Art club Spunk

Art club Spunk The spirit in which a thing is given determines that in which the debt is acknowledged; it's the intention, not the face-value of the gift, that's weighed.

A man carries a heavy backpack through a war-ravaged city. A medic pushes a zombified co**se on a stretcher toward an am...
23/08/2022

A man carries a heavy backpack through a war-ravaged city. A medic pushes a zombified co**se on a stretcher toward an ambulance, as an ominous building with a logo for “Harvest Corp” sits in the background. Then we’re on a bright, vibrantly colored alien world whose surface is a shallow liquid, where an astronaut pulls on a wire dragging a vehicle behind them.

That’s just the first 30 seconds of nearly 11 minutes of strange, beautiful, and imaginative worlds all created based on the same original animation. The video was assembled by Clinton Jones, aka pwnisher, who challenged animators to create their own 3D animated scene based on a bare-bones animation he created. The video rounds up his 100 favorite clips.

The premise behind the challenge is to take the initial animation by Jones and have as many artists as possible re-envision it. Jones’ animation is a side view of a person walking, leaning forward, taking large (slightly theatrical) steps. The ground extends into the background under a large orb (a planet? Giant hot air balloon? Up to you!). From that, artists are challenged to make something original. What is that large orb in the background? What is causing the character to struggle walking forward? Each animation has its own explanation.

Every couple seconds we’re transported to another artist’s take.

ThroughoutThroughout the COVID-19 pandemic, many artists have had their mediums closed off to them. With the limitations...
21/08/2022

ThroughoutThroughout the COVID-19 pandemic, many artists have had their mediums closed off to them. With the limitations set on production teams and the complex logistics of getting back on set, some artists have had to find new ways to express themselves — like Karl Poyzer, a director of photography who took the time during the pandemic to dive into 3D artwork in Blender, with the goal of having fun and doing things his own way. This track would not only allow him to develop a fan base and fresh style but also to start a short film series, Floaters, that won a Vimeo Staff pick due to its amazing visuals, efficient storytelling, and — most importantly — its British humor.

How a director of photography learned to create without physical limits

The Verge is turning 10, and a look back at the last decade’s worth of stories provides not just an encapsulation of wha...
19/08/2022

The Verge is turning 10, and a look back at the last decade’s worth of stories provides not just an encapsulation of what The Verge has covered but also a snapshot of how quickly the tech that informs our lives transforms. And since we’re The Verge, we can’t just look behind us. Celebrating the last 10 years is also about examining what might come next. Micha Huigen is the perfect artist to distill this intersection into a single image because Micha’s images never actually confine themselves to one space. His surreal illustrations function like scenescapes within which we get to explore close-ups of tiny modular worlds and expansive reimagined realities at once. Though he inks and colors digitally, his art maintains an analog quality, filled with halftones that suggest DIY lithography.

The 25 editorial illustrations, each of which represents one feature in our Verge 10 package, link together into a seamless infinite grid, filled with Easter eggs and precise linework that offer something new with each viewing. (We also think it makes a great pattern for any of your home wallpapering needs.)

I spoke with Micha about dropping out of art school, the evolution of his illustration style, and why urban exploring was pivotal to his development as an artist.

This interview has been lightly edited for clarity.

"I really liked the challenge of making such a large number of illustrations and linking them together to make one big image."

When I came home from my freshman year of college in March 2020, it was as if I had never experienced spring in Seattle ...
17/08/2022

When I came home from my freshman year of college in March 2020, it was as if I had never experienced spring in Seattle before, even though it was the only place I’d ever called home. I watched the orange bellies of robins I had never stopped to notice. I watched the rhododendron outside my window blush before fading to white. But it’s 2022 now, and there is no longer one pandemic spring — there have been three. Was it last year that we spent Mother’s Day on our patio in the sun, eating and reading and laughing? When did we return to the Great Sedro-Woolley Footrace? And the afternoon we found baby rabbits in our window well? Time has jumbled for everyone, and I am lucky for the slowness I have found at times, especially with my family. But it’s equally easy to feel lost in a never-ending timeline of disappointment and uncertainty.

As I sunk into online classes and everything that came with that first pandemic year, social media became both a pit of dread and a place of hope and community. I have 50 followers on Twitter, a mix of friends from high school and college and writers who have, surprisingly, followed me back. For the most part, I don’t use it to tweet. Instead, it’s become a sort of collage of strangers and their projects, which I’ve encountered by chance. Sometimes I open my feed to Parker Higgins’ and the small joy of seeing trains moving through imagined emoji landscapes or to the artists of , like Paul Rickards (), who uses modern code to create vibrant designs with vintage plotters.

The Beach Today teaches patience and reflection

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