I went to the Derby 'Old Glory' wargames show with the shop this weekend (working on my fucking birthday, no less). I thought I'd share a couple of thoughts with the hoi polloi (you) to get a proper update on my blog. And as I'm rusty and out of practice I'm switching targets from Mantic back to Games Workshop. I need an easy target to get back into the swing of things. I have a lot of bile to get rid of, but recent events in my real life have messed with my head (the world is topsy-turvy, I tell you). So, like a rabid stoat in a maternity ward it's easy meat for now.
Old Glory is an independent wargames show in Derby. It is sponsored by the Old Glory miniature company, and is a largely historical show. However, Hasslefree and Heresy were there so it was all right. As it was my birthday weekend I did get away with goofing off, so I spent a bit (a lot) of time smoking and going to the aforementioned stands.
Now, everyone should know I love both companies. They are true exemplars of the indie miniatures scene. Kev and Andy are wonderful to talk to, both very witty and quite free with their time, so you can talk to them at length and they are both really good at masking their irritation and boredom. And Andy is making what ranks as the best dragon miniature (and I use that term ironically, it's fucking huge and will beat up your Forge World dragon and steal it's dinner money). So go ahead and wibble on about stuff that makes no sense, pop a chubby over the Heresy dragon, they love it. I spent my birthday money (working on my fucking birthday, no less) and scored some awesome booty.
From Heresy I got 2 of the Hurn Headtaker limited edition miniatures. Based upon the predator, it's fucking amazing. Like all Heresy models it's really well cast. You get options for wrist blades, spears and hands as well as the obligatory over-the-shoulder plasma cannon. With less than 50 of the limited run left, I'd really recommend picking one up. Value-wise, at £8 it's easily the equal in raw material of the £12 Logan Grimnar Space Wolf from GW, and unarguably cooler. More about GW later.
I also picked up a fantastic bargain from Heresy too. The uber-cool trenchcoat warrior gang Andy did was available in a big ass blister for £37.50. With ten models in the pack it works out to a saving of about £4. That's not much, I hear you cry like the unbelievable tossers you are. Fuck you, I reply. It has a fat guy with a Stinger missile launcher, a nutcase in a leather dress with a flame thrower and a hard nut with a minigun. One of them is cartwheeling with a shotgun. That is all. You go buy them now, I'll carry on when you get back. Really, I'll still be here.
Back? Already?
You better have fucking bought them.
I'm going to carry on with the literary gem that is this blog now.
All are exceptionally well cast and wonderfully characterful, really good for use as Delaques in Necromunda (aside from the fact all the GW gangs look puny and insipid next to them) but more on GW later.
Switching over to Hasslefree, I finally got my limited edition resin Axenarf. This model (inspired by the GW original Skrag the Slaughterer, not the wanky one with a cauldron tied to it used nowadays, but more on GW later) is a multi-part armoured Ogre with optional heads and a big certificate of awesomeness (I got number 66) made to celebrate Hasslefree's 6th birthday (I had to work my birthday over the weekend, did I tell you?). I also got a pre-release Goatboy master as a birthday present, and bought what is probably the best example of the female form committed to an artistic medium since Rodin's Danaid, Artemis.
This model is naked (the only other female model I have owned with even a hint of boob was Werner Klocke's Chaos Sorceress) but not in a titillating way. It echoes the statuary of ancient times, and all she is wearing is a helm (looks Spartan to me, Hoplite at a pinch) and sandals. She is holding a shield with a big blank space for freehand as shown in Ali McVey's version and what looks to be a gladius (maybe a Gladius Hispaniensis, but I'm no expert) and is in the 40mm scale.
These miniatures can only be made on the indie circuit where creativity has free reign. The very idea of pitching either Artemis or Hurn to a committee at GW is ludicrous. Now, don't get me wrong, GW do produce some great minis. Aside from the sheer ludicrousness of the High Elf helmet there are some wonderful models in that range.
The new Dark Eldar models are also nice, if looking a little fantasy chaos warrior-ish. With the demand for movement in models there are some bizarre running poses and the skiffs look more and more like Jabba's sail barge in miniature (Sarlacc pit anyone) but it is still strictly within the canon as defined by GW's financial masters. And, I suppose, the design studio.
But therein lies the problem. With no room for innovation outside of Forge World (and most of their stuff is derivative and uninspired) I have been drawn to the following conclusion:
Games Workshop is the death of creativity.
Like some fat, malicious, syphillitic, geriatric sadist teabagging the miniatures industry with it's rotting scrotum whilst simultaneously defecating shit, tumours and rotting Space Marines onto it's forehead, all the time wishing it was Simon Cowell, hence able to force greater consumption of it's product by the bovine, cud-chewing masses (you) and completely dictate the zeitgeist of the tabletop industry.
It already dictates the structure of the average gaming company simply due to the number of disillusioned, fucked-over ex employees who, like the psychologically scarred survivor of a torture porn film just end up repeating the cycle again.
In this way GW has tendrils throughout the industry. Retail employees used to have the 'ten commandments' - common sense guidelines like bathe frequently and don't wank on the shop floor during opening hours (where else did you think they got such shitty superglue from?). You know, the kind of thing people can work out for themselves by being able to act in a social situation. Now there are the doctrines (and you thought my Space Marine metaphors were tortured) which govern how a store will look (taking a leaf out of McDonalds food, the same as all other stores), how to make scenery (only out of GW product unless you work at Warhammer World) and how many Baneblade tanks to sell to the guy who has a High Elf army.
Seriously, WHAT THE FUCK? Who do you fucking think you are? Even painting methodology is dictated, with the emphasis on the flat coat/wash/drybrush/done method. Hello Golden Daemon. No really. With one competitor being told he painted in too French a style to make it through the first cut and another being told by an 'Eavy Metal member he should have entered the competition with a miniature that failed to make first cut one has to wonder what the bean counters are doing trying to gouge a bigger profit from a consumer base renowned for smashing their toys when they fail to validate their reason for being by losing a game and alternating between a cataleptic sate when confronted with a real woman and masturbating furiously to porn/bragging about the sexual gymnastics they would perform with that girl over there and entering a cataleptic state when that girl over there walks near them. Possibly yelping in terror if any female anatomy brushes them then fainting.
I am honestly surprised there hasn't been an incident in the store where one of these social underclass (you) cuts up rough after smearing himself in excrement, or possibly Scorched Brown paint and maybe drybrushes a random staff member with his penis.
And those poor bastards in retail. Conditioned to eat at the trough of blandness through spiritual abuse so they are Pavlovian in their responses. Horrendous sales targets (GW Christmas special training: 'If you really loved your son you'd spend more than the £150 you already have' - I shit you not), bizarre orders, demand for new starters with deep pockets and bitchy corporate culture it's no wonder they try to sell you shit you don't want or need.
In a hobby that thrives on individuality GW (and Mantic) have proven that it's natural state is really a Mediocrity, echoing popular culture.
We're all to blame, but you can make a difference. Spend the money that would have gone on a Baneblade on Heresy or Hasslefree. If you need to spend your cash on a range that supports a game, go to Wargames Inc and buy or order some Flames of War or WarmaHordes. Support the indies, or all you will be left with is GW and some expensive models on Ebay you'll wish you had bought earlier.
Rob
Angry at weird life turns ...
Showing posts with label utter tosh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label utter tosh. Show all posts
Thursday, 7 October 2010
Monday, 8 February 2010
The blog is closed, everybody get out.
Apparently (and much to the amusement of the other staff, customers and especially the owner of Wargames Inc) I am Bernard Black, crotchety book shop keeper and aggressive drunk of the sitcom 'Black Books'. Now, I do like the series, and Dylan Moran's stand-up is fantastic but I just don't see the resemblance. The hilarity stems from a staff member's wife saying 'That's Rob! Just replace the wine with coffee and it's Rob!' while watching series one and then it spread like a particularly virulent STD. Every time I interact with one particular staff member (you know who you are) I usually get the following response at least once: 'Jam jam jam jam jam eurgh!' followed by a mime of 'me' throwing toast to the ceiling. I think there has even been threats of sticking plastic toast to the shop roof. Irritating as this may be, I didn't think anything of it until the time came to go out and interact with real people.
A friend of mine, Amy, is going to work in China for a year as a part of the VSO programme, which means she has more balls than I do. Which also means she has far more balls than the rest of you, what with me having an American football as well as a couple of back-up testicles. This past Saturday was her going away party and I was invited for drinks. Yes, she is that committed to charity. The downside? It would be at a local pub frequented by people who don't play wargames. Not exactly my milieu but duty called (it had nothing to do with ogling her in her party dress either, before you start).
So when I got there I edged my way past the well-dressed people (I had chosen a rather fetching anorak and Primark t-shirt ensemble, complete with the requisite beige combat trousers of the sixty-year old), spotted Catherine's American beau Steve and quite quickly got myself a pint of coke and hid in the corner. Steve is a nice guy, automatically interesting because he's foreign so I could follow standard UK diplomatic policy and hide behind the nearest yank. Especially useful when the obligatory huge drunken guy from Nottingham demanded a chinwag.
As the evening progressed I eyed the svelte people passing in front of me. The women were like gazelles on the African veldt, graceful and alluring. Me? Was I some leonine predator on the hunt, you ask? Yes. Yes I was. If by leonine predator you mean fat, toothless hippo in a muddy, excremental wallowing hole. I steadfastly refused to move from my comfy, leather hidey hole unless it was to nip out for a fag.
Out of my depth? Considering that I can't actually swim it's a particularly apt metaphor. I got to meet some people who are so far out of my social circle I would normally need a fucking radio telescope to catch sight of their feet as they ran quickly away from me. All through the night I was having flashes of that episode where Manny locks Bernard out and Bernard is forced to brave the outside world for once. That was when it hit me.
Despite all of the good intentions from the lovely people I know (most of you can exclude yourselves from that prior statement. The people concerned know who they are) to include me in a broader social circle, I am Bernard Black. I am fiction made flesh and blood. Fucking typical. I'm not Batman or Raffles or Howard Carter, I'm the living avatar of a drunken Irish arsehole. Made slightly more ironic by the fact I am half Irish. For fuck's sake. When the party decided to decamp to a local bar for table dancing (the party were going to dance on tables, apparently. As I don't drink I wasn't going to do my Grandad shuffle and fall off a sticky, formica-topped table. That would have been the kicker, the sober guy breaking his leg while the drunken ladies in their improbable heels stayed safe) I took my leave. It had been a long day, I was shell-shocked by my revelation.
Seeing as the majority of you fuckers are so tight you fucking squeak, I'd like you to help Amy out here. You sure as shit ain't spending your cash in the shop, so why not do something unrelated to whining about the rising cost of GW products for once. Scroll down and you'll see that even I, grumpy Irish bully that I apparently am, have donated to the cause.
And yes, Amy did look alluring in her party dress. However, gentleman that I am, I didn't stare at her cleavage once. Or more than once. So there.
So onto a brief hobby update today. I have been painting (sort of) for a miniature painting competition I'm holding at the shop. The model I have chosen is Andy Foster's Feral Queen - a really nice female beastman type that could double for Valkyria the Bloody with the addition of some wings (and as long as you don't try to use it at Games Workshop).
In addition to this, I'm actually starting sculpting proper - no more likenesses of Burke from Trapdoor, I'm going for a (reasonably) whole miniature. I will be starting it about a half hour after this long winded and picture free update, so expect to see pics of my progress ... at some juncture in the future. I will be using Fimo over a wire armature and trying to sculpt a male figure. Hopefully it won't end up looking like some ancient fertility idol but you can never be too sure ...
Rob
Angry at the whole Cerebus the Aardvark turn his life seems to be taking
A friend of mine, Amy, is going to work in China for a year as a part of the VSO programme, which means she has more balls than I do. Which also means she has far more balls than the rest of you, what with me having an American football as well as a couple of back-up testicles. This past Saturday was her going away party and I was invited for drinks. Yes, she is that committed to charity. The downside? It would be at a local pub frequented by people who don't play wargames. Not exactly my milieu but duty called (it had nothing to do with ogling her in her party dress either, before you start).
So when I got there I edged my way past the well-dressed people (I had chosen a rather fetching anorak and Primark t-shirt ensemble, complete with the requisite beige combat trousers of the sixty-year old), spotted Catherine's American beau Steve and quite quickly got myself a pint of coke and hid in the corner. Steve is a nice guy, automatically interesting because he's foreign so I could follow standard UK diplomatic policy and hide behind the nearest yank. Especially useful when the obligatory huge drunken guy from Nottingham demanded a chinwag.
As the evening progressed I eyed the svelte people passing in front of me. The women were like gazelles on the African veldt, graceful and alluring. Me? Was I some leonine predator on the hunt, you ask? Yes. Yes I was. If by leonine predator you mean fat, toothless hippo in a muddy, excremental wallowing hole. I steadfastly refused to move from my comfy, leather hidey hole unless it was to nip out for a fag.
Out of my depth? Considering that I can't actually swim it's a particularly apt metaphor. I got to meet some people who are so far out of my social circle I would normally need a fucking radio telescope to catch sight of their feet as they ran quickly away from me. All through the night I was having flashes of that episode where Manny locks Bernard out and Bernard is forced to brave the outside world for once. That was when it hit me.
Despite all of the good intentions from the lovely people I know (most of you can exclude yourselves from that prior statement. The people concerned know who they are) to include me in a broader social circle, I am Bernard Black. I am fiction made flesh and blood. Fucking typical. I'm not Batman or Raffles or Howard Carter, I'm the living avatar of a drunken Irish arsehole. Made slightly more ironic by the fact I am half Irish. For fuck's sake. When the party decided to decamp to a local bar for table dancing (the party were going to dance on tables, apparently. As I don't drink I wasn't going to do my Grandad shuffle and fall off a sticky, formica-topped table. That would have been the kicker, the sober guy breaking his leg while the drunken ladies in their improbable heels stayed safe) I took my leave. It had been a long day, I was shell-shocked by my revelation.
Seeing as the majority of you fuckers are so tight you fucking squeak, I'd like you to help Amy out here. You sure as shit ain't spending your cash in the shop, so why not do something unrelated to whining about the rising cost of GW products for once. Scroll down and you'll see that even I, grumpy Irish bully that I apparently am, have donated to the cause.
And yes, Amy did look alluring in her party dress. However, gentleman that I am, I didn't stare at her cleavage once. Or more than once. So there.
So onto a brief hobby update today. I have been painting (sort of) for a miniature painting competition I'm holding at the shop. The model I have chosen is Andy Foster's Feral Queen - a really nice female beastman type that could double for Valkyria the Bloody with the addition of some wings (and as long as you don't try to use it at Games Workshop).
In addition to this, I'm actually starting sculpting proper - no more likenesses of Burke from Trapdoor, I'm going for a (reasonably) whole miniature. I will be starting it about a half hour after this long winded and picture free update, so expect to see pics of my progress ... at some juncture in the future. I will be using Fimo over a wire armature and trying to sculpt a male figure. Hopefully it won't end up looking like some ancient fertility idol but you can never be too sure ...
Rob
Angry at the whole Cerebus the Aardvark turn his life seems to be taking
Saturday, 5 December 2009
Tangency ahead ...
It's late and I'm listening to the THACO podcast interspersed with Julian Bream playing Joaquín Rodrigo's Concierto de Aranjuez (there's some culture for you fuckers) and attention span problems are hitting. I need to be doing about four or five hobby projects at once. Stupid, yes, but it's how I'm wired. Rather than berate the reader with vitriolic diatribe interspersed with gay sex jokes (hurr u liek it up teh botti), I'll just get on with my latest scheme and what's going on with my Desert Nazis (just switched to Bream playing Bach's Fugue in A Minor).
The Skorne will be coming along (I'm just prepping my Tyrant Commander, a mini that looks like it's been fucking hit with a tattooist's needle it's that fucking pitted), to be followed by some Cataphract Cetratii. These will be speed painted (but hopefully not rushed). I have the mini I'm painting for my fellow pressganger (still in need of prep), Kaelyssa (bloody Matt DiPietro), basic sculpting to learn (blocking forms, correct proportion and the like). Add to this a novel I'm plugging away at in the background and I need one more project to fritter away my life with.
Enter the great devourer.
I know, it would have been better if I had wrote 'Enter the realm of Chaos, your nightmare has just begun' and waffled on about Bolt Thrower and how music was awesome when GW was more open to random projects and added some more gay jokes (u stil liek it up u'r bum) but I'm quite mellow at the moment (must be the music, I'm back to Rodrigo).
My history with GW has been quite odd. I think that the management buy out circa White Dwarf 120-ish was a bad thing, and their propensity to simplify and add space machines to everything pisses me off (not to mention the legal department headed, I'm reliably informed, by the very cliché of a greasy lawyer type) but GW kept the hobby alive during the dark times, and as I hob-nob with the higher-ups of the design studio every now and again (who are all really nice guys), I'm prepared to forgive them. Fuck, they aren't hitting me with a cease and desist and I don't really give two squirts of piss about your opinion on Bloodbowl.
The oddness comes from the fact I have never had a full army of GW's before. There, my shock admission is out in the open. When I played my only two games of 40K (then called Rogue trader) 22 years ago, I got had twice and decided to stick to roleplay. Battle at the Farm, where you could be Crimson Fists or Space Orks. My one game of Warhammer Fantasy came during my quest to paint like his holiness Mike McVey and I played with a friend's gobbos against his Dark Elves.
Then I stopped with the hobby for about 10-12 years. I had seen some of Mike's miniatures in real life (specifically his Heroquest diorama and his Eversor Assassin and Emperor vs. Horus dioramas) and I was shocked at how different they looked in real life. For one, you couldn't see the filligree painted on the Emperor's armour and the colours looked so much more rich and vibrant in reality. I was basing my painting style on the lighter way the models appeared in White Dwarf. So they looked quite bland compared to how the high end painters I desperately wanted to emulate really painted.
Add to that my rather punishing training shedule (8 hours work, 6-8 hours gym and martial arts a day) and there wasn't time to do the hobby any more. However, the great thing about toy soldiers is you can always go back to it. I also have found one of the last minis I ever painted before stopping, a test model for a Chaos army in WFB. Yes, I'll get some pictures so you can have a good chortle, you pack of bastards.
Which brings me to the point of this rather meandering post. I am embarking upon my very first 40K army, and it is Tyranids. The greatest menace the Imperium has ever known, and an archetypal 'horde' army. I have started at the top and got my army leader, the Hive Tyrant. He's huge, far bigger than most generals, and directs the will of the intelligence behind the 'Nids on the battlefield. He's also a bit of a bullet magnet, so I imagine there will be very angry posts on how everyone 'lieks it up teh bum bum' because they can beat me easily.
I'll be at Wargames Inc assembling and painting this army, so if you want to come on down and get or give hints and tips on painting, modelling (miniatures or 3d only please) then pop in for a chat.
I promise not to post about your propensity for receiving the sossage up your brown eye at all.
Honest.
Rob
Angry at ... err ... racism. Yeah, that's always a good one to be angry about
The Skorne will be coming along (I'm just prepping my Tyrant Commander, a mini that looks like it's been fucking hit with a tattooist's needle it's that fucking pitted), to be followed by some Cataphract Cetratii. These will be speed painted (but hopefully not rushed). I have the mini I'm painting for my fellow pressganger (still in need of prep), Kaelyssa (bloody Matt DiPietro), basic sculpting to learn (blocking forms, correct proportion and the like). Add to this a novel I'm plugging away at in the background and I need one more project to fritter away my life with.
Enter the great devourer.
I know, it would have been better if I had wrote 'Enter the realm of Chaos, your nightmare has just begun' and waffled on about Bolt Thrower and how music was awesome when GW was more open to random projects and added some more gay jokes (u stil liek it up u'r bum) but I'm quite mellow at the moment (must be the music, I'm back to Rodrigo).
My history with GW has been quite odd. I think that the management buy out circa White Dwarf 120-ish was a bad thing, and their propensity to simplify and add space machines to everything pisses me off (not to mention the legal department headed, I'm reliably informed, by the very cliché of a greasy lawyer type) but GW kept the hobby alive during the dark times, and as I hob-nob with the higher-ups of the design studio every now and again (who are all really nice guys), I'm prepared to forgive them. Fuck, they aren't hitting me with a cease and desist and I don't really give two squirts of piss about your opinion on Bloodbowl.
The oddness comes from the fact I have never had a full army of GW's before. There, my shock admission is out in the open. When I played my only two games of 40K (then called Rogue trader) 22 years ago, I got had twice and decided to stick to roleplay. Battle at the Farm, where you could be Crimson Fists or Space Orks. My one game of Warhammer Fantasy came during my quest to paint like his holiness Mike McVey and I played with a friend's gobbos against his Dark Elves.
Then I stopped with the hobby for about 10-12 years. I had seen some of Mike's miniatures in real life (specifically his Heroquest diorama and his Eversor Assassin and Emperor vs. Horus dioramas) and I was shocked at how different they looked in real life. For one, you couldn't see the filligree painted on the Emperor's armour and the colours looked so much more rich and vibrant in reality. I was basing my painting style on the lighter way the models appeared in White Dwarf. So they looked quite bland compared to how the high end painters I desperately wanted to emulate really painted.
Add to that my rather punishing training shedule (8 hours work, 6-8 hours gym and martial arts a day) and there wasn't time to do the hobby any more. However, the great thing about toy soldiers is you can always go back to it. I also have found one of the last minis I ever painted before stopping, a test model for a Chaos army in WFB. Yes, I'll get some pictures so you can have a good chortle, you pack of bastards.
Which brings me to the point of this rather meandering post. I am embarking upon my very first 40K army, and it is Tyranids. The greatest menace the Imperium has ever known, and an archetypal 'horde' army. I have started at the top and got my army leader, the Hive Tyrant. He's huge, far bigger than most generals, and directs the will of the intelligence behind the 'Nids on the battlefield. He's also a bit of a bullet magnet, so I imagine there will be very angry posts on how everyone 'lieks it up teh bum bum' because they can beat me easily.
I'll be at Wargames Inc assembling and painting this army, so if you want to come on down and get or give hints and tips on painting, modelling (miniatures or 3d only please) then pop in for a chat.
I promise not to post about your propensity for receiving the sossage up your brown eye at all.
Honest.
Rob
Angry at ... err ... racism. Yeah, that's always a good one to be angry about
Monday, 2 November 2009
Oh, it's so on, bitches!
Another week, another post. The challenge for tonight (and tomorrow) is to paint, with speed, one Hordes Warlock. Pah! I hear you snort derisively. Easy as wiping my arse and twice as fast. Firstly, those who know me know that I paint slow. However, painting slow doesn't get your army done. So I thought I'd join the herd and bash an army out so I can actually have a painted horde (you see what I did there?) to smash my opponents with.
Secondly, who the fuck do you think you are? You don't fucking know me.
Thirdly, can I find the cable that connects the boss' camera to the computer? Not at the moment. So I will have to use my words to tell the story of what is going on.
Once upon a time, a hot redhead from a hit science fiction show came to my house and ...
Fuck. Wrong story.
Basically all I have done is a sloppy prep job (got rid of most of the mold lines), stuck it together and undercoated it black. Citadel primer, for those who are interested. I'll do the masses of drybrushing when I get home from work (shit, before you ask. Sweet zombie Jesus I fucking hate the damn questions you lot always ask). I will be colouring it in using the bane of my painting career so far, Formula P3 paints.
Now, I have nothing against the P3 paints aside from the fact they don't do what I want them to do. And I wish they would either fuck off or do as they should when I see the finished model in my head. I can't badmouth them too much because Mike and Ali McVey (all praise their name) developed them, so they get a lot of slack due to that connection alone.
Paint ranges and limited edition miniatures. My fucking craptonite. I have far too many paints.
Well over 180 different pots from over 4 different ranges before you ask. And that doesn't include pigments, tools, sculpting goo and the rest of my crap.
So tune in sometime later this week to see how it all goes. If I can't get the damn camera lead I'll tell you how it goes (looks like it's going to be a rare triumph on my part so far).
Least I haven't bitched about Matt DiPietro this post, eh? With his talent and good looks and youth. The bastard.
Rob
Angry at your presumtion
Secondly, who the fuck do you think you are? You don't fucking know me.
Thirdly, can I find the cable that connects the boss' camera to the computer? Not at the moment. So I will have to use my words to tell the story of what is going on.
Once upon a time, a hot redhead from a hit science fiction show came to my house and ...
Fuck. Wrong story.
Basically all I have done is a sloppy prep job (got rid of most of the mold lines), stuck it together and undercoated it black. Citadel primer, for those who are interested. I'll do the masses of drybrushing when I get home from work (shit, before you ask. Sweet zombie Jesus I fucking hate the damn questions you lot always ask). I will be colouring it in using the bane of my painting career so far, Formula P3 paints.
Now, I have nothing against the P3 paints aside from the fact they don't do what I want them to do. And I wish they would either fuck off or do as they should when I see the finished model in my head. I can't badmouth them too much because Mike and Ali McVey (all praise their name) developed them, so they get a lot of slack due to that connection alone.
Paint ranges and limited edition miniatures. My fucking craptonite. I have far too many paints.
Well over 180 different pots from over 4 different ranges before you ask. And that doesn't include pigments, tools, sculpting goo and the rest of my crap.
So tune in sometime later this week to see how it all goes. If I can't get the damn camera lead I'll tell you how it goes (looks like it's going to be a rare triumph on my part so far).
Least I haven't bitched about Matt DiPietro this post, eh? With his talent and good looks and youth. The bastard.
Rob
Angry at your presumtion
Monday, 19 October 2009
The obligatory intro post ...
Hola! My name is Rob and I'm a mini painter. I'm back on the wagon after a long lay off, about 15 years or so ...
Ahem.
Yeah, another old fart getting back into the hobby. The ultimate goal is to get to the 2010 Golden Daemon awards and make it through the first cut. That's right, not to win an award (not that I'd say no, mind you) but to be able to produce painting that people other than my mum or those scared of my incredibly foul temper think is ok too.
I'm currently painting (or massively devaluing) Kaelyssa, Night's Whisper, a Retribution warcaster at the moment (slavishly following the destructions in the Ret rulebook by Matt DiPietro) and using P3 paints. It's not going so well, but that's to be expected after such a long layoff. As soon as I get the damn camera to work, I'll post pictures, so you'll just have to take my word for this - it's stunning in it's mediocrity. First cut is seeming quite far away at the moment.
I'll also be giving my thoughts on paint ranges, mini ranges and anything else I need to spew vitriol over. Hell. it's the internet, you don't know who I am, I can get away with pretty much anything on here.
Boobies!!
See?
Oh, and if bad language offends, you might not want to follow along ...
Rob
Angry at people on his lawn
Ahem.
Yeah, another old fart getting back into the hobby. The ultimate goal is to get to the 2010 Golden Daemon awards and make it through the first cut. That's right, not to win an award (not that I'd say no, mind you) but to be able to produce painting that people other than my mum or those scared of my incredibly foul temper think is ok too.
I'm currently painting (or massively devaluing) Kaelyssa, Night's Whisper, a Retribution warcaster at the moment (slavishly following the destructions in the Ret rulebook by Matt DiPietro) and using P3 paints. It's not going so well, but that's to be expected after such a long layoff. As soon as I get the damn camera to work, I'll post pictures, so you'll just have to take my word for this - it's stunning in it's mediocrity. First cut is seeming quite far away at the moment.
I'll also be giving my thoughts on paint ranges, mini ranges and anything else I need to spew vitriol over. Hell. it's the internet, you don't know who I am, I can get away with pretty much anything on here.
Boobies!!
See?
Oh, and if bad language offends, you might not want to follow along ...
Rob
Angry at people on his lawn
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
