~BBW, Magic, ~XWG - A mysterious sketch pad allows this artist to enlarge on real life.
Kenny was an avid sketcher and an eager artist.
He could be seen most days, depicting his home town of Floresville with a light, tender touch of his pencil, his lethal weapon with which he turned blank paper into photograph like images, placid in their grey and white form but also bursting with life and vivaciousness.
So lifelike were his drawings that people would travel many long distances to witness his creations and see the “artist at work”.
Kenny was a well-off man, having been earmarked for stardom early in his career, receiving a lucrative contract offer from various galleries to draw certain things they felt their art collections were lacking.
He profited well from this early venture, but his situation deteriorated soon after, when he disagreed furiously with his then employer’s decision to not pay him for his most recent services.
Having then disappeared back into his former life of obscurity for a few years, he was offered a opportunity to work for a leading, unnamed company, who were willing to offer him £100,000 a piece - such was the current commercial value of his art works.
He agreed, slightly reluctant to work for somebody else again.
He recalles:
“I took the job with a little caution, wary to make it clear that I must be paid for each piece, putting the emphasis on the word “pay” to make sure the message got through. It did, easily enough, being received with an odd look from the director of this mystery company I was to be working for. But he reassured me I would be paid very well for each of my pieces. So we agreed the deal, shaking hands at the end of it, and I was fairly satisfied with it all in all, money being hard to come by at that point.
"I was told that I had been given a residence in London, and it was only a matter of taking the train, with my pencils and paper, to my temporary home before I started work.
"I’m a very keen drawer, as you know, and I was drawing on the train, in case some of the required pieces were of modern culture and all that. I then put it down. There must have been a mix-up soon afterwards, because the man sitting next to me got off at the next station, taking MY notebook with him. Noticing this, I tried to stop him, calling after him. But it was no use, as he’d left the train by the time I’d realised.
"Though funnily enough, he had left HIS own notebook on the seat next to me. It was rather similar looking to mine, so the mistake was understandable. The only difference was that, on the inside, there was an inscription.
"'Be warned the user of this notebook please, the message hither you must heed. For those who sketch upon this pad, while alter reality just a tad. When their implement leaves the page, what they see will alter before their gaze.'"
“How odd!” I thought to myself, placing it down again on the seat next to me. But I was intrigued by the impossibility of this statement. Taking up the notebook in my hand, I produced one of my many pencils from my bag, then looked around for a subject matter.
Deciding upon young woman at the far end of the opposite seat, I started drawing her. Being a good artist in this situation did not help me as such, for I drew her on this notebook exactly as she appeared to me. Slender, but quite small, with long flowing black hair and a protruding bosom, the image before me was replicated on the paper.
Presumably, the image must differ slightly from the one on the notepad.
At a loss for ideas, I sort of rubbed out her neck and bosom absentmindedly whilst thinking. But that gave me an idea.
Redrawing them, the neck as before but the bosom slightly different, I lifted my pencil from the page to see what would unfold. Within seconds I was staring wide-eyed at the woman I’d been focusing on for almost 10 minutes now.
As the transition had occurred, we had unfortunately entered and left a tunnel, though I suspected there was more to this notebook than met the eye. And that was certain with how this woman’s bosom had altered. It balanced there, below her neck (identical to how it was before), firm but drooping slightly, sizeable lumps straining under her shirt, though it had seemed to grow with her breasts.
Yet this woman, who had been reading her newspaper so intently throughout, failed to or simply did not notice any transition in her breast size, continuing to study the article she was reading as before, silently and studiously.
Looking through the notebook again, I noticed this time another inscription on the inside back cover.
It read: “However the world may subconsciously appear, forget all that you might see.”
Now completely in the know, I was able to really use this notebook to my advantage. This time rubbing out her midriff, I started to re-design the image to my preferred specifications…..
(contnued in post 6 of this thread)
Artistry, in its Best Form
By JoeFA
By JoeFA
Kenny was an avid sketcher and an eager artist.
He could be seen most days, depicting his home town of Floresville with a light, tender touch of his pencil, his lethal weapon with which he turned blank paper into photograph like images, placid in their grey and white form but also bursting with life and vivaciousness.
So lifelike were his drawings that people would travel many long distances to witness his creations and see the “artist at work”.
Kenny was a well-off man, having been earmarked for stardom early in his career, receiving a lucrative contract offer from various galleries to draw certain things they felt their art collections were lacking.
He profited well from this early venture, but his situation deteriorated soon after, when he disagreed furiously with his then employer’s decision to not pay him for his most recent services.
Having then disappeared back into his former life of obscurity for a few years, he was offered a opportunity to work for a leading, unnamed company, who were willing to offer him £100,000 a piece - such was the current commercial value of his art works.
He agreed, slightly reluctant to work for somebody else again.
He recalles:
“I took the job with a little caution, wary to make it clear that I must be paid for each piece, putting the emphasis on the word “pay” to make sure the message got through. It did, easily enough, being received with an odd look from the director of this mystery company I was to be working for. But he reassured me I would be paid very well for each of my pieces. So we agreed the deal, shaking hands at the end of it, and I was fairly satisfied with it all in all, money being hard to come by at that point.
"I was told that I had been given a residence in London, and it was only a matter of taking the train, with my pencils and paper, to my temporary home before I started work.
"I’m a very keen drawer, as you know, and I was drawing on the train, in case some of the required pieces were of modern culture and all that. I then put it down. There must have been a mix-up soon afterwards, because the man sitting next to me got off at the next station, taking MY notebook with him. Noticing this, I tried to stop him, calling after him. But it was no use, as he’d left the train by the time I’d realised.
"Though funnily enough, he had left HIS own notebook on the seat next to me. It was rather similar looking to mine, so the mistake was understandable. The only difference was that, on the inside, there was an inscription.
"'Be warned the user of this notebook please, the message hither you must heed. For those who sketch upon this pad, while alter reality just a tad. When their implement leaves the page, what they see will alter before their gaze.'"
“How odd!” I thought to myself, placing it down again on the seat next to me. But I was intrigued by the impossibility of this statement. Taking up the notebook in my hand, I produced one of my many pencils from my bag, then looked around for a subject matter.
Deciding upon young woman at the far end of the opposite seat, I started drawing her. Being a good artist in this situation did not help me as such, for I drew her on this notebook exactly as she appeared to me. Slender, but quite small, with long flowing black hair and a protruding bosom, the image before me was replicated on the paper.
Presumably, the image must differ slightly from the one on the notepad.
At a loss for ideas, I sort of rubbed out her neck and bosom absentmindedly whilst thinking. But that gave me an idea.
Redrawing them, the neck as before but the bosom slightly different, I lifted my pencil from the page to see what would unfold. Within seconds I was staring wide-eyed at the woman I’d been focusing on for almost 10 minutes now.
As the transition had occurred, we had unfortunately entered and left a tunnel, though I suspected there was more to this notebook than met the eye. And that was certain with how this woman’s bosom had altered. It balanced there, below her neck (identical to how it was before), firm but drooping slightly, sizeable lumps straining under her shirt, though it had seemed to grow with her breasts.
Yet this woman, who had been reading her newspaper so intently throughout, failed to or simply did not notice any transition in her breast size, continuing to study the article she was reading as before, silently and studiously.
Looking through the notebook again, I noticed this time another inscription on the inside back cover.
It read: “However the world may subconsciously appear, forget all that you might see.”
Now completely in the know, I was able to really use this notebook to my advantage. This time rubbing out her midriff, I started to re-design the image to my preferred specifications…..
(contnued in post 6 of this thread)
