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DAZ Productions, Inc.
224 S 200 W, Suite #250
Salt Lake City, UT 84101
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© 2024 Daz Productions Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Comments
That doesn't look bad at all, especially for only being at it for about a month. System limitations can secerely get in the way of practice (trust me, I know), but the only way to get better is with practice and experimenting. You'll get there :)
Many of my renders come from simply trying to test a new item. Or playing around with lighting, shaders or a random idea from one of the stories that are running around in my brain. Only rarely I have a real plan for the final image when I start. Which is a good thing, because most of the time I end up falling in love with an odd camera angle. I don't really think my stuff is all that good or even deserving of the title 'art', but I have fun with it, that's the main thing. Or should be, it is, after all, a hobby ;)
I really love this.
It is too art!
Your fooling around had excellent results! LOVE the lighting on this one!
@IceDragonArt Thank you :) I'm trying. There's always a lot of things that could have been better, though. Ah, but don't we all think that way?
@Novica Thanks! And thank you so much for linking it, too :D
Yes, yes we do!
I really like the way in the picture of Isabelle brewing you have used a restricted palette of ochres and browns for most the scene but the leaves of the herb she is grinding are such a lovely green; the colour contrast is, for me, very effective and evocative.
@nattaruk thanks! I was hoping the herbs would stand out that way. Without screaming for too much attention, obviously.
From his hiding spot on higher ground, the photographer quickly snapped a picture of the black cat licking its paw. It looked like a cat. But considering it had just chased a oozing, ethereal.. glow back under the abandoned village's well by only hissing at it, the creature was quite probably something else. Shaking his head, he fled the scene, back to the civilized world and most of all, toward the largest drink he could find. He was getting far too old to chase ghost stories. Especially those that turned out to have a shred of truth to them..
That would be another round of (Iray) experimenting. One that ended up somewhat.. seasonal. The 'story' came later. (Because the pillar/chimney thing I put the camera on/above almost looks like a stray finger on a photo that was taken too quickly)
Now that sounds like an interesting, seasonal, story!
Knowing my brain, I may or may not make a longer version of it. Who knows ;)
Good work here, I started at page 1 and randomly jumped forward, lots of improvement. I loved the picture of Isabelle, lighting is really good. The one with the cat is pretty dark on my monitor.
Happy rendering!
Thank you @Paintbox ! The image with the cat is dark, yes. It's supposed to be :)
It was past time I made an image with these two once more. The epic hair is thanks to my best friend's postwork skills :)
Autumn Colours
Yes, backlight as main light. For that in-the-forest-feel ;)
Beautiful lighting and colors!
That render is very touching mori_mann!!
Thank you both! :)
She did a really great job on the hair, it really blends in seamlessly with the render. And I love the fall colors.
She did!
Glad you like!
He woke up on the rough, cold floor of what appeared to be a circular room. The faint lights coming from several directions made it harder to see his surroundings instead of easier. Remaining still on the floor, Nes closed his eyes again and tried to remember what had happened through the distracting pounding of his head He had been caught from behind, unaware of being followed. Or perhaps he wasn’t followed, but just in the wrong place at the wrong time. By the time he heard the unusually human-like call of an unfamiliar bird it was already too late. The sound of sprinting footsteps and a blow to the back of his head, hard enough to knock him unconscious. That explained the headache then. It dawned on him that his clothes had been taken along with all his other possessions. That would make escaping considerably more challenging.
He didn’t know how long he had been there when the footsteps came. Heavy footfalls, with something clicking on the stone floor, accompanied by boots, treading much more lightly. Voices, too. A growl, demanding proof that the prisoner was alive and a frightened high-pitched, breathless mumbling that could not be understood. The closer they got, the more light he saw through his closed eyelids. Did he imagine a tremble in the floor?
When he heard the sound of a key turning in a lock, the half-drow intended to remain as he was, pretending to be out cold still, but the command in a guttural language he did not know pulled him upright and forced him to look up. A huge, four armed demon loomed over him, pointing a torch in his direction to get a good look at him with an unsettling amount of eyes.
Nes could only stare in horror.
Another part in Nes' story. The last time he was captured for/by a demon who liked rare curiosities and collected unusual creatures and especially cross breeds, not unlike a zoo. As a half-drow/half-elf, especially a living adult male, Nes had piqued his interest. (Spoiler: If it's not well, it’s not the end :) )
I just love your stories...
I want to read more! The story is really itneresting, and the render is very nice!
Thanks :)
More of his story (in random order) is scattered around this thread and in his own gallery over at dA :)
Moongazing
Made for Llola's monthly challenge :)
That is really lovely. Simple but really tells a story. The lighting is lovely!
Thank you :)
Happy Holidays!
Merry Christmas!!!
Probably the last one for this year, playing with Iray. Also entered in the Raining Men contest. Without the watermark and without the story, though. (Which is the first bit of a co-op story with my best friend)
Abandoned House
It was dark and quiet, just the way he liked it. In his experience, fewer questions were asked if he did his job when most decent people were asleep or at least in their homes, doing whatever it was decent people did at such times. Dimi giggled softly at the thought, then looked back over his shoulder to see if that guard he had so eloquently convinced of his honourable intentions, had not accidentally recovered from the unexpected blow to the head, before the rogue could get out of sight. All was quiet, the man still crumpled up in an untidy heap. The elf winced slightly when he imagined the man’s headache on waking up, but shook his head and grinned. “Professional hazard, comes with the job,” he muttered softly, cheerfully, before trotting on to make sure he could no longer be seen from the knocked-out guard’s position.
The shabby and sagging building did not look very impressive, the lock only a cursory protection to discourage those coming by to sell wares or beg for alms. Not that the crooked walls and badly boarded up windows would invite any but the most desperate to even bother with either. Dimi did not insult his lock picks by forcing them to wake up for something his belt knife could do just as easily.
Slightly disappointed that the door did not creak dramatically, he let himself in. The outside appearance of the shack had been a rather good indication of what was to come. Moonlight filtered in, not only through the planks on the windows, but also through cracks in the walls. A hint of doubt tried to cast a shadow over the rogue’s high spirits, but he wouldn’t let it. He was promised treasure, so treasure he would have. In truth, the promise had been a partially overheard conversation, mentioning this location and the words ‘demon’ and ‘protected’, but for Dimi, that was enough to be sure there was something invaluable here. Why else use a demon to protect something? He happily ignored the fact that the men at the tavern could simply have been lamenting the fact that they were no longer protected from demons after the shack’s inhabitants left.
It took Dimi a full minute to assess the situation. There was nothing of value here. The furniture worn and broken, a discoloured spot on one of the walls the only indication that there had once been a painting and the rugs on the floor musty and threadbare. He absently rolled one of said rugs back with his foot, trying to think of something to make this excursion adventurous, if not profitable. Looking down, his eye caught the corner of what could only be a trapdoor. A smile lit up his bright blue eyes. “Gotcha!” the elf muttered happily. He pulled back the rug all the way, ignoring how part of it simply turned to dust, and set to pry open the square bit of wood. It soon revealed what resembled a brick chimney with metal rungs set into one of the sides, descending into darkness. The elf shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. “There we go!” He told himself.