More Graphic Art

Here's another piece of graphic art I did based on another Owl City song (notice a trend here?)  Let me know what you think!  I also take requests for art pieces like this one, so if you would like something done for your facebook cover or for any reason at all, feel free to leave a comment or send me an email.

This is a version of the song from which this lyric comes. 

Some Artwork and a Song

I am trying my hand at some graphic art again, and I figured I might share some of it with you.  This is one that is based off a song I love, Sailboats, by Sky Sailing (An offshoot project by artist Adam Young of Owl City). Here's the song:

And here's the picture with lyric overlay:

Let me know what you think!

Chapter 1

          A young man crouched behind a mossy boulder in the heart of a forest, peering into the eyes of the snorting giant straight ahead.  The man’s hands shook with fright, his heart pounding in his breast.  A cloud of steam emanated from the beast’s nostrils.  It stared at him with a furor hence unknown to the youth, and its immense head nearly blotted out the sun.  Scales on its hide stood out and shone in the filtered daylight—glowing embers on the back of his burning enemy, the likes of which inspired the fairy tales of old.  A short distance away from the pair flowed a peaceful creek, ignorant of the conflict at its borders.  It was a small tributary.  At either side of the water, craggy hills sloped down to form a vale, making a majestic landscape, rolling softly here and there with grass and sunlight—a bright and beautiful juxtaposition, adding to the surreal atmosphere of this particular afternoon.  It appeared, however, that nature took no notice of the present goings-on; everything was a living painting, influenced only by the wind.    

          Beyond the crest of the hills, the man hardly could see anything; steep as they were, they descended opposite their zeniths in both directions, blocking the view of anything past them from the creek bed.  Doubtless there were acres of forest farther than visibility allowed.  The path of the stream was delicate in its course—flowing in unfettered curves among smooth stones and fallen branches, around which soft growths of algae gathered, forming a luscious underwater carpet.  A few meters to the left of him was a loose clustering of trees—a rarity so close to the water, as the rocky nature of the hillside generally lent itself mostly to small shrubs and wild berries.  A patch of honeysuckle grew at the right of the young man’s refuge, the perfume of the blossoms adding another layer of queerness to the mood.  Excepting the boulder behind which he cowered, and the bramble with its sweetness, not another haven existed on this side of the stream.  The man gazed again at his adversary, who returned the favor with a fearsome glare.  The monster stood, merely fifty feet away, silent, observing the movements of his quarry, but making no advance.  Fear is a general who when he marches into battle is coy and mysterious, even to those who normally resist his attacks.  In the silence of the forest, his presence was nearly palpable. 

        


          The man hiding for his life could barely be more than one and twenty years old.  He was athletic, rippling with sinew and the vigor of youth.  He was handsome—a Roman nose protruded between two grey eyes, tawny hair crested the top of his ears, and his mouth completed the air of boyish beauty.  He had a slight beard, but little else; his chin had a shallow cleft, and the faintest hint of dimples remained in his cheek.  This was no weathered laborer.  The blow of fate makes fall on varied populations, and young men of good stock cannot escape its reach.     

          The soreness in his haunches increasing by the minute, the man shifted his weight and tried not to attract the attention of the beast.  These movements rustled a few twigs and elicited a snarl from the creature on the opposite bank, whose stalking had progressed to a worrisome pacing.  The stream which separated these two was scarcely more than three meters wide.  This distance was not nearly a comfortable one for the young man; it seemed, though, for whatever reason, to be quite a deterrent to the beast.  At the setting of the sun, the forest would become unnavigable, and the man would be at the mercy of the dragon across the creek.  Any solution to his predicament evaded him, and few options for escape exist in the depths of a gully such as this.  His countenance wavered and the tremor in his hands spread to the entire body.  He looked a moment at the area surrounding “his” boulder, then slowly cast his eyes toward the lazy flow of water in front of him.  A fire-red leaf danced gracefully on the surface, bumping here and there on the stones perforating the mild current.  Time seemed to pass so slowly, yet the sun continued in its march to the west

          The dragon took a step nearer to the man and caused him to close his eyes and tuck in tighter behind the boulder.  The loveliness of the forest began to take on a more sinister feel as the dew began to fall and wisps of fog to rise.  A disturbance to his left frightened him into action.  Scurrying through the newly descended leaves was a she mouse, whose tiny company had given him a fright which rivaled the presence of his encroaching enemy.  Collecting himself, he began to think of the beauty and wonder he had taken in during his short planetary tenure.  He wondered, nearly aloud, whether the scene before him would be the last he would ever see.  He awaited the approach of his adversary with anxiety and, though he definitely did not wish for his impending death, a certain impatience.  The silence which followed the beginning of the dragon’s advance began to cause him great distress.  With the time the brute already had taken, the moment of his pounce was doubtless near.  The squeak of the she mouse caused him to start; he held back a scream in his throat.  Relaxing yet again, he prepared to bid the world adieu.                       

          He dared to peer beyond the false safety of the boulder and at the stream below.  “If he is so frightened to near the creek,” he thought, “I might slip behind him if he has crossed it and follow its path to safety.  By winding with its curves and getting a head start, I could make my way to a deep pool and wait for him to lose interest.  I know not much of dragons, but I believe that any hunter must at some point give up on his prey.”   

          As he thought of any other possibilities for escape, he noted a certain warmth on the back of his neck.  Turning slowly to its source, the young man faced his long-feared enemy. 

The Path and the Horizon

A man had been hiking eastward on a mountain path for many months.  He slept among the tree branches and walked among the flowers.  When asked, he gave no name, no place of origin, no purpose in his wandering.  In fact, he would remain silent whenever approached by others. 

Word spread through the villages he passed to ones ahead, and, after a while, a large group of people was living the same lifestyle as he. 

Still, he remained silent.  Great men, brave knights, and just kings would approach the man, hoping to understand the apparent fulfillment that he received from living this simple life in harmony with nature.  He said not a word to any of them. 

After many more months, his silence was finally broken.  The man and the group behind him came through a clearing.  A boy with a tied parcel weighing him down approached from the opposite direction.  The man knelt to speak with the boy and asked him where he was going; a question the man himself had been asked many times.  The boy answered, “I am not sure.  One day I saw the setting sun and wondered if I had caught the last glimpse of something even more beautiful just beyond what I can see from my village.  I am hoping one day to reach the horizon, where I will be able to know for sure.  Until then, I am walking and trying to catch up with the sun.”

The boy then went on his way and the man continued walking.   

One of the group then approached the man and asked angrily why he would talk to a small child who had not asked for help from him and who was not seeking the same answers as the group while he denied all of his faithful followers the assistance they sought.  The man answered, “I spoke with the boy because he, of all people with whom I have ever conversed, was able to understand why it is that I walk through the woods.  He is following his own path, sparked by the excitement of loving something and wanting to see what lies ahead for himself.  You are following in another’s path, trying to lead a life that’s not your own.  That boy has not yet forgotten what it means it be, what it means to exist.  We were both on the same mission, following our hearts, but one of us chases the sunrise, the other chases the sunset.  If you learn anything from following me, let it be this: if you follow the path that another has chosen for you, it’s very likely that your true horizon lies in some other direction.”

 

The Camera in the Storm

One day, I was driving the narrow country road that is a part of my daily commute to work.  It was terrifically windy and raining so hard that I was having a hard time seeing more than a car’s length ahead of me.  As I came up on one of the final turns, I saw a jeep pulled off to the side of the lane and a young woman standing behind it, looking up into the forest.  Thinking that she was having car troubles, I pulled over and jogged over to her through the torrent.  To my surprise, she was not working on her automobile, but rather holding a very expensive camera and was taking pictures of the hillside.   

Not paying any attention to the subject of her photography, I asked, “Ma’am, what are you doing?  Your camera is getting soaked!  It’ll be ruined!”  Without making a sound, she calmly pointed straight ahead of her.  There, in a place by which I drove daily, was a clear, magnificent stream with several waterfalls flowing down among the bright fall foliage and rock shelves that had accumulated in a crevice in the hill.   

I fell silent and watched as countless gallons of water cascaded powerfully through the glowing reds and yellows of the leaves toward an aqueduct under the road. 

The woman saw the look of awe on my face and whispered to me over the roar of the rain, “On most days, this is a dry creek bed.  The only time that you can see the stream is during a storm.  My camera and I may get wet, but unless I take that risk, I’ll miss out on something beautiful.”