Illustration: Drumroll, please
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I chose a poem to base my illustration off of, as it was more personal than the fictional story I had written. Before working with Illustrator, we first had to sketch out a number of drafts so that we knew that all of the aspects of the photo would work out. There is a plastic heart in the center of the illustration, representing both the metaphorical main character of the poem, and the not so metaphorical main muscle of the body. There is a treble clef woven into the heart, as the poem’s theme revolves around music. The lights on the top of the photo, obstructively shining down on the heart are in fact, melting it because the heat is so strong. The light is actually made up of a mantra that is representative of the poem, “to the beat of the drums, to the beat of my heart, to the beat of my head.”
Written or spoken story telling relies on the words to convey emotion, setting, and most importantly, details. Small aspects of the story that drastically alter the meaning of what a character may be saying. For instance, tone is useful in portraying how a character feels about something in particular, but with visuals, we aren't privy to that benefit. That's why, as a learned through creating an illustration about a poem, the details are similarly important. I worked hard to create the drops on the right side of the heart and the shadowing throughout the trebel clef. Telling a story through animation sure is difficult, but it's not impossible, and a lot of the time, it's more fun.
. . .
I am the delicate gold lining that enrobes
my mother’s crystal earrings. Delicate,
but in this world, barely there. I relate
all of the pieces together, on the outside
or on the inside, I am rough, I am
malleable.
I slip and slosh from group to group and
this whirlwind cacophonous symphony
finishes on an everlasting note. They are
all together and I learn to appreciate the
sound. And from concert to concert I
grow and develop as a listener, picking
out certain metallic notes that twirl in an
endless effort to consume me--to teach
me; each note leaves its own mark, but
just till the next one comes along.
I am the drums, they symbols, the bass
and the painfully gleeful teenaged fans,
whose screams resound in the music
hall. This is their life for now: mini-
skirts and tube tops. Before I can even
realize, I am plastic, dripping from
the rims and falling from the sky, all
in an effort to fall on the cool metal
microphone that will surely hold me?
This is my life for now, shapeshifting
and metamorphosis as I hardly recognize
myself and I am drenched in sweat. The
beat of the drums and the sound of voice
have me moving so fast.
I lock myself in my room, my
transformations are just for me. Resting
on this island of solace, stranded in the
middle of the sea, which remains too
ridden with salt for any real life to take
shape, I pull on a mini skirt and a tube
top, and some delicately enrobed black
crystal earrings.