Everyone meet Optimus Punk, my 2012 first semester college final. I’m a huge Transformers fan, even before Michael Bay’s adaptations, and college was where I learned about the wonderful world of steampunk. So I meshed the two to create this piece. He’s the biggest art project I’ve ever undertaken. Not to mention one of only three pieces of my own art framed and hanging in my office. I normally hate my art when I’m finished with it, but this is one of the few I’m proud of.
The inspiration for this drawing came from one of the movie posters for the 2007 Transformers movie. And a ton of Google images regarding steampunk machinery. Optimus Prime and Transformers belong to Hasbro. Mediums used were graphite (lots and lots of graphite) and charcoal.
I like to think of myself as a hobbiest. Someone who enjoys the finer things in life. Mm, fine arts. A photographer? Not really. I don’t own a camera. But I do appreciate a good photograph. I would say I’m an artist. There is no stopping creativity! I see something beautiful, and I just have to rearrange it to be even more beautiful. A sculptor, maybe? Yes, that sounds about right. Someone who creates sculptures with their hands. Yes. Except I wear gloves. Can’t have my fingerprints all over everything. Doesn’t do my artwork any good. Or maybe I’m a sewer. I do include stitches in my art. Or is that considered “mixed media” at that point? Hmm. More deliberation on that later. For now, it’s time to work. Yes, yes, yes! My masterpiece awaits! The muse cannot be broken!
He tied his black apron over his clothes. Snapped on latex-free gloves. A twitching grin played with the corners of his mouth. He breathed in deep. Exhaled with a sigh. He loved his passion. Nothing made him more excited for waking up every morning. And his latest muse was gorgeous. Though, he could think of a few ways she could be more beautiful. It wasn’t neccessary, but he needed to do it. It made him feel whole again.
Humming, he studied the model sitting on a stool. Walked around her. She was a very fine specimen, indeed. Then he perused his workbench, searching for the perfect tool. Searching for the perfect place to begin. He settled for the simple hack saw. Sang a merry tune as he held out her hand. Examined each finger. The left ring finger looked best. Still singing, he sawed the appendage off.
The model’s screams were silent as he had previously sewn her mouth closed. He ignored the blood. Went to his workbench once again to fetch needle and thread. His chorus broke out when he sewed the finger to her right ear. The processes of slicing body parts and stitching them in various places lasted until he felt complete. He continued humming while he cleaned and sanitized the area of blood. Burst into full song as he covered his dead model in clay. Returned to humming when he wheeled her into the kiln.
He called himself the Future Picasso. He was wanted for the murders of over seventeen girls. And his artwork was on rotating display in the modern art wing of the local museum.