So, I had this idea, right? A “monster horse.” Don’t ask me where it came from, it just sort of… appeared in my brain one afternoon. I thought, “Yeah, a monster horse, that sounds cool. I’m gonna make that.” Seemed simple enough at the time. Famous last words, honestly.
Getting Started, or Trying To
First thing, I tried sketching it out. Pen and paper. What a disaster. My drawing skills are, let’s say, not exactly suited for horrific equine beasts. It looked more like a very sad, lumpy pony that had a bad day. Not monstrous. Definitely not. So, I figured, okay, paper is not my friend here. Time to go digital.
I fired up some modeling software I’d dabbled with. Thought I could just, you know, grab a horse model and start… monstering it up. But here’s the thing: what even is a “monster horse”? That was the first big hurdle. Is it just a regular horse but with, like, glowing red eyes and spiky bits? Or is it something more… fundamentally wrong? I spent a good few hours just staring at the screen, poking a virtual horse, trying to figure out what “monster” meant in this context.
- Did it need more legs? Fewer legs?
- Tentacles? Maybe. Seemed a bit cliché.
- Wings? Like a demonic pegasus?
- Or just really, really messed up proportions?
The software itself wasn’t helping much either. Everything I tried made it look either goofy or just… off, in a boring way. Not in a “that’s deeply unsettling” way. It felt like the tools wanted to make nice, normal things, and I was trying to wrestle them into making something ugly and weird. It was a proper fight.
This Whole Thing Felt Familiar
You know, this whole frustrating process reminded me of this one time I tried to assemble a flat-pack bookshelf. The instructions looked easy, just a few diagrams, right? But nothing lined up. The screws were a weird size. One panel was slightly warped. I spent an entire Saturday afternoon sweating and swearing at a pile of cheap wood. Thought I was gonna lose my mind. And for what? A wobbly bookshelf that still leans a bit to the left.
That’s what this monster horse project started to feel like. I had this picture in my head, but getting it out into the world was like pulling teeth. Every step was a new problem. The software would crash, or a feature I thought would work just… didn’t do what I expected. Or I’d spend an hour on some detail only to realize it made the whole thing look even dumber.
Just Mashing Things Together
After a while, I kind of gave up on having a clear plan. I just started grabbing bits and pieces. Took that basic horse model, stretched its neck out way too long. Made its legs all spindly and weird. Tried adding some textures that looked like rotting flesh or cracked leather. It was a digital Frankenstein-ing session. There was no finesse, no artistry. Just pure, chaotic experimentation.
I remember at one point, I stuck a bunch of extra eyes on its head. It looked ridiculous. So I took most of them off but left a couple in weird places. Then I tried to give it these weird, bony protrusions along its spine. Some of it worked, some of it was just plain bad. It was a digital clay-lump I was just punching and pulling.
The… Result?
And then, after days of this fiddling and messing around, I sort of… stopped. I looked at what I had on the screen. It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t something you’d see in a big-budget movie. It was lumpy, asymmetrical, and honestly, still a bit goofy in places. But it also had this… unsettling quality. It didn’t look like a creature that should exist. It was definitely not just a horse anymore. It was, in its own janky way, a monster horse.
It’s funny, isn’t it? You set out to do one thing, and the journey is just a series of small disasters and tiny, unexpected wins. The final thing is never quite what you imagined in the beginning. This monster horse of mine, it’s a testament to that, I guess. It’s a bit of a mess, but it’s my mess. And I kind of like it, in a weird way. It taught me that sometimes, you just gotta embrace the chaos to make something… unique, even if it’s a monster.
