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(via makingofamovie)

Field notes:

If the lighting is monotone, make it a line-play.  If the the lighting has noticeable variance, make it a light-play.

LΔ

I have fallen completely for Chicago.

pinoytumblr:

eagle4:

overtoned:

Jose Rizal 2008 by tagasanpablo

“hehehe. well, are you interested on reading a comic book series about
Jose Rizal’s Secret Adventures?
you see, he didn’t die in 1898, because he drank Christ’s Blood from the
San Greal…
and also, find out where Rizal got all his ideas…
and how Rizal manipulated Philippine HIstory into what we read in the
books. he’s immortal, don’t you know?
ah, and it’s going to be called the SECRET ADVENTURES OF THE AMAZING
DOCTOR RIZAL, written by your truly, Adam David.”

This is seriously real. I kind of want a copy now~

This is what I’ve always wanted our writers to make.

The below sketches are those of the wonderful Gerard Michel. My own personal little obession for the past few months has been this place, the cozy, skyscraper-engulfed home of urban sketchers’ sketches. As of late, I have began tracking the works of whom I find great inspiration (though, I’ve drooled over just about everyone’s pieces). Intrigued by today’s most recent post, I clicked the name of the artist listed in the tags. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I stashed away one of Michel’s sketches in my internet treasure chest several months ago. Finally, the artist has sprung right out mystery!

Sketches of different artists (note the Van Gogh paper trail) have received my utmost attention in hopes of expanding the development of my own sketches by re-defining what a sketch is, what is sketchable, and ways of sketching.

Modes of recording:

• On-site sketching
• ЛОМО photography (what better way to see Russia than with a Russian eye?)

I am traveling most of this summer— first to the rural country sides of England and Spain to pilgrimage to the Canterbury and Compostela and then to the outskirts of Moscow into the tiny little scientific town of Pushchino, Russia. For the first time, I chose the destination, I planned what I’m going to be doing, I bought the tickets. It’ll just be me waiting at the gate. I’ll know only me on the plane, on the bus, on the train. I’m horridly afraid— not of getting lost or pick pocketed , not of me only going with me— but instead of not absorbing enough, not participating enough, not experiencing enough, not living enough. I refuse to glaze.

With hoards of moleskines and anything that can make marks— pens, conte, the damp undersides of coffee cups— I’ll snugly imbed myself. I’ll relax in the stranger’s arms. I’ll say hello to the little details, coaxing them from their hiding places.