Monks Robes
Feb. 27th, 2013 09:26 am
( sky purple instead... )
I reworked Lewis too from the orginal photo rather than the drawing I did so it fit with Hathaway better.
I really miss having a studio in a shared space. I was very lucky to have generous neighbours who would offer opinions based on their own strenghts and not their egos. One thing I have found with people who spend a lot of time "looking", they are more jarred by what doesn't work in a piece than they are overwhelmed by competition. I guess that is why they need agents to make money. (That is not to say they aren't crazy, a lot of them, myself included I guess.)
I would add another little snippet from the same chapter, so beautiful description follows:
They eat in silence on the deck while the sun ripens to a fat, luscious orange then then melts on the line of the horizon, smearing the deepening blue with confectionery pinks. Cooling, the Pan is silent, too, awaiting the nightwash of wind that sculpts the white sand and erases fotprints.
"Seems to me you'd've gone off God-bothering, after they chuched you out," Lewis says as he puts down his spoon and slouches a little lower on the bench, his fingers laced across his stomach.
"I've never had a quarrel with God."
"What did you quarrel with, then?"
"Certainty."
"Ah, well there's enough of that at Citadel," Lewis observes, just a tinge of acid in it to etch the softening planes of evening. "Don't blame you for going."