Inking — Part 1 of 3

By Paolo Rivera

Superior Spider-Man Team-Up #5 Cover. 2013.

Ink(ed by Joe Rivera) on bristol board with digital color, 11 × 17″.

Before I get into the nitty-gritty of how to ink a page, I want to cover a bit of the why. I'm hardly qualified to give a history lesson on the practice, but I can say with (moderate) confidence that it was always a necessary part of comic book publication. Early printing methods simply weren't capable of reproducing the subtle grays of pencil — but even though technology has improved, the practice remains solidly in place.

inks by Joe Rivera over cyan print

If we think back even further, it becomes apparent that "inking" has existed since the first printed art objects. From woodcuts to engraving, printmaking is a relatively new technology that has only flourished over the last 600 years. The techniques originally created to cope with the limitations of the medium eventually grew into a style unto themselves.

my Dad's inks at full resolution (with George for relative size)

cyan print of my digital "pencils"

So what is that style? It's any distillation of the experience of seeing, rather than a rote copy of nature. It's an approach that isolates what's important about a scene by exploiting the differences between objects. There's a reason that we can watch an animated film — 2D or 3D — and still get caught up in the story. What matters to us is the characters, not their visual proximity to nature. Even the most fully-rendered print by Durer, with it's many subtle values, is a kind of hyper-reality — it's a cartoon in the sense of being a type of exaggeration. That's what inking's all about: selecting what's most important about an illustration and leaving out everything else.

my digital "pencils" at full resolution

The time lapse video at the end of the post is more about the thought process behind inking, rather than the physical act. (I'll cover more of that next time.) In it, I'm digitally inking over a fairly refined sketch (with a Cintiq 13HD in Photoshop). While it won't show you which brush to use on what paper, I hope it can reveal some of the decisions I make when going from a sketch to a finished piece. In most cases, it's all about clarity — making sure that what the viewer sees is what I want them too. You could, of course, be as loose or rough as you like with your inks, but having only two value options can really focus the mind on composition.

digital sketch, color-coded by layer

I made the transition from rendered paintings to line work in 2008, but I like to think that the switch reaped unexpected rewards when I eventually returned to painting. Having fewer value options has a way of imposing good composition practices. You can almost always save a bad composition with fancy lighting (this was actually a game students played at the Brandywine School) but any sketch with a strong start has a much better chance of a strong finish.

digital layouts for editor approval

Just a quick note about this cover: I don't normally pencil digitally, but I was between studios at the time and this method was easier. To be completely honest, we could've used my "pencils" for the final art, but I had my Dad go ahead and ink it because it's a cleaner style (and we like having original art to sell). My total time for the piece was 18 hours (not counting my Dad's inks). Here's the hourly breakdown.



layout: 2.5

digital sketch: 6.5

digital pencils: 6.5

digital colors: 2.5



I plan on writing 2 more posts on the subject, so if you have any questions or topics that you'd like covered for next time, don't hesitate to ask.

A Cover and 3 Questions

By Paolo Rivera

Out of Nowhere (Blackout #1 Variant Cover). 2013.

Photoshop.

Here's a new cover for the Dark Horse series Blackout, written by Frank Barbiere with art by Micah Kaneshiro (check out his concept work). The story follows the adventures of a superhero who can access another dimension with a special suit. I was asked to provide a variant cover for the first issue, the last in a series of vintage-poster-style illustrations that included text of my own choosing. (You can see my other covers here and here.)




Since the digital canvas is as big as I'd like, I use it as an inspiration board of sorts, pasting in costume reference as well as poster examples from the wonderful blog, 50 Watts. From there, it's merely a matter of hitting my head against the wall until I find a solution that I don't hate.

inspiration, reference, and early attempts

On to the questions:



In your experience what is the best paper to work on. I've read/heard some artists say that good quality is sometimes hard to find. 



For typical comic book pages, I use Strathmore 500 Series Sequential Art Bristol, 2-ply with a semi-smooth finish. This works well for penciling, inking, and even limited watercolor and gouache. The board is 100% cotton, which means it's archival and can withstand a deluge of water.



For fully-painted work, I use the same material, but in 3-ply thickness. I have to cut this down from larger sheets, but it's still thin enough (barely) to run through my printer for digital sketches and perspective guides. Occasionally, I'll upgrade to Strathmore's illustration board for larger paintings.

Daredevil #2 Pages 2-3. 2011. Pencil on bristol board, 22 × 17″.

My second question is about pricing. As an artist starting out, I've had people ask me to produce work but want to pay little to nothing for it. I know that you've worked professionally since college but in your opinion is there a base rate for comic art even if non established/professional.



Unfortunately, this is a question that can only be answered by the individual artist. We've all heard horror stories about artists "dying of exposure" — there's even a Twitter account that collects such examples — but whether or not artists accept said gigs is their prerogative. I've seen many attempts at guilds and unions to help combat the practice, but (in my opinion) the nature of our industry won't allow that kind of collective action. We are paid to be different, and the level of pay is proportional to our popularity. Our only true power is to say "no," and that ability varies from person to person.



All that being said, what can you do? Ask yourself how much money you need, how much time you have, and how much you want the job. I was extremely lucky to break into the comics industry when I did — I received a phenomenal rate for a 21-year-old rookie — but that rate stayed the same for the next 11 years (with no sign of changing) so I stopped accepting those gigs and pursued other opportunities. Eventually, I was able to quadruple my 2002 income just by getting faster and cultivating a market for my personal commissions and original artwork (a consistent 30-50% of my income).



My point is that every situation is different and only individual artists can decide what works for them. When I was 19, I took on several gigs from one of my favorite writers (whom I met at a comic convention). While low-paying, those gigs became the portfolio I used when the writer introduced me to Marvel. That teenaged decision would become the turning point in my young career.

I recently went to Comic-con in London and had a quick conversation about exploitation of artists being paid for their skill with David Lloyd. I would like to charge by the hour especially as I've been asked to put a lot of detail/work into the finished pieces and I don't work particularly fast. However I also have to eat and can't afford to do spec work that will build my portfolio but may/may not lead to a residual income. 

This brings me to my last question. How do you find the balance between meeting deadlines and completing a piece of art that you've put your all into that you are happy with?



I've never charged by the hour, not because I didn't want to, but because most clients (all right, all clients) aren't willing to write a blank check for anything. That's only fair — like us, they have limited budgets that allocate set amounts to certain aspects of a project.



That means it's up to the individual artist to keep track of their hours — not so they can charge for those hours, but so they can predict how long a potential project would take... and reject it if the budget isn't up to snuff. My 2 best-paying gigs this year took a combined 322.5 hours. Broken down hourly, they were my worst-paying gigs. But you know what? They were awesome gigs and I loved (almost) every minute of them. How did I get those gigs? I did art on spec — the difference being that it was unsolicited. It was my choice.



In closing, meeting deadlines is just part of being a professional. It takes years to get a sense of how long projects are going to take. I still get it wrong sometimes, but when I do, I simply take note and try not to make the same mistake again. Still trying...

Weird Science

By Paolo Rivera

WEIRD SCIENCE #32 COVER. 2013.

Ink on bristol board, 13 × 19″.

Mondo Gallery in Austin, Texas is hosting a show that honors EC Comics and Tales from the Crypt. "It Didn't Rot Our Brains" runs from October 25 through November 23 and I'm happy to be included among the many artists. Although I've always been a fan of the Crypt Keeper (who is rumored to be based on a RISD professor) I went the sci-fi route and did a tribute to Wallace Wood, one of my favorite comic book artists. I like to think that, like him, I take draftsmanship seriously (and little else).

I inked this cover myself since it was for a show and they needed it quickly (my Dad, Joe Rivera, usually inks my work). That being the case, I "penciled" it digitally in Photoshop and printed it out in blue-line, then went straight to inking. I used a Winsor & Newton Series 7 #6 brush for everything but the lettering, which was penned with a Speedball B-6 nib. Holbein Drawing Ink is my ammunition of choice, which provides a rich black and dries to a waterproof finish.

blue-line print of digital "pencils"

Pictured above is a darkened version of what I actually inked over. Converting to blue-line is easy with an adjustment layer in Photoshop set to "Colorize" — this turns every layer below to the same hue, which can be then be adjusted according to taste. Below is a screenshot of my typical setting: Hue - 196, Saturation - 100, and Lightness +94.

HSB adjustment layer

Prior to that is the rough sketch stage where my primary concern is composition and legibility. I always distribute the main elements to separate layers so I can nudge them into position, or scale them if need be. This is also where I lay in a perspective template that helps keep all the technical aspects aligned. Since this was a tribute cover (with the full support of the Bill Gaines estate) I used the trade dress from an actual Wood cover to frame my own work. Their only request was that I use an issue number that wasn't already taken.

digital sketch with trade dress

Since this was not for publication (and only pays if it sells), the approval process was pretty lax — and so I dashed off a few rough layouts with quick descriptions of what was going on. Of course, now that I did them, it makes me want to draw an entire series.

The whole process, start to finish, took 30 hours, half of that being inking. Because of the tight schedule, I didn't have time to color the original, but I still hope to color it digitally at some point. Of course, if the art doesn't sell, I'll just get it back and finish it up with watercolor and touches of gouache.

In space, no one can hear you sigh.

The New Year isn't looking so good for our commander.

Some (Very) Personal Work

By Paolo Rivera

Le Mariage au Hill Bleue (Wedding Invitation). 2013.

Ink on bristol board with digital color, 11 × 17″.

I'm back to posting at Muddy Colors after a month-long hiatus, during which time... I got married! I created a few pieces of art for the event, and I hope you don't mind if I share them here. As you can see, my professional art doesn't stray far (or at all) from my personal work.



My wife grew up reading (and loving) Tintin so we decided on that style for the invitation and save-the-date. Despite never reading the series in my youth, I was always aware of the character and had great respect for Hergé, its creator.

You may recognize many of the characters who, like our guests, are very dear to us. Although I split the crowd in half according to our personal favorites, there's quite a bit of overlap. My favorite part is featured above: Ripley using the Power Loader from Aliens to hold her bouquet.

Photo by Paul Bates

To push the idea further, each of our guests was given a Lego character for their seat assignment — nearly 100 in all. They didn't all match up with the invitation, but we tried to pair the right character to the right guest. My wife designed the name cards (as well as every other piece of graphic design).

Le Mariage au Hill Bleue (Save the Date). 2012.

Ink on bristol board (with digital color), 11 × 17″.

Our wedding was held at Blue Hill at Stone Barns, which takes pride in growing and serving their own food. It's a beautiful, bucolic setting — the Rockefeller's former dairy farm, in fact — and the weather was perfect. Our Save-the-Date features the main entrance, which is where we attempted a live-action version right after the ceremony.

Photo by Tory Williams

I also did the bachelorette t-shirts, which were based on Le Lotus Bleu, another Tintin adventure. Pictured below is the wedding cake topper, which I baaaarely finished in time. Most people probably know Wolverine by now — that's Psylocke on the left. This was before I added three claw marks to the cake with a knife.

Psylocke and Wolverine. 2013.

Super Sculpey, wood, and acrylic, 4 × 4 × 6″.

Photo by Paul Bates

And finally, my Mom commissioned one of my good friends, Maris Wicks to create a portrait of us. I love it. I was a huge Ninja Turtles fan growing up, Raphael being my favorite. My wife's name is April, so I think it must have been destiny.

Maris Wicks. April and Raphael. 2013.

Ink and watercolor on bristol, 9 × 12″.

Multi-Figure Montages

By Paolo Rivera

Action Comics #18 Variant Cover. 2013.

Ink(ed by Joe Rivera) on bristol board, 11 × 17″.

One of comics' most tried and true tropes is the massive montage, a writhing throng comprised of every character that appears in the story, or is even tangentially related to the mythology. They are, by nature, epic in scope and meant to transform the casual browser into a devoted reader. It's certainly what drew me in as a kid and, as a result, what I wanted most to draw.

George Pérez. Avengers 30th Anniversary Poster. 1994.

George Pérez is, for me at least, the undisputed king of this approach. He even covered the topic in a how-to article for Wizard magazine (to which I was a devoted subscriber). What I love most about his compositions is the underlying sense of hierarchy. Despite the sheer number of figures, each gets their own starring role. The overall effect can be somewhat overwhelming, but the details are what always drew me in.

inks by my Dad, Joe Rivera, over blue-line print

The variant cover to Action Comics #18 was my own attempt at this motif. Being the last issue of Grant Morrison's run on the series, I wanted something that encapsulated the entire arc in a single image. Without getting into the minutia of the plot, Superman does battle with a 5-dimensional villain that attacks him at different points in both time and space. I used that theme to structure the composition around 5 separate struggles, all tied together through his iconic cape, which doubles as the pentagon of the "S" shield.

Once the concept was approved, I used Photoshop and my Cintiq to make a digital sketch. The accompanying video records that process at 10x speed. I organized each "battle" on separate layers so they could easily be scaled or rotated. The layers are also color-coded so I have an intuitive sense of which strokes belong to which group.

blue-line print of pencils

I use this technique in practically all my compositions, each character getting their own layer. Just double click on the layer and select "Color Overlay." That will cover the entire layer in a color of your choosing — the opacity can then be lowered according to taste. Even though I only draw in black and white, it appears as through a colored film.

pencils over blue pencil

Although I often referred to the comic, penciled by Rags Morales, for costume details, the figures are drawn "from imagination." (All that really means is that I've copied so many figures that I have a little 3D model of the human form in my head.) The purpose of the digital sketch is to solve issues of proportion and overlap, so the figures aren't particularly "tight," just enough information to indicate gesture and identity.

blue pencil over digital sketch

As I've covered here many times, the rest of the process is just refinement, each stage an improvement over the last (at least theoretically — I almost always like my roughs sketches better). Pictured above is the blue pencil I often use to work out details. In a less detailed cover, I would probably skip this step, as the digital sketch would suffice.

whoops!

(Fun fact: I draw an "x" wherever I want my Dad to fill in an area with black. Unfortunately, the giant octopus had an "x" for a pupil and so my Dad gave him a black eye. Nothing a little Photoshop couldn't help.)

digital sketch

Pictured below is the first and only sketch I sent to my editor, just to get the idea across without having to show every detail. Luckily for me, he trusted me enough to run with it. Admittedly, it doesn't look much like the final piece.



As involved as these massive montage covers are, I find they're actually much easier than rendering figures in a cohesive environment where each element is subject to overarching rules of perspective and logic. The only real challenge is finding space for everyone and making sure they overlap in a pleasing way. And since many superheroes can fly, there's no space on the page that can't be utilized.

digital layout

I hope you enjoyed this behind-the-scenes look. I'll be taking a Muddy Colors blog break for the next month (or so) as I take care of some personal business (all good). Thanks for reading!



Total hours: 32 + inks

digital layouts: 1

digital sketch: 5

pencils: 15.5

inks: 7.5

digital color: 10.5

Red Sonja Sculpture

By Paolo Rivera

Red Sonja. 2004. Super Sculpey and bass wood, 10″ tall.

Way back in 2004, although I was just a year out of art school, I was fortunate enough to already have a solid career as a comic book artist. My first professional gig, however, was a sculpted bust of the X-Men's Mystique for Dynamic Forces (the same company I still do Green Hornet covers for). When they came back to me with a more involved project, I jumped at the chance, thinking I could easily supplement my painting gigs with a few weeks of sculpting.

As you can probably guess, a few weeks turned into 2 full months of intense noodling. Aside from the challenge of being my first full figure, the mass production process required it to be divided into several pieces — what ended up being 6 in all. I let the professionals do the casting and painting this time, as I had learned my lesson with Mystique.

Just like any project, the first step was to sketch out ideas. I submitted several rounds of gesture drawings and, once we decided which one to pursue, I made detailed turnarounds for final approval. I had a tough time visualizing the as-yet-unrealized sculpture, so I made a tiny mockup to facilitate the process.

I used Super Sculpey, a polymer clay that you can bake in a home oven (or with a heat gun, which is great for solidifying small, delicate details). Nowadays I would use Super Sculpey Firm, a more detail-friendly, gray compound. The armature is steel wire with aluminum wire wrapped around to give the clay something to hold on to. If I were to do this now (which I will in a few weeks for a personal project) I would use aluminum for the bigger wire since it's easier to manage, and steel for the smaller, which is strong even at small gauges. The base had some aluminum foil in it to bulk out the major structure.

As you'll see in the (slideshow) video, I actually sculpted some things twice — first to get a sense of the proportions and flow of the final figure, and once again during the final pass. There were a couple reasons for this (one being that I barely knew what I was doing). The main idea was to ensure that I didn't have any surprises during the sculpting process, which allowed me to finish certain areas before moving on to the next.

I made the weapons out of bass wood thanks to sound advice from my roommate at the time, an industrial design grad. The tiny implements were ground into shape using a Dremel tool and were split into 2 pieces, handle and blade (a result of which was a less than straight line between them).

The chainmail was formed with a tool that I made out of Sculpey. I don't have a picture of it, but recently I came across a much more official version touted as a mermaid tail sculpting tool.

What took the most time (by far) was polishing. When I got my first sculpting job, they said "no boogers," meaning everything had to be nice and smooth — almost glossy. Easier said than done. Essentially, every square inch had to be painstakingly brushed to a uniform surface. I used oil (Canola, I believe) to expedite the process, but I've seen some people work wonders without (here's a prime example).

I took decent photos of the final piece before sending it off and I'm glad I did — the mold-making process was not kind to her, resulting in several cracks to the original. Fortunately, an accurate master copy was salvaged and she went into production.

Because I wasn't completely faithful to the style guide, I had to make some last-minute revisions. This was entirely my own fault. I didn't care for the rounded ends of her loin cloth, so I had made them square. They kindly asked me to round them off.

They also asked if I would mind my turnaround sketches being used as a cover for the comic series. I agreed, but only if I could redraw the figure with a little more attitude. In retrospect, I probably should have asked for an additional fee, but my work was essentially done. They had someone else digitally paint over my pencils.

And that was that. From then on, it was out of my hands. I wasn't crazy about the mass-produced piece, mostly because of the paint job. The master copy (shown above) looked fine, but something was lost in translation to the castings. Also, although this was the most intricate thing I had ever sculpted — and I was happy with its many individual elements — I didn't care for my overall design. My first foray into professional sculpting, the Mystique bust, was much more elegant in its simplicity. Details are important, but composition is king.

For more on sculpting, please check out these previous posts:

Sculpting Tools

Sculpting Questions

All Sculpture Posts

(My fiancée likes to point out that the arch in her back is "totally unrealistic." I don't dispute the point, but I would contend that it's still the most realistic thing about the sculpture.)