Hello #PortfolioDay ! I'm Ninn, an illustrator from France. I draw surrealistic scenes focused on the sky, and nature in general.
Check out my daily meteorological fiction project here: @clever_reports
🌈https://t.co/GBJkidnPPI
✨[email protected]
We report 2023 days of Reports From Unknown Places!
I usually like to take milestones as excuses to try something new and confusing with Reports. This year, I missed the 5-year anniversary back in March, so the 2000 days anniversary had to be extra new and confusing.
@LaurensPlompen I knew the formatting was going to be difficult, but I couldn’t do threads because I had to schedule some of the posts 😔 I’m glad you were able to catch up regardless! Thank you so much for your lovely words. I’m so glad Reports resonates with you, it means so much to me.
I do have to say, after trying this out, I have no plans to start posting hourly! We’ll keep doing the daily thing.
Thank you so much for paying attention to this project, whether you have a look once in a while, or it’s a daily meeting. This means a lot to me.
I made one report for each hour of the day: small squares drawn with wax pastels, interrupted sentences, one short minute at a time.
In the end, the sky is the sky, so a temporary change in format like this can still make sense, which is nice to realise.
We report on a brittle January morning: the dew point is rather low, and along with the wind, we think that we might freeze solid if we stay out too long. We count the handful of remaining stars in the sky, and the air inexplicably smells like dawn, brisk and sweet.
We report: the stratus fractus of wet weather have come, and we are wondering as to what kind of wet weather we are supposed to be having. Until very recently, we were quite certain the weather would remain very dry throughout the day. Our expert puts on a second coat.
We report at the shorter end of the afternoon: the light has come to glaze the world with honey. Though it is the coldest it has been since the early morning, there is a warmth to the clear sky. Our expert is still looking for the presence of clouds somewhere - typical behaviour.
We report: for the second time now, we struggle in our attempt to button up our coat with our numb fingers. There is a robin hopping around the feet of bare bushes, rummaging through sodden leaves for worms. There is that complicated smell of white rot fungus in the air.
We report long past our bedtime, whatever it is meant to be: the moon has prematurely vanished from the night sky, and we unfortunately do not have the patience to seek it out for very long. The clouds are moving at a leisurely pace, and we feel rather sleepy.
We report: there is only a light breeze on the beach, but it is enough to carry a substantial amount of sea-spray. Only the ocean can tire us out this way, make us bone-weary, and the cold has gone to our feet despite all our layers. We also feel particularly alive.
We report in the space of a few seconds, while the light shines just at the right angle, through the correct type of air: there is a small bit of iridescence sojourning on the edge of a cloud. This time, for once, we let it vanish without alerting anyone to its presence.
We report: the sunset was cut a little bit short by the gathering clouds. The sky was clear throughout the day, but come dusk, a few wisps of condensation started to appear above the horizon. The west wind quickly brought more with it, and the humidity is now palpable.