#.triston ( gallery )

[hiighhonors]

--  tag drop  !!

[ambiguouspuzuma]

The Kite Artist

There are some coastal towns which are famed amongst tourists for their postcard-perfect views, beloved by families for their sandy beaches and amusement arcades, or renowned by surfers for their fearsome five-foot waves, but the bay around St Triston has always been known for its artists.

Every summer, they flock like gulls to the apartments that cluster in a horseshoe looking out onto the sea, and spend their days soaking in the golden light that rises over the harbour. They travel here from miles away to make their own attempt at capturing that perfect dawn, the way the sunbeams dance across the cresting of each wave, as many famous painters have set out to in the past. In doing so, however, they often find it captures them instead.

That was why they always came back. There were only so many way to capture the idyllic blue-green of a rising swell, the glittering silver of the crashing surf, but each artist felt the need to paint the same landscape again, and again, and again. They tried different materials, watercolour or acrylic, even glass-blowing or sculpture, and styles from a delicate pointillist foam to a fauvist's vivid strokes, but none sufficed to satisfy that appetite.

Their recreations would never be enough. They were entranced by the real thing - enthralled - ensnared, like a herring at the end of the fisherman's line. Some of them might migrate north in the winter months, huddled safely by a fire somewhere inland, and even imagine themselves free. But when summer sang its siren song, they found themselves reeled back down to their second home, to St Triston, summoned to paint its portrait once again.

The town's narrow streets were filled with minor galleries, nestled in the corners between fudge shops and tea parlours, where a visitor might sample any number of differing depictions of the view a few short steps away, able to judge for themselves which attempt best did it justice and then baulk at the price of taking that memento home. It was a common way to pass the time, between light café lunches and long strolls out to the pier.

But Pia preferred to walk along the promenade. The long, sheltered beach that accompanied the esplanade was home to a different breed of artists, those who made their works out of the beach itself. Sand-sculptors, who spent their days buildings castles beyond her own childhood dreams, vast palaces complete with turrets and a curtain wall, and an entire portfolio of other forms besides.

She saw a golden retriever formed from sand alone, its fur lovingly beach-combed into life. A sea turtle mounded into shape, its carapace a mosaic of other shells. An octopus whose tentacles were made to rise and disappear beneath the surface of the beach. Many of them were familiar. Pia's family visited St Triston every summer, and some of the artists were present year-on-year, endlessly creating their temporary art: Sisyphus with a hammer and chisel, or in this case a bucket and spade.

Her favourite used to be the kite-boy. The seafront always bore a healthy breeze, and one artist was out there early every day, flying a kite upon the sands. She was an older woman, wrapped up in thermals and gloves, but there was no faulting her dedication: she'd never missed a day, as far as Pia could remember, and she'd been to watch her work on every morning they were staying there. At least she had, up until the day she'd had to stop.

It always started with the kite. A perfect diamond tiled with stones, a bladder wrack string with oarweed ribbons. The boy came next, painted in pebbles of different hues so that the sun appeared to shine upon his cold grey cheeks, his smile an arc of seashell teeth, a pair of softened seaglass eyes. The exact design varied day-by-day, but he was always perfect, and it had always given Pia a smile to see such a loving depiction of childhood innocence amongst the masterpieces on the beach.

Every morning, she went out to watch the boy fly his kite. Sometimes she went back later, as the tide came in, as fledgling waves were dashed across his pebble-dashed boots, a duvet drawn to tuck him gradually beneath the waves. Or sometimes he was painted upside-down, the kite drawn like an anchor that pulled towards the ocean - on those days, the churning tide consumed him head-first, leaving only two vast and trunkless legs of stone.

Other details changed from one dawn to the next: when emerald seaglass had been scarce, the child's eyes were the pearlescent white of upturned scallop shells, or glinted with the sheen of coins tossed down by passers-by, the artist's payment to the boatman who would take the kite-boy home. Pia had always sought out those changes with keen eyes of her own, looking forward to each day's fresh interpretation whilst the sand sculptures remained identical throughout the week. That was why he had always been her favourite.

But that had been until last summer, when she'd overheard a couple pass behind her on the esplanade, and learnt the awful truth behind this particular muse.

"Oh no, that one's a bit morbid, don't you think?"

"What do you mean?"

Pia had been watching the artist work, but she spun around at that exchange, suddenly hooked by these strangers' conversation. It was all that she could do not to ask Why? herself - her instinct to defend the kite-boy and his honour. She'd spent so much time with him, in his various guises, that she felt a certain attachment to the piece, even as it was washed away and rebuilt every day.

"There was a boy who drowned, not far from here, wasn't there?" They'd been an elderly couple; perhaps locals, perhaps artists, perhaps there for a holiday themselves. "He was flying a kite, and it pulled him into the sea?"

"Oh, gosh. Now that you mention it, yes, I did hear something about that. That's awful. You think that the artist knew?"

"It would be a strange coincidence, wouldn't it? I'm sure they mean it in the right way, but it seems a strange way to honour his memory. Recreating the way that he died."

Pia looked out towards the sea, considering the sculpture not in the golden glow of the famous St Triston dawn, but the new light of these revelations. She hadn't heard about the drowned boy. Perhaps it had been before her family had started visiting; perhaps she'd been too young to be told, and they'd just kept her closer to hand, and hugged her extra tight before bed for a few weeks afterwards.

She searched the waves for his final resting place, if it had been here, but it would be impossible to tell. There could never be a marker there, in the ever-changing patterns of the surf. If a tribute was meant, the beach was the only setting - and why not a sculpture out of pebbles and shells? A hundred tiny headstones, arrayed in a graveyard all his own. The remains of lives washed out of the sea, in exchange for one it had claimed for itself.

Pia tried her best to justify it, but she couldn't help but share the feeling it was wrong, permanently tainted by this knowledge. Would flowers have been more appropriate? She saw them at the scenes of other tragedies, on corners following a recent car crash, but even the most beautiful bouquet would die and decompose with their intended. Was that better than capturing the boy like this: alive, and lost in this moment of innocent joy? A sculpture that was made anew each day, so that his memory would never be forgotten?

She didn't know why, but it felt like it was. This felt... well, morbid, as the couple said. Disrespectful. The intention sounded good on paper, but perhaps some memories were meant to fade with time - the dead deserved to rest, and their families with them. Most headstones wished their tenants peace, not constant re-enactment of their lives, and let alone their deaths; flowers left upon a grave would wilt and shed their petals with their mourner's tears, but perhaps they were a gentler tribute for their transience.

"I wonder if the family know," one of the strangers said. Pia found herself walking slowly after them, not wanting to lose the end of their conversation. Leaving the kite-boy behind. "What must they think?"

"I read at the time that his father had a drinking problem, which was why the boy was left to entertain himself. The papers blamed him, and I dare say that he probably blamed himself. I don't know that he'd be in much a state to complain."

"And the mother?"

"Who knows."

His mother wishes that she'd been there, the kite artist thought, listening as their conversation faded away into the crowd, just as a sculpture gradually cedes into the sea. She wishes that she could have saved him. But even if he had to die, she wishes she'd had the chance to hold his hand, to be there for him as he went, to say her last goodbyes. To tell him he was loved, and that there wouldn't be a day she wouldn't wake with his reflection in her heart.

Now, Pia spent her time further down the front, throwing her arcade change to other artists - those that didn't make her feel uncomfortable, or raise those questions in her mind. The kite artist noted her absence, having become familiar with her visits every year, but she observed it in the same silence with which she watched the dawn rise over the sea. She didn't mind being left to work alone. This wasn't something that she did to be observed.

Even in the winter months, when St Triston was all-but-empty and a harsh wind whistled through the sands, she was glad to have been left to make her morbid art in peace. To stroke her kite-boy's cold grey cheeks, assembled lovingly in place, to hold his outstretched hand as the first waves came lapping at his shoes. They would never be apart for long. She would never not be there, as she'd vowed when the news first tore her world in two. She would never forget about him again.

A hundred headstones to his grave, and a hundred more tomorrow.

[spaceymcspacer]

So 2023 is almost over, let's summarize the art that has been made in 2023!

January - Stick together forever no matter what

Yeah, let's start with a birthday image, and one I am not the most proud of. It's mostly Spacey's "Tude Face" that I hate. I was desperate for an expression so I scribbled on whatever. Not a great choice in hindsight. Still a fine drawing but that still annoys me.

February - Spooks Serious Smoke

Cartoons should smoke, and Spooks proves that with this drawing. Look at him go with this great drawing.

March - Getting a good Fisting from the Ray

I really like drawing Rayman. The goofy fellow provides a lot of fun ideas and allows me to be especially creative. With Rayman 3 being one of my favorite games of all time, I say it was fitting that Rayman 3 got an anniversary drawing.

April - Bomberman 40th Anniversary Pieces

One of the big strides I made in 2023 was joining in serious art collabs. I have dabbled in art collabs before in 2021 but now I joined stuff that had actual scale and it was neat to see. The Bomberman Collab I particularly enjoyed as I found some new people along the way. It was an experience I would like to relive.

May - Across the Radio Frequencies

Around May 2023, I wanted a new wallpaper, and putting 2 and 2 together I made myself an all-new wallpaper. NGL I really like how experimental this was for me. It stands out a lot compared to the rest of my gallery.

June - Almost like Brothers

For June I decided to remake an older drawing of mine that I felt like had some major potential to it. That being the 2021 Almost like Brothers drawing. NGL I really like how the remake turned out. It's goofy, silly, but also fun.

July - Bothered Basterd (Artfight)

Artfight Year 2 was a little weaker than year 1 but still had some great pieces. Out of all of them this one is my favorite. It was a little hard to choose but that one is my favorite since I liked drawing the character in question, Dust Bunny.

August - Super Nilla's Coffee Mania

FizzyRizz could not get a real job, so he had to gamble all of his money to Super Nilla's Coffee Mania. 

September - Pyoro leaks Nintendo's files

So remember that saga on Twitter where this Pyoro Twitter account leaked a Nintendo Direct? Yeah this drawing is based off that. NGL Pyoro is a fun character to draw, and the drawing turned out great.

October - Secret Monster Collab Tristone - The Princess (The Princess Society)

Now this is another art event I participated in. I enjoyed this drawing pretty well but once again it's the vibe of collaboration that made this one. So yeah, nothing much else to say. 

November - 2 Decades of Hominid

So, did you know that 2 Alien Hominid games came out in November 2023? Yeah I celebrated it with this drawing. It was a lot of commitment but the effort was worth it, since I honestly consider it the best drawing I made this year.

December - A random Mushly

Yeah I drew some dumb Mushly here since I wanted to do one last thing but I was too lazy lmfao.

-----

I don't have any advanced thoughts on 2023's art tbh, it was another year filled with improvements. If there is something, in particular, I enjoyed a lot compared to previous years, it was the collabs I participated in. Even if I hate how the art community acts a lot of the time, I still have to admit that when artists come together to celebrate something, it can make for a fun experience. The only other thing I have to say is that I hope real life doesn't get in the way of my hobbies since I still really like doing art even if it can be hard to fit it in sometimes. That is all I have to say really. See y'all in 2024!

[fransemester2]

ARCHIBALD PORTRAIT PRIZE 2020

Left to right: Meyne Wyatt, Kate Beynon, Emily Crockford, Malanie Gray, Guy Maestri 

My mum recently suggested I look at the finalists of the Archibald Portrait prize this year. The Archibald prize is awarded every year to artists across Australasia. The entrees are then judged by members of the Art Gallery of NSW. The competition has been going on since 1921.

Out of the 2020 Finalists, a few of my favourites are Meyne Wyatt, Kate Beynon, Emily Crockford, Malanie Gray, Guy Maestri. Meyne Wyatt’s work has a great sense of depth and mystery to it and I enjoy the dark negative space in the background, I think it really brings the audience’s engagement towards the subject and the subject alone. Kate Beynon’s work reminds my of Triston Pigott’s work where there is definite skill in the technique of how the forms are painted but there is a sense of fantasy and a kind of overall friendly vibe to the work. I’ve seen Emily Crockford’s work in the past and really admire her playful style. Malanie Gray’s work has this very soft, pastel aesthetic to it and I really admire her very deliberate, kind of angular brushwork. Guy Maestri’s work has a very calming feeling about it, the brushworks are soft and the subject seems to be disengaged with the viewer which is something more uncommon with portraiture. 

I like how different each one of these artist’s style is, ranging from highly realistic representations of the subject to very suggestive techniques. It’s really cool to see  each portrait artists’ style and the vast differences between each work. Seeing all these works shows that Portraiture doesn't have to be this really Tradition, highly rendered form of painting; it can be  

I feel very inspired looking at prizes such as this as well as the Adam Portrait award we have in NZ. It makes me realise the talent out there in the community and that I could be one of these artists. I would really love to carry on practicing portraiture by doing commision work as well as entering competitions such as these and getting my name/work out there into the art community. 

[mew-cc]

Starting a legacy story on my gallery/blog! 

Maize && Triston