thesis scribbles

Posted by | February 22, 2010 | ITP, Thesis | No Comments

These are sketches / abstract storyboards for my project. Below the pictures is the ~general~ storyline.

There is a man in a lost country. A king in black and white. He sits and waits. He is the last man. On his throne alone. Or perhaps he is a woman. Androgynous features and a rose in his lapel. Surrounded by the remains of those who have fallen to the darkness.
His mind roams the landscape, checking for those who remain.
Come, we shall delve into his psyche.

His mind roams the landscape, checking for those who remain.
Come, we shall delve into his psyche.
(perhaps in the end he is a kid in a coma. Suffocated by darkness as those who love him watch on)
He looks for the slightest motion. For a sound.
He hears a sob, a crying. A crack in the darkness that focuses him. There is murmuring there too. But for noW let us focus on the crying.
A figure is trying to crack out of the darkness. (the mother)
The darkness perhaps lets it.
Or perhaps it breaks free. We do not know. (the mother rushes the boy)
A crying twisted figure that perhaps was a beautiful woman. It breaks free then rests.
It rushes the king.

the (mother’s) eyes are a link to the “real world”
Under the king is another layer.

the child lying on the bed as the mother sadly watches on.
Then the doctor comes in and stares at the child. Stares at the child as he withers away. Death personified. The inevitable waiting to happen.

It hungers. (the doctor) It eats.
We focus on it masticating. On the masochistic food beneath its teeth.
(of the gum, all that remains is the kid?)
The kid who as he moves, everything goes into chaos.
chaos turns into dust turns into the frightened child on the bed

And then a beast. It hides in the shadows. It strikes here and there. Ripping the flesh from the bones.
The monster that hides under the bed. Slowly caressing the child as he cries softly. Going inside of him. Entering him.
Shifting under the surface of the skin is the real you. The self that explodes form the self. It is the fateful trap.
The tear that falls from his eye falls from the kings.

And then a darkness comes again from the king. From his sword from his face from his hand from his eye. To smother it. And engulfs them all.

discarded ideas:

It is the frightened child. In his crib, knowedgable and impotent. As he observed the world, knowledge slips away. Large clumps and blobs flying free from his head. Bludgened out by the truth of his circle.
Under the kid is an old man. Feeble and strong. Watching the world through eyes of gold.
(a tear of darkness to link to a tear of light in the “real world”)

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