He’s a curious little man.
This collage was part of one of ’em monthly theme-related uploads back at GDC, and I think my first try at straight-up fully manufactured wood-floor reflections that emulated existing ones.
I also tried matching shadow textures and colors between shrunken man and regular sized woman, because as you can see it is a good collage opportunity for dropping a shadow, but with Photoshop Elements I’m not able to change the tone or texture of a shadow, and who knows if I could with different editions of that software.
The way I did it with this image involved creating a duplicate shrunken-man layer and altering it so the drop shadow would change in turn… but that only affected the shape. For color and texture, grain, etc., I just cloned the woman’s shadow portions onto the shrunken man ones.
It was freakishly time consuming, but I learned a lot of things I would do differently now, and never ever repeat. 😆 Were I a nice person I would edit some egregious errors and try to make it look as nice as possible, but I take delight in other people’s suffering*, so I won’t.
*No, I don’t.
The inspiration for this collage was, as always, a little shrunken man in the possession of a woman that enjoys the look, the feel of nylon, the synthetic fabric of our lives[/stealing the cotton fabric jingle]. I don’t know if you have ever noticed this, but when small children realize their mother wears pantyhose as they watch her get ready to go out to a party or a special function, they are usually very interested in the texture of the material. I was.
My brothers were fascinated for exactly half a second, but the next day I was raiding my mom’s lingerie drawer, and attempting to put on those delicate garments. I destroyed them with my little hands before my mom taught me how to correctly put them on, but understanding how delicate they were only increased my interest by suspense.
I milked a bit of that memory when I imagined how that little guy must feel. Smaller than a newborn baby, as tiny as a kitten as he reaches for his woman’s ankle, he must be able to read every change in the fabric, every weave on the stretch of that covering that widens as his touch moves higher.
I can put myself in that woman’s place and feel those infinitesimal manly hands, those little fingers that might catch on the fabric if they are rough. If that’s not a perfect opportunity to tease him about his little pet paws and a number of other things (including those beyond his bitty reach) I don’t know what is.