Εφιάλτης

135cm X 212cm, Ball Point Pen

Just something I might had left out posting from Claire the Sketchbook which had been accompanying me last year in my last year of secondary school. As the title suggests, the story was based on a nightmare I had last year so I decided to have it written down and have a few doodles accompanying it as a part of my daily routine in having my personal sketchbook’s pages filled up. Though these doodles were done in a very short matter of time, I tried my best to incorporate crosshatching and hatching in a circular manner to bring out the darkness I intended to portray about scenes in my nightmare. I am satisfied with the mark-making as they do create an atmosphere and a sense that darkness is constantly enveloping everything that dwells within it, like a constant presence rather than just the result of the absence of photons. Of course this deserves further refining as I think it has potential to become more macabre, but the simple doodles’ scribbly and chaotic nature gives the darkness an element of hostility, which I could perhaps take into mind and consider how I could apply it if I were to do something similar to this.

PS I apologise for the badly drawn hand.


In case you were not able to read my handwriting, here’s the transcript:

“‘Twas late. The sun had already retreated beyond the western mountains; the moon wasn’t giving out light. You strolled down the dark gnarled road with your torch, hoping there would be a house down the road, in the middle of nowhere. Unlikely, but possible. This country had been famous to be full of surprises.
Something caught the attention of your retinas – a faint orange glow of warmth lies ahead, down this overgrown road. You started to dash towards it automatically since it could be your only source of hope. You treaded through nettles on the path, but you didn’t care. Nothing was more important than getting out of this miserable darkness, even if it were to have a pair of nettle covered legs.
The orange glow slowly took form as a Victorian oil street lamp, its flames could be seen flickering as you charged forwards to it. The street lamp illuminated its surroundings, which included a sign crafted from wrought iron on a brick wall with a hue of rust and clay.
The words on the sign were barely comprehendible from severe weathering apart from the bold words “Manor”. But that didn’t matter. All you had in mind was to ask for shelter for the night and continue on your way next morning. To be continued…”

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