Tonight’s entry cracked me open a little.
It started as a simple continuation of the stage, but then became something heavier, more symbolic. I spent a few hours sculpting RBD destruction, peeling back the world just enough to let something radiant escape. It was meant to be an explosion, but what emerged felt more like a birth. "The chrysalis wasn’t shattered—it was opened." I wanted the let the spark of yesterday ignite today...leaving behind the husk of something sacred and spent.
I didn’t get to the volumetrics in time—no golden vapor trails or atmospheric haze spiraling into the night, and I didn't fracture the pylons and ground and all of that, but somehow, I’m okay with what this became. What’s here feels honest for the time I had.
The broken wings, the cracked geode shell, the burst of light that can’t quite be contained—it all hints at motion, at intention. "You don’t leave the nest—you rupture it." And maybe, just maybe, “we thought it was a weapon—it was a birth.” Still frames have to work harder to tell the truth. I think this one does.
see you soon,
-alan
