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What is your Drawing Skill Level?All of the images featured in this article come from archives of my own work so not to impose unwanted criticism. The intention of this article is not to categorize artists, but to categorize similarities of different skill levels of representational drawing. Please also note that skill level in representational drawing does not equate to the worth of an artist's creative ability. But skill in representational drawing is very important to have in a lot of art disciplines. It is a skill that takes a lifetime to learn. Skill does not come from talent. Instead, talent affects the perseverance, discipline, and desire of the individual to develop skill.
What is Representational Drawing? Representational drawing is a fancy way of saying trying to re-create something you see in real life on paper (or whatever you are drawing on). When we turn about 10 or 11 years old, or brains begin to develop a different perception of visual space than what we could understand before in the earlier y
CEA Blog: How (And Where) to Report DeviationsThe Galleries here at deviantART.com receive, on average, around a hundred thousand submissions every day- any way you look at it that is a lot of creative works coming in every minute of every day. Among this outpouring of creativity which we call Deviations there are, inevitably, works which could be potential problems and when members of the community find deviations which could be troublesome for one reason or another it is only natural to want to bring them to the attention of the staff here at deviantART.
Because of the various ways that a deviation might be a problem we'll focus on only one specific issue in this blog, that issue being the subject of copyright infringement.
Now we've already tried to explain the ins and outs of copyright in our copyright policy so if you haven't read that particular page yet I'd encourage you to do so now (you agree to obey the rules and restrictions laid out there every time you submit
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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