I was wanting to try doing an art piece in the style of the signature spell poster art pieces you create. But I’m not really the best at coming up with a composition for such a thing.
Do you have a process for how you come up with the compositions for them?
oh, awesome! it is an INCREDIBLY enjoyable style to work in; I hope you have fun with it! :D
I'm not great at putting my thought/art process into words, so my apologies if this doesn't make a lot of sense, but I'll try! my first step is always to do a LOT of thumbnails to figure out both the idea and how I want to show it; not trying to do a real sketch or anything, just little doodles to figure out what exactly I'm trying to portray. (I also call these "garbage passes" because they're not meant to be any good, they're just there to throw things out. aha. ha. ...anyway.) I think it's important during that first stage to really focus on the idea and the layout and not to get too bogged down in the actual drawing yet!
I tend to save my final thumbnails, so I'll use 'em as examples (I posted the ones up through episode 5 here if you're interested!) (and, uhhh, spoilers through episode 5 also in this post, hopefully that won't be an issue!)
the main thing I try to think about in composition is balance -- not necessarily in terms of symmetry, but in where each element is placed and how much space it's taking up. remember, empty space is still space! it's also really important to think about the parts that don't have anything in them, as much as the parts that do!
personally, I like to divide things up roughly by both halves and by thirds -- there's a lot more in-depth info out there on why the "rule of thirds" in particular works well visually, but in short, our brains tend to focus on things that are placed closer to imaginary division lines, instead of in the exact center of an image. so even when I'm doing something that is very centered and symmetrical, I try to keep that in mind and generally aim around those for landmarks like faces/eyes (or...where they would be, anyway) and other focal points.
it's not a formula of "the character's face should be in this division of this grid" or anything, more like "our minds like to focus on these areas, let's think about how to use that", if that makes sense! and of course rules are made to be broken, art is lawless anarchy, and so on. but it can be a good starting place for deciding where you want to put things!
(blue - thirds, red - half)
and against the finished versions, because they do usually end up changing a lot (including the empty space of the border):
(...these actually lined up a lot better than I thought they would. :') it makes me look like I do things way more intentionally than I do.)
other stuff I just try to keep in mind is that our eyes like following arcs and paths, which can be a good way to guide the eye:
and frame and control the focus:
honestly, composition is one of those things I feel like I struggle with a lot, so I'm not sure how much of this is helpful or actually makes sense outside of my head. but hopefully it helps a little! it's all just stuff to think about while drawing and not anything hard-and-fast, so don't, like, stress out about making sure things are lining up exactly on the thirds or anything. again, it's more "our brains think these are the dopest parts of the rectangle" than anything else! take advantage of the cool parts of the rectangle!
NOW GO HAVE FUN DRAWING seriously though, it is always super cool that other people like this idea and style enough to want to do it themselves and for other/their own characters! thank you! ❤️❤️❤️
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1. You don't have to answer this (obviously).
2. I'd drop into your DMs with this except we don't know each other outside of me bungling up a comment I made on one of your fics awhile ago and you firmly, but graciously, correcting me (as you should).
But I have to say this. All these anons trying to tell you to "do better" truly need to get off the internet or at least out of your ask box.
I saw the original post and OP had a good point. I even liked it and queued it up to rb. You, Vukovich, added to the conversation in a way that was also a good point; you're not worried and explained why in a way that makes perfect sense to me.
No one NEEDS to do better. We are who we are in this space. Isn't that part of the joy of fandom? To be unapologetically ourselves with all our interests? No one is performing a public service. Most people here are not publicly-known individuals. Fandom can be activism for/against (insert issue here), but it doesn't HAVE to be. Sure, it's great when you find your people, but assuming everyone agrees with everything is a a good way to ruin your experience.
Communities can be concerned about changes, but not every individual contributor has to agree on all points. Yes, even those with controversial takes (that are way more serious than someone not being worried about AI). I'm sure fandom is weaponized for much worse things.
And trying to use shame and guilt is not a usefool method to change behaviors. Furthermore, why are you trying to change an internet stranger's mind? What miserable wheel are you choosing to walking on?
Vuk, I'm sorry for ranting in your ask box. But if you post this: Anons, I'm saying this as kindly as I know how - You are solely responsible for cultivating your own space. If you feel so strongly you need to try to parent/tone police someone else because you think you know better, BLOCK THEM. Protect your energy for the things that are actually worth. I've yet to meet a troll who actually feels good about harassing people.
Welp, this is the only thing on Tumblr this week that made me cry. Anon, I genuinely have no idea who you are, which is probably good for you, because it would be a hell of a hug.
--
</soapbox>
(Dusts off the massive "community organization" section of her CV)
--
If watching this Tumblr drama unfold intimidated you, this section is for you.
You should know that:
1. This was bullying. Let's call it what your school counselor would call it. Bullying.
Punching down? Check. Recruiting others? Check. Repetitive, targeted behavior? Check.
2. The private support I received outnumbered the anon hatemail by roughly 10:1. I heard from people I worked with years ago, and it was so good to catch up. I did not lose any readers, subscribers, or Tumblr followers, at least not looking at the numbers.
3. When talking to the half-dozen or so creators I'm currently collaborating with, I mentioned in passing that they could drop me with no hard feelings. They laughed. No one even considered not working with me in the future.
--
In summary, the fandom is not a "community" any more than people who coexist in an apartment building. Strangers with huge followings on Tumblr are just noisy upstairs neighbors, but if you knock on enough doors, you will find your people.
The folks in this fandom you choose to work with, and who you show your writing to when it's tender and new, those people are your community. There is no trust fall quite like pouring your heart into a gdoc and sharing the link with someone.
When we find those people, we find solid ground. As writers and artists, we become bolder. We become more authentically ourselves. Our stories become so intrinsically us that nothing artificial could ever, ever hope to replace us.
</soapbox>
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In Clays and Creams and Yellow Music is now on ao3
Robin is gay, is the thing. She always has been.
She remembers being very small and watching the way girls skirts twirled around their knees, the way their hair would brush they collarbones and get stuck on their mouths, lips sticky with gloss and— his hair has grown out, is the thing. Since everything. Since it's all been over. He hasn't gotten it cut.
Used to be every three months like clockwork, the minute it would start brushing his shoulders. And she'd asked him once, why he bothered when it looked so nice longer. He'd tensed up, facing away from her, hands still poised above the register. And then his shoulders had dropped, all at once, forced like, and he’d shrugged. Told her he didn't like the feeling of it brushing his shoulders. He hadn't looked her in the for the rest of their shift.
She doesn't think she believed him then, either, but she hadn't known what to say to him about it (years later, in the quiet dark of their apartment, he will tell her about his first hair cut and his father and the way his hair brushing against his shoulder's made him want to cry and how confusing that was because it was from happiness and from fear and sadness and some weird twisted second-hand form of disgust (and she knows if she ever sees Harrington senior again she will absolutely break her fucking hand for the sheer pleasure of popping him one right in his great big nose.))
So, yeah. His hair is getting long, and the longest bits reach past his shoulders, now, and the front pieces are falling just past his chin, with this one extra short bit— lifted by his great big swirling cow’s-lick— tickling his cheek-bone. And he’s stopped swooping it up with too much hairspray, lets it fall soft and wispy around his face instead— and the door opens, bell jiggling, and he smiles at the pretty girl on the other side of the counter. All big and flirty-like, that one that shows off his one crooked incisor and it makes her stomach twist uncomfortably and she feels sick with it. But Steve is talking with his hands now, fingers flying as he explains the plot of whatever movie he’s recommend, and she can see the way the girl tracks them, nose wrinkling, and that makes Robin's stomach twist for a whole other reason, sinking like a rock in her fucking abdomen, tugging at her diaphragm until she can't breathe with it either. Because really, Steve’s picked up a lot of that from her and Eddie, the way he flourishes his hands. But Eddie knows better than to really do it much in public, and he’s created the kind of personae that it wouldn’t matter even if he did but Steve doesn’t have that, and he doesn’t even really know.
But Steve is ringing her up now, and they’re both smiling and the girl is thanking him and—it’s fine, really, it's all fine.
Except that now Robin's looking at his hands too, all cluttered with rings, which he's slowly been collecting for the past month now—two months? All delicate weaved silver and floral motifs, one with a small inset amethyst and one with weaving ivy (from Robin) and another, the only chunky one (one of Eddie’s)— an old signet style ring with a heavy lined moth, weighing down his pinky-finger in tarnished silver. And his nails— they’re painted. A soft pink clear coat you can barely see, except for when it catches the light just right and the florescent bulb shines in arcs across them. He'd had Robin repaint them Saturday night, after the girls had left, from a bright yellow ( his favourite colour) to this ‘so he could still wear it into work’. (When pressed he had simply stated that he'd promised El, and then, in a much quieter hushed kind of voice, that he thought it would be good for Will to have some positive roll models.) They're well cared for, Robin knows, and by turns soft and rough—slightly callused from years of sports and swinging his dumb bat at dumb terrifying monsters, but he has this whole drawer full of fancy creams and she knows that he trims his cuticles, files his nails until they are a perfectly shaped oval—
“-obin" Steve is looking at her now, head tilted to the side with that soft exasperated Robin-smile he saves just for her. "Robs?" he says again, and he laughs softly when she just blinks at him, it makes something in her stomach clench painfully. She feels sick. Is she sick? She wonders if this is all some sort of fever induced hallucination and— Steve is looking worried now, stepping closer with that little furrow between his brows, one hand lifted like he's thinking about pressing it to her forehead to check her temperature and— is he wearing lip gloss what the fuck? But— no. Steve is not allowed to look worried.
He's worried so often— about her and the kids and Eddie and even Nance and Jonathan, and there's absolutely no need for him to be looking like that right now, not about whatever is happening inside Robin's head because its nothing. So she laughs and pokes at his forehead, and he swats at her hands, still kind of frowning at her, and she knows he's still worried.
“I'm okay, Stevie, really” she says, and then he goes a little pink, the way he always does when she calls him that, fond and pleased, and he squeezes her hand tightly between his.
"You looked a little warm, are you sure?" and she doesn't stop him from pressing the back of his hand to her cheek, forehead, neck until he's satisfied. He smells like the lavender he puts on his temples before bed and like something else sweet and musky and floral. Fuck.
"See?" She says, and squeezes his other hand where they're still clasped by their sides. “All good."
He hums, still looking her over. "Alight, but let me know if that changes okay? We’re closing early to day to help out at the middle school, so I can always drive you home and then come back to finish closing up on my own.” And then he's back to work again, squinting at the computer screen and typing with his painfully slow two-fingered jabs.
And Robin's gay, is thing. She always has been. She likes women, or at least, she doesn't like men.
But Steve is—
Well. Fuck.
Part 2
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