Thought This Exercise Is Just Going To Be Atrocious But I Kinda Like The Top One (10 Minutes)

pretty sure it was done before but anyway

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i like the 1st pic but the rest was bad. whatever

i like the 5 minute ones the most

more pics (cw genitals) and text below

more sketches of pics i found by searching "pointy breasts" lol. i like the first one (despite not drawing the nice top texture) but the others are wrong. the 2nd one looks as a person in the dark if you point a flashlight at them instead of flirty, the 3rd is ok in terms of wet top and hand but i did her face really bad, on the 4th pic (which was the earliest) are pictures where neither body nor face are ok (despite having 2 attempts at one of them), except the one with the lifted leg which is mid. i post these to follow my policy of publishing all kinds of drawings, including those i dislike.

idk if i'm closer to being able to draw brett ashley from "the sun also rises", which was my original purpose of searching these references, but i had fun

it is very flawed but it's been 4 hours, i think i won't do any better and will just redraw everything piece by piece endlessly :')

first draft below, provided by posting shitty drawings policy

guysguysguys hear me out

doesnt this look a little like...Liquid Snake'!??!

workout routine that slowly turns you into big boss (might or might not cause eye damage)

testosterone that slowly turns you into solid snake

I chose to read this book while hiking the Camino de Santiago for two weeks with my mom. I’d Googled “famous books that feature the Camino” and this was the top result. While I read some Hemingway in high school, I realized I’d never covered this one. Despite what Google promised, I was disappointed that the characters do not hike the Camino?! They spend time in North Spain and the Basque Country, visit Saint Jean (where many start the Camino Frances), and drive (drive!) to Pamplona. In spite of feeling mislead by Google, there was so much that was evocative of setting in this novel; the descriptions of the countryside are evocative, luscious, and it felt an immense privilege to read these surrounded by the landscape I internalized day-after-day while hiking through it. 

When I picked up this book on the first day of my hike, I read first the non-fiction essay about Hemingway’s trip to the bullfights in Spain and I loved this; Hemingway is funny and likable and the way he refers to his wife as “Herself” both made me laugh and respect his awareness of his wife’s presence and charisma. This essay also demonstrated a self-deprecating humor I didn’t expect from Hemingway. His line about the appeal of bull-fighters made me laugh out loud: “The only way most husbands are able to keep any drag with their wives at all is that, first there are only a limited number of bull fighters, second there are only a limited number of wives who have ever seen bull fights.” Similarly, he ended the essay with a punchy, humorous knock at himself for having dishonored his family through no real bullfighting aplomb: “There is always that room at 5 Calle de Eslava, and a son, if he is to redeem the family reputation as a bull fighter, must start very early.” From my high school education, I recall Hemingway as “uber masculine,” a product of hyper-masculine tradition that spills over into and informs his punchy prose. But, reading this book as an adult, I found him to be—both in this non-fiction essay and in the novel—far more nuanced, far more self-aware in his discussions of gender and gender roles. His writing, too, is so more engaging than I remembered from high school: tight and confident in a way that does not feel like black-and-white thinking, but, instead, like numerous sharp observations of human complexities. 

I feel I didn’t appreciate Hemingway’s prose in high school; he’s a remarkable writer on the level of the sentence. Hemingway is doing something that seems simple, but—in that—is very, very difficult to achieve. The naturalness of Hemingway’s dialogue and scene-setting is key to his craft. Conversations occur naturally to the point of the reader’s confusion, as various other characters and events are referred to in a scene, and adjustment is not made for exposition or the reader’s understanding. This approach, therefore, feels like authenticity, like truly dropping us “in medias res.” I can’t think of another writer who does this as well as Hemingway. Yet, he pairs this authentic world-building with some (likely very authentic to the setting) blatant sexism and anti-semitism, which I struggled to parse as the opinions of the characters or of Hemingway himself. While Brett’s character is perceived by other characters through a time-period accurate sexist lens (women come out to gawk at her; Pedro Romero wants her to grow out her hair), it’s the comments about Jewish character Robert Cohn that most baffled my ability to separate the author from his characters. And while body shaming is directly stated (by some characters), the nature of main character Jake’s World War I injury remains consistently vague to the reader. It seems, I deduce, that he lost his penis fighting in the war, but this is always said in a slant way, that captures the emotional impact of the injury (and its impact on his potential love affair with Brett) more than the physical impact. 

The choice of a protagonist whose “manliness” is so fundamental challenged (in his own eyes, in the eyes of others) brings in an inherent and consistent complexity about gender and what is means to be masculine. From Jake’s injury to Brett’s characterization—Brett comfortably hangs out with all male friends, while calling them “chaps,” and occasionally the men refer to collectively to their group as “men,” while Brett acts as she wants, following her sexual and financial desires, wears her hair cut short and her shoulders bare, and she is labeled with a masculine name—the novel’s concept of gender continues to distort and tangle. When Pedro Romero, brilliant young bull fighter appears on the scene, much is made of his beauty and of his tightly-fitting flamboyant clothes (much in the way we might expect a young female person to be received). Brett wonders if his entourage had to “shoe-horn” him into those clothes. The original description of Pedro Romero, alone yet surrounded by his entourage, was my singular favorite image and moment of the novel: “He was standing, straight and handsome and altogether by himself, alone in the room with the hangers-on as we shut the door.” It’s a moment in which it is easy to deeply identify with Pedro Romero. In a novel where emotional evolution is communicated through what is noticed, focused on, and discussed, given the level nature of the prose, gender nuance takes on importance through repetition. Even though the conclusions about gender aren’t obvious, it’s clear that “something is going on with gender” in this novel. And the piling up of moments and details of gender nonconformity shifted my perspective about Hemingway’s relationship to gender in his literary oeuvre. 

Another shift in my perspective throughout this book was on bull-fighting itself. A staunch vegetarian, I know I would be quick to recoil at the cruelty of bull-fighting. But the depiction of the community’s buy-in and risk—everyone running ahead of the bulls, rather than non-implicated spectators out for a bit of entertaining bloodshed—the descriptions of the matadors, particularly the injured fighter and the kid who takes on all the remaining bulls in the essay (he is likely the inspiration for Pedro Romero’s grace and purity in the novel)—made the tradition of bull-fighting appear in a different light to me. What is it that is so alluring about a person rising to the occasion? About someone showing fortitude and brilliance beyond what we expect possible of humans? It’s incredible feats, like the Olympics, that move us: the grandeur and fascination of transcendence, the highest pinnacles of human physical and psychological acts—these capture our hearts and imaginations. And I could see bull-fighting, in its artistry and rigor, in this light. 

The beauty of bull fighting—its pure form, the version embodied by Pedro Romero—is placed in relief against the background of meaningless extravagance and frivolity of the characters who take center stage in this book. The novel begins in the decadence of Paris, as Jake, Brett, Robert Cohn, and their other friends—hilarious Bill and predictably pig-headed Mike—drink, eat, dance, and wile away the time. In spite of the seeming purposelessness of their lives, we see the hollowness Jake feels within this. We also see glimpses of the hollowness Brett feels within this, as she seems to seek over and over again the fulfillment, the thrill of love, while finding nothing of substance to sustain her. This is showcased in her “relationship” with the affluent Count, who buys her extravagant things and doesn’t pressure her into marriage or conformity along similar lines.

The novel’s plot is kicked into motion by arrivals: Michael (Brett’s finance) shows up in town; Bill (who I found hilarious, and read aloud lines like “the road to hell is paved with unbought stuffed animals” and “caffeine puts a man on her horse and woman in his grave” to my mom) shows up in town; Robert Cohn (who falls in love with Brett) returns. These arrivals spark a joint adventure as Brett and Michael choose to join the other three on their fishing trip to Spain, which spirals off-track as Robert Cohn falls for Brett, and Brett falls for Pedro Romero (or at least desires him and his innocence, his freedom), upsetting the stasis in which their lives operate. Through multiple lenses, community and isolation are examined and questioned. In Pamplona, Jake goes to church, and an extended (this is rare!) sentence builds Jake’s anxiety at being a poor Catholic, piles prayers on top of prayers, mapping the circuitousness of his thoughts. The arc of the novel seems to exist more inside Jake than outside of him, as he seems to seek toward some transcendence and restoration without understanding what these might possibly be. We feel this suffering in many of the characters, as they make choices so clearly against their own best interests—but this clarity is the privilege of the observer glimpsing a life, and not the clarity, Hemingway seems to say, of the one who lives it. 

the "man of japanese heritage" is sentenced to gajillion bad and whitewashed portraits for his views)0 not tagging it for the same reasons

thanks!

p.s. it's enabled and sometimes i see it working but apparently these posts are not long enough. well, it is what it is, i should reblog less ig lol

i wish there was a way to put reblog under cut instead of having gajillion long ass mgs related text posts on my page

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today really was one of the days of all times... did 30 minutes instead of usual 60, not saying anything about these