Da Saint Art

Blunderblock

2012-09-10T11:11:00.000-07:00

A basic cartoony block-man. I was thinking how I could make something really simple, but try to add some character to it at the same time.

I could imagine Blunderblock being suitable for a children's cartoon or a cartoon-styled advertisement. Either way, I think creating this image helped me develop a bit more in terms of characteristic detail.

Plus, he looks funny!

"Draw" Sketches - Part two

2012-06-20T01:51:00.000-07:00

A few more, keep an eye out for the finished versions!

Magazine Pages - Recharge

2012-06-20T01:45:00.001-07:00

Just a few magazine pages I made. The magazine itself is supposed to be aimed at teenagers, but also focused on technology.

Front Cover

Contents

Double Page Spread

Recharge - Double-Page Spread

2012-06-20T01:36:00.001-07:00

Didn't know if it would be better to post this sideways seeing at it's two pages. Oh well! If you want to read it, you can always click the image for the original size.

Recharge - Contents

2012-06-20T01:32:00.001-07:00

Obviously I made all these articles up, and i'm not any of the people in these photos.

Recharge - Front Page

2012-06-20T01:29:00.000-07:00

I quite like this front page, I even paid for the dominant image!

Site Font

2012-06-20T01:20:00.000-07:00

Something was up with blogger the past few days, and this meant that all the font on this blog changed to some random squiggly rubbish that you couldn't read. Sorry about that!

Now that we're back in buisness, I have a few things I will be posting in quick succession for a change. Someone very nice has taken it upon themself to use one of my images and try and make it look even better for me, and I have a few magazine pages I want to post too.

21A Lowlands - Part Two

2012-06-11T03:35:00.000-07:00

Part One

As much as he enjoyed his sprint for freedom (for you must remember, this was the kind of disturbed man that took pleasure in minor near-death experiences), he soon tired and fell to a slow jog till he reached his looming saviour. As he crawled the final stretch, rasping, Louis reached out and touched his guardian angel’s foot as if it were from heaven itself. As his greasy palm rested on the worn boot, a thin layer of some form of membrane slid away with his desperate hand. Louis scowled and placed his hand on the boot again; only this time to receive more wafer thin sheets of what seemed like dried skin. His hands travelled up the stranger’s leg, until tiny white flakes trickled down upon his head. His hand gripped tighter, this time the flaky skin crackled away and revealed a think trunk of bone.

Well, Louis thought it was a trunk; the closest to describing the strange anomaly would have been a tree. What Louis had once seen as boots revealed to be roots grown from a dark, muscular tissue. As he gazed at the tree, the first thought that came into Louis’ head was:

Bone-sai.

As this was the wittiest thing he had come up with for months, he decided to stick with it. The Bone-sai tree’s trunk was comprised of twisted muscle tendons, dried skin and of course, bone. The three elements gracefully fused in a twisting pattern that twirled towards the sky in a majestic manner, leaving a magnificent yet horrific sight.

Louis turned around and collapsed to his knees once more; before him, stood an entire forest of these trees. The floor itself seemed to pulse as one giant, living organism. Blood ran in putrid, bubbling streams past the trees, where their muscular roots drank greedily. It was then that his other senses began to fall back into place, which left him gagging at the vile odour firstly coming from himself, and then of fresh corpses.

* * * *

Louis looked up at the sky as a dark shadow crept over his vision and a crow the size of a motorcycle swooped past his head, screeching as it ripped at the trunks of bone that shielded Louis from his twisted talons. Louis had been following a vein-like pathway for the forty minutes now; of course, he didn’t know the exact time he had been travelling and to him it felt like hours. He had learnt to savour the brief cool intervals from the giant bird’s shadow. Louis’ clothes were soaked in blood below the waist from wading through the rivers which intersected his path. As he approached another clearing in the forest, the shadows that flickered above Louis grew more frequent. When he looked up he saw a mass swarm of giant crows circling him, a cloud of black shifted and wavered as hundreds of crows glided above him as one, dark entity. They clawed at any other bird that came too close and picked fights over scraps of meat that a few ripped from the trees. Louis quickened his pace, unsure how long the trees would be able to provide a suitable defence against so many foes.

Louis had grown languid; he was fed up with this place. After walking briskly for a few miles he realised that the birds seemed only interested in following him, granting the occasional attempt at attacking him but failing thanks to the unnatural strength of the tree’s branches. He no longer noticed the smell or touch of the blood, sweat and vomit that soaked his legs. He had entered a state of mind where nothing existed but the road of blood. A crow flew too low and clawed against the fleshy trees, the power from the crow’s attack resulted in a tree crashing to the ground and knocking Louis to the ground, leaving him dazed. He roared in fury at the crow, which had now glided off and back into the cloud of black. He cursed the trees, the sky, anything that came to mind that was related to his prison. He bellowed at the top of his voice, straining his vocal chords till they cried reprieve. He stood, breathing heavily as his ears pricked to the silence that had fallen over the forest. A figure strode between the trees across Louis’ vision with unnatural speed. Louis squinted, trying to focus on the shape of what seemed to be another man. From the shadow of a nearby tree, a man stepped forward wearing a worn trench coat and clutching a bottle of cider. Louis’ mouth tightened through no will of his own, his eyes widened as the man raised his bottle and it twisted into an hour glass. He shook the hour glass and sand began to trickle down into its base. The man raised one finger to his lips, then stepped into the dark shadow of an approaching crow and vanished.

Louis’ lips relaxed and with no time to reflect on what had just happened, it seemed as if all the sky demons in hell screamed and swooped down, intending to break past the barrier of trees and rip Louis apart. Louis spurred into action, adrenaline replenishing his energy reserves. Trees came crashing down around him and a crow swooped down and missed his eyes by an inch, clawing his shabby jacket-turban of instead, it had proven useful for fighting off the sun’s glare, but now its usefulness had come to an end. His assailant screeched in frustration when it saw that it had been cheated out of its prey. More and more birds flew down attempting to maim him, but the trees provided sufficient cover whilst he ran along the veined road. Louis looked ahead and saw a clearing opening up in the forest. In one final push, he dashed to the edge of the forest, leaping over fallen trees and ducking from the beaks and talons of the birds above. As he approached the clearing, a crow scraped its talon down the calf of Louis’ left leg; in agonic response, he dived towards his reprieve and soared into warm, gritty sand.

Part Three Coming Soon

21A Lowlands - Part One

2012-06-03T08:48:00.000-07:00

Back

It was a dull autumn’s morning when Louis stepped onto the 21A to Lowlands Street. A thin mist surreptitiously crept across the road as he watched people going about their daily business. When he saw the mist, he shivered and hastily stepped onto the bus which had just arrived. As his foot lifted above the ground, the mist engulfed the bus in a shallow pool of the dullest of silvers, and was swept away as the bus pulled away from the shelter. The forecast that morning had been reported to be bright and sunny all day long, but since when could you trust the weather man?

Louis relished sitting in the bus, during its voyage little mattered to him except for his instinct of self preservation which gripped him like a chain around his chest. This was due to the protesting groans of the gear box as the driver shifted into third gear. Always third, the first and second gears were like the brief calm before a storm; the moment where almost the whole world seems still, then the force of nature unleashes its true power. He would grip the worn railings every time this happened, hanging on for dear life. The world would simply melt away into a melancholic blur as Louis focused on the single task of staying upright; this thrilled him none the less, a computer salesman doesn’t get much excitement in his life.

An elderly man violently spluttered behind him, the stench of alcohol and rain wafted past.

He’s probably homeless.

Immediately after thinking that, Louis scowled at himself and silently apologised to the poor man for his callous assumption. Although Lark Ridge had a large population of tramps (and was well known for it too), Louis thought it was wrong that he should make such immediate assumptions about anybody. He brushed his greasy mid-length hair sideways, and went back to enjoying his bus ride. Soon after, the bus slowed to a painfully loud halt and the man rose from behind Louis and stumbled down the aisle, gold grains of sand caught the light as they trickled from his worn trench coat as he took a deep gulp of cider from the bottle that draped from his loose clutch.

The bus launched off again, rattling and churning as before. It was going to be a long ride to Lowlands Street, and the rhythmic hum of the engine and the clatter of some no-doubtedly important part of the vehicle made Louis drowsy, he soon found himself submerging into the fluid limbo of sleep.

* * * *

Louis’s eyes snapped open to the sound of the bus horn blowing, his eyes frantically scanned for solidity and eventually focused. “End of the line, buddy”, the bus driver said as he swung from his seat and out of the driver’s door. Still dazed, Louis stumbled out of the bus and fell to the ground.

Sand was everywhere; Louis rose from his knees and shielded his eyes from the sun with his arm. He searched for the bus driver, but he was nowhere to be found.

This isn’t Lowlands Street… this isn’t even Lark Ridge… This is a desert!

“Hello?” Louis cried, “Hello? Is anybody there?” there was no reply. Then, as if in response to his cries a familiar groaning of metal and rubber roared behind him. Louis span around only to see the 21A speeding off into the distance possessing irregular speed for a bus in the middle of a desert.

Louis Rennings, computer salesman of Lark Ridge, was alone. He took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around his head like the turbans he had seen in the movies; it didn’t help much, but it made him feel better.

* * * *

Louis marched for what felt to him was probably hours, his entire body was drenched in sweat; exercise wasn’t exactly his favourite pastime. The desert had formed a perfect equilibrium of sand and sky after the dunes had evened out into a flat plain. Now all he could see was a seemingly limitless span of barren land, hosting nothing but searing heat. After wiping the sweat from his eyes, Louis gazed blankly into the distance once more. His heart leapt when he spotted a tall silhouette resting upon the thin line separating gold from blue. For the first time in his life, Louis ran as fast as his little porky legs would carry him; and he relished every stride, for each meant one stride closer to salvation.

Part Two

Short Story - 21A Lowlands

2012-06-03T08:44:00.002-07:00

I know this is classed as a "short" story, but I will be posting it in installments due to it's length on the page. I've always had a number of short stories floating around in limbo in the form of notes and opening pages, but as i've said before, I tend to dabble with a little and then move on.

This is the first short story I ever fully completed to a level that I was satisfied with. It's a horror (although I hope that's not just because you think it's bad!), and hopefully something original.

The one thing i've always disliked about the horror genre is that a lot of it seems to be taken from the same stock storylines. No doubt something similar exists somewhere because it's almost impossible to come up with something that hasn't been done at least once before considering how long the human race has existed.

Either way, I hope it's at least new to you, and that you can enjoy this story knowing that the author hasn't taken inspiration from anything other than his own sick and twisted mind.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three Coming Soon

Part Four Coming Soon

Part Five Coming Soon

Zombie - Dry Run

2012-05-25T03:25:00.000-07:00

My first attempt at resurrecting my fading hobby. I'm still making images, but few make the cut. I'm currently making a 5 minute docufiction on gaming addiction too, so look out for that.

You'll probably see the original sketch for this rotten little guy crop up on my "draw" section when it's up too!

Back

Zombie

2012-05-25T03:24:00.000-07:00

Back

Grim Cheer

2012-05-25T03:23:00.002-07:00

Back

Cold Shoulder

2012-05-25T03:23:00.001-07:00

Back

Rage

2012-05-25T03:23:00.000-07:00

Back

Spark of Excitement

2012-05-25T03:22:00.000-07:00

Back

Hunger

2012-05-25T03:21:00.000-07:00

Back

Crux

2012-05-24T11:46:00.001-07:00

How do I write something meaningful? No one else is going to truly empathise with another’s personal experiences, not unquestionablly. In response to this, I have chosen to throw out something that I don’t expect many to understand, and perhaps most will even view as pointless. To those who write diaries, you must feel that level of deep importance about what you write, that feeling of lifting the weight off your shoulders and pouring yourself into those pages. Yet if someone else was to read it, I doubt they would see it in quite the same way. I myself have never written a diary, and so I find this a somewhat remedying task. This isn’t designed to entertain, nor is it crafted to engage you. This is a moment, captured still, and it’s all about the crux.

I stare at the wall before me; to me, an endless abyss. As I write this, I have just completed a journey by foot. Mournful thoughts began to probe my mind as I walked, and soon I found myself wanting of paper.

No, these thoughts cannot simply be jotted onto a phone as i usually would when such literary inspiration comes to fancy, they are those thoughts that come too quickly to be registered and then typed afterwards; and now as I sit, I mark them equally as important as all my previously planned pieces. As I write this, for the majority of this will be straight from this point of epiphany (other than those few remarks, such as these, that were added upon further reflection), you may not like what you hear. As a matter of fact I doubt you ever will hear this, because the subject of which my wandering mind encroaches upon is the very cause of your absence to partake in that which is written.

I miss you. That’s it. The core and sound truth of what all these rushing incoherent flickers of the past tell me. We lived miles apart – and at times I found that difficult, yes – but your abscense made our frequent visits even more meaningful to me. As I dive into my fondest of memories, I emerge with a single sensory action. The touch of your bare skin against mine. The time we spent simply holding each other in the darkness were the times when I wish the world would stop spinning. How unoriginal a thought, yet true all the same. I feel this creeping death deep within my breast whenever I think of those times.

The times after when we spoke, I began to think things might be able to return to how they used to be. You treated me the same, and I felt as I always did; that you were the easiest person to talk to, and that you out of all others understood me completely and wholly. Why then, did you tell me you just wanted to be friends? After a half-year long silence I broke when confering with a so-called “friend” of yours, why did I think we could slot back together? This hole inside me, the one that you used to fit in, is the same shape as ever. But time has warped your own person, and left me empty inside.

As my thoughts drift back to those of our ease of conversation, I am forced to ask, why? Why did I feel like we as a pair could talk for days without running out of topics whereas with others I simply find myself running through the motions? The thought of the level of investment and risk involved with finding another and slowly etching away that mask we all wear when we first meet is a daunting one. The attempts I make when searching for another serious relationship leave me feeling false. I struggle on, lackluster and powerless in my constant aching desire to run all those miles just to see you again.

How can I keep running? When people ask me if I have “someone special” all I say is that I don’t anymore. No longer, past tense, gone and never again to be replaced in the same way that your innocent smile made my days glow. When they ask, I say “every girl has problems, and each one has a different one”. But what was your problem? You never said. Maybe that was it. Maybe I couldn’t see, being blinded by my adoration of you, or perhaps we simply faded apart and I was left still smiling at your shadow.

At this point I begin to question whether or not I should even continue to compose this. What will it serve other than to cause ridicule from others, or to anger you? But I want to see this through, for the moments we shared together.

One more thought...

This is it. I can feel these last few reflections building up and I don’t want them to slip away. Will I even make it home in time? I want to keep all of this fresh in my mind yet I don’t feel like I can hold it all. Emotional thoughts spill out of memory like a bucket overflowing with too much water.

I love you.

There have been times when people have explained the concept of puppy love to me when i’ve mentioned that I have claimed to be in love twice. I look at other couples and think to myself that they don’t really know what love is either. Are any of these relationships real, or are they all acting as falsley as I felt I did after you? My friends, they describe their relationships in such a way that leaves me wondering if the person they “love” even knows who they really are. And now I stand as a hyprocrite, because I say: I. Love. You. I probably don’t know what true love is either, maybe “true” love doesn't even exist - A fictional creation designed to create a psychological catalyst for our hormones to take over all sense and reasoning – But I do. I felt like I was actually honest with you. You were my best friend all the way through my most difficult times with the first girl I “loved”. You were there when I was messed around by others after too. You knew what kind of person I was when it came to relationships yet you still liked me.

But without you, how can I like myself?

Dedicated to someone who will remain without a name.

"Draw" Sketches - Part One

2012-05-20T08:27:00.000-07:00

Proper images to come!

"Draw" Sketches

2012-05-20T08:16:00.000-07:00

I recently got an app called "Draw" for my Iphone. With this I can doodle whenever I want (although it's not that detailed) and so build a nice little collection of draft images ready to improve later. Remember that these were drawn on a tiny touch screen (and probably on a train for that matter), and there will hopefully be better versions to come!

Part One

Zombies

2012-05-20T08:12:00.000-07:00

Zombies. That's it. I'm sure you know the rest.

Dry Run

Bubbles!

2012-03-08T11:12:00.001-08:00

I will be posting some doodles soon, and this is one of the images I created based on one of them. Because it's been a while since i've posted something, i'll be EXTRA generous and show you the original drawing, followed by the finished picture!

I considered calling it "Tigerfish", but that would just seem stupid. I mean come on, Bubbles is sooo much cooler.

Sketchy City Thunder

2012-02-10T12:33:00.000-08:00

Whilst working on a few other things all at once, I decided to post this image. I watched Seasons 1-3 of Misfits a while ago and I always liked their opening title sequence. So, I thought it'd try a dark cartoony-come-painterly style with my own twist. It's not amazing, but I still like it for it's simplicity.

More to come soon!

The BO Series

2012-02-04T05:09:00.001-08:00

This post is for links to all posts on my BO Series of cartoon-face-whatchamacallits. The idea was to allow simplicity reign, whilst keeping it looking cool and original.

Drafts

Finished

Kit Kat Cravings Ad

2012-02-03T02:06:00.000-08:00

This was a project I did a few weeks ago. It's a 30 second television advert for Kit Kat designed to tickle that funny bone whilst keeping you focused on the product. It's not HD because of the rubbish camera I used, but I feel like the editing is at least decent enough from a technical standpoint.

This video is supposed to be in widescreen, but my Youtube knowledge is severely lacking so it's been squashed. Bear with me.
Now, this may make you want to eat a Kit Kat, so get you shoes on and prepare to run for your closest corner shop...