My DeviantART Story

My DeviantART story begins back in 2009. I was in year 10 at High School - aged 16 -and I was Chess Captain. I know that sounds a bit off-topic, but chess is what lead me to discovering this wonderful site. 

Anyhow, it was my involvement in chess that saw me going to regionals with a bunch of my mates also into the whole chess thing. One of these mates was Karshken - or Jack, as I knew him. After winning out the intermediate levels and finding out we were going to State Finals, we headed home. We were a small bus-load of misfits, but we had fun. On the return trip, Jack had pulled out his art book and started scribbling art into it. After finishing one, he asked if I wanted him to draw anything. I requested he draw me as a werewolf, and he did. It was amazing and I've kept that piece ever since. Hold on a sec while I dig it out for you to see.

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Found it!

I must apologise for the quality of the photograph. My computer isn't currently hooked up to my scanner and I am too lazy to bother doing all that, considering this isn't even my piece of art. 

Anyway, this is Jack's version of me as a werewolf. It is date-stamped with 24th of August 2009, which would be the date that Jack and I became friends, and began talking online about art and much and whatnot. Before too long, Jack linked me to a image that he said inspire him. I shall now find that for you as well.

It was this piece that first forced me to make an account with DeviantART. The mature age filter meant I needed an account to see it, and I had to tell them I was over 18. As I said before, I was only 16 at the time. Unfortunately I had to lie, but I was glad I was able to see it, because I quite like this piece.

When it came to my own art, I felt somewhat inferior to everything anyone had ever uploaded. My drawings were stick figures, shocking and without colour or emotion. I was able to recreate other pictures by drawing off of them - not tracing - but more looking at another drawing and drawing it freehand for myself. This was how I started. Although my very first upload was a freehand drawing of an anthropomorphic wolf I named "Dominic the Emo Teen Wolf", it was not a copy. It was a black permanent marker scribble that I had actually been happy with when I finished it.


There were a few other scribbles uploaded before my first copy was done, and they all followed the wolf theme. As my name suggests, I am quite a fan of wolves, despite the fact that there are none whatsoever in Australia. They are wonderful, majestic, fantastic creatures. I was originally "WhiteWolf742" on Skype, but my current name :devPhantom-Wolf42" first made it's appearance when I created this account. The name has now evolved to include memberships all over the place. It is my name of choice, but is often shortened to "Phantom" by gamers, or even people who actually know me personally. DeviantART was the birthplace of this name so many now know me as.

My first freehand copy picture was taken out of an art book I found in my school library. I did almost all the images from it, plus more from others I had found. The first however, is below.


There isn't much to say about this guy, except that I later adapted him into the digital media and told my brother it was for his birthday.


About a month later, on September 25th 2009, I came out with what was soon to become my main area of focus. An anthropomorphic red wolf called Martry and his best friend, Tyran the Field Mouse. This duo started out mostly as an accident - I hadn't expected anything to come from the random scribbles and lines I was putting on paper. Tyran's story comes from my inability to draw a mirror or lollypop in Marty's hand, and found that a mouse was easier to draw. Marty and Tyran have grown a lot over the years, and they are now 5 years old in their creation. The first image is how they were in day 2 of creation (day 1 was merely a black outline). The second image is of them 5 years after I began building my artistic skill.





Marty and Tyran have different forms. They have a feral form, wild form, devilish form, and they have the times when they like to dress up and play pretend. They have existed in different medias, such as drawings, paintings, lino printing, clay figures, plushies and DeviantART prints. Due to the magnitude of these works, I will thumb them below;



DeviantART became the breeding ground for my Marty and Tyran universe. Anything and everything Marty and Tyran came here. So much so that I was getting confused with how much stuff there was here that I couldn't keep a track of it, and formed the group Marty-And-Tyran to get it all in one place. I have made requests, commissioned other artists and even participated in a Kris Kringle event a few years ago, where my Kris Kringle created a small clay model of Marty and Tyran, which now sits on my shelf in Pride of Place.

It hasn't all been Marty and Tyran though, there has been a lot of photography in my gallery, from amateur to well... amateur. I'm no professional, but I like to think that sometimes I push out a picture that is quite stunning, such as this one of a leaf covered in droplets of dew. 



I am absolutely in love with this picture (and the others I have like it) and to think, I took this with a camera phone! I had enough images such as this to create a calendar, which I ordered from DeviantART and gave them to family and friends for Christmas one year.

I have also delved more deeply into digital art. I have moved away from traditional art and when I received a graphics tablet from I-am-rennc10 for my 19h birthday, I started spouting out more and more scribbles. I also became a more active fan of Achievement Hunter of Roosterteeth, specifically the Let's Play lads in their Minecraft Let's Plays. I decided I needed more practice in art, and therefore began work on fanart for the boys. I started out drawing one at a time, in their Minecraft skins. Mad King Ryan was first, followed by the rest. I quickly developed a style that I found suited me and my skill as an artist, and before too long I had drawn up the 6 main boys. It's fair to say that Michael Jones' one as Mogar (with the Banjo and Kazooie skinpack) was most popular among deviants.



Drawings, digital art, paintings etc aren't the only kinds of art that I have done/still do occasionally. I am also heavily into writing, so much so that a goal of my life is to write a novel. I have unfortunately not written in a long time as life is a bit complicated at times and I find it harder these days to find stuff to write about. My 16 year old, angsty, angry self had much more to write about. Much of my literature was poetry; there were a bunch of short stories, and failed series. I shall thumb a few of my favourite pieces below, most shall be poetry, but I will highlight a 50 word story I wrote that got quite a bit of attention and hype.

RoadkillLeft for dead on the side of the road,
I find myself wondering
Just how long I'll be here
Before someone chances across me
And believes me to be more than a dead slab of meat
Unfortunately I reek,
Of a thousand rotting corpses,
And no one in this world,
Would dare hazard me a glance,
Because I'm far gone as far as they're concerned
The rain starts falling,
In a dreary slant of a downpour,
Washing from me all hope of salvation,
Pulling me into a stream of sorrow,
Dragging me from my home on the side of the road
The stream of sorrow drags me further along,
Further away from the home I once loved,
Into the outskirts of where I wish not to be,
And all I can think is that I'll be forever alone,
Decomposing slowly in a gruesome mess of blood and guts
I can't even tell you what I am anymore;
My body is disfigured; my face chewed off by crows,
The weather carries away my limbs,
The sun boils my flesh and fades the beige of my bones,
Until you can't even tell that I am road kill. Fear MeHowl to the moon and tear you to shreds,
Disembody your figure and bite off your head.
Flesh in my teeth and blood on the ground,
Listening for screamers, straining for sound.
Clawing the earth for sign of a meal,
Following your footsteps, hot on your heel,
Lying in wait in the shadows of night,
Never again safe, under shining moon light.
Fear the werewolf
Fear me.
Rawr. 'Murderer'On your tombstone, I'll bleed
'murderer' My ParanoiaIt's almost as though,
    The very eyes of the universe,
  Follow me where I walk…
It's almost as though
    They watch me,
       Constantly,
   Seeking out my secrets,
             And planning my destruction.
     It's almost as though,
The voices that accompany me,
            Seek only to cause pain,
To torment me,
         And terrify my life.
  It's almost as though,
           Every man for himself,
      Stands on my shoulder,
   Watching me,
            PsychedeliaThe mind is angry;
    Silently fuming,
Eyes ablaze
  And heart afire.
Psychedelia,
        In the quiet rage,
   Murderous to the
                   Hearts desire.
    Beware the call,
The devil waits,
   Patiently planning;
A bloodied life,
         Singing death,
   And dancing hell,
             The fate of all
  Hang on the knife.
               This is Judgement Day. Her Last ReleaseShe stands there,
Hiding behind that face,
Smiling, faking, taking her place,
Her heart is strong, mind set assure,
Yet emotions flood and her battles roar.
She sits there,
At the back of the class,
Wearing a smile, donning her mask,
Hiding her scars, hiding her pain,
Praying to God it won't happen again.
She lies there,
On the floor of her room,
Taking the blows, living the doom,
Strike after strike, feeling the blow,
Face patterned red, bearing the glow.
She hides there,
In the back of her mind,
Leaving her pain and sadness behind,
Reality beckons, she comes to its call,
Her crimson-red blood, falls to the floor.
She cries there,
To the unlimited hell,
Begging for mercy, her soul to sell,
The fist marks burn, mercy unheeded,
Her crying agony, a hell unneeded.
She lies there,
In the dark of the night,
No one around; no one in sight,
Her last escape, her last goodbye,
As she lies there, her final sigh.
She lands there,
In amongst all the trees,
Flown by the train, with effortless ease, Cold Shoulders Toy SoldiersThe constant rattle,
    The heavy shells,
   Falling noisily to the mud,
             Rapping knuckles with the soldiers,
Knocking them down,
      Without a sound.
Guns ring loudly,
    Screaming bloody murder,
   With men turned into corpses,
            And lives turned to dust,
Throwing them about,
      Humanity striking out.
Casings fall empty,
    Bullets flying fast,
   Blood and guts mix with mud,
             Knives bend and tear at flesh,
Taking a life,
      Blood on a knife.
Day and night,
    Dusk and dawn,
   War rag It's like thisIt's like this;
   I DON'T CARE
So shut up. Destiny. Fate. ChoiceDestiny was said to have lead you,
   Through life.
Through hell.
       Unto what you had in store.
You weren't eligible to decide your own path,
   It was destiny's choice.
Their choice.
       And you did just what they said.
But does destiny really exist?
   Does it compel you along?
Does it help you along?
       Or do you write your own future?
Fate and destiny are the same thing,
   The same person.
The same governing democracy.
     Where only the two voted.
I don't put my life down to fate,
   I make my decisions.
I make my own choices.
       Does destiny really want me to fail?
Does it want me to succeed?
   You Night Time Fell  And when night time fell,
                        as did I.
Because I couldn't
    See
Where I was
              Walking. An Orc In The ShireMan belongs to a heightened
Society,
   A vast array of knowledge,
Bountiful resources,
     Beautiful landscapes.
But beyond the glittering,
Gleaming flora,
   And the wild life of the land,
Lies a deathly man,
     He is Industry.
Industry sits there,
Day in,
   Day out,
Heaving his great lungs,
     The lungs of a smoker.
He sits in the distance,
Hidden,
   And alone,
Puffing his pipe,
     Inhaling, exhaling.
In amongst the fauna,
The flora,
   The beauty,
Of the landscape,
     Industry creates,
And he destroys.
Constantly, for years,
He sits,
   He breathes,
While his servants feed his pipe,
     And flick his switches.
He is the most toxic of all, I Had It You Got It He Has ItFirst it got my Mum,
And then it got my son.
It then got my husband,
And it had only just begun.
It was passed onto my Uncle,
Who gave it to his friend,
She gave it to her boyfriend Max,
And it was never going to end.
Max gave it to his sister,
Who passed it to her Nan.
She passed it to her landlord Alf,
He took it and then he ran.
Alf passed it to his neighbour,
Who passed it to his dog,
The dog passed it to his feline friend,
Who gave it to the frog.
The frog met a princess,
And passed it on to her.
She passed it to a dying witch,
Who gave it to a sir.
Sir gave it to his kitchen maid,
Who gave it to the Queen,
She passed it to her husband,
And got lost somewhere in between.
The King passed it to his jester,
Who passed it to some guy,
The bloke passed it to a common man,
Who fell to the ground to cry.
The common man gave it to his Mum,
Who gave it to someone bald.
He gave it to his nephew John,
The last to catch the cold. Bored And Random PoemIt's a purple rhinoceros,
An orange deer.
The cup is empty,
I drank all the beer.
The glass plate shattered,
The rain fell down.
I would have smiled,
But I'm too lazy to frown.
Don't call me Ishmael!
I'll go down with a fight.
Patriotic hallucinations,
Who cares if you're right?
I'm a random poem!
I'm a tree and a maze.
Don't jump on my back,
Sheep eating maise.
Dogs and cats,
A black fish and two dice.
A dodgy red pen,
And a head full of lice.
Go eat a pie,
Suck on a straw.
Elephant shoelaces,
Your doggy wants more!
I'm going to go now,
My attention is thin.
This poem was random,
My truth lies therein. The Rage Of TrainsThe rage of the train
              Matched the rage in their hearts.
It had started off so well,
     The feelings like that of two school children,
   Fancying each other from a distance,
But as the relationship grew,
                          So did the rage.
Their first kiss had been bliss,
     Their tongues skirting the outskirts of each lip,
   Their eyes closed, imagining the impossible,
But as time was lost,
                          So was the love.
They were a fairytale pair,
     A modern day Romeo in love with his Juliet,
   And th PedestalYour hair is perfect,
Pristine and gleaming.
Your eyes are gorgeous,
Great blue oceanic orbs.
Your face is beautiful,
Toned skin and rosy cheeks.
Your clothes are designer,
Elegant and unique.
Your shoes are astonishing,
High heeled and glittering.
Your accessories are fabulous,
Antique and accentuating.
Your friends are the same,
Glittered up and beautiful.
Your family is eccentric,
Gorgeous like you.
But,
Your friends are only pigeons,
Wanting to be like you.
And,
Your beauty is an illusion,
Cosmetics and pretty clothes.
Who are you kidding?
You belong on a pedestal. Fight of the Year2 Teams are playing,
Autumn Vs. Spring.
1st quarter is now,
which team will win?
Flowers,
Blossoms,
New life,
New trends.
The sun,
The sky,
The trust,
New friends.
Spring's got the ball,
Autumn comes in hard.
They need to put in,
The extra few yards.
Evergreen,
Deciduous,
Leaves fall
To the ground.
Reds,
Yellows,
Golds,
And browns.
Two goals to both,
scores are a tie.
Three quarters to go,
All players are high.
Daffodils,
Daisies,
Roses
And thyme.
Lilacs,
Violets,
Come out
At this time.
Spring's in the lead,
Four goals to three,
Half time is here,
Who'll win? Wait 'n' see.
Red,
Yellow,
Gold,
And brown.
Orange
And bronze
Come out
For this round.
Third quarter is fin,
One quarter to go,
The score at this time,
Is six goals to four.
Green,
Purple,
Pink,
White.
Blue,
Red
It's colours
Delight.
The game is won,
Spring came out on top.
They won by two goals,
That isn't a lot. Upside-Down and BackwardsLate at night in the middle of the day,
A legless old lady walked away.
A blind man saw her and said 'I see'
'You have no legs above the knee'
A deaf man heard what's going on,
and said 'I heard that something's wrong.'
A man without a tongue came by,
And said to them 'Well, my oh my.'
'How awful it is to have no legs,'
'But that person there has got no neck!'
The poor old soul was twelve years old,
He had no neck, or so he was told.
He said 'My throat is rather sore,'
'My Adams apple is quite a bore!'
'Look at that!' The dumb man cried,
'Look at what?' The deaf replied.
'Over there; behind the fence,'
'Is some old man witout a head!'
'Oh my God!' Dumb man said,
As he watched the man turn red.
'I need a rest; my legs are sore,'
Said tha lady who started it all.
'I can't imagine what I'd do.'
Said headless man; 'Not a clue.'
'I can see with my two eyes,'
Blind man said 'I'd rather die'
'I agree, my nose is itchy,'
Headless said 'It's rather bitchy'
A man walks by and says 'How do you do

I think it's nearing time to pack up my typewriter keyboard and actually do something constructive with my time, so I think I will finish up with this last photograph of some artisan crafts I did for I-am-rennc10 for Christmas in 2011. We had played a lot of Minecraft together, and I thought making him a plush creeper would be thoughtful - not to mention adorable. We named him Pablo, and I got him a small sombrero. The slime was for me, made from leftover material. He too wears a sombrero, but it is properly sized for humans. He was named Bilbo.



There have been multitudes of works come through my DeviantART messages, and there are 55 pages of favourites to prove it, and I have made quite a few friends through this website. Some I know in reality, and some I have never met, and probably never will. I thank you all for reading through my story, and surviving my hordes of art I shamelessly promote. I rarely find motivation for art these days as many things in my life have changed and I am more inclined to socialise with others than I was before, and therefore have less time to myself. 

Happy 14th birthday deviantart, many many more years wished upon you.