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While I'm tearing my hair out over which October art challenge to use this year. I drew some other stuff in the meantime. Warning for a bit of blood
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Edit, fixed the second drawing since it was a bit wonky
 
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I can't stand doing digital art, but my mom peer-pressured me into colorizing a pencil drawing I did so I could give it to some kids who were inspired by a speech I did about art like a week ago. I have it here without the pictures because I'm too lazy to photograph them, also with grammatical errors because nobody had to look at it while I was giving the speech.
A couple days ago, my mom said I should be working on my speech, not drawing chickens. So I decided to do a speech on drawing chickens.

I wasn’t always good at drawing chickens. There were no shortcuts; no special tricks. I didn’t have a special gift for art. Truthfully, I am of average artistic capacity. See? This is something I drew in third grade. Nothing exceptional here. Just a 3rd grader’s art. The only way to become good at art is practice. Natural talent might help you get better faster, but in the end, it is the ones who practice the most hours who become masters. Art is 90 percent practice and 10 percent talent. Hours and hours of practice. These hours of practice have been vital, formative hours where my passion for and understanding of chickens and art grew.

I became interested in chickens in the third grade when I got a book at the library. It was my favorite book in the world. Here it is. Storey’s Guide to Poultry Breeds. Not pretty is it? Even the lamination couldn’t keep it together. Don’t worry, I bought this copy. I’ve got another one at home too, and it’s not so beat up. I saw all the beautiful chickens and just knew I had to raise fancy chickens. I read it over, and over, and over. Right then, I had Easter Eggers. Easter Eggers I planned to show in 4-H. Unfortunately, it turned out that we’d read the wrong ordinance, and you couldn’t keep birds in town. So we gave them to my uncle.

But I decided my 4-H project was going to be poultry, and if I couldn’t have any, I was going to make a poster about the breeds. I vaguely remember having a notebook and filling it with chicken drawings in oil pastel, with Storey’s Guide next to me. I think I did the whole breed alphabet, save X and Z, but I put my best drawings on the poster since it would be hard to fit 24. I can’t remember, but I feel like I got a second for poor craftsmanship. I was disappointed. I thought the drawings were pretty good at the time, but looking back, they were NOT GOOD.

At the time, I also thought that the pictures in Storey’s Guide were all perfect, show quality examples. They had to be, they were gorgeous. Most of them. Some really were show quality, and some came straight from the hatchery. Funnily enough, I never considered my now favorite breed, d’Anvers, because I assumed all of them looked like the picture.

In seventh grade, I started to really work at drawing chickens. Now I had the Standard of Perfection and I figured it would make for a good learning experience. So I had a pencil in my hand and a piece of printer paper under it because I felt like my art was too bad to spoil the sketchbook I’d gotten for Christmas years ago because I “liked art”. I had the Standard to my right and Storey’s Guide to Poultry breeds to my left. And I tried to perfect those flawed hatchery birds. I tried to draw my interpretation of the Standard, the perfect bird. I read the description and put a picture in my mind of how it was supposed to look, then I tried putting this to paper. I learned tail angles. I peeked to the front of the Standard to find what that angle was supposed to look like, and then I drew it. Abstract terms like medium, deep, moderate, full… I could see them in my mind. They were so tangible that I could feel them with my hands. As my understanding of the Standard grew, so did my skill and the pile of pictures on my desk. (Picture)
In seventh grade, my art teacher didn’t love my art that much. My sloppiness annoyed me I considered myself an artist. I had friends online who were far better at drawing than I. I wanted to become as good as them, and I knew that would require practice. Lots of it. I couldn’t just keep piling pages on my desk either. I came to terms with my perfectionism and spoiled the perfect, snowy page of my sketchbook with my art. I learned that failure is growth. I can draw something bad and not be ashamed of it.
I never looked back. I just kept drawing. When 2020 hit, there was definitely a spike. I finished the old one and breezed through much of another in the space of a year.
Here is the latest example of this practice: a Dutch Bantam to my Standard Interpretation.

While I might specialize in chickens, poultry is by no means all that I draw. I’ve become quite good at other subjects as well. But chickens are what started it all. When I drew chickens, I learned that pencils are forgiving. I learned that first line I draw will always be erased. I make loops in the general places where I want things to go. I erase and I redraw, over and over again, then fill in all the details from left to right because I don’t want my right hand to smudge the image. I still use Storey’s Guide to Poultry breeds for a reference if the picture doesn’t suck. In the same way, when you start with a new line of poultry, you work in broad strokes. At first, it’s ugly, it doesn’t seem to match the Standard at all. Major faults crop up everywhere. Then you refine it. The faults to correct are minor and few. Maybe there will always be minuscule things to improve, but nothing is perfect.

Thanks to my unique methods, I visualize the Standard like no one else. The written descriptions create vivid images in my mind. I can see and feel them. Sometimes, I find myself drawing the sweep of the back or the breast of the chicken with my finger in the air. I remember the descriptions better if I’ve drawn them.

Without art, I wouldn’t know chickens. Without chickens, I wouldn’t know art. I’m no wizard. It’s practice and passion that brought me here. If you want to, you can learn too. We’ll close with my latest drawings. These ones aren’t drawn to the Standard of Perfection, just bred to it. I just thought I’d like to share what Mom was complaining about. The result of years of learning and effort.
 
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Amer said:
View attachment 3278689 I can't stand doing digital art, but my mom peer-pressured me into colorizing a pencil drawing I did so I could give it to some kids who were inspired by a speech I did about art like a week ago. I have it here without the pictures because I'm too lazy to photograph them, also with grammatical errors because nobody had to look at it while I was giving the speech.
A couple days ago, my mom said I should be working on my speech, not drawing chickens. So I decided to do a speech on drawing chickens.

I wasn’t always good at drawing chickens. There were no shortcuts; no special tricks. I didn’t have a special gift for art. Truthfully, I am of average artistic capacity. See? This is something I drew in third grade. Nothing exceptional here. Just a 3rd grader’s art. The only way to become good at art is practice. Natural talent might help you get better faster, but in the end, it is the ones who practice the most hours who become masters. Art is 90 percent practice and 10 percent talent. Hours and hours of practice. These hours of practice have been vital, formative hours where my passion for and understanding of chickens and art grew.

I became interested in chickens in the third grade when I got a book at the library. It was my favorite book in the world. Here it is. Storey’s Guide to Poultry Breeds. Not pretty is it? Even the lamination couldn’t keep it together. Don’t worry, I bought this copy. I’ve got another one at home too, and it’s not so beat up. I saw all the beautiful chickens and just knew I had to raise fancy chickens. I read it over, and over, and over. Right then, I had Easter Eggers. Easter Eggers I planned to show in 4-H. Unfortunately, it turned out that we’d read the wrong ordinance, and you couldn’t keep birds in town. So we gave them to my uncle.

But I decided my 4-H project was going to be poultry, and if I couldn’t have any, I was going to make a poster about the breeds. I vaguely remember having a notebook and filling it with chicken drawings in oil pastel, with Storey’s Guide next to me. I think I did the whole breed alphabet, save X and Z, but I put my best drawings on the poster since it would be hard to fit 24. I can’t remember, but I feel like I got a second for poor craftsmanship. I was disappointed. I thought the drawings were pretty good at the time, but looking back, they were NOT GOOD.

At the time, I also thought that the pictures in Storey’s Guide were all perfect, show quality examples. They had to be, they were gorgeous. Most of them. Some really were show quality, and some came straight from the hatchery. Funnily enough, I never considered my now favorite breed, d’Anvers, because I assumed all of them looked like the picture.

In seventh grade, I started to really work at drawing chickens. Now I had the Standard of Perfection and I figured it would make for a good learning experience. So I had a pencil in my hand and a piece of printer paper under it because I felt like my art was too bad to spoil the sketchbook I’d gotten for Christmas years ago because I “liked art”. I had the Standard to my right and Storey’s Guide to Poultry breeds to my left. And I tried to perfect those flawed hatchery birds. I tried to draw my interpretation of the Standard, the perfect bird. I read the description and put a picture in my mind of how it was supposed to look, then I tried putting this to paper. I learned tail angles. I peeked to the front of the Standard to find what that angle was supposed to look like, and then I drew it. Abstract terms like medium, deep, moderate, full… I could see them in my mind. They were so tangible that I could feel them with my hands. As my understanding of the Standard grew, so did my skill and the pile of pictures on my desk. (Picture)
In seventh grade, my art teacher didn’t love my art that much. My sloppiness annoyed me I considered myself an artist. I had friends online who were far better at drawing than I. I wanted to become as good as them, and I knew that would require practice. Lots of it. I couldn’t just keep piling pages on my desk either. I came to terms with my perfectionism and spoiled the perfect, snowy page of my sketchbook with my art. I learned that failure is growth. I can draw something bad and not be ashamed of it.
I never looked back. I just kept drawing. When 2020 hit, there was definitely a spike. I finished the old one and breezed through much of another in the space of a year.
Here is the latest example of this practice: a Dutch Bantam to my Standard Interpretation.

While I might specialize in chickens, poultry is by no means all that I draw. I’ve become quite good at other subjects as well. But chickens are what started it all. When I drew chickens, I learned that pencils are forgiving. I learned that first line I draw will always be erased. I make loops in the general places where I want things to go. I erase and I redraw, over and over again, then fill in all the details from left to right because I don’t want my right hand to smudge the image. I still use Storey’s Guide to Poultry breeds for a reference if the picture doesn’t suck. In the same way, when you start with a new line of poultry, you work in broad strokes. At first, it’s ugly, it doesn’t seem to match the Standard at all. Major faults crop up everywhere. Then you refine it. The faults to correct are minor and few. Maybe there will always be minuscule things to improve, but nothing is perfect.

Thanks to my unique methods, I visualize the Standard like no one else. The written descriptions create vivid images in my mind. I can see and feel them. Sometimes, I find myself drawing the sweep of the back or the breast of the chicken with my finger in the air. I remember the descriptions better if I’ve drawn them.

Without art, I wouldn’t know chickens. Without chickens, I wouldn’t know art. I’m no wizard. It’s practice and passion that brought me here. If you want to, you can learn too. We’ll close with my latest drawings. These ones aren’t drawn to the Standard of Perfection, just bred to it. I just thought I’d like to share what Mom was complaining about. The result of years of learning and effort.
Click to expand...
I love this modern game that you drew!
 
black cat OC I did for an october prompt! his name's Eclipse and he's a chaotic little trickster!

cat.png


and more turtles. side ramble: the fact that i'm into tmnt is so crazy to me; if you'd told me beforehand I would laugh at you. like the concept is just so ridiculous but i am here for it
nyoom.png

Screenshot (19).png

what can I say? I'm a cartoon nerd who loves it when things start out funny and cute and then devolve into a nightmare. literally every show i've watched does this.
 
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