#method in madness

[oopsl]

Brainwashed by While She Sleeps, 2015

[brazenandboned]

Paper

Finally understand stationery and the quality and quantity of paper for a sketch/drawing/idea. Also to be perfectly honest about your stage of drawing.

1. Newsprint:

When you are simply learning how to control your hand for drawing. At this stage your hand is learning arcs and gestures. How to capture the object as a whole. And it also allows you to be as violent and raw as possible since the paper is fairly tenacious.

Aka no one gives a shit at the stage. You can be as raw and unhinged as you like. It’s great for sketching and composing / learning how to compose.

I should be doing more figure and gesture studies. Maybe study light and shade with charcoal. There are some deadly figure studies on Instagram I tell ya. Hans Ulrich Obrist is a legend here.

The picture I captured below is Sunday church at the Senior Secondary School Centre, a youth fellowship in Munirka. More from this hood soon. Last Sunday’s lesson was to ask for forgiveness and to learn to forgive. Transformation happens through forgiveness.

2. Copier :

I realised I should be ideating on Copier. Making graphic lines, making storyboards, rough or fair layouts of typography, fair thumbnails and sketches to larger artworks, and general doodling.

I’ve been wasting a lot of paper off late and for all the veganism and shouting I’ve been doing on behalf of traffic/pedestrian etiquette and the use of gas ( air conditioning and four wheelers included), I’m a big fatty fat hypocrite. Makes me feel conscious (no point in feeling guilt) about how I’d like to compose paper instead of taking the space it allows me for granted. Abusing paper less.

Copier is great for daily sketching, organised documenting, ideating, layouts, and pretty much anything. It may not be great for a 6b but who’s using a 6b right now ffs? Liberating paper. Get the plan on it, draw, make notes and never skip.

See what I did here

All done on copier.

3. Cartridge paper:

Days like these require us to treat our artworks with utmost respect. Sheets are melting and deforestation is taking a toll on the planet. And so the paper so graciously provided by our tender and ancient cousins needs a whole new handle. I am awfully quite callous with my stationery or at least I used to me.

The climate crisis is actually propelling me to be more mindful on paper. Artists can’t do without paper. It’s the only thing that makes our hands work truly well. So I’ve decided to purpose cartridge as a final product for only coloured items and maybe the odd whole, detailed, and well examined sketch. (Don’t know when the fuck that day will be, I get lazy sketching torso down)

So cartridge is only for final fairs and mini works of art.

[lalunalalune]

There is method in my madness.

English professor, Sally J. Delgado.

[strikingtwelves]

Method in Madness - by claraoswelve - Chapter One

- Clara's landed in the hospital when an alien drug takes her in the opposite direction of recovery. The Doctor can't come to her aid, Danny can barely contain his own worry, leaving Clara to cope with her suffering and confusion alone. All she can hope for is someone to come to her rescue before time runs out. -

Characters: 12th Doctor, Clara Oswald, Danny Pink

Rating: T - M (for possible eventual smut)

Chapter: 1/?

Words: 2,128

Warnings: Eventual smut, some dark/intense themes

_________________________________________________________

They wouldn't listen.

Clara's desperation seemed to grow with every struggled breath. She was yet to discover a frustration greater than hearing the same patronizing words playing on an agonizing repeat. The lies. The constant lack of understanding. The occasional She's had a rough day, or sometimes even, We'll come back tomorrow. Get some rest, sweetheart.

But those weren't the words that drove her even madder than what she was already being treated for. No, those words were completely unfazed on her part. Completely ignored. Dismissed. They were unimportant.

What made her wish they would raise her medication dosage wasn't the little comments she received from investigators, nor the sympathetic jabs she received from the occasional daring visitor. It was hearing the same three words. The same, damn three words. Over and over. Many times a day it seemed. The excuse placed upon her state. The explanation. The lie that resulted in her howling in rage, in protest, in her pleading nature for someone to just listen.

"She's mentally unstable."

And there it was. Clara's arguments were ignored. Her weak, hopeless physical attacks frowned upon. Her heart monitor sped up on what felt to be tenfold inside her chest.

Because they wouldn't listen. Nobody would listen to the truth. Her only hope for survival was unable to reach her, trapped in the simplest of facilities. Something that would be acknowledged as child's play to a man of his skill. But not today. And the fact that she didn't know why, or what was happening, only added to her physical and mental pain.

The fact was, Clara was dying.

And if no one would listen, she didn't stand a chance.

________________________________________________________

A few days earlier...

"Oh, don't start with me!"

"You're the one that's starting it with all that complaining! I'm trying to finish it!"

"Just let it go!"

"I told you to get a larger coat, Clara!"

"This is my problem, so why are you even going on?!"

"Because I know you. You'll start whining and crying and begging like you humans always do, and eventually force me to give you my coat."

"I'm not looking for attention, Doctor."

"I find that unlikely."

The banter was never ending. It was always something that drove the two companions into a flurry of raging words directed at one another. From the tiniest spark of anger resulted in what seemed to be a larger argument each time.

"Listen, I'm not even that cold!" What made it worse, what made it even more frustrating, was the noise preventing them from properly scolding each other. The cold, biting wind in their ears only elevated the anger.

"Oh, don't try to act like you're not freezing. It's negative thirteen degrees out here." The Doctor's cheeks were reddened from the icy air, and even he, with his quite amusingly large coat, was considerably cold.

"Well, look at the bright side."

"And what's that?"

"It's positive eight degrees Fahrenheit!" Clara's smirk drove him over the edge.

"It's still the exact same temperature, you pudding brain!"

"I was joking!"

"Yeah." He nodded with a huff and the disbelieving roll of his eyes. "Sure you were."

They walked in silence for several aggravated moments after that. Clara's arms were tucked close against her chest, trying to find some sort of warmth in the faulty, yet fashionable winter coat she'd brought from home. More than once she caught the Doctor's gaze drifting in her direction, only to snap back to focus when she attempted to meet it.

The bickering, at last, came to and end.

At least for the next two minutes.

"I'm not the one that lost the TARDIS." She said with a quirked eyebrow and the twitch of her lips, words coming out in a sing-song sort of mocking tone.

"Shut it." Was the Doctor's short reply. "We didn't lose it, just slightly misplaced it."

"Oh, so its we now, is it? Ha!" Clara went wide eyed. "Earlier it was, 'Oh, I'm a Time Lord. Oh, I don't need to mark or even remember where we put our only way of travel. Roar.'" Her voice was low, imitating his thick Scottish tone, and her brow was tucked in attempt to match his bushiness.

"'Roar.'" He clarified incredulously, tilting his head with an exasperated sigh. "Clara."

She simply shrugged. "You seem like the roaring type."

"Okay." The Doctor ran a thickly gloved hand over his aching face. "You're cranky from the cold. I get it. But just shut up for at least five minutes, and help me find the TARDIS!"

"Me?!" She howled. "I'm cranky?!"

"Clara Oswald, just for once, do as you're told!"

The snow dripping from her eyelashes managed to just barely mask the steaming she felt inside. But finally, for the first time she could remember, she admitted defeat and fell silent.

"Bless the gods." He threw his head back in relief.

"Okay. That's it! You don't get to-" She was silenced by a hand being pressed against her mouth.

"Shush." The Doctor held a finger to his lips, palm shoved against Clara's closed mouth until she thought she may choke on the thickness. She hummed with growing annoyance, pushing the appendage away and scowling deeply, only to have it return along with another hand on the back of her head. "Really." He warned. "Shush."

Her stubborn nature, as always, never faltered, but Clara found herself glancing from side to side with what little mobility her head was allowed. She stilled her irked movements and released the pressure from where she was shoving the Doctor's side. Several moments passed, filled with silence and an odd sort of wary aura in the surroundings, but nothing showed.

She felt it. She felt the gaze on her back that caused her to burn even in the subzero temperatures. The hair sticking up on the back of her neck, the breath on the back of her head, all the signals that screamed, Don't look round.

"False alarm!" The Doctor announced, loudly enough for Clara to jump in surprise the moment his hold on her released. Scowl ever so indignant, she glared at him with the dramatic roll of her eyes, and continued to stomp along his side.

No time seemed to pass at all before the planet's equivalent of a sun began to sink beneath the horizon. The sky was already darkening from its pale blue to a near-blackness. And on top of all that, the temperature was rapidly dropping.

"How much further?" Clara didn't even bother with forcing stubbornness into her tone. She was too tired. Too cold to care.

"How am I supposed to know?" Came the cross reply. "I don't even know where we're going!"

"We've been walking for hours, Doctor." She complained, pausing to relieve some snow from the top of her boot. "Can't we stop for at least a while?"

The Doctor quirked an eyebrow, laughing as he gestured to the solid white landscape. "Stop where?"

Nothing was visible in the mass of nearly knee-high snow. Nothing but hills and piles of white fluff, and the occasional towering glacier placed here and there.

"We're gonna freeze to death out here." She moaned dramatically. "There has to be-" She broke off at the same moment that her forward motion came to a stop. Clara stared straight ahead from her place atop the hill, eyes widened slightly incredulously, and she chuckled. "How about right there?"

Right at the base of a glacier was a perfect hole carved into the ice, looking like it ventured quite deep inside. The edges weren't jagged, nor rough. The entire circumference was smooth as if it were man-made.

"I thought you said this place wasn't inhabited?" She questioned.

The Doctor was already examining the space, running his gloved fingers across the perfectly blue ice, examining every barely existent crack and noting the occasional blemishes. "It's not."

"So, you're saying a perfectly circular cave simply showed up for the hell of it?"

"I'm not saying that at all." He ran the emitter of his screwdriver up and down, side to side, frowning at the readings. "Well, it's certainly not natural, that's for sure."

"Genius." Clara tugged off her gloves and stuffed them deep inside her coat pocket. "Care to join me?"

"Where do you think you're going?" The Doctor pocketed his sonic and crossed his arms.

"Curious about how far inside this thing goes." She explained simply, already venturing deeper into the blackness. "You coming or not?"

"I'm not going, and neither are you." He growled, grabbing the hood of her coat and jerking her back. "I'd rather figure out what the deal is with this thing."

"It's just a cave, Doctor. Not some mysterious force. Nothing dangerous about it."

"That's always what's said right before someone dies in the films."

"What's with you today?" Clara let out a bemused laugh. "I think you're gettin' a bit careless in your old age."

"Being cautious is the opposite of careless!"

"Exactly! You're never cautious, so these things work differently for you." She smacked his shoulder. "For you, this is careless. Come on." She grinned mischievously and poked her tongue out between her teeth. "Let's see what's down there, eh?"

His frown remained, but he was definitely considering. Clara detected a certain vibe coming off of him in the moment, from the way he glanced around every once in a while to his reluctance for either of them to go exploring. Even the slight shift in his feet was alarming her, like he was preparing to speed off. She began to ask why he was so jittery, if there was something he'd like to tell her, but her mouth clamped shut in surprise when she caught the Doctor's eye fixed dreadfully on something behind her. But when she spun around to investigate the mouth of the cave, it was merely a man that she saw

"No troops were sent this way." Was the first phrase he spoke, his tone nonthreatening, but simply curious.

"Hi." Clara offered, taking a step back to stand beside the Doctor, but not out of fear. Out of concern for him alone. When she tilted her head upwards to catch sight of his face, the Doctor's hardened, wary, almost nervous features managed to take her breath away.

"What are you doing here?" The man continued to question. Clara took a moment to examine him the best she could with the distance and the snow still clinging to her lashes that slightly impaired her vision. When she looked closer, he was, in fact, simply a man. Not a single alien or foreign look to him. His skin was dark, amplifying the thin solid-white jumpsuit he was wearing. She was immediately impressed as his obvious immunity to extreme cold. He also held a torch in his grasp, free hand stuffed into his pocket. He was completely relaxed, unwary, and at ease.

"Oh, we're just passing through." She explained simply. Once again, the man didn't make a move, nor did he look in any way threatening.

So why was the Doctor's face so grave? So petrified, matching the tenseness in his muscles that Clara could feel through her comforting grip on his arm.

Even when two men walked up behind the other in the exact same clothing, Clara still felt no intimidation. They seemed peaceful enough. She didn't feel any need to worry.

"Come with us, please." The voice was toneless, almost robotic despite the lack of a metallic buzz. Clara's heart picked up a beat, but she simply nodded in compliance, and admittedly, slight curiosity.

Surely they had nothing to fear from such a peaceful looking bunch? She knew that looks could be deceiving; she wasn't an idiot. But if they intended to harm her and her companion, wouldn't they have done it already?

She and the Doctor weren't restrained, simply beckoned with nothing more than a gesture of the leader's head, indicating that they followed. The Doctor was still frozen to the spot, and Clara had to tug on his arm to get him to walk. She questioned him a few times, but he never replied, just kept his gaze fixed on the ground as they followed the trio back out into the blizzard.

To be continued...

(Also read it here)

[strikingtwelves]

Clara's landed in the hospital when an alien drug takes her in the opposite direction of recovery. The Doctor can't come to her aid, Danny can barely contain his own worry, leaving Clara to cope with her suffering and confusion alone. All she can hope for is someone to come to her rescue before time runs out.

[ascdangerousdreams-blog]

No matter how hard we try, we can't seem to shake off our devilish, Faustian tendencies...

[imprintsforever]

Thr Transcendental Goddess

Method in her madness. Transcendental goddess

The method in her madness She, being she the surer she it was easier;

The light in her darkness She, being she the purer she it was holier;

Being her her soul, her self her core.

She was so much more in her essence, her fragrance that all failed to capture her beauty, her brilliance.

Method in her madness Light in her darkness She is…

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[seldomseendude]

Next up in "Things I like about the internet".