“Old school Hollywood star nearly 100 years old found mysteriously dead in home along with wife & dog.”
Not to make light of their deaths, but I’m sure the Hollywood scribes are watching intently—that’s a film noir opening if there ever was one. Book or film.
I’m stuck in the cockpit. The truest and only way out is to make moves and see what happens.
Version 2—Bench Photo at Midnight—cut and paste with styrene card and some leftover tan paint from Mr. Hobby—
Most of this is held together with white glue. Temporary. Biggest issue is the pilot figure fit which is throwing everything too far forward. His feet are touching the engine and the reverse part of the crankshaft looks ready to drill into him. I don’t want to abandon the pilot just yet; nor do I want to take a bone saw to him again. I have shrunk him down as much as possible.
I hate this part—
I also love it. That bit of masochism is essential to my work ethic. Love it or hate I have had to accept that’s who I am. My Dad drilled into me that the only way to do anything is the right way. I wrestle with that axiom every day—or in this case, late one night.
You can’t depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus.