling in my tiny bones. When the snow started falling and the ground became too hard and cold for their thin bodies, I imagined them lifting into the warm air (because heat rises, my teacher said so) and soaring somewhere warmer. To the West! No, not the South you silly, birds went South. My snakes soared West, where the tv told me cowboys rode across vast deserts and the beaches were open year-round. The snakes would want to go there, yessir, and why would they ever come back? I loved to imagine myself soaring West with them, when the cold started biting through my woolen socks, and wondered what was so great about the East to draw them back. Maybe they wanted to visit me. I loved them for that. I remember my mom once caught me in my imagining, staring out the kitchen window up at the heavy snowclouds; I told her of the snakes. She shook her head at me. "Silly, snakes don't fly West for the winter," she chuckled. "Then where do they go?" "They bury themselves in the dirt, to stay warm." "How? With what arms??" "Well, how do they fly without wings?" She pushed back her chair and walked off, muttering about silly children with their silly ideas. I remember sitting longer at the table, pondering this new thought. Well, if they couldn't fly without wings, then surely they would slither West! Snakes are fast, yessir, I'd seen them slip away like lightning, even when I tried to be real sneaky quiet trying to snatch a touch of their scales. Yup, surely they were so fast, they simply caught the wind and slither-sailed West. I remember giving a confident nod, before running to see where my mother had gone.

Snow fell, migrations passed, and the snakes gently floated out of my head. They were replaced by pencils, paint, and dragons. A dependable evolution of interests, to be sure. For what are flying snakes but simple dragons? And while my head remained full of creative musings and wild ideas, they were more likely to end up on the paper rather than remaining where they started. To the great ecstasy of my mother. I remember coming home from school once, cradling a precious bundle wrapped in bubble wrap and taped construction paper. You'd think it was a baby, the way I took care, and surely enough I'd named it George. I took George immediately to my mother. "Mother look! Careful now, please unwrap it slowly. I worked really hard on it." The bubble wrap unfolded to reveal a little creature, paint mottled and clay feathers smeared in hot glue, awash in my pride and my love. I remember looking into her face, hoping to find that same love reflected there. She was stone. "Its . . . a dragon," she said flatly, not glancing up. "Yeah . . . isn't he cute?" She was silent. "I carved each and every scale and feather. . . do you like him?" I remember it felt like an hour passed before she finally sat back and sighed. She wouldn't look at me. "All you ever do is dragons. They all look the same, I guess." "What? No-" "Maybe you should try drawing some people? Or I don't know. . . something more grounded. No more fantasy, you know?" "What about that still life last week? That wasn't as fun, bu-" "Yes you could do more of those. Less childish things. You aren't nine." I remember taking George back stiffly, holding him away as if he were radioactive, and retreating to my room. My eyes stung as I sat watching him, willing him to go back to the little creature I loved unconditionally ten minutes ago. Now I only saw the mottled paint. The hot glue. I remember finally stuffing George in the back of a closet. I wonder if he's still there.

So many art classes, so much paint, and exploration into new mediums as I became more confident. It's no surprise animation caught my eye; my drawings and characters, come to life? A chance to tell the stories that filled my head? I was smitten. Others were not. I remember picking the movie on family movie nights, and the battle I would always lose: "I don't want to watch a kid's movie." "Animation is not just for kids, mother. I really think you'll like the story in this one-" "No! I don't want any annoying singing or stupid childish fantasy. We're watching a real movie." She started to pick out a live action. I seethed. I couldn't just let it go. "Mother, you realize that I'll be making those 'childish' movies, right? Are you not going to watch anything I make?" "Don't make childish movies, and I'll watch them." I couldn't. I snapped. "I'll be able to make whatever I want once I move to California. Then you'll never have to see anything of my art again." I remember storming to my room, door slam drowning out any other stupid thing she had to say. I don't believe I heard her watching a movie that night.

The snakes were gone from my head, gone West with my college applications. I wanted fervently to learn in California, the thriving capital of animation; to be mentored by the best and the greatest. To have my stories soar. Then a letter arrived. I remember walking up to my mother, letter in hand. It would prove me to her, it would show her. She was wrong. So I remember being confused when my voice came out shaky. "Mother, I got accepted." "What?" She opened the letter; I saw her eyes freeze on one word. "California?" "Yes, and look," I jabbed the paper, "look at all those scholarships." "But. . . California? That's, so far away." "It's where animation is made, Mom." I was exasperated, but her face. . . I could've sworn there were tears in her eyes. "There's New York. . . you could study in New York?" "No, Mom." I remember her looking back down at the paper again, not really reading, but I imagine trying to steel herself. "That's so far away." I remember a tear suddenly sliding down my cheek, taking me by surprise. I heard her whisper, "My baby's moving so far away." She leaned forward; I caught her. "Not forever, Mom. I'm not a child anymore, you tell me that all the time." "You'll always be my baby. But I'm proud of you." "Really?" I pulled back and look at her, feeling the fire ignite again. "But you don't like my dragons. You think animation is for children." "I'm just trying to push you to be better. I've always loved your art." "That's a dumb way to push people, Mom." But I hugged her closer.

I sit here now, staring out the window of a Boeing 747 and thinking of a different window I used to stare out of. It's ironic, really, how my journey has landed me here. For, as my plane hits cruising altitude among the snowheavy clouds, I start to remember something that I used to believe. No, not really believed. Knew. A dark line, wriggling and stirring up fluffs of thick white cloud, rises outside the window. I press my face to the glass. More lines appear, hundreds, squirming and soaring, rainbows of muddy colors. So thin, you could only see them if you were with them in the clouds.

#writing #creativewriting #creative writing #snakes #journies #animation #art

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feuersturm97 · 3 years

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The first one is from 2020 and the new one same time just today