A Beginning to a Trans-Temporal, Trans-Dimensional, Trans-Spatial Snap-Shot Series;

Illustrated Self-Portraiture Works From Out of The

Hands, Mind, & Eyes,
Of The

Possessor Of His Own Soul.

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This was me, But aged about 4 or 3, In a department store, At the kiosk near the door. . .

2

A Better Effort, But still, not to curt; He drew it again, apace, Still trying to catch the sense of wonder on the face. . .

3

But efforts come to no harm, So as we sit here and see, That which used to be; So maybe the third time’s the charm!

4

Mind you, then the silly little pup Made a concerted effort to speed up! This is the only real work to despise, Because it didn’t take a prize!

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Now sometimes the perception changes; A little bit of colour, and everything quickly re-arranges, Instead of dense built shadows, a suggestions all we need;
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Because when the images change to colour, the discrimination doesn’t pay heed!

That attentive face never lost its questioning gaze. Not even when the whirl of his thoughts had him lost in a daze! But all that earnestness and time spent at school; Could be equally balanced with Playing-The-Fool.
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If there’s a fork on a chair; don’t sit on a prong, If you’re trying too hard, then you’ll only go wrong! The slant of his face really isn’t too hot,
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And also a large chunk of the perspective is shot!

Sometimes when things work well, You know that this boy; Will try using differing media,
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And new skills bring new joys.

Sometimes different times and different lights can reveal, An image that presents us with a very different feel. This one was done in the dead of the night,
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With a dark room, a mirror, and a Hurricane Light.

This one was also drawn in minimal light, But this time in pencil; but still late at night. The small bedside lamp, which was dim, was still able to throw
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Some nice little reflections, and a lovely warm glow.

And then, one of my favourites, a good profile sketch; Patrick Woodroffe’s head as an Octopus was the idea from fetch. I like the spirals and tiger stripes on the shell on his back – And just look! He’s smoked so long he’s put in a chimney stack!

There’s always room for another tiddler, He isn’t the smallest; but only the middler.
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The thing that makes me chuckle, as I sit on the bed; Is the idea of a metal pipe and button-wheeled, fart-powered jet-sled!

And though you might think it queer I’m not only sat here for spirits, mead and beer; And on the Love of my dear Mother, I thought I’d draw another.

And because I thought them fun, I wanted to do another one; There’s nothing too unholy,
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About a snail toking on a rolly!

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And when I began to write fantasy books; I wondered how on earth I would look, With the fittings, features, and fixtures Needed to put ME into my own imagined pictures.

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Whereas the black-and-white one was a figure, This one feels altogether lighter; The darkness envelops like a spider, While this figure drifts around in his cloak-glider.

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And then, in the heart of December; When it was so cold that no warmth could raise an ember, When the face is a Storm, you know that the lightning Will discharge through the hands, which all rational thoughts will be fighting!

This is the balance of the Three-Dimensional Quabbalistic
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Sephirotic Tree of Life;
And also a road map for how to accurately draw a face, funnily enough!

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Now realise that within this colourised version of the four worlds spreading light and knowledge, there is the same mathematical formula for how to draw a human head. It is called The Paths Of The Radix.

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