關於 how to draw simple pictures ，我們在網路上蒐集到這些相關的討論、資訊與評價

#รีวิว_Thai_reading_tree
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เรื่อง คณะนักวิชาการพัฒนาหนังสือ "อ่าน อาน อ๊าน"
ภาพ กฤษณะ กาญจนาภา, วชิรวรรณ ทับเสือ ❤
SOOK publishing
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หลังจากอ่านมาได้ 1 สัปดาห์
ขอชมจากใจจริง ว่าชุดนี้ ดีมาก
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ถ้าให้นิยาม 1 ประโยค เป็นตัวแทนของ
หนังสือทั้งชุด ต้องใช้คำว่า #อารมณ์ขัน
คณะผู้แต่ง ตีโจทย์แตกมาก
จะตีหัว(เด็ก)เข้าบ้าน
นิทานต้องสนุกก่อน
แต่งเรื่องได้ดี เชื่อมโยงกันทั้งชุด
สร้างความผูกพันธ์ระหว่างเด็กกับตัวละครในเรื่อง
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และชุดนี้ ที่โดดเด่นมาก
ที่ต้องยกความดีความชอบให้ไปเต็มๆ
คือภาพประกอบ
เนื่องจากเนื้อหา มีคำบรรยายน้อย
จึงใช้ภาพเล่าเรื่อง ฉากหลัง เหตุการณ์ สีหน้า ท่าทาง
ดีมาก...ไม่รู้จะชมอย่างไรให้เท่าที่ใจชื่นชม
ที่ตลก ก็ตลกมาก
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ถ้าให้รีวิวทีละเล่ม
คงเขียนหนังสือได้สัก 1 เล่ม(เว่อร์🤣)
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หนังสือมี 5 level
ขอเลือกตัวแทนของแต่ละ level
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Level 1: ของหาย
เด็ก 3-4 ขวบ ไม่ต้องสะกดคำเป็นก็อ่านนิทานได้
ภาพเล่าเรื่อง ให้เค้าคิดตาม ใช้คำบรรยายของตัวเองในใจ คาดเดาเหตุการณ์ มีอารมณ์ร่วมกับตัวละคร ที่ทำของรักหาย
Level 1+: ใช้คำโดด ง่ายๆ ซ้ำๆ ฝึกทั้งสะกด และหลักการของ sight word เรื่อง สะอึก กับ มะละกอ เป็นเรื่องที่หมอกับลูกสาวชอบ เพราะตลก
Level 2: คำที่พบใน level1+ นำมาใช้อ่านใน level นี้ เด็กสะกดคำเพิ่มเติมคำใหม่ๆ (น่าจะภูมิใจน่าดู)
หมอชอบเรื่อง ปาด กับ เละเทะ
เรื่องปาด ชอบเพราะใกล้ตัว คือ กลัวปาดมากตั้งแต่เด็ก
และปาดมันกระโดดไกลมากจริงๆ เวลากระโดด กรี๊ด วงแตก ในเรื่องก็เป็นความโกลาหล ในบ้าน ที่เกิดจากเจ้าปาดน้อย แต่ก็วาดได้น่ารัก ตาใส เหลียดไม่ลง
เรื่อง เละเทะ ขอนิยามว่า คิดได้ไง...เละเทะ สมชื่อเรื่อง
Level 3: ประโยคยาวขึ้น อารมณ์ของตัวละคร ก็โตขึ้น
ขอเลือกเรื่อง หยอดกระปุก...อ่านแล้วอิ่มใจ
Level 4: ขอยก รางวัล #หมอแพมชวนอ่านaward ให้กับเรื่อง หูอื้อ กับ เมืองผี
สนุกไม่สนุก เด็กที่บ้านเรียกร้องให้อ่านซ้ำคืนละ 2-3 รอบ...ตลกมากกกกกกก
ชอบมาก ไม่ spoil เพราะอยากให้อ่านเอง
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สรุป ชอบมาก
ไม่ได้เป็นผู้เกี่ยวข้อง อะไร ใดๆ
แต่ไม่รู้ทำไม ภูมิใจมาก
นิทานไทย มีคนเล่าเรื่อง เก่งๆ
มีคนวาดภาพ สวย ภาพมีชีวิต เยอะ
ขาดแต่กลไกตลาดที่ทำให้ ทีมงาน
ได้สรรสร้างผลงานดีๆ
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ไม่ใช่แค่ผลดีกับเด็กที่จะได้อ่านหนังสือนิทานดีๆ
แต่เป็นผลดี....ที่จะให้เด็กๆรู้ว่า
การวาดรูปสวย เล่าเรื่องเก่ง เป็นคุณสมบัติล้ำค่า
ที่ต่อไป เค้าจะเอาสิ่งที่รักมาเลี้ยงตัวเองได้
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ไม่ใช่หน้าม้า...ซื้อมาเหมือนกัน
แต่เชียร์ สั่งซื้อเลยค่ะ
บ้านที่มีเด็กอายุไม่ถึงขวบ จะคุ้มสุด
บ้านไหนเด็กโต หมอเข้าใจว่า เลือกเป็นเรื่องๆตาม level
ลูกเราได่นะคะ...แยกเล่ม เล่มละ 30 บาท (ถูกใจหาย)
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สุดท้ายขอบคุณทีมจัดทำอีกครั้ง
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หมอแพม
ปล.สั่งซื้อออนไลน์ที่ @SOOKpublishing นะคะ
#รีวิว_Thai_reading_tree
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Book Development Faculty of Education ′′ Reading Saddle ′′
Krishna Kanchanaburi image, Wachirawat Thap Sueang ❤
SOOK publishing
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After 1 weeks of reading
Sincerely admitted that this dress is very good.
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If you define 1 sentences, you will be a representative.
A whole set of books requires the word #humor
The author faculty has a lot of crack.
I will hit my head (kid) in the house.
The story must be fun first.
Good story. Connected the whole set.
Build a bond between kids and character in story.
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And this dress is very iconic
I have to give good deed and full of preference.
Is an illustration.
Because the content is less subtitled
So I use the photo to tell the scene after the event. Face expression.
Very good... I don't know how to watch as I appreciate it.
The funny thing is also very funny
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If you give a review, one book at a time.
I must have written 1 books (woo 🤣)
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The book has 5 levels.
Let's choose a representative of each level.
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Level 1: Lost
A 3-4 year old doesn't have to spell to read a story.
The picture tells the story. He thinks about his own caption. In my heart, I predict the emotional event with the character who lost my love.
Level 1 +: Use simple jumpsuit repeatedly. Practice both the spell and the principle of sight word word hiccup and papaya. It's a doctor and daughter. It's like
Level 2: Word found in level1+ is used to read this level. Kids spell more words. New words. (Be proud)
Doctors like a slit and a mess.
I like it because it's close to me. I'm scared to slit since I was
And it's a very long jump. When you jump, it's anarchy in the house that you can't draw. Cute, clear, clear, and unintelligible.
The messed up story. Let me define you. How can you think... Messed up with the title.
Level 3: Longer sentences. Character's mood grows.
I want to choose about the drop of the jar... Read it and feel satisfied.
Level 4: A prize for #Doctor Pam asks you to read the award to the earbuds and ghost town.
Fun, not fun. Kids at home call to read again 2-3 times a night... Very funny.
I like it very much. I don't spoil it because I want you
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In summary, I like it a lot
Not related to anything.
I don't know why. So proud.
Thai tales have good stories.
There are plenty of life drawing beautiful pictures.
There are only market mechanisms that make the team work.
I have to create good works.
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It's not just a good result for kids to read a good storybook.
But it's good.... to let the kids know
Beautiful drawing, good story telling, precious qualities.
The next place, I will take love to raise myself.
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Not bangs... I bought them either.
But cheers, order now.
A home with kids under the age of is worth it.
Which house is the big boy? The doctor understands that he chooses to be a level
Our kids are here... separate book for 30 baht (feel frightened)
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Lastly, thank you team made it again.
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Dr. Pam
P.S. Order online at @SOOKpublishingTranslated

Remembering how joy can be found in the littlest things...
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Tonight, all it took were paper cameras and hand drawn 'pictures' to make these kids feel loved and keep them happy for hours. ❤
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I loved this origami as a kid and was just suddenly inspired to do one for each of them. To make it personalised, I used small pieces of paper to draw each of them and write their names too. I thought maybe only the toddler would be delighted with this simple gift and yes, he couldn't stop clicking away and going around taking pictures with his camera.
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But the two girls surprised me by loving them just as much and thanked me from the bottom of their hearts. They even requested for me to draw a picture of each of them with Mama and put them in into their cameras. Awww. It made me feel so loved!
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Some things just don't change, despite the passing of time or advancement in technology. I really hope we will always remember to keep life simple and celebrate these fleeting, joyous and loving moments.
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#ahappymum #papercamera #origami #simplejoy #growingup #letkidsbekids #快乐其实很简单 #lifeisinthesmallthings #happinessis #happykids #ihopewewillalwaysrememberthisfeeling

Nobody’s Fool　　( January 2011 )

Yoshitomo Nara

Do people look to my childhood for sources of my imagery? Back then, the snow-covered fields of the north were about as far away as you could get from the rapid economic growth happening elsewhere. Both my parents worked and my brothers were much older, so the only one home to greet me when I got back from elementary school was a stray cat we’d taken in. Even so, this was the center of my world. In my lonely room, I would twist the radio dial to the American military base station and out blasted rock and roll music. One of history’s first man-made satellites revolved around me up in the night sky. There I was, in touch with the stars and radio waves.

It doesn’t take much imagination to envision how a lonely childhood in such surroundings might give rise to the sensibility in my work. In fact, I also used to believe in this connection. I would close my eyes and conjure childhood scenes, letting my imagination amplify them like the music coming from my speakers.

But now, past the age of fifty and more cool-headed, I’ve begun to wonder how big a role childhood plays in making us who we are as adults. Looking through reproductions of the countless works I’ve made between my late twenties and now, I get the feeling that childhood experiences were merely a catalyst. My art derives less from the self-centered instincts of childhood than from the day-to-day sensory experiences of an adult who has left this realm behind. And, ultimately, taking the big steps pales in importance to the daily need to keep on walking.

While I was in high school, before I had anything to do with art, I worked part-time in a rock café. There I became friends with a graduate student of mathematics who one day started telling me, in layman’s terms, about his major in topology. His explanation made the subject seem less like a branch of mathematics than some fascinating organic philosophy. My understanding is that topology offers you a way to discover the underlying sameness of countless, seemingly disparate, forms. Conversely, it explains why many people, when confronted with apparently identical things, will accept a fake as the genuine article. I later went on to study art, live in Germany, and travel around the world, and the broader perspective I’ve gained has shown me that topology has long been a subtext of my thinking. The more we add complexity, the more we obscure what is truly valuable. Perhaps the reason I began, in the mid-90s, trying to make paintings as simple as possible stems from that introduction to topology gained in my youth.

As a kid listening to U.S. armed-forces radio, I had no idea what the lyrics meant, but I loved the melody and rhythm of the music. In junior high school, my friends and I were already discussing rock and roll like credible music critics, and by the time I started high school, I was hanging out in rock coffee shops and going to live shows. We may have been a small group of social outcasts, but the older kids, who smoked cigarettes and drank, talked to us all night long about movies they’d seen or books they’d read. If the nighttime student quarter had been the school, I’m sure I would have been a straight-A student.

In the 80s, I left my hometown to attend art school, where I was anything but an honors student. There, a model student was one who brought a researcher’s focus to the work at hand. Your bookshelves were stacked with catalogues and reference materials. When you weren’t working away in your studio, you were meeting with like-minded classmates to discuss art past and present, including your own. You were hoping to set new trends in motion. Wholly lacking any grand ambition, I fell well short of this model, with most of my paintings done to satisfy class assignments. I was, however, filling every one of my notebooks, sketchbooks, and scraps of wrapping paper with crazy, graffiti-like drawings.

Looking back on my younger days—Where did where all that sparkling energy go? I used the money from part-time jobs to buy record albums instead of art supplies and catalogues. I went to movies and concerts, hung out with my girlfriend, did funky drawings on paper, and made midnight raids on friends whose boarding-room lights still happened to be on. I spent the passions of my student days outside the school studio. This is not to say I wasn’t envious of the kids who earned the teachers’ praise or who debuted their talents in early exhibitions. Maybe envy is the wrong word. I guess I had the feeling that we were living in separate worlds. Like puffs of cigarette smoke or the rock songs from my speaker, my adolescent energies all vanished in the sky.

Being outside the city and surrounded by rice fields, my art school had no art scene to speak of—I imagined the art world existing in some unknown dimension, like that of TV or the movies. At the time, art could only be discussed in a Western context, and, therefore, seemed unreal. But just as every country kid dreams of life in the big city, this shaky art-school student had visions of the dazzling, far-off realm of contemporary art. Along with this yearning was an equally strong belief that I didn’t deserve admittance to such a world. A typical provincial underachiever!

I did, however, love to draw every day and the scrawled sketches, never shown to anybody, started piling up. Like journal entries reflecting the events of each day, they sometimes intersected memories from the past. My little everyday world became a trigger for the imagination, and I learned to develop and capture the imagery that arose. I was, however, still a long way off from being able to translate those countless images from paper to canvas.

Visions come to us through daydreams and fantasies. Our emotional reaction towards these images makes them real. Listening to my record collection gave me a similar experience. Before the Internet, the precious little information that did exist was to be found in the two or three music magazines available. Most of my records were imported—no liner notes or lyric sheets in Japanese. No matter how much I liked the music, living in a non-English speaking world sadly meant limited access to the meaning of the lyrics. The music came from a land of societal, religious, and subcultural sensibilities apart from my own, where people moved their bodies to it in a different rhythm. But that didn’t stop me from loving it. I never got tired of poring over every inch of the record jackets on my 12-inch vinyl LPs. I took the sounds and verses into my body. Amidst today’s superabundance of information, choosing music is about how best to single out the right album. For me, it was about making the most use of scant information to sharpen my sensibilities, imagination, and conviction. It might be one verse, melody, guitar riff, rhythmic drum beat or bass line, or record jacket that would inspire me and conjure up fresh imagery. Then, with pencil in hand, I would draw these images on paper, one after the other. Beyond good or bad, the pictures had a will of their own, inhabiting the torn pages with freedom and friendliness.

By the time I graduated from university, my painting began to approach the independence of my drawing. As a means for me to represent a world that was mine and mine alone, the paintings may not have been as nimble as the drawings, but I did them without any preliminary sketching. Prizing feelings that arose as I worked, I just kept painting and over-painting until I gained a certain freedom and the sense, though vague at the time, that I had established a singular way of putting images onto canvas. Yet, I hadn’t reached the point where I could declare that I would paint for the rest of my life.

After receiving my undergraduate degree, I entered the graduate school of my university and got a part-time job teaching at an art yobiko—a prep school for students seeking entrance to an art college. As an instructor, training students how to look at and compose things artistically, meant that I also had to learn how to verbalize my thoughts and feelings. This significant growth experience not only allowed me to take stock of my life at the time, but also provided a refreshing opportunity to connect with teenage hearts and minds.

And idealism! Talking to groups of art students, I naturally found myself describing the ideals of an artist. A painful experience for me—I still had no sense of myself as an artist. The more the students showed their affection for me, the more I felt like a failed artist masquerading as a sensei (teacher). After completing my graduate studies, I kept working as a yobiko instructor. And in telling students about the path to becoming an artist, I began to realize that I was still a student myself, with many things yet to learn. I felt that I needed to become a true art student. I decided to study in Germany. The day I left the city where I had long lived, many of my students appeared on the platform to see me off.

Life as a student in Germany was a happy time. I originally intended to go to London, but for economic reasons chose a tuition-free, and, fortunately, academism-free German school. Personal approaches coexisted with conceptual ones, and students tried out a wide range of modes of expression. Technically speaking, we were all students, but each of us brought a creator’s spirit to the fore. The strong wills and opinions of the local students, though, were well in place before they became artists thanks to the German system of early education. As a reticent foreign student from a far-off land, I must have seemed like a mute child. I decided that I would try to make myself understood not through words, but through having people look at my pictures. When winter came and leaden clouds filled the skies, I found myself slipping back to the winters of my childhood. Forgoing attempts to speak in an unknown language, I redoubled my efforts to express myself through visions of my private world. Thinking rather than talking, then illustrating this thought process in drawings and, finally, realizing it in a painting. Instead of defeating you in an argument, I wanted to invite you inside me. Here I was, in a most unexpected place, rediscovering a value that I thought I had lost—I felt that I had finally gained the ability to learn and think, that I had become a student in the truest sense of the word.

But I still wasn’t your typical honors student. My paintings clearly didn’t look like contemporary art, and nobody would say my images fit in the context of European painting. They did, however, catch the gaze of dealers who, with their antennae out for young artists, saw my paintings as new objects that belonged less to the singular world of art and more to the realm of everyday life. Several were impressed by the freshness of my art, and before I knew it, I was invited to hold exhibitions in established galleries—a big step into a wider world.

The six years that I spent in Germany after completing my studies and before returning to Japan were golden days, both for me and my work. Every day and every night, I worked tirelessly to fix onto canvas all the visions that welled up in my head. My living space/studio was in a dreary, concrete former factory building on the outskirts of Cologne. It was the center of my world. Late at night, my surroundings were enveloped in darkness, but my studio was brightly lit. The songs of folk poets flowed out of my speakers. In that place, standing in front of the canvas sometimes felt like traveling on a solitary voyage in outer space—a lonely little spacecraft floating in the darkness of the void. My spaceship could go anywhere in this fantasy while I was painting, even to the edge of the universe.

Suddenly one day, I was flung outside—my spaceship was to be scrapped. My little vehicle turned back into an old concrete building, one that was slated for destruction because it was falling apart. Having lost the spaceship that had accompanied me on my lonely travels, and lacking the energy to look for a new studio, I immediately decided that I might as well go back to my homeland. It was painful and sad to leave the country where I had lived for twelve years and the handful of people I could call friends. But I had lost my ship. The only place I thought to land was my mother country, where long ago those teenagers had waved me goodbye and, in retrospect, whose letters to me while I was in Germany were a valuable source of fuel.

After my long space flight, I returned to Japan with the strange sense of having made a full orbit around the planet. The new studio was a little warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo, in an area dotted with rice fields and small factories. When the wind blew, swirls of dust slipped in through the cracks, and water leaked down the walls in heavy rains. In my dilapidated warehouse, only one sheet of corrugated metal separated me from the summer heat and winter cold. Despite the funky environment, I was somehow able to keep in midnight contact with the cosmos—the beings I had drawn and painted in Germany began to mature. The emotional quality of the earlier work gave way to a new sense of composure. I worked at refining the former impulsiveness of the drawings and the monochromatic, almost reverent, backgrounds of the paintings. In my pursuit of fresh imagery, I switched from idle experimentation to a more workmanlike approach towards capturing what I saw beyond the canvas.

Children and animals—what simple motifs! Appearing on neat canvases or in ephemeral drawings, these figures are easy on the viewers’ eyes. Occasionally, they shake off my intentions and leap to the feet of their audience, never to return. Because my motifs are accessible, they are often only understood on a superficial level. Sometimes art that results from a long process of development receives only shallow general acceptance, and those who should be interpreting it fail to do so, either through a lack of knowledge or insufficient powers of expression. Take, for example, the music of a specific era. People who lived during this era will naturally appreciate the music that was then popular. Few of these listeners, however, will know, let alone value, the music produced by minor labels, by introspective musicians working under the radar, because it’s music that’s made in answer to an individual’s desire, not the desires of the times. In this way, people who say that “Nara loves rock,” or “Nara loves punk” should see my album collection. Of four thousand records there are probably fewer than fifty punk albums. I do have a lot of 60s and 70s rock and roll, but most of my music is from little labels that never saw commercial success—traditional roots music by black musicians and white musicians, and contemplative folk. The spirit of any era gives birth to trends and fashions as well as their opposite: countless introspective individual worlds. A simultaneous embrace of both has cultivated my sensibility and way of thinking. My artwork is merely the tip of the iceberg that is my self. But if you analyzed the DNA from this tip, you would probably discover a new way of looking at my art. My viewers become a true audience when they take what I’ve made and make it their own. That’s the moment the works gain their freedom, even from their maker.

After contemplative folk singers taught me about deep empathy, the punk rockers schooled me in explosive expression.

I was born on this star, and I’m still breathing. Since childhood, I’ve been a jumble of things learned and experienced and memories that can’t be forgotten. Their involuntary locomotion is my inspiration. I don’t express in words the contents of my work. I’ll only tell you my history. The countless stories living inside my work would become mere fabrications the moment I put them into words. Instead, I use my pencil to turn them into pictures. Standing before the dark abyss, here’s hoping my spaceship launches safely tonight….

Hey guys,

Here is another nail video ^.^ I was inspired to try out this panda design after seeing some pictures on the internet. Being chinese, of course the panda is my favourite animal. What's not to like? They're sooo cute being all fluffy and round.

This nail tutorial is very easy and all you really need is two nail polishes (black and white). It's a series of dabbing and as you can see- my first attempt worked out pretty well. Quick and easy. No brushes required.

Just want to point out there that the concept idea is definitely not mine so certainly don't want to take credit for it. Infact, I'm not sure who invented it first because there are many takes on it already but figured I'll show my stab at it and how I draw my pandas.

The page of panda designs that inspired me is here: http://www.google.com/search?client=safari&rls=en&q=PANDA+NAILS&oe=UTF-8&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=isch&source=og&sa=N&hl=en&tab=wi&biw=1438&bih=711

DIY beauty tutorial & hair tutorial up next.

Until next time,

Bubz xx

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