As an illustrator, you sometimes come across something that just instantly fills you with inspiration. I felt this jolt of inspiration when I read one of Sheridan's short stories, The Lake house, about a year ago. Maybe it's to do with the place I am at with my career, but I knew I had to respond to it. I thought this project would be the perfect opportunity - and exercise - in working together as, although we are constantly discussing ideas and projects, we haven’t actually produced that much together as of yet. The Hotel project and The Lake House both share the same feel and era as several pieces of work we have already been inspired by, so taking time to go on this slight deviation is anything but detrimental.
Here is a excerpt from the story:
“The problem with today is that everyone cares too much.”
She held the martini glass between her fingers like a cigarette. The long fingers of the other hand twirled a piece of her hair which had escaped the chignon. Her gaze was not on her guests, but on the sparkling chandelier above the table. She was incandescent tonight; glowing from the inside out. His eyes bore into hers, willing her to look at him, wanting that moment of connection, for her to know that he understood her and shared her views.
“Surely the problem is that no one cares enough?”
Martin. Works at a bank. Tortoise-shell glasses and oil slick hair.
She lowered her gaze to appraise him.
“Oh darling, let’s not get into all that again, all the politics. I can’t bear it. I only meant that everyone exists, but no one really lives. People walk around like ghosts, stuck in their mundane little routines...but does anyone actually just live?”
She was now studying her glass, or her nails on the glass.
“Well, I for one, agree; if everyone stopped thinking about what they have to do and thought more about what they wanted to do, the world would be a far nicer place!”
Josephine. Vacuous socialite. On the wrong side of plump.
“Hear, hear.”
“I’ll raise a glass to that.”
The clink of glasses was jarring and made him wince. These people would agree with anything she said no matter how ill-conceived. He wondered if she knew this.
By the time the clock struck 2am, she was drunk. They stood at the door, waving off the guests, cold air whipping at their faces. She leant heavily on his shoulder, a thin arm threaded through his. Her eyes were shut but a smile twisted the corner of her lip. She always, inexplicably, smelled of violets and brandy. Sometimes he sat up in bed at night and thought about her cherry lipstick, and how she was able to make it taste bitter.
He shut the heavy door and they were alone in the wide entrance hall. He looked down at his feet on the chess board floor.
“I should be going myself,” he said, not meaning it.
“If you must,” she said dreamily, and the tone of her voice hurt him. He took his coat off the stand feeling dejected. “But I’d rather you stayed.”
As she walked away, the click of her heels, of fine leather boots, was like the ticking of a clock running out of time; funereal. Definitive. Heart racing, he followed her into the green hallway.
“Of course.”
The image is an amalgamation of the main characters, all placed within the silhouette of the very alluring central female character. I used the same techniques I have used for the Hotel project so far, and I have to say I am very pleased with how it turned out. Although it doesn’t have that orange glow I used previously, I feel that the black and white gives the same kind of effect. I wanted to try something a little different, as I felt this story had such a clear voice and therefore was owed its own style and scheme. The title, illuminated by bright pink and scattered and scratched over the image, draws you in and gives the image a focal point.