Something new

I wandered through an art supply store today and came across some oil pastels on sale. I've used chalk pastels before but not oil ones, so I bought a dozen of them and took them home to experiment. I really know little about oil pastels but have found that they have a lovely, buttery feel to them and like oil paints build up slowly, blending beautifully and you can acheive that same textured effect of layers as well.

I think I like them.

Here's part of my experiment with them.

Fridays

Fridays seem to have turned into very busy days for me. There is the weekly drawing event, illustration friday, the heralding of the end of the weekly drawing thread and the usual flurry trying to fit it all into two days of my weekend.

Here is this week's sumission for the WDT. Scamp, Deirdre's dog, along with the initial line drawing.

Time

I'm still trying to find time to build up my portfolio of animal portraits, without a lot of success. There just aren't enough hours in the day or night to allow me time to complete works to sometimes even start them.

This is one of the my first portraits of a Great Dane. He's a bit colourful but still quite elegant in soft pastels on black mi-tientes paper.

I love the impact of images on black, but the black can distort colours sometimes needing layers to build slowly.

Aging and art

Why is it that we have so little recollection of our very early years? Is it that our brains are not developed enough at that stage to form lasting memory or we don't have the language ability to put experiences into something we learn from?

I recall my earliest memories from about 3 - traumatic usually. Falling or being hit at a birthday party - simply because I wanted to see the birthday boy's new rocking horse. Birthday boy is now a cardiac specialist. Perhaps I should remind him of his misdemeanour in youth.

I see images of myself from so many years ago and wonder why I can't recall what I was thinking or doing that day. I want to remember and experience it through the eyes of a child.

Art is a bit like that. You need to open yourself to ideas and colour and experiences and accept them as new, as a child would. You then see the world though new eyes. You can see your morning mug of coffee not as a white steaming mug but as a an image glowing with colour and shape. Each image in life can be new and interesting. You don't really see something until you draw it. Then you explore each curve and line and find things you never have discovered.

Here is a sketch from Illustration Friday's weekly inspiration for drawing. Feet. I like the shadows imprisoning them.

Digital art

I have a digital drawing tablet that I pull out from time to time and tinker with. I am still finding my way around Photoshop and similar painting programs as well as playing with other paint specific programs. The learning curve is similar to Mount Everest in Photoshop and as soon as I learn one technique, it slips from my mind like water down the drain. I continue to play with it and experiment.

There is controversy over whether digital art is true art. It can be as simple as a cleverly manipulated photograph or something complex with many layers and drawing skills requiring hours of time and program knowledge. So is it art or cheating as some people think?

I prefer to think of it as art, especially the polished, complex pieces. Yes, they are computer enhanced, but the colours and details and shapes are chosen by human hand in the same way as they would be if drawing or painting on paper or canvas.

Here is my meagre offering in experimentation. You can decide for yourself if it is art or not.

The force

There is a weekly drawing event on the forum that I frequent - quite different from the weekly drawing thread that I also participate in. This past weekend I had a flow of creativity.

Its difficult to describe. It is a feeling that transports you to another place and gives you focus and the pen or pencil or paintbrush seem to work effortlessly on their own without havng to put thought into strokes. If it were the 16th century, it would be called 'possession' or 'witchcraft'. Whatever it is, it doesn't always happen and Ihave learned that it can't be forced. It is either there or not. When it is, it is glorious.

Now having said that, it doesn't translate into perfection for each and every drawing and in many cases, they are still fodder for the bin or the fire, but at the time of production they feel good.

Here are some results of this weekend's drawing event. All based on Irish subjects and all done with pen and ink - koh-i-noor nexus - sepia and coloured ink.

Illustrated journalling

I am experimenting with colour and loose sketches,combined with writing as I start a new sketchbook. I pulled out an ancient box of watercolours and tried my hand and learned that I am out of practice and that the paper in the sketchbook isn't heavy enough for waterbased mediums. I knew that before I started, but the colour won the argument in my head.

I think it is time I tracked down a source for a decent Moleskine sketchbook. I haven't found a source in Canada yet, but I live in hope.

Music inspired the next - Maria Muldaur. I usually listen to music as I draw or paint and today that jazz/blues sound worked well. I was looked at the cover of her cd 30 Years and l liked the freshness of the young earnest version of Maria. Sepia ink did the rest.

Something or someone I love

In another group that I am part of, Everyday Matters, there is a weekly challenge in drawing an item and then journaling about that drawing. This week, the challenge is to draw something or someone that I love.

That is a difficult choice as there are many somethings and fewer someones that I can commit to paper or words.

I will start with two images. One is the completed portrait of my youngest daughter. She is 27 now and lives thousands of miles from me. I recall good times and hard times and funny times with her. We clash at times because we are so alike and we laugh because we are so alike. I love her because of our differences and despite them. My oldest daughter is another of my loves, who also lives far away. Her portrait will come soon as it is equally important to me. As is her presence in my life.

Another love I had that I didn't know was so great until it was gone was my dog. He died 3 months ago at the age of 16. I watched him in the last year as his health faltered and old age gripped him. He didn't complain as most dogs don't, but stiffness and heavy sleep filled his days along with deafness and the cough of heart and lung congestion. I sketched him as he lay sleeping on the floor or the sofa, noticing how rough his fur had become. He had that 'old teddy bear' look and the same musty smell.

Once he was gone, it felt unbearable for a week or so, then gradually I adapted to an empty house. It is true. You don't know how much you love someone or something until they are gone.

Ireland - Two Thousand Miles Closer

That is what Newfoundland is. A little piece of Ireland, with origins after the Vikings to Ireland and England. Even now you can tell where someone's roots are by listening to them talk. There's still a thick brogue in some and phrases in others that aren't heard anywhere outside of Ireland or the West of England.

So St. Patrick's Day here is the same excuse for a party as it is in Ireland.

I don't participate usually with green beer, kiss me I'm Irish hats, or Celtic music even though I ahve connections to Ireland. My first husband was Irish, from Cork and I lived there for a year experiencing all the good and bad that it has to offer.

A conversation tonight sparked off memories of my early days in Ireland and how I travelled from coast to coast, some by bicycle, some by train, some by car. I went from Cork to Galway and the Aran Islands to the north and back across to Dublin, visiting small vilages are large urban centres, each different and unique.

One spot that captured my heart and imagination was a tiny village called Inch in the southwest on the Dingle Peninsula. I bicyled from Killarney to Dingle over two days and spent one night in Inch. Its claim to fame is a 6km sand beach that is breathtaking. This is an image of Inch Strand.

Sketchcrawl

Most of us are familiar with pub crawls where you go from bar to bar to bar but end up with nothing much to show for it besides an empty wallet and a hangover.

Sketchcrawls are similar in principle but you spend a day sketching, exploring your city, town, house, garden, wherever you choose to go and fill your sketchbook. You can go alone but there's safety and more fun in numbers.

I will explore this idea soon and take my sketchbook on the road for a morning and afternoon, a day and see what I come up with.

http://www.sketchcrawl.com/ is a great place to visit and see worldwide sketchcrawls. Join in, draw, enjoy.

My sketchpad is always at the ready and here are a couple of samples.

My Stash

I have a confession to make.

No, I haven't had secret plastic surgery or run off with a delicious man. Its more secretive than that.

I have a stash.

Of knitting yarn.

Now don't look so shocked. It is a common affliction. Let's be a little generous here.

I knit. I have knit since I was taught to by my father and in a painful experience in 4th grade by a teacher. Even though those experiences, I still stuck with it, knitting big baggy cardigans in the 70s, on to baby clothes as my children arrived, endless sweaters for people, myself, for no one in particular. Hats, mittens and scarves are countless in production. I evolved from basic forms to complex patterns with historical significance such as 16th centure guernseys or arans and usually have at least two projects that I can work on at the same time. One for simple, mindless knitting that takes no thought and another that demands full concentration with complex patterns or colour changes to test my mental ability.

Part of the process of knitting is in the planning, and poring over patterns and yarn choices. That is where the stash comes in. Yarn stores or yarn sections of larger stores, even online yarn stores have a magnetic pull to me. And I cannot leave without at least a couple of those on sale alpaca yarns in my hand, or that pure wool handpainted in Uraguay. Then there are the simply too good to pass up sales of brand names at bargain prices. Sigh.

I have a full set of cupboards in my utility room, like a set of kitchen cabinets, top and bottom. The bottom is filled with yarn and some half finished projects. The top cabinets are filled with patterns. Yes, I admit it. I can't help it. But it IS good insulation and Ill never run out of things to knit with and people who come to visit browse through it for hours as if it were a store, selecting yarn, patterns, needles and settling in for a good afternoon knitting and chatting.

The stash of yarn is like art in the wings, waiting to spring to life. The colours are my palette, the patterns my lines and the final product is a piece of art. You can't buy one of those sweaters or hats or mittens in a store, each is unique with history, time and love gone into it.

So now I have a few more balls tucked away in the sideboard that I must transfer downstairs....did I mention that part of the stash habit is being secretive? Others just don't understand the need to keep searching for that ultimate Trophy Yarn. Then again, I'm fickle, my Trophy Yarn changes every few weeks.

Mice and art

There really isn't a connection unless you consider that both are found everywhere. Even here in a blog.

But although I don't like the thought of mice running with wild abandon through the house, I do like their form with tiny faces and delicate feet. Yes, yes, they harbour disease and germs and bubonic plague you say...no wait, that was rats. (they, I don't like much)

The barn is the ultimate Disneyland vacation world for mice. Warmed by animals and poultry. Hay and sawdust to make nests with and lots of grain and feed that chickens or horses spill. Horses aren't a danger to mice, in fact they're quite scared of them and at times won't go into their stall if they've seen a mouse scutter past. Can't blame them really, I wouldn't want one in my bed either. The chickens and ducks are another story altogether. They will chase down, kill and eat mice. Traps keep mice at bay to lessen risk of disease and keep the population at bay. The trappings are then tossed as a peace offering to the crows - a sort of pact with them not to get me out of bed at 5 am in the summer with their 'melodious' songs.

An overpopulation of mice in the barn was the inspiration of this drawing. And just as the barn houses more inevitably, so does my head and hand so this little guy is for sale. The drawing measues 6 1/2 x 4 1/2 inches. Rendered in graphite on Bristol smooth and framed in black with white corrugated matting rimmed in black.

Frustration

Aren't emotions the oddest things?

How do they take over your body and your mind and your soul no matter how hard to fight against them? They creep in and invade all elements of your life, no matter what the origin. They can interfere with functioning, eating, sleeping, speech and creativity.

Today I can feel the frustration as a physical knot in my stomach. Its real, tangible proof of its existance, but I can't reach it and remove it. A combination of my mind and circumstances can make it disappear, but I can't will it away.

Creativity doesn't exist well in the circle of frustration and becomes stifled. I can't reach that magical point of almost disappearance into creativity if it is present. It is like a wall blocking my entrance.

I came across the following article that may serve to break the circle.

The Ultimate Creative Conspiracy Theory

Whether it's the second gunman on the grassy knoll, the alien mystery at Roswell or what really is hidden within the high-security confines of Area 51... conspiracy theories abound. Many of us are amused by the speculation, while hardcore buffs examine every nuance looking for clues to support their version of the story.

If you'll notice, all of these conspiracy theories involve some type of dastardly deed or cover-up. Someone is out to brainwash us or hide the facts from the public. After all, "the truth is out there," according to X-Files scripture. I never seem to hear people suspecting, for instance, a conspiracy by furniture salesman to stuff money into the nooks and crannies of the couches they sell. Yet I always find change under the cushions when I clean. Hmm... maybe they're secretly... Oh, never mind.

There's another kind of conspiracy conjurer. You know the type. The artist, musician or writer who believes the deck has been stacked against him or that nobody will ever give her a break. "This town is just not artist-friendly," he/she proclaims. "This sucks. Why bother?"

To listen to these people, you'd think the radio stations, theatre groups, art galleries (or whatever venue applies) were all part of a sick joke, trying to obliterate creative growth. And just like the bigger conspiracy nuts, they find clues and plenty of ammo to support their claims.

"See, that guy never returned my call," they announce. "I can't buy a job in this town." Anything even remotely inconvenient that happens to them lends credence to the devious master plot.

Here's a fun little game that I challenge you to play. It's called the Inverse Conspiracy Game. For one entire day, I encourage you to go through the day believing wholeheartedly that there is a conspiracy involving you. Only with this Inverse Conspiracy, the whole world and everyone in it are involved in a conspiracy to help you succeed.

If you're familiar with the recent Jim Carey movie "The Truman Show," you know what I mean. In the film, everything that happens to the main character is a preplanned scene -- only he has no idea it's fabricated.

So for one day, imagine that everyone is pitching in on a secret mission to help you. There's a positive reason behind everything that happens to you. Even seemingly negative events are put into action in order to propel you toward a reward that's just around the corner. And it's your job to break the code and figure out exactly how the world intends for you to use what happens to your advantage.

True, this isn't your father's conspiracy theory. It will take some brain work to reorient your mental perspective -- especially to keep it up for an entire day. But just think how this shift in attitude might alter your progress. You'll be forced to view everything in a far more constructive light. And when bad things do happen, it will be your mission to find the hidden opportunity (instead of more reasons to stop trying to reach your creative goals).
Give this inverse conspiracy theory a try. You can always go back to looking for evil schemes and cover-ups. In the meantime, you just might discover an alien on a grassy knoll waiting to help you succeed.

Bob Baker is the author of "Unleash the Artist Within," "Guerrilla Music Marketing Handbook" and "Branding Yourself Online." Get a FREE subscription to Bob's newsletter, "Quick Tips for Creative People," featuring inspiration and low-cost, self-promotion ideas for artists, writers, performers and more. Visit www.PromoteYourCreativity.com for details.

Lost weekend

I have been holed up all weekend trying to catch up on work and drawing that is well overdue and I actually made progress.

Sometimes deadlines provide the incentive to create or finish tasks as without them I can meander and put things aside for another day. Today I made inroads on a number of creative and mundane tasks, mostly satisfying even if some of them weren't quite what I would have chosen to do.

One of my horses is the reference for a weekly drawing thread. Lady, a quarter horse is a beautiful animal, but rather tempermental. In her short 6 years of life, she's had at least three homes that I know of and some of them with less than ideal owners. As a result, she is very mistrustful of people, but slowly coming around. Here is the image that was used as the reference and a sketch that I started of it, but haven't yet completed.













I'd like to start this drawing again but in colour. I just need another 'lost' weekend.

I've worked more on the portrait of my daughter and am at the adjustment stage. I have most of the elements and tones in place but am finding slight adjustments to features or tone need to take place to ensure a likeness. Its always tiresome to do this as it becomes a little frustrating but it helps me learn to be more accurate and not rush my drawing in the future! Here are the updates as they occurred. You can see the adjustments as the drawing evolves.

Art

The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means and hold it fixed so that a hundred years later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life. ~William Faulkner

London

I lived in the UK for about 15 years, both in the London area and the Southwest in Somerset. After moving south I still migrated to London a few times a year either alone or with children in tow. This reminds me of London so much.


You Know You're From London When...

• 
  You say "the city" and expect everyone to know which one.
• You have never been to The Tower or Madame Tussauds but love Brighton.
• You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Shepherds Bush to Elephant & Castle at 3:30 on the Friday before a long weekend, but can't find Dorset on a map.
• Hookers and the homeless are invisible.
• You step over people who collapse on the tube.
• You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multi-lingual.
• You've considered stabbing someone.
• Your door has more than three locks.
• Your favourite movie has Hugh Grant in it.
• You consider eye contact an act of overt aggression.
• You call an 8' x 10' plot of patchy grass a garden.
• You know where Karl Marx is buried.
• You consider Essex the "countryside"
• You think Hyde Park is "nature."
• You're paying 1,200 quid a month for a studio the size of a walk-in wardrobe and you think it's a "bargain."
• Shopping in suburban supermarkets and shopping malls gives you a severe attack of agoraphobia.
• You've been to Tooting twice and got hopelessly lost both times.
• You pay more each month to park your car than most people in the UK pay in rent.
• You haven't seen more than twelve stars in the night sky since you went camping as a kid.
• You own hiking boots and a 4WD vehicle, neither of which have ever touched dirt.
• You haven't heard the sound of true absolute silence since 1977, and when you did, it terrified you.
• You pay 3 pounds without blinking for a beer that cost the bar 28p.
• You actually take fashion seriously.
• Being truly alone makes you nervous.
• You have 27 different menus next to your telephone.
• The UK west of Heathrow is still theoretical to you.
• You're suspicious of strangers who are actually nice to you.
• You haven't cooked a meal since helping mum last Christmas with the turkey.
• Your idea of personal space is no one actually standing on your toes.
• 50 pounds worth of groceries fit in one paper bag.
• You have a minimum of five "worst cab ride ever" stories.
• You don't hear sirens anymore.
• You've mentally blocked out all thoughts of the city's air quality and what it's doing to your lungs.
• You live in a building with a larger population than most towns.
• Your cleaner is Russian, your grocer is Korean, your deli man is Israeli, your landlord is Italian, your laundry guy is Chinese, your favourite bartender is Irish, your favourite diner owner is Greek, the watch-seller on your corner is Senegalese, your last cabbie was Pakistani, your newsagent is Indian and your favourite falafel guy is Egyptian.
• You wouldn't want to live anywhere else until you get married.
• You say 'mate' constantly
• Anyone not from London is a 'wanker'
• Anyone from outside London and north of the Watford Gap is a 'Northern Wanker'
• You have no idea where the North is.You see All Saints in the Met Bar (again) and find it hard to get excited about it.
• The countryside makes you nervous
• Somebody speaks to you on the tube and you freak out thinking they are a stalker.
• You talk in postcodes. "God, it was really warm round SW1 the other day"
• You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from London.
  

Portraits and egos

Self portraits are simple compared to creating a portrait of someone else. Especially someone who is paying you money for it. And even more fraught if the person doesn't agree with the reality of themselves as portrayed. This is likely why I prefer to stick with animals. A whisker here, a smudge of fur there and the world doesn't come to an end. With a person, the likeness can be lost in the careless stroke of a pencil.

Even in a perfectly executed portrait there will be people that you can't please because they have a self image that doesn't match what you see and what they refuse to see.

An artist friend years ago, Roger, made his living form portraits. He used to say that the worst portraits to paint were middle aged women who thought they were still 21 and young girls who's mothers thought they were beautiful when they were not. Roger was a true eccentric and a brilliant artist. He drew exact replicas of what he saw in front of him and likenesses could not be faulted, but from time to time, one of the middle aged women or mothers of a not so sweet adolescent would beg to differ and ask him to change the image to what they wanted to see.

Roger would do it but with such reluctance and bad temper that the individuals would never dare ask again for changes. It was a joy to see.

I am currently drawing a portrait of my daughter. The initial stages are here and will be posted as they are completed. This photo was taken in early morning light with a digital camera and seems to have turned everything blue for some reason.

Self Discovery

At some point in every artist's life a self portrait is considered or forced upon you.This is good and bad. For hundreds of years it has been a teaching tool and has been used by some of the most famous artists.

This is a self portrait done within the last few months. Other artists have drawn my portrait and no two are alike. This makes me wonder if I am biased in what I see or do others see something entirely different than I do? I only ever see myself in a mirror and then under controlled lighting. I never see the real me, not the one that others see. Which is the real image? It becomes an Escher-like question, going round and round, up and down without ever reaching a destination.

Self portraiture is self discovery in its truest form. You examine yourself minutely and put your regrets with your pleasures, hoping to place them all on paper or canvas and convey the real you.

A mirror or a reference photo, the right lighting, then choosing your medium are all fraught with worry. And that's even before you make a mark! You see things you never noticed previously in yourself and you think about everything and nothing as you create.

It is an amazing and somewhat unsettling process but highly recommended.

Birthdays

I hate when I do this. I wrote a whole post then pressed the wrong key and it died and floated off to neverland. Sigh.

I can't recreate it as my mind won't allow the words to form again, not the same format anyway.

Today is my birthday. I wonder how I reached this age. 52. It is the age at which I thought my parents old when I was in my 20s. Now that I have reached that age, it is not old. 52. I like it.

Today was also Michelanglo's birthday. How many people know his surname and his history I wonder. How many people are known by their first name only and it stands alone, able to carry knowledge and wisdom and experience.

Michelangelo Buonarroti 1475–1564, Italian Artist.
Italian sculptor, painter, architect, and poet, born in Caprese, Tuscany.

Happy Birthday Michelangelo.

And my mother. It seems appropriate on my birthday to include her, as she had a pivotal role in my creation. She is now 81, this was done about 15 years ago.

The Past

I've always said that I was born 200 years too late. Part of me longs for an era when life was simpler and the view of the world fresher. Yes, there were many disadvantages 200 years ago, even 50 years ago for that matter.

What beckons me to explore the past? In art it is colours and shapes and the ability of artists to capture a moment with immense clarity and tone without the benefit of digital cameras or the comfort of art supply stores or marketing gurus to sell their work.

Classical art is known as atelier style, working on studies of anatomy and sculpted figures then advancing onto real life, oils being the most common medium or soft pastels, conte pencil or charcoal.

There are a number of artists from the Victorian era that capture my attention and have me sighing over their work. John Everett Malais was one of them. Millais's image of the tragic death of Ophelia, as she falls into the stream and drowns, is one of the best-known illustrations from Shakespeare's play Hamlet.

Ophelia is a character created by William Shakespeare who appears in his play, Hamlet. The story of Hamlet is tragic-- it is one of intrigue, deception, madness, death and suicide. Ophelia's role, even though she is a minor character in the play, is particularly haunting. Ophelia is in love with Hamlet, a young and emotionally tormented prince, who was once loving to Ophelia, yet has suddenly become abusive and cold. Ophelia clings to the memory of Hamlet once treating her with respect and tenderness, and she defends him and loves him to the very end despite his brutality and developing manic madness. As the play unfolds, Hamlet spirals into a full-blown psychotic manic episode.

Having a shaky adolescent identity and low-self esteem, Ophelia lives to please the men in her life, who never seem to accept her or love her in return. Ophelia's emotional frailty and young innocence work against her, as she cannot cope with the unfolding of one traumatic event after another, which all seem to center around the men in her life, including her father, who forcibly prostitutes her. The final straw is when Hamlet both rejects her and cruelly humiliates her after she has been sexually intimate with him. Hamlet mocks the fact that Ophelia is sexually experienced, and goes as far as to say that he never loved her. Ophelia's character shows nothing but loving kindness to Hamlet throughout each scene.

Unable to cope with Hamlet's rejection and abusive cruelties, she ultimately falls into a dissociative state and wanders to a river, collecting flowers, singing love songs, where ultimately she drowns herself after adorning her hair with flowers symbolic of her relationship with Hamlet:

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love remember. And there is pansies, that's for thoughts. There's fennel for you, and columbines. There's rue for you, and here's some for me. We may call it herb of grace o' Sundays. O, you must wear your rue with a difference! There's a daisy. I would give you some violets, but they wither'd all when my father died. They say he made a good end. And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God b' wi', you.

Ophelia Hamlet Prince of Denmark Act IV Scene V

Tragic and sad, but always compelling, both the image and the play.

More sketching today, snatching moments of time when I could. The first of Alcatraz prison in the fog which was closed in 1963, as seen from a street in San Francisco.



The second sketch is the beginnings of a portrait of my daughter. I start a draft sketch of portraits to get a feel for them. I find nothing worse than getting half way through a drawinng and deciding that I don't like the lighting or the tone and then hate each pencil stroke to completion.