must-be-daft

2

PHEW! This took a long time and is by far the most complex piece I’ve done in this coloring style. Daft Punk is my fav band of all time (I even have them tattooed on me.) yet I never draw them. This is because of two things I dread: the symmetry of their helmets and the chrome coloring. I never thought I’d be able to tackle it. But then I thought “Heck, I’ll just do it my way” - and it kinda sorta worked! It was SO fun coloring their helmets. I listened a lot to podcasts about the first century in Hollywood. I think all the talk about LSD usage rubbed off on this piece, hah.

I wanna dedicate this to 100ottersonanaeroplane because she loves Daft Punk as well, and I want her to get better asap.

The close ups are 100%

4

Digitally Flawless (2014)

Free plate for my Art Technique class!

Yes… That’s Guy-Man’s helmet. Because… I’m a few days late for his birthday. OTL Sooo… Belated happy birthday! \o/ I made a lady out of your helmet. (I am sry)

Pixel dress inspired from Chubby Cherry from Studio Killers. (Collab plz. PLZ PLZ PLZ.)

Materials used:

  • Berkeley watercolor pad
  • Faber castell watercoloring pencils
  • watercolors
  • 0.3 UniPin
  • Colored ballpoint pens

Capital N°271 April 2014 - "The little secrets of Daft Punk"

External image

Their gloves made in Aveyron

The duo has ordered to the prestigious Fabre house, located in Millau since 1924, two pairs of these famous metallic gloves that they wear in public.

External image

The singer daddy

Thomas’s father has interpreted several songs, but also wrote “C'est bon pour le moral" for La Compagnie Créole.

External image

The roof they’ve snubbed

They refused in 2013 the event concert that the Rex Club offered them on its roof for its 25th anniversary.

External image

Thank you the insult!

In 1993 "Melody Maker” qualified them of Daft Punky trash. In sum, of rubbishes. The band, who’s called Darlin’, is inspire from this for change their name.

External image

Their first and unique flop

In 1994, they give their first concert in a zouk parisian club. 80 paying entries only.

8

BETHYL AU. They met like anyone else. The bar was filled with people and she sat alone in her corner. She sat there every weekend observing people and writing songs about life–real life. She knew of Daryl and his friend, they were regulars at the bar but she never spoke a word when there. Dixon had noticed her as well and normally his nights would end in bar fights and tasting like stale beer and cigarettes the next day. "Hey, do you know that girl?“ he had asked his friend when he saw her walking around. "The farmer’s daughter, oh boy–you must be daft. You think you could?” his friend replied with a hardy laugh.  He watched her when he saw her around town, silently observing her mannerisms until he sat next to her and a friendship had formed. He and his brother found themselves involved with the police and mafia, over a simple job that was supposed to be in and out.  Beth met their friend Lori, the single mother next door, the day she came to their house after one of their many jobs and was comforted when she had to watch them self medicate to avoid the hospital and police. They had a problem but Beth had the solution. Her friendship with them formed, a partnership actually–and with the police breathing down their backs they were going to get their revenge.

Yesterday I was driving two of my friends to McDonalds and the radio was on and I while I was telling a story the radio announcer said “Daft Punk”, so I interrupted my own story to loudly yell DAFT PUNK. But then I remembered that they have no idea that I’m obsessed with musical robots. Oops these robots are ruining my social skills, help.

November 27, 2016
    
My dearest Melody,
       
Time goes by slowly when the heart is in turmoil. Lately I have caught myself either staring at the ground, or peering a thousand miles into nothingness. There is little my eyes register. I can hardly recall the last time I have looked up to find a blue sky. Sheer endless seas of grey keep from me the world beyond ours, hiding the abundance of stars and constellations I so humbly desire to speak to. Even my beloved moon has become an obscurity, revealing her soothing glow only sparsely. Still, she is the last beacon of a greater freedom. You must think me daft, dear Melody, but this continuous shroud of grey makes me feel locked up; trapped in a crystal ball covered with dust. How odd it is to discern a dissatisfaction within oneself that simply states ‘the world is not enough’. Yet, isn’t that what hope is? The deep-rooted conviction that our current situation will turn out for the better, though hiddenly, also conveys the message that we could keep improving on what we currently have. I think that’s good. Hope, at the very least, keeps the fire burning in our hearts. It is what keeps us moving, and moving as such is fundamental to progress; the vital difference between existing and being alive. Perhaps that is why lately I have been so vulnerable to the gnawing of despair; why I miss looking at the sky, it represents hope to me. Hope, the first lesson you taught. For that I am ever grateful. My Melody, you could break the clouds with a single smile. You would keep me from peering a thousand miles into nothingness by simply pointing out the littlest things of beauty. Remember that bridge crossing the old city’s moat? Or those quaint bird houses you spotted way up high in a tree I could only perceive as barren? I do. It was at those times I felt blessed and honored to be by your side. To see the world through your eyes, no – to watch the world blossom as it gradually shaped itself to resemble your heart. Full of promise, hope, gentleness, and light. During these dreary days I think of you, my love. I see you in the little birds diving head first inside the almost empty jar of peanut butter I left in the yard; I see you in the little puffs of smoke that leave the chimneys of undoubtedly cozy homes; I see you in the moon’s soothing light, fighting the grey to meet my eye, and I am submerged in love. During these dreary days I think of you, and I hope, and I love, and I write to – you.
  
Yours faithfully,
—  M.A. Tempels © 2016 (Letters to Melody (2))

anonymous asked:

No offence, but why is 83% of your blog just pure..hate. you can't stand kurt cobain, alex turner, green day... Ok we get it, how about some positivity?

Are you fucking stupid? That ask I answered saying I don’t like Kurt, after I’ve made over 200 Nirvana gifs was clear sarcasm. You truly must be daft to not be able to tell. I do hate Alex Turner and Green Day though but that hatred is justified cos they’re shite. If you want positivity go look for it somewhere else you nonce.