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Mills #6 (grief) {art}
Literally backed against a wall, Mills is hiding from two marauding T. Rex's competing to see which gets to snag the Somarian snack from inside the mangled scrap of ship wreckage he's using as cover. He's pulling attention away from Koa in the escape shuttle, hoping to limit further damage and eliminate the threat to her, but, low on ammunition and reeling from yet more injuries inflicted by the trampling tyrannosaurs, it's clear he's very nearly at his physical limit, and is considering giving up the fight.
Meanwhile, Koa, in a fit of inspiration, uses the holographic recording of Mills' lost daughter, Nevine, as a further decoy, hoping to buy Mills time to unlock his rifle. Confronted with the smiling visage of his beloved daughter proudly showing off how she'd learned to hand whistle like her much missed father, Mills is finally overcome by the emotional agony he's numbed himself from feeling since her death. His face crumples, his brows drawing together and pulling down so hard the skin is folding at the top of the bridge of his nose, the outer corners of his eyes drooping, the lower lids pulled up, making his eyes nearly disappear into sorrowful furrows. His mouth is pulled wide and tight by the strength of his grimace, lower lip distorted, dimples rucked into deep crevasses, teeth revealed in a painful parody of a smile.
This is the moment just before he makes the choice to go down fighting to the bitterest end, if necessary; the catharsis of allowing himself to finally take a moment, however brief, to fully grieve for the child he had no way to save is the catalyst he needs to harden his resolve to see through his promise to get Koa home.
I have no idea if this was an intentional reference on the part of Beck and Woods, but I found the timing of his darkest moment, literally just before the dawn, to be especially poetic.
Photo used for reference was a screencap of "65" taken and edited by me.
About 12.5 hrs of painting time, which is longer than I expected, but the reference ended up being one of the most challenging I've used so far. Capturing such an extreme expression, especially one that's so extremely filled with pain, was really difficult, both technically and emotionally, but I'm glad I did it. There is a temptation, and a societal bias, to only ever draw or paint people when they look "pretty" or have a pleasant expression on their face, but those moments aren't the only ones that are important to a character's growth. Those of you who've looked through my different series of portraits will know that I regularly push back against the idea that folks have to be idealized to be beautiful or interesting. But even I found this one difficult to work on, especially in it's earliest, messiest stages, and I made the unusual (for me) decision not to share the work in progress shots as I went, simply because the early stages of this one were so hard to look at.
Meanwhile, Koa, in a fit of inspiration, uses the holographic recording of Mills' lost daughter, Nevine, as a further decoy, hoping to buy Mills time to unlock his rifle. Confronted with the smiling visage of his beloved daughter proudly showing off how she'd learned to hand whistle like her much missed father, Mills is finally overcome by the emotional agony he's numbed himself from feeling since her death. His face crumples, his brows drawing together and pulling down so hard the skin is folding at the top of the bridge of his nose, the outer corners of his eyes drooping, the lower lids pulled up, making his eyes nearly disappear into sorrowful furrows. His mouth is pulled wide and tight by the strength of his grimace, lower lip distorted, dimples rucked into deep crevasses, teeth revealed in a painful parody of a smile.
This is the moment just before he makes the choice to go down fighting to the bitterest end, if necessary; the catharsis of allowing himself to finally take a moment, however brief, to fully grieve for the child he had no way to save is the catalyst he needs to harden his resolve to see through his promise to get Koa home.
I have no idea if this was an intentional reference on the part of Beck and Woods, but I found the timing of his darkest moment, literally just before the dawn, to be especially poetic.
Photo used for reference was a screencap of "65" taken and edited by me.
About 12.5 hrs of painting time, which is longer than I expected, but the reference ended up being one of the most challenging I've used so far. Capturing such an extreme expression, especially one that's so extremely filled with pain, was really difficult, both technically and emotionally, but I'm glad I did it. There is a temptation, and a societal bias, to only ever draw or paint people when they look "pretty" or have a pleasant expression on their face, but those moments aren't the only ones that are important to a character's growth. Those of you who've looked through my different series of portraits will know that I regularly push back against the idea that folks have to be idealized to be beautiful or interesting. But even I found this one difficult to work on, especially in it's earliest, messiest stages, and I made the unusual (for me) decision not to share the work in progress shots as I went, simply because the early stages of this one were so hard to look at.
