The Dark Tower | The Art of Ihsan

Digital colour painting from pencil drawing, 30x21cm, 26th January 2006, no references.

Rising up from the earth like a hideously twisted demonic creature, the dark tower seemed almost to writhe before his eyes, like some satanic serpent sent from the hells of Ganzir. It appeared that no worldly force could ever have produced such an incredibly monstrous creation, yet there were still hints here and there alluding to human origins. He then reflected, with sour humour, that the same could be said of him.

He had travelled long and hard to reach this summit. Many had died on the path of his quest, many fallen by the wayside, too weak to continue, victims of circumstance long forgotten in the mists of time. Distant memories and vestigial emotions, trivial with the passage of aeons, were now ghosts lost in the dark vastness of existence. Had he lost his humanity in trying to become something more...?

His steed stamped impatiently, awakening him abruptly from his reverie. For a brief moment he again considered the warped 'architecture' before him, incomparable as it was with the nobility of the ziggurat, then dismissed it irritably. He knew that what he must do could wait no longer.

As he raised the black sword of Enlil, the sky dimmed markedly as though dusk had fallen. It might have been that some ancient deity recognised the gesture then, for the sun's rays seemed now to force the clouds apart, as if to push back against his darkness, repelling him with light. Still he raised the sword higher, unperturbed by the suddenly colossal weight it now brought down on his shoulders, and swore the oath that would change the world forever...

A great sonic roar, like an almighty peal of thunder, exploded from the tower, almost throwing him from his horse with its emanating shockwave. The clouds above began to darken and twist into whirlwinds, and then wind, by the gods, black wind, roared all around him, pulling him onwards, beckoning, yearning, pleading, insisting, forcing him inexorably towards the dark tower, standing defiantly still amidst all the chaos. Even in this, his darkest hour, he knew it was only the beginning. His destiny was calling, he would heed the call, and become more than just human...

		The Dark Tower Click area to see detail (2 details in total)



Freeze			Original pencil


Deity Status


Bloody Axe


Wandering Spirit

		Digital colour painting from pencil drawing, 30x21cm, 26th January 2006, no references. Rising up from the earth like a hideously twisted demonic creature, the dark tower seemed almost to writhe before his eyes, like some satanic serpent sent from the hells of Ganzir. It appeared that no worldly force could ever have produced such an incredibly monstrous creation, yet there were still hints here and there alluding to human origins. He then reflected, with sour humour, that the same could be said of him. He had travelled long and hard to reach this summit. Many had died on the path of his quest, many fallen by the wayside, too weak to continue, victims of circumstance long forgotten in the mists of time. Distant memories and vestigial emotions, trivial with the passage of aeons, were now ghosts lost in the dark vastness of existence. Had he lost his humanity in trying to become something more...? His steed stamped impatiently, awakening him abruptly from his reverie. For a brief moment he again considered the warped 'architecture' before him, incomparable as it was with the nobility of the ziggurat, then dismissed it irritably. He knew that what he must do could wait no longer. As he raised the black sword of Enlil, the sky dimmed markedly as though dusk had fallen. It might have been that some ancient deity recognised the gesture then, for the sun's rays seemed now to force the clouds apart, as if to push back against his darkness, repelling him with light. Still he raised the sword higher, unperturbed by the suddenly colossal weight it now brought down on his shoulders, and swore the oath that would change the world forever... A great sonic roar, like an almighty peal of thunder, exploded from the tower, almost throwing him from his horse with its emanating shockwave. The clouds above began to darken and twist into whirlwinds, and then wind, by the gods, black wind, roared all around him, pulling him onwards, beckoning, yearning, pleading, insisting, forcing him inexorably towards the dark tower, standing defiantly still amidst all the chaos. Even in this, his darkest hour, he knew it was only the beginning. His destiny was calling, he would heed the call, and become more than just human...
<Prev	Next>	The first painting of 2006. The original pencil sketch was to be included in a CCG which, for whatever reason, was never destined to be, but I thought it was worth having a second look at fulfilling the potential of this concept.


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