Table of Contents assignment

Here it is! Felt like it took me forever to get it done, but I think I did a pretty good job. I'll update with what was frustrating and what little tricks I used to get it done later today. Im starving.

Alright! I was surprised how user friendly this program ended up being. I'm sure it's because I wasn't trying to delve into anything too complicated, but it seemed like in everything I was trying to do, the program found a way to work with me. The squares lined up well, and were easy to copy. I wasn't originally happy with the spot that the letters would end up when I placed them in the squares, but without much trouble I was able to find a way to adjust the spot the letters showed up in. Finding the exact copy text was difficult, and I don't think i managed to get the exact one, but I eventually found one that looked similar, and I changed up the width, height, and spacing to match it even closer.

Movie Poster Assignment

This is my poster I've created inspired by the very exciting up and coming third volume of the epic Johnny Tsunami series. Look for it in theaters October 2010.

I'm glad the over all gray/sickly green color theme worked out in this one. I originally wanted to make Grandpa Tsunami tinged green, but I had some difficulty. Luckily, the greenish outer glow coming off of the grayscale Grandpa seemed to create the same effect. The glow has that rough, slimy spread look because I cut out the Grandpa picture a bit sloppily, without completely smooth edges. The surfboard to his right originally had the same sloppy cut, but it wasn't working quite as well; it ended up looking jagged and ugly in a computerized way rather than cool and zombie-like. After some help from the professor I was able to make a relatively quick and easy fix and it worked well.

I wish the text along the bottom could have been made to be a bit easier to read, without making it stand out too much and becoming distracting. I toyed with it for a while, but was unable to come up with anything that was a cool balance between the two.

Over all, I think it was silly success.

Collage Assignment

I spent a good deal of time working on this collage, and I have to say I'm pretty pleased at the way it came out. It's satisfying to look at the color combination of the two larger yellow and blue pictures. Also, the No Beach Out Of Reach really stands out over the two. I believe I put a little bit of a drop shadow on that part, which helped it pop out just that little bit extra. The picture of the man putting up the sign really just helps to translate the picture into text. The words Exclusively Bodyboarding stand out to me, which is, obviously, the theme of the collage. I might have been able to do a little bit better of a job distributing the different pictures across the page, but I think over all it was a success.

Jack Be Nimble

I was walking back to my dorm room last night when my eye was caught by a poster that was offering up seventy-five dollars for a short story writing contest. Seventy-five dollars is not easy to come by, so I wrote something up. The title of the contest was A Modern Day Fairy Tale, and I took that to mean that they wanted a modernized version of a classic fairy tale. Mine goes as follows:

Nimble and Quick

I can’t lift a finger. I’m being suffocated. I want to move, I have the will to move, I have every reason to move, but I cannot move. I cannot lift myself; not even a finger. I’m being suffocated. I have the courage, the speed, the strength to remove myself from this situation; and yet I cannot. Something weighs me down and I cannot see it, cannot shift it, cannot move it. I cannot move myself. I am suffocating. I cannot lift a finger. Not even a toe.

A pulsing, piercing tone penetrates my panicked mind and shocks me out of whatever horrible visions plagued my dreams. I’m shaking, pouring with sweat, but I know this tone, and I know its urgency. With great determination I pull myself up off the tough spring mattress where I’d found my oh-so unsettling slumber and shake off the inkling remains of a bad dream like a dog would shake off cold water. I dress quickly and mechanically- jacket, pants, boots, gloves, helmet. Once my outfit is secured and double checked I proceed to climb nimbly down the smooth metal pole that connects me to the floor below. Awaiting my arrival, and all looking similarly disheveled, are my comrades-in-arms. In a flash of yellow and black we’re off and away, speeding through city blocks and open intersections at an unrelenting pace, our presence being boldly declared by a deafening siren that multiplies and redirects off of the endless rows of imposing glass buildings that pass by in a blur.

I smell smoke; it is sickeningly familiar. A crowd has collected around the building that is our destination. A man in blue informs our chief that there are a few people still assumed to be inside of this building and that the only entrance points have been blocked off by flames. The stability of the upper levels of the building itself is questionable. I stop listening; I already know what must be done, and I know whose hands the task is going to fall into. I am the only member of this team who possesses the uncanny ability to dodge these flames, and I wouldn’t expect them to risk their lives even if they did. I have the will, and this seems to be the sort of thing I was born for. Without hesitation I drop my face-shield and begin at a brisk pace towards the building’s entrance. My breathing is slow and even. I am concentrated, focused. I break stride only briefly to grip the shoulder of one of the comrades who is particularly close to me. I can see in his eyes that he is apprehensive, though he tries not to show it. It always shows in the eyes. By the look of the inferno ravaging the building in front of us, my eyes should probably be showing the same thing. Before I break away he leans close to me and speaks a few brief words. I am walking again, and the entrance to the building is fast approaching. I can feel the heat of the fire raging within bouncing off of my protective clothing, and as I duck my head through the partially collapsed building entrance I can still hear my comrade’s soft plea as it floats through my head, “Be quick, Jack.”

I break into a run and deftly leap through the flames that engulf the main hallway. Fire cracks and sizzles menacingly all around me, overwhelming my senses. I cough and readjust my face shield so I am able to see throughout the room. The scene isn’t pretty, with most of the interior of the building already in ruins and that which still stands looking as if it too is about to give in; but, as it always seems to do in these situations, instinct kicks in. My mind slips into a sort of euphoria, and suddenly I know exactly where to step, when to duck, where to dodge, jump, shimmy, and slide. Systematically I make my way through the blazing maze, checking through rooms that haven’t yet collapsed and at the same time staying alert and nimble enough to dodge falling pieces of singed concrete and metal. Most of the rooms I see appear to be deserted or too far gone to sustain any life.

Finally, after what seems like hours of leaping through flames and dodging various other hazards, I kick open the door to a burning office where a large man appears to have passed out, succumbing to the build-up of smoke in the room. He has serious burns on his face and arms, but appears to still be breathing. Despite the fact that the man is probably ten to fifteen pounds heavier than myself, I manage to lift him up (similar to the way a mother would hold a child) and I begin to make our way back to the entrance.

The building shudders as I move and I have no question in my mind that time has already been forgiving enough, and that this structure has no intention of standing for much longer. It is with sheer willpower that I manage to bring us back to the main hallway of the building, and when we arrive I am forced to stop for a second to catch my breath. Ahead of us is the blazing fire that I originally took at a running pace, and beyond that is safety. I been in similar situations before, and I am confident. One last leap. Just a few well timed steps and a jump. Be quick, Jack. Be quick, and be nimble. Just this one last jump.

I make my way towards the blaze with increasing speed. The large man in my arms is almost too much for me to sustain, but I am confident. My footfalls blend together as I pick up speed, and I leap.

Mid way through my jump the toe end of my boot catches on a stray wooden beam jutting out of the fire. I tip off balance and drop the man in my arms, who tumbles towards the entrance, past the harsh grip of the fire. I hit the ground hard and lose my wind. I want to get up because I can feel my feet being engulfed in searing heat, but I cannot move. Something shifted and fell on top of me when my foot struck that beam, and now I cannot move. I cannot see what weighs me down, but I want to lift it, I want to move it. But I cannot move. Smoke is filling my lungs and I am suffocating. I want to move; I’ve had the courage, the speed, the strength to move in situations before this, but now I cannot move. I cannot lift anything. I have the will, I have every reason to move; but I cannot move. I am suffocating. I cannot lift a finger. Not even a toe.

“Jack be nimble,

Jack be quick,

Jack jump over the candlestick.

Jack jumped high,

Jack jumped low,

Jack jumped over and burned his toe.”

Alphabet Soup End

W, U, S, R, Q!

Alphabet Soup Cont.

Letters P, O, M, L, I.

(I  don't know why this text is showing up as a link.  I'm feeling technologically burn out.)

Alphabet Soup

J, F, D, C, B

I wrote the following in my spiral notebook while waiting in my dorm room for the mail room to open. I had no intention of posting, only of venting some frustrations and letting out a little creativity that was bouncing around inside. After failing a few attempts in my sketch book, I hit the pen and pad. With the end result I decided to kill two birds with one stone. The visual is just something that I felt would fit in and provide proper representation. Try to find a meaning in the writing.. for all I know it's just gibberish. Again, I had no direction or intention, only to write for the sake of writing.



I hit the end of the street and take a left. Left; it seems to be a common ground over which I walk. Left handed, frequent drawings toward left turns, left for dead, etc. I'm not about to attempt to explain what it's about, some times I'm just stressed to put forth some kind of observation of a pattern in my life in hopes of translating it to something I can look at in more of a mathematical sense. Emotions and the normal day to day happenings of a persons life are like a foreign language to me. Things are easier if they can be explained geometrically- hard, concise, unrelenting, irreversible, understandable. Some people live at a pace that shifts so quickly it's difficult to grasp what they represent before they change shape and wiggle away to the pursuit of something new. I need things to be laid out in a way that they can be shaped and arranged, but only in 45 to 90 degree intervals. I want defined corners, crisp edges, and clearly set beginnings and ends. I define myself in a way that isn't generally socially acceptable but I feel it's the only real way to draw a clear line between conscious, sane thought and oblivion. Sometimes I fear that If i let go of the path that I follow I'll float away. Gravity has no precedence over one who has no faith in the free flowing, living, breathing set of rules that everyone bends and morphs to take in and accept as they spawn on a daily basis. I was born with a solid understanding of what I was meant to do, and my views were constructed upon that. There is no need to adapt. My life is a prism, and the only support I need is that which already holds me up. Any excess would simply be an imbalance. I've always found a way to move from point A to point B and even continue on to C before others have even begun to contemplate progression in their ever-changing lives. The problem with this is no matter how quickly I manage to pass up point C I always somehow end up exactly where I started. I have no vent for my frustrations. My thoughts have almost lead me to the end of another street. I have no vent for my frustrations. All I have are my patterns. I hit the end of the street and I take a left.

Alright. A little late, but here's what a I was going for. It's not a perfect example, but looking more specifically at the right and bottom borders of the picture, you can see what I meant when I described the business that I was trying to create. Obviously mine pales in comparison, but there's nothing wrong with a first step in the right(?) direction.

Scratch Assignment (Gone Wrong?)

This is the final outcome of what was supposed to be my scratch project.  After reading through the actual requirements of the assignment (post-piece creation of course) I've discovered that it falls short of the goal in a few ways.  It's unfortunate, but I'm not completely discouraged.  I'm actually quite fond of what I was able to create using the Photoshop tools that I've only just become aware of.  I spent a lot of time in the toolbar playing around with Emboss, Drop Shadow, Outer Glow, etc.  I guess it's a matter of taste, but I actually enjoy how busy and almost jarring the collaboration of everything comes across to the eyes.  It was inspired by the ads that are being featured in today's Surf and Skate magazines.  I'll post an example of what I mean later on today.  

Also, I'll try to work on something that more fits into the requirements of the scratch assignment.  After all, creative expression is one thing, but I've found it's often more valuable credit-wise to stick to the rules.

There's something about this color. This Orange. Those petals.. Are those petals moving? I feel drawn in, I want to curl into the center of this Orange and be swallowed by those shifting petals. They're calling me. But that center. Wait. That center looks menacing. Why is it Black? What are those spots surrounding the Black? Keeping in the Black, keeping out the Orange. The Orange. Why is it keeping out the wonderful Orange? There's something wrong. Are the spots shifting? Chittering? They're menacing, those spots. Why are they keeping out the Orange? I cannot go to the Orange. The spots want me. They want to draw me into the Black, away from that Orange. Beautiful, wonderful Orange. The spots want to keep me away from the Orange. They want to bring me into the Black. Forget it, I know it's a trick. Goodbye Black. Goodbye Orange.