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Puddled

I felt very inspired by this lecture (so thanks a lot for that Roman:) but was short on time, so I decided to tweak my approach slightly to make it fit a concept im allready working on called #TinyAdventures.

...so my friend Chris Lee Ramsden wrote me a bit of text to illustrate from:

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Mudguards don’t belong on a fixie. End of story.

OK, there’s more.

Cycling hard through the stench of last night’s street party. Past puddles of puke connected by yellow rivulets in ruts and channels where pavement and brickwork collide, destined never to reach the drains.

Switch to mouth breathing (I know, my neanderthal charm...) in case the fumes make me gag – and add to last night’s regurgitations.

The sun is baking the cycle path dry. The bike wheels are getting so sticky that every revolution makes a squelch. Swallow hard to quell the rising acid. Don’t look down. Ignore it. Don’t look down.

Overhead, low clouds skate impossibly fast across the sky. It looks so fresh. So clean. Only a few thousand feet up, but a million miles away from this street. Now I’m feeling dizzy. No choice, look down. Just in time to see a glutinous puddle of vomit grinning on the path right in front of me.

We collide. The bike slides. There’s a sickening lurch, the rear wheel sprays sick up the back of my jacket (new, leather, prized) and, as I hit the tarmac, I picture the wide, fixed smirk of the mudguard that could have saved me.

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Rough thumbnails & notes:

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Bits & pieces:

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B&W comp.:

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The final result:

6b5bf28a

Tools: Brush, calligraphy pen, Ink & Photoshop.

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