this turntable is wonderful i love it

coffinis  asked:

Hey! I was wondering what program do you use to make your rotation designs? I love your designs a lot!!! 💖💖💖

Hi there!

I render my models in Marmoset Toolbag 2! It’s an inexpensive 3D rendering program that is incredibly easy to use and available through Steam !

(Think I bought it when it was on sale!)

I believe you can also render animations in the newer Toolbag 3!

I find it a very easy to use program for rendering turntables, which I then turn into little gifs in photoshop!!


Hope that helps you! Thank you so much for the love

3

Bay Area Painting Right Now: Mahader Tesfai’s Overlapping Faces

Written by: Brandon Brown/KQED
Photo by: Graham Holoch/KQED

One of the things I’ve learned from writing this series is that it’s always better to see a painter’s work in their studio. Yes, the gallery and the museum have their little auras and theatricality, but the studio is the architectural organization of how paintings come to be.

I met Mahader Tesfai at the studio he shares with two other artists in uptown Oakland. Stevie Wonder’s Songs in the Key of Life spun on the turntable as we talked and looked at his works: I don’t want to bore you with it / Oh but I love you, I love you, I love you.

In Tesfai’s space, his works are to be seen, touched, held, moved and rearranged. His practice adapts to the medium and the surface: glow-in-the-dark paint on white canvas shoes, 3D glasses and a Stevie Wonder soundtrack.

Mahader Tesfai was born in Eritrea and raised in the Bay Area. He earned a B.A. in Black Studies from UC Santa Barbara. Eritrea, Oakland, Santa Barbara; these are the places he’s from, and each resonates in his paintings. The stylization with which he renders his faces hearkens back to East African figurative works. Oakland is everywhere, from the surrealist couture of his painted t-shirts to the tradition of radical politics his paintings thematize. Finally, his studies in Santa Barbara, a place demographically far different from Oakland, permeate the theoretical underpinnings of these paintings.

Tesfai only started painting after college, where his studies in Black theory and history influenced his developing interest in visual art. He centers Black bodies and lives in his paintings. With a nuanced understanding of how those bodies and lives have appeared in a racist Western painting tradition, his work stages a formal refusal to participate in and reiterate that bad legacy.

Just as these places, the places from which Tesfai hails and regards in his work, offer wildly different social ecologies, imagery and sensory information, the styles he accommodates in his work are also extremely varied. Thematically, however, they are made coherent by the centrality of Black faces.

Tesfai recently told an interviewer, “The figures in my paintings and illustrations are depictions of Africans. My art work ranges from figurative to abstract but the African is always present.”

The “range” he describes is unmissable. Some works use sparse brush strokes to evoke the figures of overlapping faces. Others rely on intricate thin lines to give the feeling of a gathering crowd, that crowd clustering into shapes that signify letters and words.

Looking at Untitled, a painting on top of a large paper poster found at the Marcus Garvey Bookstore, we passed around 3D glasses. Seen through the red and blue plastic lenses, the lines have a kinetic quality that makes the pastel tones pop off the poster’s shrink wrap. This viewing experience underscores the importance of standing in front of Tesfai’s work, of looking into the faces that look back.

His paintings are richly textured. In fact, many of them are more properly classified as collage with painted elements. They also change in their significations depending on your proximity to the surface. Looking at Untitled up close, for instance, Tesfai’s pastel colors and slender lines repeat almost identical faces. Stepping back, however, one sees how the faces themselves spell out a text, a message.

Faces glean information from stimuli, and are also of course objects read by others for meaning. In Tesfai’s work, the faces are literally transformed into words, into a message. The message is about life, the key of life in the Wonderian sense. The overlapping of the faces is a crucial relation in Tesfai’s paintings. He suggested to me their relationship to iconographic religious painting in an African style.

I know I shouldn’t love you like I know I shouldn’t take another drink, you’re the sip that’ll leave me stumbling. Sometimes I can barely make sense out of loving you anymore; it has never felt as pointless as this, but my turntable heart keeps skipping over other records & playing our song on repeat. Even still with new knowledge of you filling your spaces with other girls, new distractions to hurt, I’m here trying to write something that could bring you to a place where you could learn to love yourself enough that maybe you wouldn’t need to destroy someone else for a moment of relief. I wanted to be your lifetime of that, of relief; the cool compress on the burn, the warm bath after too many nights locked out in the cold. I was on my way to let you in.

I wonder about how things could have been or were meant to have been or were going to be if I would’ve been softer with your skin unlike the way I greedily tried to hoard all your love. I wonder how all those milkshakes would’ve tasted, about all the places we would’ve made love in, if you would’ve learned how to dance for our wedding, what she would’ve looked like. I didn’t lie when I said you’d make a great father & I imagine you would’ve looked at her like she was magic, too; your soul trembling, eyes wide. I wanted you to be the story written on my womb; a collaboration of two halves of the same whole. Now we’re both trying to forget each other with new faces, meaningless conversations, people who aren’t mirrors reflecting back our deepest fears, the insecurity of the self, the hot hearted vulnerability that sent us fleeing into less risky arms. You always called me damaging; my words, my gaze, my love, sex, & beauty, but I wanted to be the healer, the saint. I was silently absolving you inside that wooden confessional of desire & still am.

There might be wolves in your forest, but I have never been scared of a little teeth. I have spent four years dissecting you like a school project, I know every organ inside of you & what muscles you’re letting atrophy. I don’t mind getting a little blood on me; I still have shirts from the last time I made you bleed. I didn’t mean to send you reverting back to old tendencies. I didn’t mean to shine a spotlight on your flaws, but if you would’ve stuck around then you would’ve also saw the red carpet I had laid out for them. &, baby, I might have placed that dynamite in your heart, but you’re the one with your thumb on the trigger.