Photomosaics
Made with help from a fancy bit of software: Two portraits of Abe made entirely of AO screens. Their original mammoth size was too much for ImageShack, but you get the idea.
http://img202.imageshack.us/img202/7...becollage3.png This next one was a bit unclear, so the original art is overlayed on top. Also I cheated by using each screen twice. Needless to say, I don't endorse this one. http://img830.imageshack.us/img830/2...ecollage2a.png |
This is crazy good, bravo.
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brilliant stuff.
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Amazing!
How much work does the :
Darn, I've exhausted the rep I can give you for now. Hopefully I'll remember to come back to this post. |
You have to put in pictures, decide how much you want to shrink them, change picture overlay settings, choose and crop the image you want to construct and decide how many times you want each image to be duplicated.
The arranging of the image is done by the program. |
Oh my goodness, I'm not even kidding, that second picture made my mouth drop even...look, it deserves the first ever facial picture of me on this forum!
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I would say "Nice mouth" but that would make me sound gay, heh.
Wait, oh shi- |
Oh Dynamitix, glad I could be a turn on for you! Personally I'd go for (. Y .) but y'know.
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What about (Y)?
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___ /(%)\ / ) ( \ /_(.Y.)_\ ),,( ( Y ) \ | / ) ( UU |
Ench you horny bastard. Anyway come on guys, we're steering away from the fucking amazing art MM did!
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sorry. i've been picking on you lately. |
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ah we carrying that over to here. Fuck sake Ench.
( . Y . ) << x2 not shutty and enjoy the damn art above above |
A Non-Oddworld Short Story
I attempted comedy, and pondered the immediate consequences of unintentional teleportation.
----- The click of the lock sliding into place. The clunk of the seat being lifted. The feel of cool bathroom tiles underfoot. One by one, all the tiny reassurances of home added up. It had been a tough day. Schoolwork was difficult, the teachers were uncaring and his classmates wouldn't leave him alone. Still, he was home now, and glad of it. Even something as simple as urination became significant when it was in the peace of your own bathroom. Jack unzipped his flies and inhaled silently. He blinked. There was no warning, sign or sound. He was falling from three feet in the air onto someone's bed. Whoever that person was, he landed on their back, feet first. There is a strange thing that happens to people when something goes horribly, horribly wrong. The next few seconds seem to slow down before one's eyes as you see everything spiral into chaos. In less than one the person - a large young man of around seventeen - had spun around, sending Jack flying headlong into the wall. Jack struggled to take everything in, recollecting thoughts in his throbbing head while desperately trying to do up his trousers and shuffle to the door. It was also at this point that Jack noticed that the boy was not alone in bed. A startled-looking blonde girl was staring at him, clutching the duvet to her chest in the most dignified reaction to this sudden invasion of privacy she could manage. The young man was about to open his mouth to shout, so Jack instinctively took the initiative and barged in first. 'I don't know what you did or how you did it, but I want you to send me back this second. I don't have a clue what's going on, but this is not what I need right now. I don't care what you want, just send me back. SEND ME BACK!' The teenager's face momentarily turned from rage to an expression of apprehensive confusion. Then back into rage. Jack didn't really bother listening. He supposed the bloke had every right to be angry. He had just appeared in his bedroom (and totally wrecked his chances), after all. The bloke sounded American. Texan, maybe. Jack attempted to stand up. His legs were still where they should be, at least. He started to eye up the exits. Jack had never been to America, but the barren landscape outside certainly looked Texan, and he's seen enough of the South in TV to know that some old guy with a shotgun was about to burst into the room. A few seconds later, his suspicions were proven to be correct as two cold metal barrels were pressed into back of his head. 'Who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doing in my house?' said the drawling, gravelly voice behind him. 'Actually, I was hoping you could tell me that.' ----- |
A Bit More Non-Oddworld Fiction
It's an introduction to a story I'm never going to write. Probably a bit heavy on description. Nice post-apocalyptic vibe, though.
----- A small beetle scuttled across scuffed dirt, kicking up tiny patches of dust as it moved. It weaved between small stones before finally disappearing into a crack to shelter from the light. Flecks of blistered grey drifted down from corrugated metal walls, rust and lichen beginning to overcome the thin layer of paint. Further along the walls, the paint seemed to fall away completely as one looked at it, until, as one reached the end, the surface was entirely given over to dark red corrosion. Long shadows were cast by the uneven surface as pale autumn sunlight streamed across it, the empty entrance appearing a halo of light compared with the inky blackness at the far end. Nothing but the sound of distant birdsong could be heard. Large doors, the same decaying metal as the walls, creaked in the breeze. They were weathered, weathered as if they had endured storms that should have destroyed them outright. One was wrenched from its fixture and lay at an angle, embedded in the ground by one corner while the others leant against the door frame. The other door swung slowly on its hinges as the wind picked up. Back inside, the wind was little more than a draught, which stirred the torn edges of an upside-down cardboard box. Its printing was faint and unreadable. On top of it lay a meagre collection of possessions; an empty cigarette packet, a box of cheap matches and a labelless beer bottle. All were patterned with grey smears and dirty fingerprints. Away from it, in the very corner of the cramped space, a shapeless bin bag was squashed against the walls, the objects inside soft but unidentifiable, with the opening drawn up with thick cord. Sprawled over the rustling mass was a man, his eyes half-closed in his semiconscious state. He had a musty smell, a smell of distant times forgotten, as if he had somehow accumulated the scent of everywhere he had been. Straggly brown hair draped down over his blank, unshaven face, thinning to greasy clumps over his grubby green jacket. Dirt seemed to envelop him, dried mud coating his heavy boots and his greying t-shirt covered in dust. Only his jeans seemed to be new, but already these were collecting grime along the bottom, spots of mud and other filth tracking up the sides. In his limp, slumping body, the man's eyes lazily followed a single large cockroach that stumbled along his arm and across his fingers, its ponderous movements never seeming to display any intention of leaving. The man watched it for some time. Minutes passed. Silently, he stood up, resting one hand firmly against the wall as he limped slowly to the empty opening, his eyes never leaving the cockroach as he stumbled across. Reaching the doors, he squatted down, pulled the cockroach from his arm and placed it on the gravel outside. He prodded it gently, then fell back into a more comfortable sitting position and watched it scuttle away. He remained there long after the bug had disappeared under the layer of rubble, staring blankly at the hole it had made in the soil. ----- |
Wow, that's amazingly descriptive and so intelligently written. Was this spontaneous or did you have a story in mind?
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Thanks!
I read an article on the net on introducing story elements one at a time, so this was just to see if I could do it well. The story made itself apparent to me as I wrote it, but I didn't want to give too much away. Who is this man? Why is he living in a shipping container? What the hell happened here? And why won't that cockroach leave him alone? |
Ishe hindu? Is that cockroach his gran? Anywho, are you doing part 2?
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Basically, no.
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D=< How very dare you! XD
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Nice art you got there, MM. *+rep*
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PCGamer had a competition to do something with a monkey in it, so I drew a comic of their editor turning into a were-baboon.
http://img858.imageshack.us/img858/9...jkjkjkjkjk.png |
oh okay
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I also coloured in that picture of an Argonian I did. Badly.
http://img846.imageshack.us/img846/2093/argocolour.png While I was at it, I also did that barnacle thing. Badly. http://img198.imageshack.us/img198/5...nacoloured.png The trouble with me and image programs is that I don't like to obscure the lines I drew on paper, because then I'll have to draw them again on the computer. This means I keep the paint opacity low, but then I end up with quite a watery look, with the colours paler than I'd like. |
You had to put up the barnacle thing didn't you?
The Argonian isn't bad, head's a tad too big but better than any attempt I could've done. |
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I say take another shot at it. Argonian art is pretty cool.
Excluding the ones where Khajit are present. I thought they were wrestling at first, but on closer inspection... |
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Reposting my comp entry, 'cause I'm like that.
We don't know that much about Paramites. They could have their own culture, their own legends, their own heroes. So I drew a big muscly Paramite with the Paramite symbol tattooed on its back, leading the swarm on some mysterious migration. He revels in the moment. After all, this may be the only time they ever see the sky.
'Moonlight' http://i193.photobucket.com/albums/z...-moonlight.png May later form part of a tripych. |