Blind Contour Drawing Examples Novels & Stories

Three hours had passed without me noticing a single minute. I looked down at the open sketchbook. The drawing covered the entire page. The oak tree stood strong in the center, its heavy branches casting long, shaded light across the grass. In the foreground, the small yellow lilies looked almost real, their thin petals catching light made entirely out of unpainted white paper. It was detailed, neat, and sharp.

From the hole, arrows shot out like rays from a dark sun. One arrow pointed to a tiny, screaming stick-figure ("LILY"). Another to a messy scribble ("NOAH"). Another to a detailed, perfect little house. Another, thinner and more desperate, reached toward a tall, handsome stick figure with kind eyes, labeled “LEO,” but the arrow fell short, dissolving into dots. At the bottom, I scrawled: EVERYTHING GOES OUT. NOTHING COMES IN. I AM AN EMPTY VESSEL. I glanced at Leo. His brow was furrowed in intense concentration. He was drawing a house. A beautiful, detailed, two-story house with a porch. Inside the windows, he'd drawn a woman surrounded by vibrant, chaotic yellow swirls-the kids. But the wom

He flipped again. A full two-page spread: A woman blindfolded and ball-gagged, hogtied across a mattress. Her legs were spread by a bar. Her toes curled in tension. Her holes sketched in tight detail -- stuffed, obscenely, with what was clearly meant to be two separate toys. The kind of drawing someone does only when they've lived it. Or needed to. His cock twitched. He didn't stop flipping. Page after page -- each more shocking, intimate, and raw than the last.

he muttered, coming toward me. I went back to drawing, trying not to make eye contact with the man, but that didn't stop him from stopping beside me, looking at the paper. " Now that is blind drawing. Too bad it looks like it's being done by a slug," he muttered "You haven't finished even a peon, your classmates have done three times as much as you.” It was our first day of class, and our art drawing teacher thought it would be good to pass a little exercise to evaluate us better.

It swirled in lazy patterns with every step I took, making it obvious no one had been in here for years. The stillness in the air felt heavy and untouched, as if the room itself had been holding its breath, waiting for someone to return and disturb it. Drawings covered the walls, some pinned haphazardly while others were curled at the edges where the adhesive had failed. They depicted all kinds of things, but the majority were creatures twisted, nightmarish things with too many limbs, hollow eyes and gaping mouths lined with jagged teeth. Among the creatures were strange Landscapes places that looked warped and wrong, as if reality had stretched too thin. There were also people, some drawn i

A painting hangs beside his desk. I don’t know why it draws me in, but I find myself walking closer. Thick strokes of midnight blue and charcoal gray layer the canvas. In the center — barely visible unless you truly look — a thin streak of gold cuts through the darkness. Not bright. Not loud. Just there. A quiet fracture of light. It isn’t something you glance at. It’s something you feel. My fingers almost lift to touch the textured paint. Why would a blind man choose something so visual?

normal. Too normal. Blue sat in the art room again during lunch. Alone. I walked in quietly, closing the door behind me. “Hey,” I said. He looked up, offered a small nod. “Hey.” I took the seat beside him, careful not to touch him. Not because I didn’t want to—God, I did—but because I didn’t want to ruin the quiet space between us. He handed me his sketchbook without a word. Inside was a drawing of two boys standing back to back, one with his eyes open, the other blindfolded. They weren’t touching. But their shadows were.

Pen in hand I began scratching on a sleek sheet and once done I set the objects down and stretched out my aching fingers. The objects were removed and I heard something small being set down on a metallic surface. "So your name's... William?" he asked cautiously and I nodded, amazed that whatever I wrote was eligible. "It's a lovely name but we'll have to work on your penmanship. No offense but it's horrible." Nathan said and I nodded but then a question hit me, "Does he not know that I am blind?" The question stirred something within me and I immediately wanted to ask it. So I reached out my hands and made a grabbing motion. "Hmm, do you want the pad and pen back?" Nathan asked and I nodded,

There was a drawing of a clock, but the face was melting. There was a drawing of a hand reaching out of the water. There was a drawing of a wolf with Kieran’s face. And in the center, the one Cale was working on now... It was a maze. A complex, spiraling labyrinth of high hedges. And in the center of the maze, there was a black hole. Not a finish line. A pit. "Cale," Elion breathed, kneeling beside him. "Did you draw these?" Cale looked at Elion. His hands were covered in charcoal soot. His face was smudged with black, like war paint. His eyes were wide, dilated, seeing things that weren't in the room.

I can hear the loud scribbles that keep echoing around the gymnasium. I covered my left ear with my left hand and focused my attention on the test. Somewhere in the gymnasium, an odd-looking girl is thriving on the exam. Beneath her chair was her own shadow, steady and copies every move. Was it really a shadow? The shadow blinks its lifeless eyes and scratches its 2D head. The shadow has a scribbly texture like it was made by someone who is too lazy to color a shadow black. The shadow grew its size until it reached the other student at the back of the odd-looking girl. It climbed from the student's feet to the student's chest.