Dan's Canvas

God Save the Queen's Lace

2012-01-29T01:26:00.002-05:00

This wasn't the post I expected to write, but Mari (MJ) Brown of Colour Blob Design posted her photograph of a Queen's Anne Lace here and said the magic words "you can use it" and "I would love to see what and how you would create it on paper."

So today, when I was going to be out and about and it looked like I would have some time to paint, I quickly printed her photograph and took it with me.

Now, I don't know what Queen's Anne Lace is, and have no idea if I've ever seen it, so this was to be something like Durer sketching a rhinoceros. Except I had a photo of course.

The photo brought to mind when I used to run around as a boy in the field behind our block. There were small ankle-high scraggly weeds with tufts of cotton-like wisps that would sometimes catch a breeze and float in the air. At least that's how I remember it.

That was how I saw this plant. I could see the whole thing floating along in the wind. I toyed with painting it that way.

So doing my due diligence, never having seen a Q.A.L. before, I used my cell phone to bring up images of Queen Anne's Lace. There was momentary confusion when I saw beautiful small petaled white flowers. There were none in the photo - but that's okay. I had a photograph, and photos never lie, do they?

So I painted my wispy Queen Anne's Lace. I was very satisfied. I am still satisfied.

But I had forgotten where Mari lives. She is in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. She said it was a "fantastic winter day" when she took this photo. It was -5 degrees Celsius (which is 20 degrees Fahrenheit) so what I took for cotton-like wisps were balls of ice!! Those dark scraggly dead stalks were where the flowers should have been.

What do I know? I'm a Floridian!

I spent more time trying to get the colors of my picture right on this darn monitor than painting the plant itself. They still are not right, but as close as I can get. The painting was too subtle. I hope the feel of it has been conveyed to you anyway.

As you know, I love drawing people. Then comes the time to paint, which I also love. I had the sketch of the guy to the right in my sketchbook, and the other day another gentleman sat down in a small eating establishment in just the right spot -and he was involved in a conversation. And the skin tones were just right. There is no substitute for a live model. I managed to finish before he got up to leave.

And it just so happens that as he was leaving, he glanced down at my sketch. He was delighted! He told me how much he liked it and proudly announced that he had a BFA from such-and-such a school and did computer animation! That was the first time that anything like that had ever happened to me. He was so awfully nice that I almost told him that the skin color on this man was his! Then I thought that that bit of info might be better disclosed on another day.

The model for the sketch (not the painting) moved around a lot. This accounts for the odd positions of the arms. What is he doing? I don't know! Conjuring flowers?

What is he holding? Beats me! Is it a tv remote? A Wii controller? I hope not.

I think this is why artists say haughtily, "I leave it to the viewer to interpret my work." [Clear throat]. So if you have any idea what he is doing, or what is in his hand, or what I can put in his hand, please let me know, dear viewer, because you know better than me.

A few days after painting that sketch I was at Einstein's Bagels, sitting outside, painting another of my sketches. Another man walked by. This guy got so excited and he too proudly announced his degree in art - such-and-such a school, and all that! That's twice in one week!

He said, "I'd have expected you to be at a cafe', not here."

"I am. This is a poor man's cafe'" I said. In fact, I added, "I've yet to see anyone else doing what I'm doing anywhere in Miami, have you?"

"Come to think of it, I haven't!" he responded.

So tell me, where are all the other Miami artists? Why aren't they out and about sketching at every eating establishment like the artists in Toronto or in Portland? Or in public with their easels?

It's not as if the weather isn't good. Right Mari? Right?

A Fish Story, Really

2012-01-15T20:57:00.000-05:00

7" x 3-1/2" on Fabriano Artistico hot press

Now here's something different! Once upon a time, I did a very quick sketch in my sketchbook that came directly from my subconscious I think. I thought it would make an interesting painting. You may remember that I posted the sketch here.

So I finally drew and painted this face based upon that sketch. It actually came out much as I'd envisioned it. Then I wondered what, if anything, I should do next. What color should be used in the background?

I let the picture rest, and mulled it over. I toyed with making a softly colored background with texture. You can see my study for it below. Rather than the squares you see there though, I thought I could extend carefully selected swaths of color roughly along the lines I had drawn. Or even just one color. Or hints of color along the lines, keeping mostly white. But I have been hesitant to do any of it. I am concerned that adding more color will keep the face from standing out on the page.

What do you think? What would you do? I've left the white, but I can still change my mind, and very well might..that's the thing about white.

This is my first post of the year. The end of 2011 and beginning of 2012 were full of happenings, both good and bad. I felt tossed about. That was not so good for my art or for this blog. Fortunately, the good was very good, and the bad, ultimately, not so bad, and I'm back.

The best of the best was the graduation of my son Ian from Georgia Tech with a Bachelors in Chemical Engineering. The word "proud" does not begin to describe my feelings. Congratulations, Ian! It's on to grad school now.

an ink sketch I made in GA

On the art front, I was a touch hard on myself. Ultimately two things freed me from my destructive thinking: First, a blog post at Zen Habits that I recommend, which is here, entitled, "The Best Goal is No Goal". It is freeing.

Second, I realized I was being too self-critical (a good trap for artists, I'd say). This realization came to me because of a man on tv talking about a fish. This gentleman, in a fine British accent, was extolling the virtues of the halibut. He went on and on. He said this fish was "noble" and was not like its "ugly cousins".

Really.

This gentleman did not have self-contemplation as a problem. So I needed to refocus my attention as well. It is the world that is my inspiration after all. I need to be outward looking.

So without further ado is this my quickly-penned ditty inspired by this gentleman (best read at a slow cadence in British English. You are a step ahead, if you already speak that way):

The halibut is a noble fish
Unlike his ugly flatfish cousins.
His eyes may migrate,
But he is ever faithful,
And though his eyes may roll,
The halibut is never haughty.
What can we do, but stand in awe
As we all hail the halibut, this
Helluva bit of a fish.

So if you ever have a creative block, come back to this post and read of the halibut, and you will be cured, I guarantee it.

No, you needn't thank me. It's my gift for the New Year.

Really.

Return of the Floating Heads

2011-12-10T07:30:00.011-05:00

Yeah, yeah. You may have your glistening, crystalline, fairy tale snow. You may have your mountains, and your quaint villages, and your farmhouses and fields. You may have your hills, and your wild animals and your enormous trees and your citiscapes.

Yeah, you may have all of these and more.

But I have something that you don't have.

I have the motley Miami bunch, and they are an inexhaustible resource.

These four characters came from one wait at the tire place, and are on a single page of my moleskine. Proceeding clockwise from the top - the old man who really should have been drawn with a hand to his face because it kept migrating to his chin, keeping it covered half the time; the cheerful and friendly manager who clapped every customer on the back and passed out Cuban coffee - his skin was a shade dark with a greenish tinge (I swear); the gumby-shaped man with the elongated neck who looked something like Jeff Goldblum after he became "The Fly", and the ruddy-faced skipper, marooned no more.

And that's just one sitting.

Shortly after I started this blog, I began drawing what I call my "floating heads", the faces of folks that I have seen out and about. I was a bit amazed that I could draw people in public with impunity - they were either too involved in their lives to notice, or too embarrassed to say anything about it. Even now, it is my "default", what I do when I just want to relax.

Only once was I called out. A lady, loudly so I could hear, said to her daughter, "look, dear, that man is drawing me." If the sketch had been any good I might have walked right up to her, and shown her what I had done. As it was I probably blushed and turned the page to conceal the evidence. It was a particularly spectacular failure of a drawing. Of course, now it'd be different since every drawing I do is perfect. (Ri-ight.)

This little incident kept me from sketching in public for a few weeks, but then I was back at it. You can't keep an addict from his fix.

I've heard tale that some artists notify people before sketching them, and ask for permission. I am not so bold. Or so polite. Or something. I'm from Miami. That should explain it.

I've learned some tricks. I look for evidence to see how long they've been there, and how long they'll stay. I look for busy people, or people involved in conversations. I most like to draw folks that are not directly in front of me, but at an angle - there is less chance they'll notice, and the drawing is more interesting than a side or frontal view anyway.

The young girl above was a bit of an experiment for me. She is a much larger Floating Head than virtually all I have done in my Moleskines. I enjoyed the chance for detail in the hair, and the watercolor seemed to swish more than usual in her blouse. Swiiish! Or that might be an illusion. (Of course here I had a man looking on while I painted, giving me a sly knowing glance - looking at my drawing and then looking at her. I love an audience, a co-conspirator).

This woman was particularly fun to draw. The big shame is that she was talking to a gnarly looking guy and the two together would have been just great. I ate first - that's what wasted my time - they were deep in conversation the whole time. Sometimes my hands resist getting started. Always make the first mark, then you have to go further. That's a great rule I often ignore.

Do you know I never - and I mean never - have seen anyone else in Miami sketching people in public? I went to Art Basel last week, and saw a man staring towards a group of people and drawing in a small moleskine. I was ecstatic! I casually strolled behind him. He was sketching a potted plant. And I suspect he was from out of town.

Art Basel is an annual experience that I never miss if I can help it. I've seen so many wonderful original pieces of art that I would never see elsewhere, along with horrible outrageous but fun and thought-provoking things (they can only be called "things"). One item I saw there was a wire sculpture of a face, and I thought to myself I can do that!, and so I came home and grabbed some sculpture wire, and voila! He sits now on my piano. You know, the piano that no one plays.

I will sell the sculpture for $100,000, which is a low price, by Art Basel standards. I will throw in a nice stand. No extra charge.

Let me know if you are interested.

$100,000

WHAT A BARGAIN!

Founder's Day

2011-11-20T07:00:00.010-05:00

Ink and watercolor in large moleskine

Founders Day in Satellite Beach, a small town in central Florida.
The Rockies play I-Don't-Know-Who.
My nephew Jake has two runs!
Go Rockies!

I have a wonderful view. Aside from watching Jake, I can plainly see the spectators for the other team. They do not look well. They look rather bored. There is no jumping around. Hardly any movement at all.

Good for me.

Did I mention that in addition to my nephew Jake playing for the Rockies, my brother Neil coaches them?

Hmmmm?

Go Rockies!

It's fortunate that this was the off season. This means, of course, that no one was following the score. Luckily then, none of the spectators knew that it was 14 for the Rockies and 2 for I-Don't-Know-Who when they called the game. This means that the spectators that I drew above had no idea that the game was halted prematurely at only 4 innings so it wouldn't be a total slaughter/bloodbath/massacre. This means that when the poor spectators above took their young players on I-Don't-Know-Who home, they didn't have to call the kids' therapists. This saved them thousands of dollars.

Did I say, Go Rockies?! Yeah, I think so. Yeah!

It was a delightful day in Satellite Beach on the day I drew this picture. It was small town America in the place where I grew up. There was the Founder's Day parade with the mayor, the high school band, floats, the Army, the Navy, cheerleaders, and such, and most notably, the baton troupe with my niece Ashley tossing her baton into the air with style! Whoosh!

Happy Birthday Ashley and Jake, 11 years old!

Ink and watercolor in small moleskine

Just the day before Founder's Day, there was great food and greater fun at the special education homecoming dance - Pirates of the Caribbean Theme - for my son Matthew's high school. Glorious happy spontaneous dancing - partners completely optional! And in celebration of this freedom, I whipped out my small moleskine and tried to capture the mood as best I could in a quick sketch. Not my best sketch ever, but I wanted to color and post it just the same. So there!

So go Rockies! Go Cobras! And Boo Hoo to I-Don't-Know-Who, but you know who you are, I am sure that you do. Don't you?

Tricks and Treats

2011-10-30T06:00:00.004-04:00

10" x 8" watercolor on 140 lb. Fabriano Artistico extra white hot press paper

TREAT: What a treat! I found a spot with beautiful trees, a pathway, picnic benches, and an attractive building. I thought it would be another great opportunity to paint loosely, to capture an impression of the feel of the place without excessive detail; in sum, to try to capture the scene in the way that Frank Eber recommends. I attack my pictures. I do not hesitate to scrape, rub, blot, drip, etc. I decided to eliminate the building for simplicity and eventually, by rubbing, created a fog effect that I liked.

At this stage, it looked like the picture below. All in all I was quite pleased. (The board the piece is taped on, by the way, is very special. When I bought my house years ago, a very few items of an artist had been left behind. One, this board, is pocked with holes because of his use of tacks. It is still covered with cardboard from those days, tacked by ancient tacks. I understand that he used to carry this lightweight board to the Everglades to paint the Indians from life. I feel that I am carrying on, when I use this board.)

TRICK: I know this was just another practice piece, and that I had only spent a few hours painting it. I didn't expect to put it anywhere but in the drawer. But at the same time I have a secret desire for everything I do to be a masterpiece - don't you?

I have a thick skin when it comes to my art. At this point in my life nobody could say anything that could keep me from making art. But at the same time, I have an artist's desire to have what I do liked by someone, for heaven's sake. So, proud of my effort, I showed this to a couple of people. They both said it was well done. They also agreed that it was boring - that it lacked something. They both pointed to that foreground as needing something there. But this is a watercolor! Don't they understand you cannot erase or paint over watercolor?!

Or can you?

TREAT: The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to try inserting something into the foreground. Not for the picture. For the challenge of it! I didn't really care about the picture too much. If I ruined it, so what? And that pesky truth about watercolors - that they cannot be erased? I knew it was a lie. That I had not been too successful at ever making it happen only made me want to try again.

How did I know it was a lie? This is because M.E. Bailey, the master watercolorist, had told me so. I visited his blog, here, one day in early May 2010, and found he had made a large, particularly dark, section of his watercolor disappear. I e-mailed him to ask how this miracle had happened, and he was nice enough to e-mail me back. I figured that my problem in the past was that I did not follow his directions carefully enough. So I pulled out his old e-mail and followed his directions meticulously, and it worked!! Actually I was so happy that it worked that I wanted to stop at this stage and call it done!

Paraphrased, here are M.E. Bailey's directions on how to remove darks from a watercolor:
1. Purchase "Mr. Clean Magic Eraser" housecleaning supply - make sure it is the "ORIGINAL" (there are 4 types).
2. Cut it into thirds.
3. Use tape to mask off areas where you don't wish the sponge to intrude. Very important.
3. Wet the sponge.
4. Wring it out until it is damp - not wet.

and..

Now I'm inserting a warning: Here is the part where things can go really wrong - If you wipe or scrub with this sponge, you can (and probably will) rip up your paper.

5. Mr. Bailey wrote "wipe, blot, wipe, blot etc." But I'm telling you, don't wipe with this sponge. Only blot with the sponge. Then blot with a paper towel. (He says you can wipe, presumably with the paper towel - and I'm sure if he said it, this is true, but blotting worked on this occasion for me.) So I wonder if the directions should say "blot with the damp sponge, blot with a dry paper towel, blot with the damp sponge, blot with a dry paper towel, etc." Be sure to keep the sponge clean with frequent rinsing.

Mr. Baily describes what is occurring: "The sponge is actually a very fine abrasive, and slowly removes a thin layer off the paper." He explains that small pieces of the sponge and the paper roll off as you work. He assures that this is nothing to worry about. Finally:

6. Let it dry well, then paint right over it."

TRICK: This mostly worked. There were some very light stains left that didn't lift, but nothing I couldn't work with. I had scraped with the back of my brush, though, to create lines for the park bench. The lines remained and would not leave. So I decided to dress my characters in dark clothing. This didn't fully conceal the lines - but you really have to look for the lines, I think, to know they are there.

TREAT: For the figures, I used a photograph I had taken at an art festival. They were walking the wrong way, so I reversed the image on the computer. Both were looking the same direction - at an exhibit, at the show - and at first I drew them that way. But then I thought it would be better to have the guy intent to get where they were going, and the gal to be distracted. So I returned to the original photo where his face was actually facing that direction, and it worked! I ended up throwing Eber's philosophy out the window and spending so much more time on the figures than I had on the initial sketch of the environment. My thought was that the two figures up close would be more detailed (but not too detailed) as would be the close-up tree, which I enhanced, and everything else would be mostly lost in the fog.

TRICK: The dog was another story. I had the hand in another position first . She was holding a purse. I had put in a dog. The hand wasn't in the right position to hold the dog. I almost turned the dog into a purse. Poor dog. In the end, I moved the hand, and the dog stayed.

I have this nagging feeling that there is still something wrong with the picture - and I can't pinpoint what. I know some areas that I could have done better technically - but that isn't it. If you have any ideas, I'd be interested to hear. Or maybe I've just beaten myself over the head with this picture for too long.

Despite my love of watercolors, I also found the medium very frustrating this time around. It seemed that every time I would lay down color, it would dry and sort of fade into whatever was below. I colored with my son with crayons in a coloring book a day or so later, and liked that result better. And by the end of this, I didn't want to touch anything so "traditional" for at least a short while.

TREAT: (The cure). I went to the Fort Lauderdale Museum of Art recently and much of their vast collection of CoBrA art was on display. (If you don't know about the CoBrA artists, you can read about them here.) The work of the CoBrA artists is bright, childlike, and often inexplicable. My favorite in the collection is "Personality" by Karel Appel. You can see it here. (This photo does not do the painting justice).

My son Matthew, who is autistic, had drawn a picture in my sketchbook. It has been calling for me to color it for a long time. After wrestling with the park picture, now was the time. I had great fun with it! I got to play with the watercolors in all different ways, challenge myself to balance the picture's colors, and free myself from convention - in the spirit of the CoBrA artists:

Pencil drawing by Matthew Kent, Watercolor by me, in the large moleskine

TRICK: For Halloween, just for you, then, is my special gift of two ghosts walking in the park...Boo!

They are history.

Watercolor Soda Pop

2011-10-07T07:57:00.001-04:00

[Pssst...Message from the Editor of Another Blog: Yeah, yeah, danscanvas is going to ramble about something or other and if you understand even a bit of it you are probably as demented as he is, but what he isn't telling you is that his favorite drawing of the week is at another blog - his joint blog with Raena, 2'nFro, so shoot over there to see what he did. The link is here. But then please come back as though you never left or he will figure out that this message is here and I will be in trouble and I will never get to direct you to good places again. And leave a comment for good measure, why don't you, because if you don't he'll be suspicious and besides if he doesn't get comments he shrivels up and .. well it's just too awful to describe.]

The above experiment in watercolor is from my small moleskine. At first my intention was for the page to be soft and monochromatic, but it turned out nothing like I expected. One reason I love to paint - surprises are wonderful. I like the perspective, the drawing and painting of just the upper part of a room, intriguing enough that I will probably do this again someday.

Here is my latest revelation: a good watercolor is like a soda, although a soda is easy to come by and a quality watercolor is rare. But they share the same ingredients.

Examining, then the label of a soda:

Carbonated Water - Well, we have water, of course, and bubbles - magical things bubbles aren't they?
Potassium citrate - I have no idea what that is.
Potassium benzoate - No clue.
Acesulfame potassium - We are going from bad to worse.
Artificial color - Now that I understand!

So there is water and there is color and all these indefinable somethings that make it great. Then magic floats to the surface!

See?

On another page of my moleskine, there are three ladies drawn in public on three separate occasions. Now they are together forever in an unending conversation. For me, though, the word well is a bit dry today. So I think I'll just have a soda.

[Pssst...Message from the Editor of Another Blog: Shhh..Go, go to 2'nFro is you haven't been there already. Our little secret, right?]

Swerving Along the Artistic Road

2011-09-18T21:51:00.009-04:00

8" x 10" watercolor on Arches 140 lb. natural white cold press paper

Something is going on here, and I'll bet you're looking to me to tell you what it is. Well I can't.

I'll bet you're thinking, If you don't know what's happening, then I certainly don't.

That, I am sure, would be a perfectly reasonable position for you to take if I had any idea what is going on myself. But I don't.

So you, my friend, are being unreasonable.

No offense.

I do have three theories though.

Theory number 1: I am a Groupie. I can't help it. I am as helpless as a schoolgirl at a Justin Bieber concert. To test this theory, I popped into a Justin Bieber fan club site, to see just what a groupie is like. Quotes from the fans included: "justin bieber is following me on twitter now :::::::)))))))))) supper [sic] happy" and "Sooo i was eatin [sic]at a restraunt [sic] and i had fries…and they had suger [sic] on 1 side of the tabe [sic] and salt on the other, and i didnt [sic] see the salt..so i accidently [sic] put suger [sic] on my fries soooo groooosssssss!!!!"

Okay, maybe not.

But I feel like an art groupie nonetheless. The truth is that I go from art blog to art blog, art site to art site - some are modern, and some are traditional, some are creative, and some are skilled - and often when I see something I like, something I looooooveeee :::::::)))))))))), I worship that artist, drool a little, and want to do the very same thing. More than that - I want to do what he or she is doing all of the time. I want to live his or her life, step into his or her shoes, and wear his or her pants.

Okay maybe not the pants.

Case in point, the other day I was surfing and went to Chris Beck's watercolor blog, "I am Painting As Fast as I can", here, and he dedicated a post to Frank Eber, another signature member of the National Watercolor Society. From there I sailed to Frank Eber's blog, here, and BOOM, infatuation. I read every post in his blog. Yes. Every post. Swoon. Because I liked what I saw and maybe he said something there I could learn from so I could try what he was doing.

The above picture is my humble first effort.

One of my longest art crushes has been Celeste Bergin. Her blog is here. In oil she has an experimental and impressionist style that I greatly Desire.., but oil is a long way from watercolors. And here was Frank Eber, doing en plein air in a loose impressionist style with my medium. Sigh.

The problem with this is that some of you may recall a few short posts back my infatuation was .. well, we'll get to that in Theory no. 2.

[Note: I do not want any of you to get the wrong impression, so perhaps my analogy for theory no. 1 should have been as follows: I am tobacco spittin' sure bowled over by that Magnum .22 he's a shootin'. Yeah. That's closer.]

Theory No. 2. I am as Loose as a Goose with a Masseuse. So here I am, under Frank Eber's spell. In my "fine art"- type watercolors I have often spent a lot of time concentrating on details, like shape, color and light. It has often been a slow and methodical process. Frank Eber, however, abhors detail. He is washy - mostly wet-on-wet. He simplifies, focusing on shapes and values, saying we should connect the shapes to provide unity in our paintings, and instructing that values exceed color in importance, which is most certainly true. I wish I could quote him, but I must respect his copyright and have no time to request permission, so I encourage you to visit his blog.

So with all this in mind, I grabbed a larger brush than usual, and tried to be loose, simple and free!

I am one of these people that cannot be massaged. I am tight. I run from masseuses. But today, I was loose. I couldn't find my pencil (Frank Eber at least pencils in general shapes). So I just started applying paint to paper. I was en plein air, sort of. I was outside, kind of, with only my car's windshield between me and the Town of South Miami. So I was en plein air conditioner.

I was Michael Jordan. I was Gumby. I was the Dali Lama. How loose was I? I was so loose that I lost track once or twice where I was going and what I was doing - I had to remind myself that impressionistic did not mean careless, so that the skyline ended up changing a bit. It is a different South Miami, than South Miami. I was Caravaggio. A loose Caravaggio.

But, going back to theory no. 1, my infatuation just two months ago was with Andrew Wyeth, His work is not wet, but dry, and hardly impressionistic, but greatly detailed. So what does that mean?!

Theory no. 3. I am thoroughly lost. It was great fun doing this painting, and I will do more in that style I am sure even though I know it is not what I will do the most and will not be where I ultimately head. I will do more of that just as I will do more drybrush, more ink and watercolor, and more detailed watercolors that are somewhere in between. I am fine artist. I am illustrator. I admire fine artists. I admire illustrators. I sketch. I draw meticulously. I am careless. I am detailed. I want to learn acrylics, monoprint, perhaps oil, and who knows what else. I like still lifes, portraits, cityscape, and everyday portrayals of people. I admire traditional art, and more recent isms, and modern design.

So where am I? I am everywhere! I am nowhere.

I believe - I hope - that this is the definition of a student. I have found my passion, and my infatuation. I travel down many roads and one day I hope to find my road. At the start of this blog, I wrote its tag line: "Swerving along the artistic road with every sight a potential target." When I wrote that, I was thinking of subject matter. Without understanding, I also seem to have summed up the journey of finding artistic voice and method of expression.

And that is where I am. Everywhere. Nowhere.

So something is going on here, for sure. I hope. And someday I hope to look back and know what.

In Memory of Those Lost on 9/11/2001

2011-09-11T11:16:00.000-04:00

at our table
an empty chair,
negative space

The Quandary

2011-09-04T08:15:00.000-04:00

Ink and watercolor on moleskine (comic books for sale)

Great Art Thoughts about ink and watercolor:

I ink therefore I am.

I still live, I still ink: I still have to live, for I still have to ink.

He who learns but does not ink, is lost! He who inks but does not learn is in great danger.

watercolor, drybrush, in large moleskine

But should I ink?

To ink, or not to ink, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous line,
Or to take arms against a sea of scribbles
And by opposing end them.

It occurs to me that even if you have read many of my posts, you do not really know me. So an example from my life is in order. Step, then, if you will into my bedroom..

My wife is stripping the bed. When she unfurls the sheet, a tv remote tumbles onto the floor.

She is looking around just as I enter the room.

"Where's the clicker?" she asks.

At first I am confused. I am wondering why she is in the bedroom asking for the garage door opener. She holds up the tv remote and then asks again: "Where's the other clicker?"

Then I realize. She is asking about the second tv remote. We call both the garage door openers and the tv remotes "clickers." (In the name of progress, our cable company Comcast now requires that we use two tv remotes, and one is missing. My great-grandchild will have 10 remotes. And god forbid one of them is misplaced.)

So we search and we search. It has to be in the bedroom because that's where I last used it.

Suddenly my wife stands stock still. She has had a sudden epiphany. She strides to my end table without hesitation, opens the drawer and plucks out the clicker!

I am astounded. I had put it there, certainly, but I don't remember doing it. It doesn't belong there, and I never put it there.

"How did you know?" I ask.

"I know how you think," she says, and leaves the room.

I have an excuse, though, an excuse for my distraction - and here, dear reader, is the key to who I am: I am always busy thinking GREAT ART THOUGHTS.

So there.

The Teapot and a Fish

2011-08-28T07:09:00.001-04:00

5" x 7" Watercolor on 140 lb Fabriano Artistico extra white hot press paper

This watercolor painting is based upon a photograph by Edwina Jill Mordasky, affectionately known by all those who love her in the online world (including me) as Winna. Her photo is here, and it so utterly captivated me that I immediately wanted to paint it. Winna graciously gave me permission.

Her photo is an object of beauty I think. Maybe it is all of those wonderful negative shapes, the brightness, the color that attracted me - but that would be trying to put a rational analysis to my innate reaction.

Thinking about it, maybe it is just the teapot and the fish. Possible reasons:

1. I drink tea. (But I don't fish.) But I eat fish.

2. Maybe it's a memory from my childhood, and Dr. Seuss:

"You SHOULD NOT be here
When our mother is not.
You get out of this house!"
Said the fish in the pot.

Then again, this is a wooden fish - it must be, right?

3. Maybe it is nostalgia. When my wife and I were engaged she was responsibly selecting items for the bridal registry - silverware, china. I insisted on only one thing, a foot-long wooden fish. My brother bought me that fish for my wedding. He painted its lips bright red. I was delighted. Needless to say the fish was never displayed in my house. That my wife could control. The fishlips were wiped clean and it was at my in-laws for a while. I don't know what happened after that. Maybe it just swam away..

Enough analysis.

For a watercolorist, I am a closet oil painter I think. Watercolorists refer to "overworking", but often when I look at their work, I can't fathom what they mean. Other watercolorists brag that they use hundreds of layers and still keep things light. I've created a rather heavy look for a watercolor I guess. I insist, though, that this piece is not overworked. Underpaid, perhaps.

So thank you Winna, thank you fish. Thank you teapot in a dish.

OK, there is no dish.

So much for analysis.

Waiting

2011-08-06T07:26:00.000-04:00

Ink and watercolor in large moleskine

You know what to expect when you enter a doctor's waiting room, right? You will see patients sitting in chairs, sometimes with their spouses. Many of the patients will be thumbing through magazines. If the room is not too crowded, the patients will have discreetly left empty chairs between them.

Only couples will sit together. Sometimes the couples will whisper, but mostly they will remain silent, thumbing through their magazines. Patients will never speak to one another though, and for that reason it is very quiet.

You will walk to the window which is closed and sign the sheet on the clipboard on the shelf with the attached pen. You will then turn to the magazine rack and select a magazine that is of little more than vague interest to you. You will look for a chair that is at least a seat away from everyone else. Finally you will sit and quietly thumb through your magazine. You will not even whisper unless you are with your spouse, and even then, only occasionally.

Unless you are in Miami. I have a wonderful old-time Cuban doctor. When I walk into his waiting room for the occasional checkup it is like stepping into Cheers, although nobody knows my name. When I enter everyone looks up, and says the Spanish version of "Hey!" It is as though they have been waiting for me all morning. I sit with my magazine, but don't read it. I am too busy watching complete strangers bouncing from chair to chair, conversing enthusiastically. One gentleman comes to me and starts gesticulating. When I shrug he asks cheerfully, "What,you don't speak Spanish?!" So he talks to me in English for a few sentences, but I'm not nearly as interesting as those ebullient Hispanics that fill the rest of the room, and soon I am left to watch, my eyes wide.

Did I ever tell you that I love Miami?

I have lived in Miami for 26 years. Yeah, yeah, I should have learned Spanish by now, but I haven't. But I kind of like being the outsider looking in.

The other day I was at Balado Tire, getting my brakes fixed. I sat to wait. The cheerful round-faced manager behind the counter conversed with everyone. Folks - strangers - bounced from chair to chair conversing. They would find their talking partner and strike up a conversation. One man came to me, and then walked away when he got no response. No matter. I am an artist. I love being separate. Another man hung out at the counter. Why? I don't know. Every now and then he would talk to the round-faced man, but mostly he was just waiting. When the round-faced tire guy wasn't cheerfully offering everyone cafe' con leche, I was sketching the man at the counter, and that is my sketch above.

We were in an open waiting area next to the bays, all facing a parking lot. While I was there, an old bent Cuban man walked by, pulling a wagon piled high with mangos. He yelled something to the group of us, which I suppose was, "Hey guys, any of you wanna buy some mangos?" He got no takers. But as he walked by the second bay, one of the workers threw down a tire, pulled out a wad of bills and bought a bunch of the fruit. I guess that old man knew what he was doing.

Ink and watercolor in small moleskine

My wife and I both wear glasses. That is a good thing. The waiting room at the ophthalmologist's office is of the boring dismal type and too small for me to discreetly draw anyone. So every year my wife and I will set our appointments together, and she will go in first. I will stay in the car and look for something to sketch or paint. I was extra lucky this year, because parked on the street was this tractor, waiting. Waiting for a driver, I suppose. But also waiting for me to draw her. While I was waiting for my appointment.

Watercolor, 2-1/2" x 3-1/2"

I am in the middle of a still life. Some watercolor painters paint thin washes and - voila - they are done. That has never been the case for me. I have always layered or mixed or glazed or who knows what, even from the beginning when I knew even less about what I was doing than I know now. I am waiting for the still life to finish, because it is taking a good long time. Not that the process isn't wonderful, mind you, like reading a good book that you don't want to end.

Sometimes I watch (listen) to documentaries when I paint, and while carefully painting this still life I saw a film about a painter who is wonderfully, skillfully sloppy. He would sometimes paint outlines of faces on seemingly random swaths of color. I was absorbing this information when I glanced at the scrap of watercolor paper that I was using to test colors before laying them on the still life. I ran and got a scissors and cut out the most promising section, ACEO size, and painted the face in the span of a minute or two, and voila! (See, I can voila too.) But mostly I have to wait.

Prior Incantato

2011-07-17T07:00:00.005-04:00

Watercolor in moleskine, approx. 5" x 7"

I introduced my new possession with a slight trace of embarrassment and an abundance of barely suppressed pride. "It's my only frivolous purchase," I said.

This is almost true. I rarely give in to buying whims. Even though I had bought it a week before, I had no regrets, and I have no regrets now. I am still thrilled with the purchase.

"What is it?" my friend asked.

I gestured with flourish to the spot on my shelf where the object has been displayed like a museum piece.

"A chopstick?" my friend asked.

I was horrified.

"Of course not," I said. "It's a wand!" A thin foot-long slightly tapered charcoal-colored wand, with intricate runes carved on the sides. Certainly not a chopstick; if anything, a fine baton.

I bought it at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Orlando. It is Sirius Black's wand which means it is a symbol of loyalty and sacrifice for all that is good. But mostly, for me, it represents imagination, master storytelling, and unbridled creativity. And magic, of course.

My friend doesn't have to understand.

I am lucky. I create a little magic every day. And each day it takes a new form. I begin with a blank sheet of paper.

Sometimes I am amazed at what a sheet of paper or canvas can display. Other times not so much. To have the ability to wield a pen or a brush and create an image that wasn't there before: that, I could tell my friend, is magic. I don't need a wand. But it is nice to have the reminder on my shelf of so much that I admire, and of so much that inspires me.

The truth, of course, is that no wave of a wand will do. To imagine effectively we must exercise the mind. To create we must exercise the hand.

I have been nearly obsessed lately with the Helga watercolors by Andrew Wyeth. Andrew Wyeth employed drybrush in many of his pictures, in which most of the moisture is squeezed out of the brush, to create his emotion-laden images. I have read forums online in which watercolorists have been both baffled and amazed by his results. [Wyeth's wand: Stupefy! (You can see a list of Harry Potter spells here.)]

At least a year ago I found an article about his technique which you can read here. I revisited it recently. According to the article, part of how Andrew Wyeth described his process was this: "You weave the layers of dry brush over and within the broad washes of watercolor."

I hadn't caught it the first few times I read the article, but it made sense - he employed both washes and drybrush. So as a study in my moleskine above, I started the face of the woman above as a wash, almost as I always would. Only then did I employ the drybrush technique. For me it was a very slow process - a gradual build up of transparent layers, almost like sculpting, and I was amazed at how the areas in the face began to acquire depth. This was very different than using the other watercolor methods.

I reached a point where I felt the entire face needed more color, and again thought of the above quote. Andrew Wyeth did not simply lay a wash and then apply drybrush, but employed a weaving of the two. So I laid a wash over what I had done, unsure whether that would unsettle everything. And it worked! And then resumed the drybrush. So this was a successful experiment I think.

I don't know that I have done anything like what Andrew Wyeth has done in technique in that I have never been able to examine an original Wyeth piece (I am a mere fledgling artist, self-taught/self-teaching, and even were I to stumble somewhere close, I am nowhere approaching the quality of his work, of course.) One great thing about Andrew Wyeth was that he did not feel limited by any one watercolor technique and felt that he could use several in one piece. So I tried to do the same.

Except for some initial trials, I used the watercolor medium, gum arabic, for the first time in this picture - and only in the hair. The description on the bottle says gum arabic "increases brilliance, glosses and transparency of water colours. Controls spread of wet on wet. Reduces staining." I bought the gum arabic because I have not always been satisfied with the vibrancy of the colors. I do not see that the colors are especially more vibrant than elsewhere on the page. The texture of the paint did seem to change, and I did note that if water was placed on the hair after it dried, then the hair would vanish [Evanesco!], so staining was definitely reduced.

It is interesting that in drawing any person, problems can result, sometimes in the most surprising places. In this one I had a problem with the shape of the shoulders of all things - I mean who ever thinks about the shoulders? (Except perhaps Henry Raleigh whom you can see in this post of the excellent "Illustration Art" blog, and whose work so impressed me that I could not draw for two days). It just shows that you can't ignore any part of the body, and must learn - eventually - to control each and every part. [Imperio!]

There is no substitute for practice. Only then will I learn.

So join me, won't you? Pick up your brush, your pencil, your pen, or whatever it is that you use, and repeat after me: Wingardium Leviosa! (Make sure your emphasis is on the "o".) And may all of your creative efforts hereafter rise to new heights.

A Small Surprise

2011-07-11T23:13:00.001-04:00


5" X 8" pastel on watercolor sketchbook paper

Wrestling with watercolor. Restless.

Never do watercolor when you are restless.

So I pulled my pastels out of a drawer. Dusted them off. Whipped out this little sketch in a flurry of restlessness.

And colorful dust flew everywhere.

Surprised? Me too.

(I'm posting this on an impulse just after it's done - hope to like it in the morning. Good night.)

Left-brain/Right-brain (Or Much Ado About Nothing)

2011-06-26T22:12:00.008-04:00

Ink and watercolor in moleskine

Warning: Mind at work. Use due care as you step into my mind as the left-brain and right-brain are hard at work in developing the above page.

Left-brain:   It's a crowded room, and there are lot's of people. It's a good chance to sketch.
Right-brain: Must draw! Must draw! Pen. Pen. Where pen?! Thank God. Pen here. Draw!
Left-brain:   Now who should I draw? Maybe that elderly woman. She doesn't seem to moving around too much, and she can't see me from this angle.
Right-brain:    Face. What a face! Angst! Such angst! Circles. Circles. Round and round. Pen. Pen!
Left-brain: Let's see, the nose is at about a 10:00 angle, and it is about so long..
Right-brain: Sliding Pen, curves..curves! The face. Here. I feel - the line here! Ooooh!

Then, after a similar left/right collaboration when drawing a man onto the page:

Left brain: I want a whole statement. Not just two unrelated faces on a page. I think I'll draw a line to connect them - kind of like what Barbara Weeks does in her sketchbook here. Now to color the faces: I think I am beginning to get a glimmer of what Andrew Wyeth does with his skin tones. It is not just drybrush, but an initial wash plus drybrush, or perhaps multiple washes alternated with drybrush. I've got to try that. It's like when I completed the figures in this page, I applied drybrush in various places over wash, and I like the effect:

Ink and watercolor in moleskine

Left brain: I need to experiment with this drybrush over wash, to see if I can mold contours of a face. Let's see - here's a drawing in my moleskine I don't like so much.
Right Brain: Brush. Here! More here! Ooh!! Over here!
Left brain: How each layer shows through! I think I forgot as I did this where the light source was, but a successful experiment nonetheless! Now let's try it on this other page!

Back to the page with the man and the woman, and the right and left brain collaborate on applying colors to the faces. But something doesn't seem right about the background:

Right brain [viewing the painted faces on the white page background connected by a line]: Boring. Emotionless. Need Color. Color!! [Proceeds to put color all over the page recklessly, and with abandon.]

Left brain: Hmmmm. Don't like the way this one came out really. I think I'll have to post this with the white page in the back. I'm glad I scanned it.
[But left brain then shows the page to his Most Valuable Critic, an invaluable female whole brain, whose mouth says: Nah, I don't like the colors - too pastelly. I think grey would be better.]
Left brain: Why not? It'd be a neat experiment! I can see if I can use different complimentary colors over all of the different colors for many different grey tones, and if that proves too unwieldy I can just spread Paynes Grey over everything - it's semi-transparent, colors should show through to some degree for interest.

Right brain [after Payne's grey is spread over everything]: Whoa. Somber.
Left brain: It's amazing what a background will do. White didn't do this. Color didn't do this. The grey has connected them. They are family. He has done something terrible. He looks for foregiveness but she cannot forgive. What he has done is irredeemable.
Right brain: Yeah.. [Sigh]. What he said.

Where I stand today:

Left brain: Now to use a much larger pencil drawing of a woman's face to try this technique - wash first, then drybrush, then glazes perhaps, then more drybrush. A larger drawing allows room for detail. The absence of pen makes me rely entirely on painting.

[At first it looks horrible, but gradually, layer by layer it builds thanks to the intuition of the Right brain. This method is slow! But could it be working?]

The left brain is useful and the right brain is necessary, but the fingers are indispensable. Because right now, the fingers are crossed. We shall see..

"I am continuously seeking, trying out new ways. It utterly absorbs me. I am continually producing drawings, although most of them don't ever develop into anything because I get another idea of something that is better than that initial, sharp, idea." - Andrew Wyeth.

Both brains agree. Or maybe you could say that both brains are of the same mind. Hmmm. Makes you think, doesn't it?

I am not Clark

2011-06-10T21:52:00.001-04:00

Ink and watercolor in moleskine

I am Dan KENT - The Dan Kent. Do not confuse me with Clark. Sometimes I step into my closet and I re-emerge - as, you guessed it .. Dan Kent! I live in South Florida, and the humidity gives my hair the ability to fly! Or to puff, er, up. I have T-Ray vision, thanks to my trusty trifocals. I, little people, am a superhuman being. Or a super, human being. Or at least I like to think so.

So imagine my joy when, eager for folks to draw, I discovered a crowd of fellow super heroes and nerds weaving in and out of the Florida Super Comics store in Davie.

Discretely I parked my Kentmobile. Wielding my trusty Moleskine, with my faithful sidekick Pigma Micron-cron-cron-cron (that is an echo in case you haven't figured it out) at hand, I captured those characters on paper and instantly transformed them into the comics they craved! Wham! Bop! Zowie! I colored them later - take that! And that!

Excuse me. No. Pigma Micron-cron-cron was home that day, I think, and it was my SKB SB-1000! Zap!! Kerplooie!

Okay, so my memory's not so good.

But I have never felt so powerful.

Ink and watercolor in moleskine can turn a boring speech into an event!

You, mere mortal, imagine if you can the power to turn boring speeches into events, and still hear not a single word being said! Kapowie!

It is, my friend, the POWER OF THE PEN. With the pen, I can explore and never leave the room, I can learn and never crack a book, and I can create and never be bored again! And if I do it right, and if I do it enough, it will be like when Gandolf the Grey became Gandolf the White! Yeah!!! Well, no, not yeah, excuse me. Shazaam!!!

And being as super as I can't help being, I have Super Friends as well - Friends from All Over The World. And one of the Superist of the Super Friends is Mari of Colour Blob Design in Ontario, Canada. I won a prize at her blog, thanks to her trusted sidekick Charlie: two beautifully hand-made travel tags that you can see here.

But what really blew my mind was the hand-painted envelope that it came in! It was a blast of color and shape that only a super person could create, for sure.But that wasn't enough for Mari. She gave me tea fashioned by the Inuit people (formerly known as "the Eskimos") - how cool is that?! - and a beautiful handwritten postcard with a picture by a member of the Group of Seven, a cadre' of artists that I hadn't even heard of, that you can read about here. Thank you, Mari! I was blown away! Shazowie!! (Note: Lest you think that Supers needn't thank other Supers, manners are necessary even when the world is saved, thank you very much.)

Acrylic, by Mari Brown, on an 8-1/4" x 10-3/4" brown envelope

Now I must go. I have images to catch and stray lines to save. UP, UP, AND AWAY!!!

[What was that?! Was it surreal? Was it abstract? Representational even?!

Who was that masked artist?
I dunno but I'm sure glad he's around!]

Playfully Incomplete

2011-05-31T23:29:00.003-04:00

Ink and watercolor in moleskine

A lunch at Scotty's Landing, a cafe' by the water in Coconut Grove, Florida. My son, Ian, visiting from college. So there we were, my wife, my son and I. It was the first time any of us were ever there. There was an awning above us with fans and water mist spray to keep the patrons cool. A bar behind us, and in front of us the view - the ever-changing water, the boaters sailing by, and a soft breeze blowing our way. And of course I was exciting company - this was a view I could not ignore - so I took out my pen and drew what I saw. I snapped a shot with my cell phone, but that didn't come out too well. I would figure out how to paint it later.

Then, unexpectedly, I was returning a few weeks later, this time with my in-laws, and my sister-in-law, and my wife. And my wife told me before we went: "You can paint the page when you go!" "Wouldn't that be rude?" I asked. "Of course not," she said, "we're all family". I wasn't so sure. But excitement trumped manners, and they didn't seem to care. They were a bit amused by it, I think.

This time it was the weekend. This time again, good company, soft breezes, relaxing view. This time a guitarist playing tunes by Crosby Stills and Nash, James Taylor, Jimmy Buffet, and the like. Art and Good Music and Food at a dockside cafe'. And a chance to paint the scene on site. I was in paradise.

This page is not complete, but a few folks have told me they like it this way, so I decided to share it like this - playfully incomplete. Eventually I plan on filling in the faces though. I was observing (coincidentally) a bald man with his back to a plate glass window the other day. He had a penumbra of light at the edges of a face that was a bit darkened by the light backdrop. I want to paint that.

I have trouble leaving parts of pictures incomplete. And need to work on doing that, creatively. But at this stage the background is emphasized beyond the people, and the people are important to me.

Graphite in sketchbook, approx. 7-3/4" x 6"

The other day I saw a wonderful half-hour film at the website, Art Babble. The film is called "Conan O'Brien as seen by artist John Kascht." You can find it here. If you have limited time, at least watch the first two minutes twenty-five seconds. In those minutes, a beautiful portion of the film, John Kascht, mirrors my feelings on sketching from life. He says, for example: "I know from experience that most of the freshness of a drawing comes from the accidents. Drawing isn't exactly planned - it emerges as a kind of artifact of the struggle between what I intended, and what I did not intend." But watch the rest of the film and be prepared to be launched from pure enjoyment to total amazement!

During the first two minutes (and 25 seconds), Mr. Kascht sketches a woman, and for a short time, the video shows his model as the artist sees her. Well, that was enough for me. I had to pause the film and draw her myself in my sketchbook. I drew this fairly quickly. I could make slight adjustments to my final drawing to get a better likeness - to the nose, and to the chin, but have decided to let it go. I have portrayed a mood and don't want to destroy it. I note that John Kascht's caricature changes the shape of the nose as well - his nose bows in, while hers is flat with an ever-so-slight bump, so although her nose is more pointy than my drawing shows, I am not alone in letting some things pass, it seems. Watch the whole film and I am sure you will agree that John Kascht is brilliant. So if he can do it, why not me, right?

This is only my second post this month, so I want to catch you up a bit on my activities. I've been engaging in some research and development of late. If you've been reading my blog, you know that I want to improve my drawing of hands. So I've given myself a minimum daily quota on hands to draw. My hope is that I will one day be able to sketch hands just as I do faces and bodies at a public place, despite the shifting and movement. It is quite a challenge.

ink and watercolor in moleskine

One day I was restless. So I began randomly putting paint on a page in my moleskine. I smeared, I blotted, I swished and swirled. When I was done, I sat back and decided to find objects in the shapes, and this is the result. I am not really satisfied with the page, but parts have possibilities to me. Exciting possibilities for future works, I think, beyond washes over large areas. (You can enlarge the image by double-clicking, and perhaps you will see what I mean). One person told me it reminded him of Chagall. I'll take that.

3-1/2" x 6-1/2", watercolor

I took a watercolor class at the Bass Museum of Art this weekend. I have never painted in a group before with other artists. I have never taken a watercolor class. The class was for "emerging artists age 13 to adult". Thirteen-year-olds are truly emerging, I think. It was for "all skill levels", and was only $15 at a time when I was able to go. So even were I to be surrounded by seventh graders, I figured it'd be fun. As it was, there were all adults, except one, who was the child of one of the students. And it was great fun.

One exercise was to cover the paper with water and and let the watercolor spread. This is a basic exercise. We were also invited to play a little afterwards, which I did with the brush handle and in other ways. But what a reminder of the vividness and delightful unpredictability of watercolor! When I got home, I examined the page, and split it into two parts, and think the semi-random marks of this exercise are awfully fun to look at.

7-1/2" x 1-1/2", watercolor

I even named them. The tall one is "Sunspot", and the square one, "Amoeba Love." Why not?

But the most exciting part of the class was the large paper the instructor provided, 15" x 22". He said we should figure out what to draw. I had no clue, so I grabbed my moleskine and pretty successfully laid in color on a very large quick sketch of a man originally pocketsized! I had never painted in watercolor so large!

Then there is my sketchbook. Somehow in my moleskine I have restricted myself to these little ink and watercolor representational sketches. I find that my idle sketches on post-it notes and cheap paper are much more creative and free. So I've bought a sketchbook I take with me now, just to scribble, play with shapes or ideas, warm-up, or experiment. No self-imposed pressure to make a great picture. Like this sketch on the left - would make an interesting painting, don't you think? And it is more playful with line than when I stalk an image.

So there you go. This is my State of the Artist address. I see possibilities everywhere, and different directions to go. So much to learn. Much to experience. It is good to be restless, to be playfully incomplete. I strongly recommend it.

Still Here

2011-05-21T21:13:00.000-04:00

Ink and watercolor in moleskine, sketched on site, colored later

Ya gotta hand it to James Taylor. I didn't know quite what to say in this post - I had too many words or to few, and then he sang it in only a few simple words: "So the sun shines on [a] funeral just the same as on a birth, the way it shines on everything that happens here on Earth."

Good 'ole James.

The sun continues to shine no matter what happens.

The old doomsayer in the news got it wrong. All he managed to do was give millions of young men across the globe the chance to use the greatest line ever for seducing young ladies, starting with "baby, the world is ending tomorrow.."

But the world is still here, and will hopefully continue to be here for some time yet. The headline on Google News this morning was "World Still Here". And this is good.

Ink and watercolor in moleskine, sketched on site, colored later

I grabbed my wife's Good Housekeeping magazine the other day (June 2011 issue) because there was an interview with Michael J. Fox, whom I greatly admire. He has Parkinson's Disease, and seven years after he was diagnosed, Mr. Fox had a revelation, and we can all benefit from his hard-learned lesson.

He says that having such a disease is like being in the middle of the road in cement shoes with a bus heading straight towards him. He knows it's going to hit him some day "but you don't know when".

Life for all of us is like that if you think about it, although more subtle. We never know what will come next. We do know where we will all end up, though, although we don't know when or how.

It was difficult to be diagnosed with such a disease. But eventually Mr. Fox remembered being taught as an actor to play each act in turn and not to focus on the final act, no matter what might or might not take place then. And he realized that he didn't have to "play the result" in life until the end either. Until that day, "there is all kinds of room in that space."

We can borrow his philosophy for our lives as well, of course. We can worry about all of the things that might happen in a given situation, but that's playing the result, isn't it? We can dwell on what might occur or dwell on a past event, but then we are not playing the act we are in.

We can give ourselves permission to play, to imagine, to enjoy, in our space. That is truly living.

In Memoriam

2011-04-30T20:15:00.001-04:00

5"x 7" watercolor and ink on Arches 140 lb. cold press paper

This watercolor is based upon a photograph by Morten Liebach. You can find it here. I was amazed by the complexity and beauty of the pattern in the dragonfly's slender body. As the wings were difficult to discern from Mr. Liebach's photograph, I snatched the wings from another photograph, taken by Dean Gugler, which you can find here.

In this watercolor my goals were to achieve texture, and to explore the effect of luminosity as described by Faber Birren in his book "Creative Color", and in the more accessible book "Exploring Color" by Nita Leland. Both of these works were introduced to me by Myrna Wacknov. She was kind enough to send me an e-mail about Nita Leland, and unless you want a more scholarly tome, Nita Leland is the authority I'd recommend. I return to both books now and again.

I am dedicating this small painting to the memory of my father. Joel G. Kent, a victim of Parkinson's Disease, was released from years of suffering and decline on Monday. His death falls on the calendar just 7 days after the anniversary of the death of my daughter, Taylor. Last year's post, in Taylor's memory, is here. Perhaps they are together, comfortable and whole, casually reading this blog post via heavenly connection by modem to the world-wide-web. I hope so.

Joel Gilbert Kent, March 13, 1933 to April 25, 2011.

One Day

2011-04-23T23:37:00.001-04:00

Ink and watercolor in moleskine

A day that sings softly and subtly,
Its tune a gentle breeze,
Its lyrics whispy white clouds drifting.

A day disguised as any day,
That winks in delight, and waves
One hand as though it dons a magic cloak.

Beside me you rest as I sketch the day
And the children, the cotton candy, and trees,
But all that I know is you, your touch and your smile.

When lifelong companions are one day old,
And under the spell of a day,
We remember together that day, and no more than one.

In Construction

2011-04-10T08:30:00.005-04:00

Ink and watercolor in small moleskine

Construction.

I was attracted to the industriousness of the workers, the grays and yellows, and the geometry of it all.

Construction.

I sat across the street from the construction site in South Miami, sketched in ink in my moleskine, and then colored as much as I could in watercolor. Then I went back a few days later and finished painting. I was constructing as they were.

Mine is, of course, an illusion.

Construction.

One hundred and fifty years ago, none of the buildings I see around me existed. If I could return to that time, I would recognize nothing. One hundred-fifty years from now, with few if any exceptions, the same will be true. It will be a different place. I think about that sometimes.

The idea that their building is representative of the world around me is as much an illusion as my picture.

Ink & watercolor on 3" x 2-1/2"140 lb Fabriano Artistica hot press paper

I found a card I had cut from watercolor paper, smaller than an artist's trading card, only 3" x 2-1/2", and drew and painted another building just blocks away from the construction site. I had to draw quickly before - poof - it would disappear. Or before I would. Just kidding.

As an artist I am constantly thinking about construction: composition, value, shape, color, line. This blog has featured mostly ink and watercolors in my small moleskine. I am capable of detailed ink drawings, such as the one in my February 13th post. But I enjoy attempting to manipulate the watercolor for nuances of value, and so have refrained from doing other than outlines. I am getting restless though. Line filled with color - people see my moleskine drawings and say they are like a comics drawing. "They are not!" I say emphatically, even though I am interested in doing those too.

a quick idle sketch


a loose sketch from life

I sketch from life in much of my spare time, and sometimes from other sources. Some of the sketches I am finding most engaging these days are those done loosely and quickly. I will continue what I am doing as well, but I suspect there may be some experiments in style in the coming months.

And after a year of talking about it, I have finally bought a drafting table. It is in a large box. Now if I can manage to clear the space for my studio and create a good working area with the new table, my easel, and proper lighting before all the buildings around me disappear, then I have grand ambitions for a series of paintings on a large scale. How will it work? I don't know. I will need to reinvent what I do. I will need to learn more about how to do it. It's exciting..

on a receipt

In legal parlance, the word "construction" means "interpretation". And that is what I do. That is what we all do, whether artists or not. We take what we see and interpret to match our image of the world which is every bit as flawed and personal as we are. Of course, that is what makes our creations so special and so unique.

For this week's Shadow Shot, for Shadow Shot Sunday, I lay down the cones because there is work to be done. There are boxes to build and to break from. Bur most of all there are wings and floors to add. Why? So I can fly and still stay grounded, of course.

Pamo vs. The Old Man (And No, I am Not Talking About Me!)

2011-04-02T22:08:00.003-04:00

Pamo and I have finished our virtual comic Tic-Tac-Toe Game. And we have Simulblogged (or something like that) so you can see all about it!

So first please go to Pamo's blog, here, and see our finished tic-tac-toe board. There Pamo will tell you the story of our collaboration. And then - don't forget to come back!! Promise?! Come back please, and there is more..the pictures in order, and a story.

************************************************************************************

Back so soon? Great! Here are the pictures we made in order. After that is a story that Pamo wrote (and that I contributed to) that is based on the pictures:

Square 1

Square 2

Square 3

Square 4

Square 5

Square 6

Square 7

Square 8

Square 9

Pamo vs. The Old Man

Square 1

It was a sunny day full of promise and sunshine. Pamo looked at Scooter and said, “Let’s go to Circle Park and have a picnic lunch.”

“Woof! Woof!"

Square 2

Pamo and Scooter jumped in the car, top down, picnic basket in the back, excited to be going to Circle Park where the trees grow tall and the grass feels silky. “There’s that nice Old Man enjoying his daily walk.”

“Woof!”

“Hi!” Pamo shouted and began to wave. “See you in the park.”

Scooter wagged his tail and barked, “Woof! Woof!” to the bird flying above. And they continued on their winding path to Circle Park, leaving the Old Man to enjoy his exercise.

Square 3

The Old Man relies on his daily walks to keep himself in shape. He uses his cane. He doesn’t really need it much, but it keeps the dogs and birds at bay. Circle Park is the perfect place to exercise and then relax.

As the Old Man sat down on the bench, SPLAT! The bird pooped on his head!

“Darn bird! Watch where you’re flying up there,” he yelled as he shook his cane. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the bird poo off his head. He thought, Maybe now I can get some peace and quiet. I think I’ll just rest my eyes. He began to snore.

The bird liked the Old Man. His head was shaped like a giant cue tip, with curly cotton hair, perfect for her nest! “Tweet, tweet,” she sang and then swooped down low and PING! She plucked a strand from his head.

He woke with a start. His hand flew to his head, “Ow! Bird! Stop pestering me.” His arms shot up and he grabbed for the little bird.

Square 4

“Got you now, Bird!”

The little bird looked at the Old Man who now held her tail feathers in his hand. She dangled there not quite sure what to do.

Square 5

“Drop the bird Old Man!” Pamo couldn’t believe her eyes! What a cruel old man! Poor little bird!

Scooter sat watching the bird when suddenly Pamo threw the apple from the picnic basket at the Old Man.

Square 6

In a flash, the Old Man and Pamo balled up in a fight, the bird just above the fray. Scooter barked, “Woof! Woof!” The apple lay on the ground while the bird flew high in the sky.

Square 7

Suddenly, the Old Man went sailing overhead, the little bird soaring with him. Pamo landed on the ground while Scooter gawked in amazement.

Square 8

When the Old Man tumbled down, he was wound up like a pretzel. Pamo folded her arms, and practically floated with pride and confidence.

“Have no fear! I can fix you! I’m practically a doctor!” she said. She began to unfold the Old Man.

Square 9

The Old Man worried that all was not well. “I don’t think you fixed me right,” he said, as he looked himself over.

But Pamo knew better. She was satisfied with a job well done. She had fixed the old man, and made her dog happy too.

“Oh, you’re fine,” she said, as she bit into her sandwich. What a beautiful day it was!

Scooter was satisfied too. Oh, you’re fine, Scooter thought, as he bit into the giant and juicy bone that Pamo had given her. Pamo was wonderful! It was a great day!

And the bird was happy too. All that curly cotton hair, here for the taking, and no one seemed to care. She was going to have the best nest ever!

************************************************************************************

Thank you to Matt Madden who came up with the idea for the collaboration, which was great fun and very rewarding for Pam and me. You can see his post about it here.

Lessons of a Basset Hound

2011-03-27T22:54:00.002-04:00

Watercolor on 14" x 17" 140 lb. Fabriano Artistico Extra White Hot Press paper

When I first examined the photograph of Borrish, I was struck by the dignity of a hound who had obviously been comfortable in his own fur. Had he been a man, I am quite sure that Borrish would often have been found in a smoke-filled gentleman's club of the kind that used to exist in England. Dressed in his smoking jacket with pipe in hand, scotch and water at his side, he would have been greatly respected when discussing the day's news especially because of his extensive involvement in world affairs. He also would have been a family man, well-loved.

But Borrish wasn't that man. He was the first pet of my friend Barbara, who is a lover of animals, and close companion of Barbara's father, who has also since passed. Borrish was successful because he had loved and was loved in turn, and what more could anyone, man or beast, hope for, after all?

So when Barbara lent me her only photograph of Borrish to paint, I felt honored to have been entrusted with the photo, and wanted to do something more than the sketch she probably envisioned. I also saw it as an opportunity to attempt to stretch my skills. I determined that I would do a Portrait of a Basset Hound as though he were that honored and respected gentleman. I decided that I would do a watercolor on 14" x 17" paper, which was a larger size than I have ever used. (This may sound funny to watercolorists who have done many paintings on half-sheets and whole-sheets, but I have generally painted very small. I wasn't even sure that I could do a wash on such a large size!)

So I made this painting important, and Barbara was thankfully very patient as an inordinate amount of time passed while Borrish taught me my lessons.

As it turns out I learned less about technique than about attitude, which is far more valuable.

Lesson One. Do not become paralyzed by fear of the unknown. The first task was to draw Borrish, and this took some time. I found that although his personality was powerful, and practically human, his features were altogether alien. The proportions had to be just right. So I meticulously drew and succeeded. Then I put Borrish in the drawer because it was time to paint. And I didn't know if I could paint on that size with my little half-pans. I didn't even know if I could cover such a span of white with my masking fluid. There was a lot I didn't know. So all progress stopped. But then one day I decided to proceed. And once I managed to paint and mask the body successfully..

Lesson Two. Do not become paralyzed by fear of a job well-done. ..I had done it fairly well, and did not want to ruin my progress. All that work. The thought that I might destroy the picture and have to start over stopped all progress again. But little by little I managed to pick up the picture. And little by little I progressed. And I did not destroy it any time I painted. I only moved forward. The bottom line is this..

Lesson Three. You can do it. But let's say you cannot. You have to do it anyway so you may as well find out now than delay the inevitable. I could either do it now or later. If I do it later the procrastination will not be useful. So in any project I must face any fear of failure and do it now.

Now to be fair to myself, there were a few other things going on: Watercolors are hard to correct. I was concerned about the potential for interruptions. I do not believe that I would have had these kinds of concerns with an opaque medium like acrylics or oil. But I may be wrong, as this was an internal matter, not the fault of the medium. Also, I have no proper workspace for a project of this size. I used the dining room table. So I would have to wait until I felt that conditions were right.

I've been talking about creating a proper workspace for at least a year, and I am at the point where this must be done soon if I am going to progress. And it will be done soon. (Lesson Three).

For all of my effort and lessons hard-learned, I am proud of this piece, and so share with you the progression in a slideshow. (You can click on the slideshow to see it larger. Click to make it full-screen, then push play. Colors vary because some pictures were by camera, others with my cell phone.)

At the end, I did the foreground and background of this piece with no hesitation and no fear in only a few hours. When I found the background and foreground to be dull, I applied a glaze, a thin transparent gold wash, with confidence, and the result was immediate.

Borrish has taught me lessons posthumously as is only proper for such a fine dog. I am going to remember Borrish in every piece that I do, so that I might progress and be productive. Remembrance of Borrish was the purpose of this piece, after all.

Home, Home on the Page - and Alex

2011-03-19T08:34:00.001-04:00

The sun is high (pronounced "hah") in the sky (pronounced "skah"). I tilt my John B (that's a cowboy hat). I lean over, pluck a golden-yellow (pronounced "yellah") weed, and I chew. I stride with confidence. I spit on the grass. I dig my heels in the fertile earth just because I can. I strike my spurs together and the sparks, they fly (pronounced "flah").

And it is all because of one thing (pronounced "thang"): I own an SKB SB-1000 0.5 millimeter. Got it straight from Texas, and I puff my chest with pride (pronounced "prahd").

It was sent to me by Raena.

What is this thang? I'll tell you what it isn't (pronounced "ain't"). It ain't a gun - I don't shoot it. It ain't a motorbike - I don't ride it. And it ain't no B--M--W (pronounced "dubya").

Here's a hint: These days I have just enough muscle to push it. That's right. It's a pen.

When I first got it, I didn't know what to think. It looks like any old ballpoint. And with apologies to Andrea Joseph, I have never sketched seriously with a ballpoint. But it's not just any old pen. It's a beauty. I've found it to be so smooth to write with, and the point is so thin. It makes a beautiful razor-thin line if you'll let it be (though I tend to drag it back and forth when I use it.) And it is obviously waterproof because it works wonderfully with watercolors. The detail possible with this pen is unbelievable.

It's funny how when you pick up something different to draw with it's still you, but all together different things seem possible. This is why it is great to have many types of drawing tools to suit your many moods.

So I've started using this pen in my moleskine, and you can see my first such sketch from life above. I also played with the watercolors a bit in this one. What d'ya'll think? Like it?

Turns out that the SKB SB-1000 0.5 mm is as valuable to me as my horse (pronounced "hahs"). My apologies to those of you who actually speak like this. ..

No I don't own a horse.

Raena is a fine online friend I've met. Alex is another. He recently drew Raena and I at his blog here. Great fun.

So one day I felt like furiously scrubbing with my Pierre Noire Conte A Paris pencil. It's name sounds snooty, doesn't it? But it's not. More like sooty. It's like a charcoal pencil only less smudgy. I drew a quick sketch of of a short-haired woman from a magazine (at the right), and that really got me in the mood to use it.

But who to draw? (With me it is always a who).

Well there was only one person I wanted to draw. Sweet revenge. And that was Alex. But where was I going to find a picture? Not that screwy one at his blog. And his wife's blog was no help either - no pictures of the hubby. So I began searching the internet, and voila! there he was. The magic of the web.

And here he is. That symbol at the bottom left is his signature symbol.

Okay, Alex my boy, tell me like it is. I can take it. Yeehaw!

King of the Jungle

2011-03-12T22:45:00.004-05:00

Stealth.

Ever aware, I lean forward on my steering wheel and I search. Barely breathing, I drive slowly - drifting through the early morning like a lion through the mist. I am a hunter. And there they are.

People, dining at breakfast.

I almost don't stop - it's too much like what I always sketch when I am in restaurants. But the scene appeals to a hunger in me - the cafe' - the umbrellas, some open and some closed, with their interesting colors and shapes; the palm trees; and the early morning diners. So I park facing the restaurant. I pull out my Lamy Safari and I sketch. Then I grab my paints and paint almost everything on site. I am there for some time, motor sometimes running, sometimes not. I listen to the radio. I daydream..

Why is he there, parked in that car? Why is this man viewing the patrons in my restaurant? He looks like he is up to no good. Maybe I should walk over to him and tell him he is not welcome here, that he is alarming the customers. Then again, maybe I should call the police. The officer comes. I pull out my sketchbook, and show him my partially painted sketch. He narrows his eyes and looks at my license. He shakes his head. Step out of the car, he says. I hear him as he radios Homeland Security..

The restaurant gradually fills with customers. But nobody notices me. It is as though I am invisible. I finish painting and quietly slip away. I am satiated. I lick my whiskers and roar with delight.

And this is something else altogether. It's in what I've decided is my unlucky sketchbook - something almost always goes wrong here, if not the drawing, the painting. It is not a moleskine. It is a beautiful nicely-bound Strathmore sketchbook. I have decided I do not like the paper, and may not use it anymore.

I work hard on my coloring, trying to add gradations of value, especially in skin. Have you ever heard that a touch of green in the face will give a man a fine five-o'clock shadow? Poor woman. Unlucky. Another victim of my stealth. So quiet even I didn't even see it happen, until it was too late. But I am pleased with the sketch, so I include it for your pleasure.

Now pardon me while I lay down, stretch ever so slowly, and yawn a big toothy yawn.

But before I sleep I'll swiftly swipe with my claw and capture an image for Shadow Shot Sunday - because snatching images - that's what artists do.

Let's Celebrate!

2011-03-06T09:14:00.005-05:00

It's just after dawn in South Miami. Armed with my brand new pocket-sized moleskine sketchbook, I search for a person - any person - to draw. And I stumble upon a celebration! Quickly I pull to the curb, and grab my Lamy Safari pen, hoping that I can capture the spirit of the occasion.

How fortunate to be present for this moment - this technological advance. City workers have just installed a new parking meter. Well it isn't a meter exactly, as it stands at the end of the block, and not at each spot. The friendly thin meters at each parking space that we would pour coins into are now missing. I do not know precisely what it is called.

In honor of Watson, the robot from Jeopardy, I will call it a "Parking Overlord".

The Overlord is equipped with a solar panel. Cool. Which makes it very odd looking, and quite intimidating. Which is as it should be.

As I turn the corner, and witness the celebration, I quickly pull over. The city worker is meticulously polishing the Overlord. Which is again, as it should be. And behind him - I tell no lie - another city worker is taking a photograph of the man that is polishing the Overlord. And behind the photographer, I sketch the man that is polishing the Overlord. What a tribute!

And why shouldn't we celebrate this technological advance?! Whereas before in South Miami, a citizen could pull to a parking space and know that there is time left on the meter and use the time, now that mere citizen must pay homage to the Overlord in utter ignorance, and pay for time that may already have been paid for two or three times before that!

Ah, technology, isn't it beautiful? See how we all benefit?

It is a glimpse into the future, folks.

It makes me yearn for nature. Over millennia we have adapted to our environment, and nature has adapted to us. It is truly beautiful.

This is another panel from the cARToon tic-tac-toe game that I am playing with Pamo. You can read more about our project at my January 29th post, here.

So all is right with the world, and we must celebrate, dear citizens! Nature and man, and technology and man, are in perfect synchronicity and forever evolving. It is like the sky, with clouds and sun, always perfect no matter the weather.

And if the above tribute has left you scratching your head, no matter. Be happy anyway. This is because I have in mind the words of William Kentridge, and I am uplifted. They are: "I am only an artist. My job is to make drawings. Not to make sense." So let's celebrate!

All About Me

2011-02-27T17:15:00.031-05:00

One thing that was a bit tough to get used to when I first started this blog was that whatever I might do, this blog is about me - my thoughts, my art. I was not used to publicly displaying anything about "me", and even more disconcerting, with a blog you must have an AVATAR.

I love the word AVATAR. According to dictionary.com, avatar means:

1. Hindu Mythology . the descent of a deity to the earth in an incarnate form or some manifest shape; the incarnation of a god.

2. an embodiment or personification, as of a principle, attitude, or view of life.

It is a powerful word.

But for a blog, an avatar is merely, well, your picture.

So I was a bit shy for my first avatar. It was a cartoon I had drawn of myself painting. A cartoon is friendly, and anonymous.

But then as I got to know other artists online, and knew what they looked like, I felt like I was hiding. So I impulsively ripped off the mask by using my cell phone to take a picture of myself, and used that as my new avatar. Some folks missed my cartoon image, and so did I.

This is especially true since my wife and my mother both repeatedly told me that my new avatar was a terrible picture, and didn't look like me. I didn't get around to changing it though.

So this week Alex was kind enough to draw a picture of Raena and I as a tribute to our joint blog, 2'nfro. The only thing was that he used that very bad photo (which was about, what 1/2" x 1/2"?). He did an excellent drawing of a horrible photo. You can see it here.

Serves me right.

Then my wife told me that his drawing looked just like me! You figure it out.

So it is time to change the avatar. This time I chose a picture that looks better than I probably look 90% of the time. This is, I suppose, how it should be for THE INCARNATION OF A GOD anyway. I was very relaxed when the picture was taken, on vacation out of state, and watching my oldest son, Ian, play guitar.

But enough about me..

The first step, so to speak, in the Everyday Matters challenges is to "Draw a Shoe". One day when I was feeling frustrated I decided to start with number 1 of the EDM challenges by drawing my wife's boots, and work forward; but although you could say I have discipline of a kind, it is not that kind. Drawing pictures in order just "ain't my thing."

So I let the ink drawing of the boots lie for a while, and this week I colored it. It is at the very top of this post. I decided to experiment with the background, with colors and "technique" - there is wet-on-wet, wet-on-dry, drybrush, glazing, scraping, scrubbing, I used sandpaper on one part, and Mr. Clean Magic eraser on another, and lord knows what else. If anyone has ever told you that dark watercolor colors cannot be erased (or at least lightened substantially), they haven't tried Mr. Clean Magic Eraser (which must be used gingerly or the paper will be destroyed.) I got this tip from David Lobenberg, an excellent artist, whose blog is here, and who was kind enough to e-mail me when I asked how he made a sizeable dark portion of a rather large watercolor literally disappear! I didn't use Mr. Clean Magic Eraser to erase, but rather to lighten a dark that was too prominent. It did leave a sort of soft penumbra though where I did it.

I got tired of all of the squares, and introduced a diagonal. Boredom helps sometimes, but sometimes it does not. I'll let you decide whether it did in this instance. One option would be to trim this picture down to eliminate the diagonal (see on the right). The boots would become more centered, but then the picture would be an irregular size, and I try to avoid that. The background would be more uniform. Which do you like better? Why?

I know which I like better. The cartoon avatar.

sigh.

101st Reunion

2011-02-13T22:00:00.003-05:00

Valentine's Day. It's a shame I guess, that many consider it to be for the young, and I can understand why someone in a settled relationship might not celebrate Valentine's Day. It is an expense for love already shown, hopefully many times over. And if the couple has children, no matter their age or distance, the couple's thoughts are often on them.

About a year ago I saw a remarkable photo on a blog - the embrace of a mother and daughter. It had been a surprise reunion; the daughter had arrived home without an announcement and somebody snapped the shot. I was astonished at the amount of emotion displayed by the mother's face even though so little of it was revealed. And I knew I would draw the embrace some day.

The other day I pulled this photo from a file and sketched it. I attempted to reach the author of the blog to get permission but it appears that her blog is no longer active and I have no name connected to the photo or the blog. If anyone knows the name of the blogger, please let me know so that I can make a proper attribution and contact her, if possible.

This sketch was done with my Lamy Safari and Lexington grey ink. I thought I'd try Lexington Grey, inspired by many of Nina Johansson's beautiful drawings - and was a little disappointed that the grey was so dark. It still looks like a black to me. Still I love my Lamy, and I like the way the ink looks on paper.

A corner of my heart belongs to the readers of this blog, and to my artist friends on line, and the Everyday Matters Group. My last post was my 100th post. That means that this is the first of my second hundred. And that is only because of you. You have greatly enriched my life and I will be forever grateful.

So Happy Valentine's Day to you!

[4/16/11 - EDITOR'S UPDATE: I've just found out that the photo was of Linda from Quotidian Curiosities and her daughter. Thank you so much, Linda.! The link to her post with the photo is here. And she liked the drawing!]

Doing the Reasonable Thing

2011-02-05T17:20:00.001-05:00

I sketched this man at Balado Tire in Miami. He was waiting for his car, and I was waiting for mine. This was my first time at Balado Tire, a place that had been recommended to me. I was happy and a little surprised that I was able to communicate with the owner with no difficulty. The service was great, and the manager spoke English well.

I am one of the few people in Miami that speak only English. As of 2008, the percentage of English-only speakers was 27.2% of the Miami population. Now I am sure that it is much less.

So you may wonder how I get by.

My answer? Just fine, thank you very much. Here is an example:

The other day I went to Subway and ordered a breakfast sandwich. The lady behind the counter asked me a question in Spanish that I didn't understand. (She was apparently asking what kind of bread I wanted and listing choices, though I didn't know it at the time). I did the only reasonable thing. I said to her: "English, please."

And she got me an English Muffin.

Which was exactly what I wanted.

See? I get by just fine.

I know that the sketch of the man at the tire place looks like others I've done, but for me it is very different. It is much larger. Here you can see size comparison of this sketch to a sketch from an earlier post. It's funny, but the transition to a larger sketchbook has been more difficult than I'd imagined. I'd done larger works before - no problem. But apparently I've gotten used to sketching in public at a certain scale. So it's been like switching from racquetball to tennis - with a different length handle, I've been missing a lot of lobs.

It hasn't helped that I have been trying to improve my sketching of the figure. My proportions have been way off at times. So I did the only reasonable thing. I took out my ruler and I measured my wife. I recommend this. Measure your spouse or significant other. After that, do whatever feels right.

Proportions have always been a challenge for me. You need to have patience for proportions. And although I like to fancy that I am a zen master with all the ohmmms in place, it ain't always so. It's why I pretty much stay away from sketching architecture. It's why drawing and painting on Yupo, which is kind of like juggling with jello while ice skating, is the appropriate way for this artist to paint a building:

I strongly recommend that you be reasonable in all that you do - like me. But don't let anyone else's definition of reasonableness replace yours. If doing the reasonable thing means doing it like everyone else, then the only reasonable thing is for you to be unreasonable, si? Makes sense to me.

X's and O's

2011-01-29T21:30:00.000-05:00

Pam Huggins aka PAMO and I are doing a pictorial tic-tac-toe game. I am "X" and she is "O". The idea is to counter each other's moves and do a semi-coherent complete comic from first square to last at the same time! I have posted the last square (bottom right) above. It was great fun to draw PAMO!! I had to do the last square or Pamo would have won!

Pam has brilliantly summed up our collaboration - in cartoon- at her blog here. (If you haven't seen her cartoon on what we have done, you have got to go there - it is great fun!)

Other moves in our tic-tac-toe game are in posts here, here and here. Hmmm, looks like Pamo hasn't posted all of her squares - but we will have the whole tic-tac-toe board online for you to see if we ever finish!

Well it's been a long day, I'm tired and have little to say. So I leave you with this thought:

Life is like tic-tac-toe:
A bit of a puzzle,
A bit of a game,
And if often we can't get ahead,
We usually don't get too behind either.
And the most important thing
Beyond all else,
Are the x's and o's.
xoxoxo
Don't you think?

(Yes, I always wax poetic when I'm tired.)

Out and About

2011-01-22T18:22:00.000-05:00

Sometimes in the field you see something unique to draw that is not really uncommon at all but represents a great swath of people.

You need only get out of the house - open the door a crack. Yes, a crack. And draw what you see.

If she only knew.

This was a quick sketch while I was sitting at a Target with my wife and son. I colored it yesterday.

Here is a page from my Moleskine. Not untypical. Three opportunities to sketch. Three unwilling - or at least unwitting - subjects. I colored these yesterday as well, and then decided to try and unite them with a background (something new for me). In my mind they are three members of a family, or three characters in a story, and some drama is afoot. You might notice a fourth figure as well. The yellow is much more subtle than is shown; for some reason, the scanner magnifies the color's intensity.

Some of you have asked what I carry around in order to sketch/paint in public. I will share this because you ask, not because I in any way believe that this is the way to do it. I have seen a great many other options in artists' blogs online.

My wife bought me a flexible 6" x 9-1/2" case at Barnes & Nobles that says "Sketch" on it. I like to think that it looks like one of those cases stuffed with money for a sizeable bank deposit. Only without the money. I have much more in the case than I ever use. I carry whatever pad I am drawing on separately, and usually keep my pens in my pocket. It's not that they wouldn't fit, but I never want to be caught anywhere without my pad and my pens.

Here are all the supplies laid out on the table, more than I ever take out. Here are the extras: I have more brushes than I ever need. I figure you never know when you want a certain size, but the truth is that I never use more than 1 or 2 in a sitting, so it is sort of silly carting all of these around. I've just begun bringing a pencil or charcoal pencil with me. I worship pens so these are largely ignored. I have a waterbrush that I never use, and sometimes I have a cotton ball or gauze. Sometimes I carry pages of watercolor paper in a tiny manilla folder that I cut down to size.

Now, the essentials, aside from 1 or 2 brushes: There is my travel palette in a green carrying case I got at the Army-Navy store. I cut the bottom off of a water bottle that makes a nice flexible container for the water I dip the brush into. I have a flat tray for mixing that I bought for $1 and that I prefer to using the case itself (I have never used the case). I have a white piece of paper so I can test colors, a napkin or paper towel, and a watertight container with water in it. One great advantage is that I often sketch in eating establishments so water and napkins are plentiful and free.

Here is my palette. For now, I use Winsor & Newton Artists' Watercolors, and the colors I take with me are: Cadmium Lemon, Transparent Yellow, New Gamboge, Winsor Orange, Cadmium Red, Yellow Ochre, Raw Sienna, Indian Red, Permanent Magenta, Burnt Sienna, Burnt Umber, Manganese Blue, Cobalt Blue, French Ultramarine, Viridian, Permanent Sap Green, Ivory Black (virtually never used), Winsor Violet (virtually never used), Payne's Gray, Rose Madder Genuine, and Brown Madder (Great for skin tones). I need a darker red.

I have this palette because the colors were among those recommended in the book Exploring Color by Nita Leland.

Most are half-pan, but after a discussion online about the fact that you can mix more with tube colors, I started buying tubes. So the pans on the right are filled with paint squeezed from tubes.

Happy sketching!

Three Men Waiting

2011-01-09T22:46:00.011-05:00

Sketching people in public has its drawbacks. People are always on the way to somewhere else. And sometimes I get tired of sketching folks sitting in chairs.

But now and then I am lucky.
Sometimes I find people that are waiting.

Like the man on the right. He was one of a large group that was standing because there were not enough seats to go around. I had to sketch fast because I had no idea how long I had - either he or I would be called away soon. I was called first, but just as I finished the sketch.

And like the man on the left. His stance was different than that of the average chair-bound restaurant patron. There was an air of expectation about him. Another fun sketch.

And I? I am waiting for people that are waiting. And if, after waiting, I discover waiting for me, the waiting person, then it's been worth the wait. Don't you think?

A FUN Game for the New Year

2010-12-31T16:37:00.022-05:00

If this were a New Year's Card, here are some of the possible captions it could have:
Have a bang-up New Years! (for the revelers)
Give your dog something to bark about in the New Year! (for the dog owners)
May you stay above the fray in the New Year! (for the blimp pilots)
And so on..

And, of course, I wish you all of the above and more for your New Year.

But this is not a new year's card. It's much more fun than that.

In my December 20th post, here, I said that a partner and I were engaged in a game involving art, and showed you my first panel. If you know of my opponent (and most of you EDM'ers do), then there are clues in the picture above as to who she is. So see if you can guess (of course she let the cats out of the bag in her latest blog post).
*
*
[Insert Jeopardy music here.]
*
*
Give up? One of the arms and legs in the cloud of contention above is PAMO'S! And the barking dog is, of course, her dog. You can visit Pamo's Blog here.

Pam aka Pamo is a cartoonist of course. She let me know about some books she was reading on cartooning, and in checking out the author's works online I found myself at a blog that described a tic-tac-toe game. The blogger, Matt Madden, and his friend Tom Hart drew a tic-tac-toe grid on an 8-1/2" x 11" paper - one chose "x" and the other chose "o" - and they each drew panels of a 9-part cartoon in their respective squares, passing the page back and forth across a table. Each would incorporate their "x" or "o" in the panel, try to make that panel a part of what would become a coherent (or at least semi-coherent) full-page cartoon, and attempt to win of course!. You can visit Matt Madden's blog, see a full description of his Tic-Tac-Toe Jam, and pictures of what they accomplished here.

Now I have no time for any of this - too many other projects that I have in mind and have no time for either. Still, to do this would not be that different than a story board for a picture book (which I want to do) and besides it sounded fun, so I figured why not, and e-mailed Pam and asked, "Well?"

Of course Pam is in Tennessee and I am in Florida, so our virtual table is large. We are e-mailing each other our panels, identifying the places on the grids (e.g., Queen to Kings 4), and when we are done, Pam will assemble the 9 panels into a grid that we will show you all.

So I ask - HOW FUN IS THAT?!

Thank you Matt Madden!

I have done a lot of sketches this year in my sketch book, but very few are colored. So I have some catching up to do early in the new year. I have some definite thoughts about how to "kick it up a notch" in my art in the coming year, but don't want to jinx it by talking about it.

"Do or do not. There is no try," says Yoda, the wise. And talking about it is even worse.

So here is a rather raw page of floating heads from life from my Moleskine. For the bottom two there was a wall blocking the bottom halves of their heads for rather interesting effect, don't you think?

I owe a debt of gratitude to so many of you for being so generous in sharing of yourselves, your art, and your techniques and ideas. So it is with an earnest nod of my virtual hat that I wish you and yours a HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

Illustration Friday: Mail

2010-12-23T23:45:00.000-05:00

For this week's Illustration Friday topic, "mail", I had a simple idea which I thought would best be illustrated simply. So I drew it rather quickly in ink on a large sheet with a Sharpie.

* * *

A: (Wide-eyed) Is that IT? Is that the whole post? That couldn't be all there is - not in Dan Kent's blog! He always has something to say!

B: (Frowning) Too much to say if you ask me. The man doesn't know when to shut up!

A: (With derision) So, who asked you?

* * *

Well, it does seem like a rather short post, and I do happen to have a true story about the mail that springs to mind.

* * *

A: (Delighted) See?

B: (Throwing up his hands) Oh Brother.

* * *

I remember a sunny day a few years ago when a letter arrived in the mail at our home. The letter was scented with perfume and my name and address were written with beautiful penmanship on the envelope, as only a lady could write it.

"What's this?" my wife demanded. She handed me the letter.

I inhaled the sweet scent and examined the envelope. It was addressed to Fr. Daniel Kent. A small bead of sweat rolled down my forehead, although I knew I was innocent - really I did.

I opened the letter. My wife leaned toward me. I leaned back and cupped my hands over the paper as I read the long handwritten letter. It turns out that the woman was hoping I was the Daniel Kent she had known. She was depressed and wanted help. She was writing to the man that had been her priest.

I handed my wife the letter. "How could you ever have doubted me?" I asked, wondering all the while what would have happened had the contents of the letter been different.

I located Father Kent through the local archdiocese, and forwarded him the letter. He said he'd call the woman. We spoke on the phone and exchanged holiday cards for a few years. And that was that.

Sometimes, even now, on sunny days when the postal worker is walking up our steps, I feel a cold breeze carrying a sweet scent. At those times I shutter, wondering what is about to be delivered.

* * *

B: (Pretending to gag) Shmaltzy. I hope he's done.

A: (Indignant, with hands on hips) Aw come on, that was a great story and you know it!

B: (Brows furrowing, crossing his arms) Hmmmph.

* * *

Happy holidays everyone!

Feel the Beat.

2010-12-20T23:00:00.000-05:00

NOTE: IT WILL BE HELPFUL WHEN READING THIS POST TO GRAB A PAIR OF BONGO DRUMS AND TO CHANNEL THE BEAT POETS.

1.
It's morning. My hot tea is next to me. I am in my car in a parking space across the street from a Publix supermarket. My radio is on. Two employees stroll outside, lean back, and talk. They are satisfied - I can tell - to be there at that place in that moment, enjoying the cool air and warm conversation. Despite what the newsman says, all is right with the world. I pull out my pen, and smile.

Two days later I return. Once again I am in my car in the parking space across the street from the supermarket. I sip my hot tea. I pull out my watercolors and dampen the brush. Again the radio is on, but despite what the newsman says, all is right with the world. Again, I smile.

2. A new game. A chance to be creative. Collaboration with a worthy opponent who is enthusiastic and full of ideas. An opportunity to stretch reality, to laugh, to feel joy at the challenge. It feels so good to stretch.

In this game my opponent/collaborator will have an idea, and then it will be my turn to respond. Idea births idea, and neither of us knows how in nine moves it will end. I will tell you more another day and explain the game, but there have been three moves in this game so far. I went first, and this was the first move in our game:

3. Charcoal. My sketchbook. Thinking, an obstacle. Planning, unnecessary. I follow my instincts into the wild. I bury myself in a verdant jungle. But I do not think "verdant", I do not think "jungle", I do not think. I am a wild animal - untrained, unrestrained, and dangerous. An artist. When the charcoal is done, I grab my pen, but it is too late. There is no control in the grand cacophony. Spirited, vibrant, quivering with excitement, the chaos cannot be tamed. It is art, I think. It must be art.

Scattered, but Happy. Serious, but Cartoony.

2010-12-09T23:41:00.015-05:00

Psst..I've had an idea. (Shocking, isn't it?) More than an idea, really. I've had an idea for a picture book and I've written the first draft.

I would like to pursue this idea. So I need to plan the book, prepare thumbnails, and then draw illustrations. The illustrations will require characters that are somewhat more cartoony than my usual moleskine fare, and also more active. The characters will need to be almost theatrical in their poses. I consider this an opportunity to improve any number of skills. I am going to study bodies and their poses, and perhaps this will get me to buckle down and master the ever elusive hand. It seems to me that I need to know how to draw realistically first; then I can be as cartoony as I want to be.

Every now and then while sketching a target individual in my moleskine, a well-meaning person would lean over me and tell me with great enthusiasm that I was good, and ask have I ever thought of drawing cartoons. I would accept the compliment and then mutter under my breath that I am not a cartoonist. That was not my goal. Not at all. The sketches were to improve my "serious" drawing and painting skills.

But now I've seen that I have improved enough to potentially illustrate, and that means, maybe, in a cartoony manner since that seems to suit best what I have in mind.

How interesting.

Never say never.

And if I never do the book, that's okay. I'll be a better artist for the exploration.

I am scattered but happy. I am also continuing my ink and watercolor sketches, at least one larger watercolor painting, and an even larger acrylic work. I want to paint much more in acrylic.

And I have many more ideas than I have time.

So I am returning to Illustration Friday, a website that provides a weekly topic for illustration. And I'm going to try various styles/ideas. Some will work, and some will not, I guess. My first effort is to illustrate this week's topic of "Prehistoric". You will be proud that it is larger than my pocket-sized moleskine (6-1/2" x 10") In fact, the quote Illustration Friday gave as an example suits my illustration just fine: "Drawing is still basically the same as it has been since prehistoric times. It brings together man and the world. It lives through magic." (Keith Haring.)

Painting hasn't changed. The critics have even always been there.

Speaking of critics (of the discerning kind), I am honored to have received the 2010 Top Watercolor Painting Blog Award from a website designed to provide information for online graphic design degrees. In an e-mail they sent me, they say that they consider my blog to be "a resource that explores the art of sketching, or provides inspiration for your next painting..This is why we've featured your blog, as it is one of the best to teach our readers."

Aw shucks.

OK, I accept.

Tell me I'm good looking, and I'll accept that compliment too.

[P.S. - My apologies to the first few folks that commented, but I forgot (how could I?) to mention that if I had a creativity award I would give it this month to Raena for the amazingly creative and magical addition to the page in our joint sketchbook. So if you have a chance, and haven't visited already, please check out our shared blog at 2'nFro!]

Return of the Floating Heads

2010-11-24T10:38:00.007-05:00

Wilfred at Carving Paper says, "When I am sitting, I am sketching." I've sort of adopted that as my motto as well.

But last month I decided to sketch while walking at the Susan B. Komen Breast Cancer Walk, and this is the result.

I have always thought of the awareness ribbons as symbols for causes. I have come to understand, though, that behind each ribbon - whether for breast cancer, soldiers abroad, autism awareness, or something else - there is a whisper of pain and of fear, but also a defiant shout. I admire all those who stride forward in the face of the frightening unknown.

People differ in their experiences and their reactions to them, but they are remarkably similar as well, of course. I don't know if it is because of their exotic differences or common humanity, but observing people is interesting to me, and I am compelled to draw their faces. So here is a sample from last month's sketches, recently colored with watercolors, in my new Strathmore watercolor journal.

Faces appear to be my "default". When I am too busy, or tired, or just lazy, faces are what I draw. At the beginning of this blog (before my discovery of the wonders of watercolors), faces were all I drew. I called them "floating heads". (You can click on the images for larger views).

If you have ever tried to figure me out, psychoanalyze me, or have just been plain curious about who I am, I offer you this glimpse into my subconscious, also sketched in the Strathmore journal. This, then, is my "bar code".

So after studying it a bit, or scanning it in a reader, I ask you: are we the same, you and I, or different? Or maybe, just maybe, you'd rather not think about it.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Birthday Mom!!

2010-11-06T23:18:00.004-04:00

Nowadays when I see a film portraying time travel, I laugh.

It is a knowing, arrogant laugh. Loud and annoying. This is because I am an expert in time travel.

I am an expert in time travel because I have drawn a two-page Moleskine spread outside Starbucks. (Double-click for larger views).

It's not the trip back in time that bothers me. It's the return trip. The return trip in any self-respecting sci-fi flick is imprecise. And I'm okay with this. The travelers return to a date and time a minute, an hour, or a week or two from their starting point. They return to the point of origin, and everything is as it should be. And this is when I laugh. This is when other moviegoers throw popcorn at me.

I didn't have much time to spend during each visit to Starbucks. I added to the pen drawing whenever I returned. But things moved. The first thing I noticed - the potted plants. Everything else the same - only the plants moved. Large plants in very heavy pots. Why on earth would anyone bother to move the &*%^*) plants? Then subtle changes - the tables rearranged, the bench gone. These I could handle. Finally when I returned one day everything had changed. The decals on the windows were gone, and the outside and inside tables and chairs were discarded in favor of entirely new furniture! Tall stilted uncomfortable table/chair combinations outside, and all of the cushy chairs removed inside. The modern definition of progress.

I will not be satisfied until a time traveler returns to find himself standing in a potted plant.

[Segue starts here.] We resist the inevitable changes and this is the source of much of our stress. 100 years from now we probably would not recognize much. 200 years, nothing at all. And xx years ago, my mother was born. On November 7th. Happy Birthday Mom!

Something compels my mom to create art. The same virus I've been infected with. And there is no cure. She will create even if a very few see her creation. Its something she returned to after her retirement. It brings her joy. But she has no blog. So on her birthday, I present her international debut! She works in acrylic, and here is a sampling. The flowers at the top of this blog were painted by her (yes, I am cheap - presenting her with her own flowers), and these. Feel free to let her know what you think in your comment.

And this beauty is hanging on my wall. I stop and look at it again and again.

:: Mom, to me your paintings are happy and beautiful. They portray your joy of life, your enthusiasm, your steady and uplifting encouragement, your compassion, and your love. But since I am your proud and very fortunate son - who loves you ever so much - I am biased, what can I say? Happy Birthday from all of us. And many more.. Keep painting.;) ::

So Tired.

2010-10-12T21:30:00.001-04:00

I'm tired today - can't think of much of anything to say.
Not a single thing. Not even these words. The thoughts fly away
Like sound-startled birds. Like wind-blown balloons
That follow no path, that delight or confound, maybe usher a laugh.
The thoughts don't know when. They don't even know how.
I don't know what I'm saying so I think I'll stop now.

[Psst.. that's right. My poem has absolutely nothing to do with the ink and watercolor sketch of this poor, unsuspecting family above. It just goes to show - there is truth in poetry. .. Now, off to bed.]

Explorations

2010-10-02T11:13:00.003-04:00

September trudged by and became this blog's first (and hopefully last) silent month. Blogs, as you know, should not be silent. Blogs should be boisterous.

So here I am - boisterous.

Although my September brain couldn't seem to wrap around blogging, I never stopped breathing or sketching or painting - this body's essential functions. See, for example, my contribution at my joint blog with Raena, 2'nFro, if you haven't been there already.

I was attracted to the above still life because of the challenge of the transparent and white objects. Most of the objects were painted on site, but since I didn't have time to finish I snapped a quick photo and completed it last week. Lucky for me, this week's Everyday Matters challenge is "Something Made of Glass".

This is how it went down. I was visiting family in Central Florida. At my brother's lively home, my nephew Jake and I planted ourselves in the kitchen. He set up a tomato to paint with his watercolors, and I put this complicated arrangement before me. In 10 minutes - poof - Jake was gone, painting done, and onto his computer, and I was still absorbed in the process of drawing the arrangement. During the ensuing hour or so, my brother Neil, my beautiful nieces Emma and Ashley, and my sister-in-law Denise all swirled around and about me, visiting, talking, eating, and occupying themselves in a flurry of other activities. Delightful.

About halfway through this little watercolor, there was a drip of purple stain in what was meant to be part of the uneventful background. It could not be removed, and I just kept painting. I'd worry about it later. There are no mistakes - only occurrences I can use. Concealing that stain ultimately resulted in the three frames outlining the still life, which makes the piece more interesting, I think.

As you know from the last post, I read the book "O'Keefe" by Britta Benke. I was struck by how she would create near-abstracts from reality. Georgia O'Keefe's magnification of familiar objects had made them almost abstract. I had never looked at her paintings in that way before. One sketch I did in my moleskine under the influence of her book, is this one. It is hardly abstract, but a closer perspective on the tree than I might have done otherwise:

In 1916 O'Keefe was told about a book just translated into English, and she was still referring back to the same book at age 97. So I just had to purchase it , and I found it on Amazon for 98 cents (yes, you read right). It is "Concerning the Spiritual in Art" by Wassily Kandinsky. I am not sure that I would recommend it. It is a lofty, egotistical, rambling, opinionated historical manifesto at the birth of abstractionism. Kandinsky discusses the "inner need" which I can relate to (as a "hunger", more like). Towards the end of the book, he said:

"The artist has a triple responsibility to the non-artists: (1) He must repay the talent which he has; (2) his deeds, feelings, and thoughts, as those of every man, create a spiritual atmosphere which is either pure or poisonous. (3) These deeds and thoughts are materials for his creations, which themselves exercise influence on the spiritual atmosphere. The artist is not only a king, as Peladan says, because he has great power, but also because he has great duties.

If the artist be priest of beauty, nevertheless this beauty is to be sought only according to the principle of the inner need, and can be measured only according to the size and intensity of that need.

THAT IS BEAUTIFUL WHICH IS PRODUCED BY THE INNER NEED, WHICH SPRINGS FROM THE SOUL."

Observing O'Keefe's works with some better understanding from the reading of this book did something to my head. I had taken the following photo for Shadow Shot Sunday:

I was attracted to the shapes and fields of color and felt compelled to paint it in my moleskine, the idea of abstract from reality and simplification floating around my mind. Nevertheless, at this point in my development I am a representational artist and couldn't resist molding the tree and adding texture.

My MVC ("Most Valuable Critic") had a visceral reaction to this one. She said it looked like it contained blobs, mistakes. That I could do better. In truth, I didn't want the words "Lab Tests" (I mean, who would?), and did exactly what I intended to do. My MVC is right, of course, it doesn't work. But experiments and explorations don't have to work. They can even be ugly.

I have spent the better part of September and into October reading a wonderful book that had been recommended and reviewed by Katherine Cartwright (my art philosophy guru), at her blog. It is "The Art Spirit" by what I imagine to be the most wonderful teacher of painters ever, Robert Henri. He is the opposite of Kandinsky in philosophy, but there are similarities too, and we can learn from both. He says:

"An artist's warehouse, full of experience, is not a store of successful phrases ready for use, but is a store of raw material. The successful phrases are there, but they have been broken down to be made over into new form. Those who have the will to create do not care to use old phrases. There is a great pleasure in the effort to invent the exact thing which is needed. Use it. Break it down. Begin again."

And off we go!

Yeah!!

2010-08-24T21:39:00.010-04:00

I did a two-page spread in my Moleskine. This one, folks, took a while. So long that I began wondering why on earth I would spend so much time on two pages of a Moleskine. ("Because!" I say defiantly.)

The front part was drawn in bits and pieces during several lunches at Qdoba in South Miami, except that the old man was snatched (kicking and screaming - and still he didn't wake up!) from Einstein's Bagels in Coral Gables, and the blond's legs were borrowed from another person in another restaurant altogether. This is because the blonde didn't cooperate and walked away before I was done drawing, inconveniently taking her legs with her! I had to find people sitting in the positions I needed to complete the drawing. More recently I decided to finish the sketch, adding the background scene and walkways. Everything, as usual for me, was done in pen on site. And this week I painted.

Since the two page spread doesn't display too well, I've split it up for you. (Of course you can always click on the pictures to see larger versions as well).

Rather than have broad fields of grey for the roads, I mixed the much more satisfying complimentary colors permanent magenta and permanent sap green. Even that would have been boring as a plain wash, so I added splashes of each color for interest.

I used pure colors rather than combinations for the front figures so they would stand out, and as always I try to be creative and a bit playful with color and to balance the colors throughout the picture.

I'm reading a great book on Georgia O'Keeffe by Britta Benke. I was surprised at how many of her thoughts about painting, and the thoughts of individuals who taught and influenced her, resonate with me even with regard to how I planned the humble spread above. For example, O'Keeffe said: "It is surprising to me to see how many people separate the objective from the abstract. Objective painting is not good painting unless it is good in the abstract sense. A hill or tree cannot make a good painting just because it is a hill or a tree. It is lines and colors put together so that they say something. For me that is the very basis of painting. The abstraction is often the most definite form for the intangible thing in myself that I can only clarify in paint."

To that I can only say, "YEAH!!"

The Infinite Game

2010-08-07T08:13:00.014-04:00

I was introduced yesterday to an idea of James Carse, that there are finite games, and there are infinite games.

Finite games, by Carse's definition, are games that have a definite beginning and a definite end. There is a winner and a loser, like checkers or war.

Infinite games, on the other hand, never end. Play continues for play's sake. No loser, no winner.

I just learned about this concept and don't know the ins and outs. But Mr. Carse thinks that the only infinite game is "life".

Forgive me, Mr. Carse, I am not a philosopher. I am an artist. Z'Artist. And life seems to me quite finite. Especially now.

But within life's parameters, there is creativity and there is art. This is a game with no rules except to continue. There is no regard for winning or losing. A success at one endeavor only leads to the next. A failure the same. Art is the game where you can scan the horizon, or even a room, and find the game pieces. You can use them or not. Creativity is the game that will never end, unless you let it.

It is all in the way you look at it, Mr. Carse.

Unfortunately today's post is very different than it was going to be, some heartbreaking news about someone I know, and what that person and family must now face - the fear, the long road. It is a reminder to play the infinite game while we can, because that, Mr. Carse, is life.

The drawing at the top of this post has been lurking in my Moleskine for some time. I only just colored it. It is the waitresses' station in a a barbecue restaurant. This is what happens when a man does watercolors. What can I say?

The bookmark on the left was a bit of a surprise. I drew this a long time ago in an idle moment with a Pilot Precise V5 - a wonderful pen to draw with, but it is not waterproof. The other day I decided to color it and watch it smudge. What the heck. It didn't though, not one bit - go figure! This was also a very thin paper that took the watercolor beautifully and hardly buckled. The paper has a beautiful texture, so I will have to explore this further.

And my shadow shot of the day, for Shadow Shot Sunday..this is what it is all about I think. When you come across a scene like this that takes your breath away. And you stop. And see. This is a beautiful building with delightful colors and paintings on the side. And a tree that was planted there. I am sure this was all envisioned by some creative soul, an architect/designer, and I am the beneficiary. Now it becomes a photo. Later perhaps a painting. Or an inspiration. Or an idea. In the infinite game.

Let's play.

Painterly and Sketcherly and Shadowly (Sort of)

2010-07-25T12:50:00.002-04:00

I felt "painterly" today (when don't I?). I caught Terry Madden on public television effortlessly laying down color after color with watercolors so that they would bleed into one another. It made me want to do it. So I pulled out a small sketch that I had done at the Miami Book Fair International last November and let the watercolors flow. I love how watercolors create patterns that I never could have planned.

This was done on 5" x 7" watercolor sheet that easily slips into the small carrying case that I use for on-site sketching. I should really use them more in the field - the size is better than Moleskine size, and I can choose whatever paper I want.

At the trip to Central Florida last month, I sat in the back seat as we drove up A-1-A through Cocoa Beach. I sketched snippets of what I saw along the way just for fun. The middle house is a composite, and, okay, I made up the boat and the water and the bird. I could start a new trend with this size: 7" x 1" - like a bookmark only skinnier. "Waste not, want not," right?

This week, for Shadow Shot Sunday, I cheat and provide a reflection. In justification of the shot, I refer you to dictionary.com here, and definition no. 9 of "shadow" which is "a reflected image". Hah!

The Bald Truth

2010-07-16T23:39:00.029-04:00

Welcome to the celebration! Come on in - grab some chips! So good to see you!

The plates are over there. The drinks are in the cooler.

What's the occasion, you ask? Of course, you wouldn't know - would you? Why, this is the first time that a painting on canvas has ever been featured at Dan's Canvas!

Yeah, go figure. After many years, I picked up the acrylic paints, and a small 8" x 8" canvas, and decided not to try too hard or take it too seriously, just get my brushes wet, grab a clock as a model, and see what happens. In the process I dripped some paint on the yellow border so rather than wipe it away, I decided to put some splashes of color around the clock. Then I wiped on some titanium white to soften the border area and they smeared a bit. The result is "Confetti Clock." Appropriate for the occasion, don't you think?

I'd like to introduce you to some other folks I've invited to the party. My most eminent guest is Richard Serra. Yeah, the sculptor. You can see one of his works behind him. I was watching an art documentary and his face was so interesting that I paused the documentary, and drew him in vine charcoal. The drawing is about 7" x 10".

Then later this week I was watching a good movie but grew restless anyway. My trusty Pigma Micron is never too far away, so I grabbed an envelope and began sketching from a photo that was on the cover of a magazine while I watched. The drawing on the right is the result.

Would you like another drink? There are some hors d'oeuvres over here.

It is definitely freeing to draw on an envelope and not worry about how it's going to come out. I also knew that there would never be watercolor added to this one, so I was able to really play with hatching to get the values. There is something to be said for grabbing loose sheets of paper, envelopes, whatever, to draw on - no pressure, all joy.

Once, a very long time ago, I snapped the picture of a crowd at Disney. In the crowd was this man on the left who has a very strong face, I think. He looks to me like a hero, a 9/11 firefighter. I had read about sketching in charcoal on canvas and spraying the charcoal drawing before painting and wanted to try it. This will be painted someday, but not until I feel somewhat competent in acrylics. He's waited this long. He can wait some more.

What's that? I can't hear you. Do you want to step outside?

Man, look at that that cool shadow on the wall! Let me just quickly snap this shot for Shadow Shot Sunday. Okay. Now what is it?

Oh, you notice that all the other guests at this party are bald? No worries - it is required that you be bald to attend this party, but I have the electric razor just over here. It shouldn't take more than a minute. Come with me.

Hey where are you going? Leaving so soon?!

Playing with the Dog, Playing with Shapes, Just Playing..

2010-07-11T00:17:00.018-04:00

I had another 2-1/2" x 3-1/2" size sheet of Fabriano Artistico 140 lb. hard press paper and couldn't leave it blank. So I drew and painted a dog at play.

I loved exploring all the different values in this one. It was extraordinarily satisfying to do. A lot of joy in a small space.

This sketch is derived from a photograph at Morguefile that you can find here.

For Shadow Shot Sunday, I contribute a picnic table. I thought the circular shapes and shadows were interesting.

And because it has similar shapes, I throw in this photo. There is always construction here in Miami, whether we need it or not.

Birds You Can Hug

2010-07-08T22:07:00.000-04:00

A Few Stories of My Visit with Family in Central Florida:

1. The Fourth of July Barbecue:

Unnamed Relative (I will call him U.R.) put a massive amount of chicken on the barbecue and closed the hood. He then went inside the house.

I was left outside with the kids, my nieces and nephew among them. As the the Responsible Adult, I sat at the picnic table examining U.R's new Droid cell phone. It was cool. I turned on an app and was trying to figure out how to turn it off, but couldn't for the life of me. I heard the children talking in worried tones. How cute.

"Is the barbecue supposed to be smoking like that?" one asked.
"Of course it is," said another.
"I've never seen so much smoke before," said a third.
"He knows what he's doing," came the response.

With a sigh I looked up from the Droid. Smoke was billowing from the barbecue.

As the Responsible Adult, I reluctantly laid the Droid down and walked to the barbecue and opened the hood. Flames the length and breadth of the barbecue whipped four feet into the air. All of the chicken was on fire!

I was at a loss. Turning off the burner might have been a good idea, but this has only just occurred to me now, during this writing. In college we all took turns riding a Moped. I got on, asked how to make it go, turned the handles all the way back and proceeded full speed towards a pedestrian and a car. At that time I forgot how to slow down and realized I had no idea how to stop, did not notice the hand brakes in front of me, and held onto the handle bars tight in full speed position. The pedestrian jumped out of the way just in time. Then the car passed by an instant before I crossed the road. Then came the tree and my abrupt stop.

This was like that.

At this point U.R. rushed passed me at a brisk walk and pronounced, "Don't worry. Everything's under control." At which point, oblivious of the flames, he began picking chicken off of the grill with tongs. The tongs would disappear into the orange flames and emerge with charred chicken.

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked.
"Well a little water might be helpful," he said.

I went inside U.R.'s kitchen and hurriedly looked inside some cabinets. I grabbed a large glass and filled it with water. Whatever I do I will not grab a small glass, I thought, pushing back a childhood memory.

I brought the large glass to U.R. U.R. laughed and said, "That's no good - I need a sprayer! It's like the time you tried to put out the fire with the paper cup!"

Suppressed childhood memory 40 years later brought to the surface by one of the few that knew. Family. When I was about 10 years old a fire had been set in our yard by a vandal and I ran inside the house, filled one of those small bathroom paper cups with water and ran to the fire in my effort to put it out. They will never forget.

Emergencies just aren't my thing. Never have been.

"Anyway," U.R. said, "I have it under control." And he did. After some "tweaking", the chicken emerged delicious.

And my 11-year-old niece, Emma, told me how to turn off the app.

2. The Fireworks:

The fireworks had already begun but U.R. enthusiastically insisted that we march to the perfect spot in the middle of the huge bridge to watch them. So we marched at a brisk pace, and we marched, and we marched, as fireworks crackled and splashed overhead, and before we reached the middle of the bridge the grand finale' boomed and exploded above, so we turned around and marched, and marched, and marched all of the way back.

Best exercise I've had in ages.

3. Ossorio Bakery and Cafe:

I strategically chose my best sketching seat at Ossorio, a quaint and comfortable cafe' in Cocoa Village that serves pastries, homemade ice cream, wood oven pizzas and sandwiches. Then I learned that we had to go to the counter to order. I lost my seat. But I could turn to the side just so to get the vantage point I wanted. Then another Unnamed Relative said, "You are always sketching - be with us for a change." So I got my homemade ice cream and I sulked. Then when I complained out loud, I was granted a tiny window of time to sketch and very quickly cranked out the sketch above, finishing to tune of "Are you done yet?". The sketch is more like a dream of Ossorio, only Ossorio is such a special place that it is Ossorio that is the dream. I colored most of this during the drive home with a waterbrush, then finished it with some regular brushes as well.

All in all, it was a wonderful trip and a delight to be with the people I love.

Follow Up to My Last Post:

During my family visit, Ingrid of the Free Quark wrote a wonderful post here referring to this blog. She is the photographer whose pelican I drew. I overheard some ladies speaking today about pets. One woman said she needed dogs because you can hug dogs, but not cats, and certainly not birds. "You cannot hug a bird", she said definitively.

She was wrong, of course.

Diving Right In (Ripple and Shadow Shot Sunday)

2010-06-26T23:00:00.001-04:00

The heartbreak of the Gulf oil gusher: as many as 2.5 million gallons per day rush into the Gulf in a giant plume. Four hundred wildlife species are threatened, to say nothing of the economic damage and harm to our coasts. The largest oil spill in United States history does not cease. It spills and spills and spills. Since April 20th, from 67 million to 127 million gallons have spilled. It is difficult to imagine such numbers.

But it is easy to imagine a brown pelican in the paradise of the blue sky diving unwittingly towards the spill.

At Ripple, artists are invited to portray a subject that "should pertain somehow to the Gulf - the oil spill - the oceans and the creatures that live in it and around it." According to Kelly Light, "It's about not feeling helpless in the face of an overwhelming disaster. We're illustrators. We don't lose touch with that kid inside who marvels at the creatures who swim below and fly above the sea. We draw them. We are inspired by them. We need to help them."

Her request is that the artist create "a small 2.5" x 3.5" sketchcard. The cards can be submitted to ripplesketches@verizon.net as a jpeg along with your links and a few sentences about you (ie: where you live, etc). .. These will be made available for a small donation of $10.00 to either The Institute for Marine Mammal Studies (http://www.imms.org/) or The International Bird Rescue Research Center (http://www.ibrrc.org/). .. Every penny will go. When the cards sell, we ask for a donation confirmation and you will be asked to sign the back with a thank you. Then mail them to the address you are sent."

Kelly says that "we may be too small as individuals to do some grand gesture- but together our small gestures can be grand."

I am privileged to have found a beautiful photograph at flickr upon which to base my card. The photo is by Ingrid Taylar whose inspired photographs of wildlife and nature can also be found at her website, The Free Quark. I call my contribution, "Last Dive".

I've recently purchased a few books on drawing hands. I'd like to be able to form hands in many different positions, almost without thought. These sketches of the back of the hand are copied from The Book of a Hundred Hands by George B. Bridgman, a book originally published in 1920. The other book I purchased is Drawing Dynamic Hands by Burne Hogarth, first published almost 60 years after the first. I am only just beginning this study, and as I progress I will give you my thoughts on the usefulness of the books.

One day I carried the wrong Moleskine with me - my other Moleskine, the one with the thick yellow paper that can only be drawn in and that will not take watercolors. As with most errors in art, this was fortuitous. It had been some time since I'd sketched a person without anticipating the watercolor later. I tend to minimize the inking when I know I am going to color (although judging from Raena's recent amazing colored sketch of a turtle, this thinking may be wrong). I saw a man with a very interesting face, and drew with much more detail than I would have done otherwise, just like the old days. I really do love bare pen and ink.

Finally, I contribute a shadow shot for Shadow Shot Sunday. I was struck by these odd bushes with their elongated shadows. I like taking photographs as exercises in composition, and had an interesting time with this one. I had considered cropping lower on the trees to emphasize the foreground. But ultimately I decided that a relatively equal field of blue above the trees, and green below the bushes was the most visually pleasing view.

Well, that's got to be three serious posts in a row, I think - this blog is going to lose it's reputation for mindless frivolity. I hope to correct that in the next post.

UPDATE: The Ripple sketch sold..

Filling in the Blank

2010-06-16T23:30:00.005-04:00

Many of you know about my Moleskine exchange with Raena of Raena's Sketch Journal, where we mail the Moleskine to and fro from Florida to Texas and back again, adding a little bit at a time, and post it on our blog, 2'nFro. I am excited to say that this is the page that I just completed.

Yes, page one is done. Finally. (Someone compared watching our page grow to seeing a movie. If so, it is a very slow movie.)

Before this installment, the page looked like this. I needed to decide what to place on the page beyond the ladies, and I needed to deal (gulp) with composition. Often I do sketches in my Moleskine and color them without giving composition more than a fleeting thought. In my few larger works, I have generally focused on one or two main objects. But here I would have to plan. I was nervous about this, but I knew that this was a skill that I need to tackle if I am to accomplish my long-term goals in art.

So I was kind of thinking about the gals being near some quaint shops - maybe an interesting storefront would fill the blank space to their right. My wife mentioned that to her the ladies looked like they'd be in a nice neighborhood, and I agreed. That shifted my thinking, and I snapped some photos of possible houses. It was my wife, again, that suggested the house I finally used - there are many interesting shapes in this house. It is kind of a shame that I couldn't use the whole thing.

So there they would be: two ladies standing in a residential neighborhood, one with dogs. A single word kept popping into my head: Boring.

There was another thing that bothered me too. It looked to me like the woman with the two dogs was looking beyond the other woman, and not straight at her. Why, I wondered, was that? What was it that she was looking at? It seemed a shame to just place them in a setting without rhyme or reason.

Then came the lucky day when I saw a dog near my son's school in the middle of the road. He had his nose in a paper bag. I knew then that this was what she had been looking at! I had the vague idea of her staring at this stray dog in a nice neighborhood with his nose in a paper bag, the other woman oblivious. So I snapped a picture of him with my cellphone. A few days later, I had a closer look, and snapped his picture again.

It was clear that I could not paint just the dog or the setting. I had to do both.

At first I laid out the page very horizontally: horizontal road, horizontal sidewalk, straight-on view of the house. Again that word, boring, sprung to mind. Finally one day I realized that I could use diagonals and it would be much more interesting. I drew a small thumbnail on a post-it-note, maybe a half an inch square, setting forth the basic arrangement. And I tried to apply (roughly) the vague recollection I had of the concepts of this post in Kathy's blog about composition.

I had to deal with perspective, how large the house, how big the dog. And the details of the composition: Where would the ladies be standing, on the grass? Was the dog in the street?

It was only after playing with this for some time that I wondered why it was necessary for the second woman to be in the picture if the first lady was looking beyond her at the stray dog. Woman no. 2 was almost irrelevant. So what if she wanted to talk to lady number 1, and didn't realize what was happening behind her? I finally realized that for her to be an integral part of this picture, it had to be her dog! But the dog was a little far, hence the retractable leash.

Raena made it very clear with her shadow where the sun was coming from, so I had to take another picture of the house when the sun was right, because try as I might I could not guess at the proper shading. Then the sketching in pencil (I never do this and I realize that I need a much more precise pencil), then the painting of the house (I needed many layers to get the values right, and some subtle splashes of color to make it interesting), the painting of the stark difference in color between the shaded grass and the grass in light(I had to make a color chart first to feel comfortable), etc.

At every step there was a challenge. At every step, nervousness and hesitation. So, all in all, it was a great experience.

Thank you Raena! I don't believe I ever would have put forth the effort had I not received such a wonderful drawing back from you.

I realize that ultimately I pretty much dominated this page. I give more reasons for this at 2'nFro. But I figure that some pages will be more Raena, and some more mine, and some pretty evenly half & half, and that'll be the way that it goes. Raena and I exchanged a few e-mails, and I believe that she understands this and agrees.

So it's off to Texas, and on to page 2!

The Spirit of the Gulf, and Shadow Shot Sunday

2010-06-05T23:20:00.005-04:00

5-1/4" x 13" watercolor on yupo.

Peeps

Needle-billed, needle-legged,
Companions all.

Race with the tide,
With the pendulum
Sway of the moon's baton
In the glorious sun.

Or one-legged, stand
In the shallows between
Beach and sea,
Earth and sun.

Glorious blue.
Glorious sun.
Needle-billed, needle-legged,
Together stand.
Together run.
Companions all.

My contribution to the Spirit of the Gulf Challenge is a painting of the small birds found at the edge of the gulf (and of all of our beaches), and a poem.

Suzanne McDermott challenged "every artist who receives this invitation to make one drawing, painting, collage — or to use whatever medium you work in — to create a piece of beauty with love and gratitude to honor some scene or living being in the Gulf."

Thank you to Barbara Weeks, who was kind enough to invite me to participate in this challenge.

Lately I have found it hard to think of the Gulf without grief, anger, or a feeling of helplessness. I am sad for the potential loss to the birds and habitat that I have grown to love and feel so bad for Louisiana and Mississippi who have had more than their share of misfortune. I am angry that man would be so arrogant as to build a well that he could not control and to lie all the while to the rest of us about how safe it all is. And I feel helpless .. as we all feel helpless.

I have been very concerned about my State, and especially about what happens if (or when) the oil attacks the pristine Keys or defaces my beloved South Florida. I worry about a hurricane lifting the oil from the Gulf, and raining it across my State.

So I am grateful to have been invited to depict "some living aspect of the Gulf of Mexico before the oil disaster." It has been cathartic, in a way, to think of the Gulf beaches as I know them, without the looming threat.

I decided to be loose with this one. I have been wanting to try Yupo (an extremely smooth paper with a feel like posterboard) for ages, and decided this was to be the project. And to completely throw caution to the wind, I taped the Yupo to a board on an easel, so that it was almost completely upright when I painted.

The first thing I noticed was that wash would not go on smooth, but was uneven. This made it interesting. And since the paper had no teeth it would drip and run, as I had hoped. Then I found that you can actually wipe chosen portions of the paper clean of paint, also as I had hoped. In fact you had to be careful. Sometimes it was too easy to wipe too much (or all!) I also found that if I used drybrush, I could target areas for more accurate rendering, but mostly I was too impatient yesterday to continue using drybrush. I made liberal use of wiping and blotting with some interesting results.

In short, I loved the experience. The loose, runny watercolor on Yupo was like running through a waterfall with hands raised, whooping and hollering! So, thanks again, Barbara.

It is my pleasure to invite the following artists to participate in the challenge, if you'd like. For the rules, go to Suzanne McDermott's blog here.

(1) Janey of Janey's Journey, another proud South Florida resident,

(2) Alex of Rainbowbox, who is a fairly new resident of Louisiana,

(3) Diahn Ott of Art by Diahn, who paints beautiful birds (I am proud to own one), and recently visited her sister-in-law, Melinda of Lunar Epilogues, in Louisiana,

(4) Raena of Raena's Sketch Journal, who lives not far from the Gulf on the Texas-side, and

(5) All of you. You don't need to be connected to the Gulf in any way to feel the impact of this man-made disaster, or to love nature and feel the pain of this violation. I am cordially inviting every reader of this blog to participate, if you care to.

Finally, for Shadow Shot Sunday, I contribute a sea turtle:

P's and Q's and Z's and SSS's

2010-05-29T22:06:00.001-04:00

Another fun afternoon at the mall. Hey, now, I am telling the truth! I sent my wife away to the stores (poor thing), and I sat in a bench much like the ones you see here, and sketched away! When she came to collect me, I was still sketching, happy as a shopper! Happier even.

Today we went to Parrot Jungle Island, and I sketched the closest thing to a journal page that I have ever done. These sketches are from the shows we went to. So, one at a time, they would bring out the animals, and I would sketch. The animals would move; the trainers would move around. No big deal. It was just like the mall.

So I began thinking the other day for no apparent reason about the letter "q". This is true. Now, if you are wondering why anyone would think about the letter "q", ask yourself first why you would visit the blog of a person that would think about the letter "q".

See? There is plenty of blame to go around.

The thoughts came like this: I tried to remember what letter came before "q" - and I couldn't. I couldn't work backwards from "q". So I worked my way forward. It was "p".

My next thought was that "p" was such a lowbrow letter, makes you think of things like, well, bodily functions, and "q" was so highbrow, with its curly cue and all, that they don't really belong together. Or that maybe the alphabet is the most egalitarian of all groupings.

Anyway, I read the other day that people are controlled all their lives by their experiences as children - from their self-perception, to their choice of spouse and career, etc. This is probably true for me. But, even worse, I realized that I could not remember what letter came before "q" because "p" belonged to "l-m-n-o-p" and "q" belonged to "q-r-s", you know..in the song. The alphabet song.

And maybe the alphabet is not so dispassionate after all, because "p" and "q" appear to belong to different clubs. Same song, different clubs. Just like the rest of us.

Are you still with me?

Because the real reason I am talking about letters is because of a post you may have read here on this blog, when I rambled on about the respect given to Zbigniew Brzezinski, and how throwing some z's in my name might make all the difference. Then, in my last post, came DZAN's cartoon dedicated to PAMO. Now, suddenly, to read PAMO's newest post, DZAN - my creation, who has a "Z" in his name, which I do not - is suddenly responsible for "pure art genius", and is famous, and has a cartoon dedicated to him by PAMO. So visit PAMO's blog to see.

Meanwhile, "Z"-less, I will plod along like the snail with this remarkable trail that I saw this week while I was jogging. This is my Shadow Shot of the week (for Shadow Shot Sunday). And, yes, I am aware that I created this shadow shot with my own shadow. Some may consider that cheating. Others might simply call it "pure art genius".

Fish Meets Girls, DZAN meets PAMO, & SSS...

2010-05-22T20:42:00.019-04:00

I sketched these ladies at yet another restaurant, and showed them to Tough Critic No. 1, and Tough Critic No. 2.

Tough Critic number 1 said that I can't possibly post this picture, because the lady on the left looks just terrible. Most bothersome, she said, is the little curve I made on the poor woman's upper lip which she referred to as a Salvador Dali mustache.

She suggested a solution that I used some posts back, here at this post, i.e., the bag over the head. She also said that I had other alternatives as well: (1) I could turn her into a tree - some restaurants do have trees, you know, or (2) I could cut her out of the picture.

Tough Critic number 2, said that the picture looked fine, except for the lady on the left because she doesn't look right and has evil glasses. Most significantly, she looks like a parrotfish. For your convenience, I include the picture of a parrotfish, so that you can compare and decide for yourself.

I like and appreciate my Tough Critics, I learn from my Tough Critics, and sometimes I avoid embarrassing mistakes because of my Tough Critics. But I am posting this picture nonetheless. First, I am kind of proud of this sketch. The woman on the left kept moving her head, and that's the trouble in the field. Her Dali mustache was going to be a nostril! And it's waterproof ink, so what can I do? But I like the drawing overall, and am pleased with the composition. And maybe I'm losing it, but I don't think she's all that bad - prune-like sure, homely, shriveled, crabby yes - but I've seen folks like her. Maybe she's someone I wouldn't want to spend time with, but she's welcome in my sketch.

I also had fun with colors. I used different paints to achieve skin tones with each face. Now I'm forgetting (I should write these things down!), but I think it's something like this. From the right, on the first I used rose madder genuine and new gamboge, for the middle gal I used raw sienna and burnt sienna, and for the hag I used yellow ochre and permanent magenta. To all of them I added the smallest touch of french ultramarine or cobalt blue. It is amazing how like our arteries and veins a touch of blue makes the skin seem real. And finally, I used the cadmium red throughout very lightly as highlights to unify the picture.

Many of you who read this blog know PAMO (otherwise known as Pam Huggins). She does wonderful cartoons and videos, often pairing the videos with the cartoons. She is very creative, but, well..if she were in the 19th century she'd take a knife to all her canvases, so she could move on. In the 21st, she blew up her blog, to my horror, and ever since she's been floating like a ghost from blog to blog, blogless, and I, like many others have felt the absence.

So I am thrilled to learn that PAMO IS BACK! She has a beautiful web page where she has put all of her work including my favorites Champ the Chair, and Yard Shoes, with the famous Walking Video. The website is here.

I've been thinking of doing what follows for a long time, because DZAN, you know, has an extra letter, just like PAMO, and this is the perfect occasion. (And Pamo gave me permission once to do a cartoon - remember Pamo?). Dzan attempts to imitate Pamo's style. So Pamo, remember, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. If you don't like this, blame Dzan, not me. If you like it, you can have it if you want - I'd be pleased to send it to you. And this was loads - and I mean loads - of fun to do. I see why you do them!

DZAN MEETS PAMO.

Finally, it has been so long since I provided a shadow shot for Shadow Shot Sunday. April and May have been crazy. I am hoping to have more time for creativity in the summer months. So here is my contribution for this Sunday:

And that's all for now..

[The photograph of the male Bicolor Parrotfish above (do you believe he's male with that lipstick?!!) is a portion of the photograph by Richard Ling taken at North Horn, Osprey Reef, Australia on August 8, 2005].

In Honor of Law Week

2010-05-10T23:30:00.012-04:00

I saw a sign the other day that said it is "Law Week". I don't know if it is Law Week everywhere, but apparently it is down here in Miami.

On second thought, I think I saw the sign last week. And it looked like the sign had been up for some time, so maybe Law Week was weeks ago here.

But it is Law Week somewhere, I am sure.

So in honor of Law Week, here is a sketch of a court reporter that I drew a week or so ago during a long wait (maybe, unknowingly, during Law Week!) This particular court reporter is a nice guy, and he wears bright clothes that reflect his upbeat attitude towards life.

I colored it today. The funny thing about my use of watercolors lately: I am not satisfied with thin washes. I have to layer and layer before I am content, so quick sketches of watercolor are out of the question. To me watercolors are all about layering - whether wet-on-wet or wet-on-dry, true depth only seems to come with an investment of time. So my watercolor sketches, are, in fact not sketches at all! Go figure. There ought to be a law..

Decrepit, Despondent, and Drained, but Hopeful

2010-05-03T22:58:00.004-04:00

There was an empty chair at the Coconut Grove Art Festival back in February, so all I had to do was sit and sketch the scene. This week I colored the drawing in spare time increments (which, unfortunately, is how I always seem to do things these days). That last session I was tired when I started, and not at all pleased when I finished. I half-heartedly scanned it and couldn't think of one good thing to say about it. I could barely write a word. I was exhausted.

On her blog, Katharine Cartwright (my art philosophy guru) has just started discussing a book that I highly recommend, Art & Fear: Observations on the perils (and rewards) of Artmaking, by David Bayles and Ted Orland. I love this book, and truly believe that reading it was one of the reasons that I picked up a brush again after decades. It's also a book that I read from time to time whenever I need a boost.

One thing that Kathy mentions from the book, is that artists are very concerned with process. The viewer of the art is not at all - the viewer of the art only cares about the end result. In this way there is a disconnect between artist and viewer.

And, oh, about this picture I could think of so many things I did that I shouldn't have done, and, oh, what I could have done if I'd only done like I should've, and man, why didn't I have a better grasp of watercolors after all this time, and shoot, why didn't I keep my eye on the ball - where the light was coming from, and blasted, why didn't that color lift and why hadn't I tested the staining qualities of my pigments like I'd been meaning to do, and so on. Process.

And then I showed the picture to my wife, who is always an honest arbiter of my work, a fierce critic both for and against. I don't always agree, but she's handy to have around. (I think I'll keep her.) And she liked it. She didn't have a bad thing to say about it which I chalked up to her lack of hard knowledge of the craft. So decrepit, despondent, and drained, I went to sleep.

The next afternoon, the sun was shining, and I ventured another look inside my Moleskine. And, you know? I kind of liked it. Not as good as it could be, maybe, but better than I'd thought. Maybe I was the viewer now.

And what is the hope anyway? That in a year I'd open the book again and smile at my efforts and think of how far I've come, and of the journey yet ahead.

The idea, I think, is to open the book and draw and paint, and then close it..and move on.

Celeste Bergin, a marvelous painter, once commented on one of my posts that painters know that there's PAIN in the word PAINTING. But she said, "Painters have to be willing to fail over and over." That, I suppose, is because they do.

Say..I'm a painter!!

Floating Heads in Jeopardy

2010-04-25T22:05:00.004-04:00

Ah, the plight of men! There they are, prisoners of the mall, with nothing to do but wait. What diabolical plan has brought them to this acre? And what, if anything, can they do about it? Alas, there is nothing, nothing at all. There is nothing at all to do but wait.

But I am not like other men. When I began to turn yellow in Marshall's, my wife released me with a nonchalant wave of her hand. "Now you can sketch!" she proclaimed, and I rushed to where the other men were waiting. My only fear was that my wife (or that their wives) would return before I was done.

It is hard to match the challenge of sketching people in public. When I began, I would sketch only their heads. I knew I should sketch more, but I wasn't fast enough and lacked the skill to draw the body. I called them "floating heads" as you can see in one of my earlier posts here.

Gradually I got better, and was able to bring in bodies that were at first too small for the heads, sure - but they were bodies - and then the environment where they stood or sat. But the character of the faces was my starting point, and I remain fascinated with them. Often I have to restrain myself from drawing the face before the body because of this.

Besides public places, there is only one place that I've found that comes close to matching the excitement of drawing faces in public, and that is in front of the tv during the game show "Jeopardy". I've taken to grabbing my Moleskine at the start of the show, and sitting with pen poised.

As each contestant gives a response, I draw what I can, and add to it with each successive question. So I might have A respond to the first, and draw a nose; B respond to the second, and draw an ear; and then A, and then C, and so on, so that I am darting back and forth between contestants on the page.

The bonuses, for me, are the "Daily Doubles" where the camera stays on the person for longer. Obviously, you have more time to sketch the contestants that respond to more clues. I have been left more than once with a poor contestant who lost more than the game: he or she appeared in my Moleskine with nothing more than the impression of a nose and part of an eye because there was not enough camera time.

Anyway, I think "the Jeopardy Challenge" is a great exercise for honing sketching and observational skills. I do not worry about likenesses. If my drawing looks like the contestant when I am done, all the better, but I just want them to look human. This is calisthenics, only a lot more fun.

Here is the first Jeopardy page I did (except for the side-view of the girl - she was drawn in public). I only recently colored it. I used the opportunity to experiment with skin tones and different techniques for painting skin.

I try never to leave the house without my Moleskine and pen although I must admit that sometimes I get tired of the same sized page, and the precise character of the pen. So the other day, I was delighted to go to an Italian restaurant with a paper tablecloth and crayons! There is nothing better than crayons.

There was an elderly man. (I discretely moved the plate over the picture when he walked by my table as he left, because there was a definite likeness):

Then a woman sitting at the table just in front of me. I think this was the best drawing of the meal:

And the drawing of another woman - doesn't look a bit like her. But she's in my universe now - and in my universe, this is what she looks like!

The waitress gave us a big smile each time she came by - I'm convinced she thought I was nuts. But she didn't say anything, so I gave her a big tip.

Great art? Nah. Great fun? Definitely! Every restaurant should be set up like this, don't you think?

In Memory of Taylor Nicole

2010-04-17T23:34:00.001-04:00

This year my daughter Taylor would have been sweet sixteen had things been different. But she was born with a defective heart. Despite heroic efforts on the part of the medical team at Jackson Memorial Hospital, and a successful heart operation, her lungs would not adjust to the corrected blood flow.

My wife and I were changed by her short life. There was beauty, and there was horror. We were enriched, and we were broken.

This year during a Spring cleaning, I found a poem that I wrote on May 10, 1994, within a month of Taylor's death. It is raw, and speaks of the separate struggles that my wife and I had to endure. People cope and mourn in altogether different and sometimes seemingly incompatible ways. That we grew to understand this was the reason, I believe, that we survived the loss as a couple, when many under similar circumstances do not.

Until this poem was found, nobody - not even my wife, had read it. The last line of the poem seems to point towards where we are today: we find much to appreciate and enjoy about our lives. I was tempted to extend the line length, and change a few words here and there, but it is probably better to present it as it was written.

So let this poem be a tribute to Taylor's memory, and a testament to all who lose a loved one and especially a child, that you can and will make it beyond the loss, with time.

In memory of Taylor Nicole Kent
(March 11, 1994 to April 18, 1994)

Sweet angel,
The family trembles.

Rocks crumble
Beneath your short existence,
In aftershock.

The mother's dream
Inexorably
Slips through
Trembling hands.
The father drops to his knees
To recover what he can.

Time falls heavenward.

Lifelong companions
Thrash,
Amidst merciless rapids,
Unable to grasp one another,
Except
Occasionally.

The mother drowns in
Your assaulted purity:
In you, the candle,
The innocent flame,
Hacked
To pieces;
In you, the baby's breath,
Smothered
By her own traitorous
Lungs.

The Father is dragged
Downward; his kicks,
His struggling arms,
Amount to nothing;
He breathes alone.
He buries himself in
All things living,
Excavating
The pain of your absence
From them.

He enfolds himself
As a cocoon
Around your brother, and
He touches your mother
As a precious jewel.
Light, deflected
From the prismatic well,
Is dim,
But an occasional flicker
Or spark, makes him dare
To Hope.

Z'Art

2010-03-31T22:27:00.006-04:00

I have a rule. When I don't like a picture I do, I usually don't tell you. This stems from my days in Toastmasters.

Toastmasters are a fine group of people. They remind me of the Everyday Matters group. This is because they are optimistic folks, all working towards the same goal, and encouraging and teaching one another other in a positive way. Only their goal, rather than perfecting their art, is to improve public speaking skills.

One day, just before I was to give a speech, I realized that in my rush to come to the meeting, I had put on one brown sock, and one blue. Never one to waste a laugh especially when it is at my own expense, I showed the group my feet and made some kind of a joke or another and got my laugh. It was great fun.

But the experienced Toastmaster that evaluated me (everyone is evaluated when they participate - that is how you improve) told me something I've never forgotten:

Don't tell us, and we will never know. Don't point it out, and we may never notice.

And that stuck with me.

I am my own worse critic. I am hard on myself, and see the smallest defects in my art. We are all like this.

The viewer of our art, though, sees what we do differently. It we put it out there, maybe they will like it, maybe they will hate it, but I'd place bets that if they hate it, its not because of the blotch in the corner that is driving us mad. It's probably some other reason altogether.

And if they like it - if they like what we have done - they probably don't notice the blotch at all.

And this is why I don't point it out.

But today I have the opposite problem. I am excited. I actually like this one. So do I tell you?

I sketched this one on a beautiful day in sunny Hollywood, Florida, at restaurant called La Piazza Pasta. It was February 7th, the last day of the magnificent Norman Rockwell exhibition at the Fort Lauderdale Museum. That was where we went next. (If it comes to your city - go!)

For a change, I wasn't alone when I did this sketch. I was with my wife and my sister-in-law and brother-in-law. But it was such a beautiful scene that I had to pull out the pen and the Moleskine.

I tried to follow the conversation, I really did. I even tried to participate. And I only made them wait a short while until I finished when they were ready to go. When we left I snapped a quick photo with my cell phone so I would remember the colors.

Yesterday and today I painted it. I wanted to capture the outdoor light and the shadows. I wanted to be a bit playful with color. And I think I did it. And I'm thrilled.

So there's probably a "tooting your horn" rule too, one that I was never told (except by my mom). But I don't care. I'm feelin' good. To me, today, it feels like z'art!

Today my socks match!

What might tomorrow bring?

Getting a Few Z's (And 3 S's on Shadow Shot Sunday)

2010-03-21T12:25:00.035-04:00

Jasper Johns is, of course, a famous artist. And at one point, he says, he made a decision to "stop becoming an artist and actually be one". At this point in my journey, that quote is meaningful to me.

The first anniversary of my blog just passed, on March 15th. And this past year in the blogosphere has been wonderful, thanks to all of you. I never imagined that such meaningful connections could be made over the internet, and that I could learn so much from so many. It has accelerated my progress in art and given me much joy. Thank you so much for that.

And the journey continues. I am not sure of the placement of the line between becoming and being. A student, of course, is always learning, but a dynamic artist is learning as well. When does one stop becoming, and start being an artist? What do you think?

One wonderful thing that I am doing now is creating a good working space in my home for the creation of art. Yes, that's right - a studio. I had planned to have this done by the end of this month, but the end of April is more realistic. And that will be good.

I watch "Morning Joe", the news program on MS-NBC with Joe and Mika. Sometimes, Mika's father, the former United States National Security Advisor under Jimmy Carter appears as a guest.

Everyone treats him with great deference. His name is Zbigniew Brzezinski.

He has gravitas. Besides having a wonderfully learned accent, he has z's all over his name and in odd places. This adds to has stature.

Correct me if I am wrong, but I think having z's scattered throughout your name creates a great advantage for anyone in any field, not just political science, but also literature, and the arts. Having that final letter appear somewhere in your name can create all of the difference between respect and oblivion.

I believe, then, that to be rather than become, it would jump start the entire affair if I simply change my name from Dan Kent, to Dzan Kzenski.

I would say, "I AM DZAN KZENSKI. I AM AN ARTIST."

Gravitas.

Of course my name wouldn't be unpronounceable, like the name of Zbigniew Brzezinski or the name of God, for example, but that would keep my feet on the ground.

Zbigniew Brzezinski also has three z's. I would have only two. I would be important and humble - the best of both worlds.

There is zen in Kzenski.

I am not, of course, Dzan Kzenski. I am merely Dan Kent. But it helps that Ramona has awarded me a Kreativ Blogger award, and I thank her for that. There are certain obligations that come with the award that I will fulfill in another post.

In the above drawing, I drew the family eating dinner at one restaurant, the surroundings at another, and the trees at a third. The above picture was a painting adventure for me, and I believe I have managed to smooth some bumps in the road, while creating a few others. That is learning, I guess.

If I can't get a few z's, I can at least have three S's. For Shadow Shot Sunday, I contribute the following:

*************************************************************************************

A somber note and message: On the Everyday Matter Posts, it was announced that Danny Gregory, the creator of Everyday Matters, who has greatly enriched so many lives including mine, has tragically lost his wife, Patti.

To Danny: I feel for you and your son, and wish you solace in the wake of this tragic loss. You have spread the gift of joy, wonder and hope to so many, myself included. I hope that each of us can convey just a bit of that back to you, to help you through these difficult times, so that you can know that the thoughts and best wishes of the entire Everyday Matters Group are with you and your family.

*************************************************************************************

A Trade Secret

2010-03-11T22:11:00.009-05:00

This is the University Chicken Grill. There are good chicken wraps and chops there. The grill is across from the University of Miami, and the seats there are Orange and Green.

Color is important.

As Myrna Wacknov (a very talented and adventurous artist) taught me, learned treatises have been written on color. And I've absorbed just a fraction of what I need to know.

So how does an artist choose colors? I know that for most works I scrutinize my colors and try for balance across the page.

For this one I had trouble deciding what color to paint the jacket of the blonde woman on the left. But ultimately my decision was made. And I'd like to give you a glimpse into my process.

I painted part of this at the Chicken Grill itself. But parts were painted elsewhere as I was sitting at a booth at another restaurant. And as I was painting, a young girl, curious and fearless, about 7 years old, walked up to me and asked if she could see what I was doing. So I showed her this page of my watercolor Moleskine, and some other works-in-process. Her parents looked on nervously, so I gave them a reassuring smile. Satisfied, the girl walked back to them.

About ten minutes later she came back, with her younger brother in tow. He was about 5.

"Can I watch you paint?" the girl asked.

"Why sure!" I said.

"Oh boy!", said her younger brother. And as the girl leaned over to see, her younger brother hopped up on the booth seat next to me to watch as well.

"And it has to be red!" said the boy.

And that's how I chose the color.

A NEW BLOG!! (for Two and for You)

2010-03-08T21:45:00.035-05:00

I, no WE, have a NEW BLOG! And for the blog I bought a brand-spanking new large watercolor Moleskine sketchbook. On the very first page I painted the above picture. And today I am going to stuff it in an envelope, and mail it 1100 miles away to Raena.

When it arrives, Raena is going to open that envelope. Then she will draw or paint something else on the same page - whatever else she wants - and she can paint over and around or on top of what I did if she wants, and she can use any medium she feels like. And then she is going to mail it back to me! Then I will work on the page some more.

We are going to mail that Moleskine back and forth and back and forth .. and work on that one and only page until one of us declares it done! Whoopee!

And then we will go to page 2.

In this way we both hope to improve and challenge ourselves. We are going to post the results at our NEW BLOG and both of us are quite excited about this. Our Blog is pronounced Two and Fro. Well, actually, we want to be cool..so we call it 2'nfro. Cool, huh? And you can find it here.

We want to post everything we do in the Moleskine in one place because you are so much a part of what motivates us. And we would love for you to come along as each page progresses over time. It will be a leisurely endeavor, perhaps a post a month, I am guessing. So please .. please go over to 2'nfro, and say that you'll follow us, please?! Both Raena and I will so appreciate it.

This is not an original idea. We both, some time ago, saw a blog where two professional illustrators did this - one was in Europe and the other in the US. Raena and I, of course, are not professionals, and we are both on a single continent (she is in Houston, and I am in Miami).

But we are 1100 miles apart, and have never met except in this virtual reality, and most of all WE TRY HARDER!

I would love to link to that earlier blog to show you all of the possibilities, but darned if I haven't lost track of it. (If any of you know of it and can provide the link, that would be great.) As I recall, they had already completed their sketchbook by the time I got wind of it.

But a good idea is worth repeating, don't you think?

It's funny, but I already think the new blog has helped my art. It's certainly got me thinking. I didn't want to mail just anything to Raena. After all, she was going to see it in person. And that meant something to me, in itself.

This picture is from a photograph that I snapped on my cell phone. I saw the woman standing in front of the most beautiful silver bus but something about her and the dogs struck me. So I stood in front of my car and pretended to text. Thumbs moving, I snapped her picture. And she smiled at me. I think she may have known what I was doing, but didn't seem to care.

The cell phone isn't the best camera around. But digital is amazing. Although she wasn't close, I can zoom and crop and then blow it up so I can see it in all its glory on my monitor. And if a photo isn't perfect, all the better, because my art abhors precision. But using the photograph was interesting for me. I spend so much time sketching in public places, that with time to study the shapes and values I am very pleased with the result. (The scanned image is a touch disappointing - the colors are more subtle in the original. The dog on the right has a slight blue tint to the grey, and the outfit on the lady is a bit less bright, more maroon.) Anyway, I hope to do more like it.

And now a solemn moment. In honor of the new blog and the new Moleskine I decided to take my Lamy Safari, with its black Noodlers Ink, out of retirement. Its nib was a bit wider than that of the .005 point of the Pigma Micron that I'd been using - another fine, though less expensive, pen.

But I had forgotten. Forgive, me, my Lamy, I had forgotten..

Ode to the Lamy

Oh, Glorious Lamy.
Your Line is So Smooth.
Your Line flows like a river.
Meandering wider and thinner, you Draw
Like no other pen that I have ever known.
Oh, Glorious Lamy,
I never again will forget.

That said, I am so pleased that I decided to draw with the Lamy. I took a risk, and drew pen to the paper with no pre-drawing, figuring that I do that all the time anyway. And the pen felt so good in my hand.

Kathy recently had an interesting post on collaboration, and to read the comments on the post, artists have had mixed experiences. But I am excited about this one, and I know Raena is too. And our hopes are modest. We merely want to improve and then improve and then improve, and then ultimately conquer the art world. That is all.

Reasons Not to Post

2010-02-25T22:51:00.036-05:00

Today is February 27th, and this is the longest gap between posts that I can remember. So, I'll follow it up with the longest post ever (in three parts) to overcome my posting withdrawal (and hopefully yours).

Then again, you can skip to Parts II and III - they're shorter, and fun. Or you can just look at the pictures. There are three - two drawings and one photo - around and beyond all those darn words.

PART I. THE PLANKTON SWALLOWED THE WHALE.

Despite the gap in posting, I haven't stopped drawing and painting. And my hunger to do art still exists. In fact, I am famished. This time, though, the meal was me.

Raena said recently that she is following my advice of a long time ago: quantity, not quality. But that's not the whole of the advice, exactly. At least I don't think so.

I told her of an anecdote in a great book, "Art & Fear", by David Bayles and Ted Orland, about a ceramics teacher that divided his class into two groups. One group was to be graded on the quantity of their work, and the other on the quality. On the last day of class he would weigh all of the pots of the quantity group to determine the grade. The quality group would only have to produce "one pot - albeit a perfect one - to get an 'A'."

Who made the best pots? The quantity group. They were learning from their mistakes each time, whereas the quality group, as the authors described it, "had little more to show for their efforts than grandiose theories and a pile of dead clay."

[If you're tingling with excitement right now because you love discussions like this, visit Katharine Cartwright's blog, who dishes this out virtually every day.]

So I, like Raena, have been following this example. I draw or paint in every spare moment. I have many things going. As Wil says, "when I'm sitting I'm drawing." But I don't believe that quality is ever far from any of our minds. I, for one, would like for each drawing or painting to be a masterpiece, but of course it won't be. And I'd like a nice easy upward linear transition to excellence, and it's not like that either.

I don't think the "quantity" potters would have learned from their mistakes if they were not also concerned with quality, do you?

I drew the above band in my new Moleskine at the Coconut Grove Arts Festival on a beautiful day a few weekends ago (my apologies to Diahn who's been weather-oppressed). I drew in pencil for a change. It was great fun. At one point a gentleman, who was videoing the event, panned his camera over my drawing. What a hoot!

Then came the painting. I worked in layers of light washes, building up the musicians, but the paper seemed to suck up each layer and seep the life right out of them. I even compared the book to my old Moleskine to see if the paper was the same. It was. I have no idea why the painting remained so light with successive washes. My color choices, perhaps. Maybe the colors were too diluted.

This was just a Moleskine page. One 3" x 5" page. But I was obsessed with getting it right. It was as though the plankton had swallowed the whale. I was going to finish.

Then I painted the vegetation in the sign behind them. Suddenly the color of the sign was so strong that it overpowered the musicians. So I had to dampen it back with a wet cotton ball and with some lifting with a brush, which, to my relief, worked. But then, of course, the page was insipid again.

This picture remained in its gangly adolescence during virtually the whole process. Finally when I began doing the boxes and shapes in the back, I was able to play a little with color and shapes - almost creating an abstract - and the little picture seemed to come together.

Then I went to scan it. And the scan changed the colors a bit (as they tend to do). And made the picture a bit more lively. The value contrasts were better. I liked the scan better than my art! And I began to think, I can change that, and I felt myself being sucked in once again. But then this post would never have been done, would it? So I'll probably try another time.

PART II. I AM A VULNERABLE GOD.

Sometimes art is frustrating, but that's okay. Because on the page, I am a god, though in an ancient Roman or Greek sense, I think - all-powerful, though vulnerable.

At the art festival, I drew this old guy in pencil. He was stretched out on the lawn in an odd position, reading the paper. He didn't look to comfortable to me, but eminently drawable. And he had a backpack at his feet, like a 20-year-old.

I painted him in drybrush. As I understand it, drybrush is done by thoroughly covering the brush with watercolor, and then squeezing the water out. This is my first attempt. It seems that with more pigment and less water, the colors are more vivid. Also it seems good for detail work. I think it would work well for details over watercolor washes as well.

Then I decided to paint a loose wash around him: the green grass below, and the blue sky above. Both washes came out fine, but I did not like the way I had shaped the curve of the sky above. I couldn't post that. But, of course, I am a god. So I made the sky into mountains. But the mountains also displeased me. I didn't want to post them. So I turned the mountains into a wall. And had to add a window. More delay, but that's okay. I am a god. On paper, anyway.

PART III. FRUSTRATION

If you are ever frustrated with your art this is what you can do: grab a square of toilet paper, and then draw on it - maybe the view from above of a person diving, or a fish, or something else suitable - and toss it in the toilet bowl just so, and then flush. This is - take my word for it - great fun.

Or you can just take a shadow shot, for Shadow Shot Sunday:

We Must Dance, You and I

2010-02-15T20:16:00.006-05:00

I drew the girl on the left in July of last year. After that, I went every so often (over a matter of months) to the same Quiznos restaurant where the drawing was done. When I could, I would sit at the very same table, and paint on location. [The manager now greets me as a co-conspirator. He smiles and asks, "So who are you going to draw today?"]

In those days, I painted using a Koi watercolor brush set with nine colors. I never finished though. I'd painted all but the girl. So this weekend I painted the girl with my Winsor & Newton paints and a traditional brush.

More recently, I drew and painted the picture below, with a similar color scheme.

We take steps forward, and we take steps back. Learning to paint is nothing, if it is not a dance.

In this instance, while I appreciate some aspects of these sketches, there is so much I would like to do better. That's the way it should be, I guess.

This weekend I attempted to paint wildflowers for Valentine's Day. This, as you probably know, is not my usual thing. Suffice it to say that the weeds took over the field. Then they reached out from the paper, as weeds will do, and finished me off.

The weeds strangled me.

My final thoughts were these: It's happened again! I've forgotten how to paint! I never knew how to paint! I only know how to color! I should use crayons!!

I have since recovered with, by the way, a newfound respect for those who do that sort of thing. And I will try again.

In any event, my computer has H1N1 or some other virus, and I am sending it away for repairs. So I missed Shadow Shot Sunday, and Valentine's Day too. Today I am posting with another computer.

So belatedly I offer one rustic rose for the occasion.

Take it.

Place it between your teeth, and dance. Take one step forward and one step back, as all artists do.

And when you do, although math would seem to contradict, you will not be in the same place as before.

I was at an art show today. One artist offered this advice: "Stick with it."

And I will.

The Poor Stepchild

2010-02-06T09:35:00.021-05:00

In my poor stepchild of a Moleskine - the one that doesn't take watercolor - I sketch, I experiment, and I play. The exploding mandala, of a couple posts back, was in there, and much crazier stuff too that won't see the light of day. On some pages I literally just scribble (with style). On one page, I create faces from imagination to find out what comes to me without actually looking at a person - to check what I know automatically. Raena was doing this on her blog the other day.

It is necessary for growth to do the rough and ready that no one will ever see, I think. But here's a peek inside. You can pretend that the rest of the stuff in there is just like these.

I'd like that.

I usually don't carry this other moleskine with me, but one day I found myself sitting in a waiting room for some time and drew the bamboo plant on the right.

One thing that I've been doing, and plan to do more of, is to copy sketches of other artists. This is in the hope that I might divine what they are doing, and learn something for myself. I was delighted to find out that Nancy has been doing the same thing, though much more methodically. Great minds think alike, eh, Nancy? Anyway, I didn't spend any real time doing these, I tried to sketch quickly but follow the lines of the artists themselves - to get a feel how they would do it. I wasn't worried about being exactly correct, and that is good because they are not.

My copy of a the sketch of a little girl by Jean-Antoine Watteau is on the right. He drew his version in the 1700's. Amazing how we must learn again what people already knew so well, so long ago, before we can progress.

I've been quite impressed with everything about Andrew Wyeth's Helga drawings and paintings. I copied some of his sketches too.

These are copies of his sketches that are in the book Andrew Wyeth, The Helga Pictures (1987), by John Wilmerding, which is a picture book, mostly. His sketches, his watercolors, and his drybrush are phenomenal.

On the left I drew the arm twice, because I hadn't captured the subtle turns in the line the first time. I can do anything in this book!

This other Moleskine is almost full, and there was a time that I wondered whether I would ever buy another, with its thick yellow pages, useless for watercolors. But I will, because in it I can be free! And there is no end to what you can do with such a book (just plug the words Moleskine Detour in the search at Youtube and you will see what I mean.)

So adopt a poor stepchild. The reward will be yours.

Late, As Usual

2010-01-31T18:42:00.019-05:00

It all began years ago when I was in college. I was studying under the trees, carefully checking my watch every now and then to be sure I would be on time to class. Finally I went to the classroom. I figured I had about five minutes until class was to begin.

This particular classroom was oddly arranged. The door was in the front of the classroom, so that all of the 100 seats in the class faced where I was to enter. So I walked in and was surprised to find that all of the seats in the classroom (but one) were already filled and that the professor was standing just in front of me, lecturing.

So I sidled my way around the professor and, with several "excuse me"'s eased myself and my backpack down the aisle and into my seat in the center front row. I could feel 100 sets of eyes upon me (99 students, plus one professor).

"Nice of you to make it, Mr. Kent." It was the professor, of course.

So I unloaded my backpack and took out my pad. I was poised to take notes.

"Okay, that's it for today. See you all tomorrow." (The professor again.)

I try to be on time. I really do.

As a December 2009 monthly challenge, Cathy Johnson posted a resource photo of the Arlington Hotel here. She liked the early morning shadows, but when I saw the hotel, I wanted to paint it at night, in the hotel's heyday - the 1920's I imagined, or before. Cathy loved the shadows, and I figured that the light from the lamp post or from the unseen activity across the street could still produce those.

When she posted the photo, she invited us to "change it, move elements around, choose different colors." So I moved the telephone pole that I thought was in a bad spot for the composition and made party lights instead of wire, so that we are viewing the couple from behind those lights. I added a door, uncovered the windows, and added a small hitching post. I put trees in the distance.

Note that back then there were trees. There was no Interstate Highway System or tv or internet. People had to learn skills like piano or painting or writing to have something to do.

To be fair (to myself), I drew the scene in December, although I did not paint it until last night. This is still January, so I am only a month late, right?

I found it fun and interesting that to make the night sky first I had to lay a wash of Winsor Orange. So the sky was initially a very bright orange. Then I laid a wash of cobalt blue to make the dark color you see. Over that I lent spatterings of drybrushed cobalt blue. For the building and sidewalk, I began with a very, very light wash of the Winsor Orange, and built up from there. These are the two main colors, though I also used transparent yellow, and of course the bright cadmium red in the foreground.

I kind of wish you could see the original, since the scanning really did not like my splashes of color. The spots of orange on the building are not that annoying, really.

For Shadow Shot Sunday, I contribute a bench and a wastebasket. I played a bit with the composition, and tried to make a balanced and interesting contrast in values and shapes. When I saw this bench, I stopped dead in my tracks. I felt lucky to find the "hatching" in the shadow. To me it is a very "textured" shot.

A Heart for Haiti

2010-01-28T22:31:00.014-05:00

This is my Art Heart for Haiti. It is my hope that the kindness and sharing of the people of the world will help lift Haiti up.

If you would like to contribute a heart to Haiti too, there is still one day left. Your art heart is to be the size of an Art Trading Card (2.5" x 3.5" or 3.5 x 2.5") Visit Painted Thoughts for more details.

My Mandala Exploded and Other Accidents

2010-01-24T00:23:00.002-05:00

One day, some time ago, I drew the tables and chairs at a local Subway sub shop. I loved the pattern they created, and the drawing wasn't bad. But I had drawn it in that other Moleskine that doesn't take color. So some time later I returned with my watercolor Moleskine and drew another scene. Mostly I colored on site, though some was colored later.

The most valuable lesson from this sketch was about the color black. I sometimes use Ivory Black to darken other colors and although that's okay, using color mixes are better. This time, though, I used Ivory Black to color letters on a poster. I figured on a poster it would be okay. In fact, it was not - poster or no. The color is somewhat overpowering and does not match the feel of the rest of the sketch. And in watercolors, it is awfully difficult to lighten black. A mix would have been better. I accidentally created a very nice colorful dark on the lower right corner of the pole, just below the red-cushioned chair. That would have been better don't you think?

And this is why we practice, right?

Accidents happen. We learn from accidents. For example, my first mandala exploded.

I learned about drawing mandalas from Nancy who led me here. Vague mezmerizing Indian tunes play in the background on unidentifiable instruments when you draw mandalas. Beautiful wavy lines drift as breezes blow. And you expand into higher consciousness as you explore the present moment with breathless awe. That's what's supposed to happen.

But caution: your mandala may blow up. My mandalas have been taut with inner conflict and anxiety. It's probably something from my childhood. But they are getting better. My latest is on the left. Perhaps there's hope for me yet.

Anyway, art is everywhere. One day I got out of the car and looked down and was struck by the pattern of the stones, colors, and textures. All at my feet. Serendipity! It was like modern art. So I took this photo to preserve the moment for Shadow Shot Sunday.

The great thing about art is that accidents happen. And the best accidents beget great art I think. That's what I am hoping, anyway.

Blue Skies

2010-01-17T18:24:00.023-05:00

If any of you have wondered why I have been away from this blog since the 3rd of January - making this only my second post of the year - there is a reason.

It's because I have only just thawed.

South Florida temperatures have finally eased their way up into the 70's and 80's. I can move again.

I know that it has probably been much, much colder where you are and may even still be. I know that if you have a blog, you have probably not missed one single post. You may even have ventured outside in 15 below weather to do fun stuff like paint in watercolors and see it freeze, or to dance or something.

This, of course, is impressive, but there are perfectly reasonable explanations for your ability to handle the frigid temperatures, and South Floridians' inability to handle merely cold weather.

Firstly, I have it on good authority, that South Florida's cold is different from your cold. I am quite sure that none of the hundreds of visitors to the University of Miami Beaux Art Festival this year were South Floridians, except my wife and I. We felt adventurous that day. But even visiting artists were chilled to the bone. Case in point: I met an artist couple from Vermont, Christopher Castelli and Christine Brenner. In my opinion their work was the best in the show. Their website is here. They do en plein air paintings.

Anyway, Christine Brenner said she could not wait to get inside because of the cold! Not one to mince words, although we had only just met, I taunted her, saying: "What?! You're from Vermont!" She said that she had been in 7 degree weather in Vermont that was more tolerable than our 20-plus degree weather. She blamed our humidity.

See? You can handle your cold, sure.

The other reason is that the people and all of the other creatures of South Florida are simply not made for temperatures that drop as low as the 20's. One person I know here in Miami said, before her hibernation, "I can't stand these extreme temperatures!"

During the record breaking cold-snap, the beautiful iguanas that hang out in trees here, froze in position and fell to the ground. Large turtles had to be rescued and laid out on blankets, their legs splayed in exhaustion. In Central Florida Manatees swam into shallow canals, 30 or 40 at a time to cuddle against one another. Here in Miami, they swam to the power plants' warmer water I am sure. In short, these temperatures turned South Florida residents into refugees. Our habitat was gone.

We are back now.

I have been getting somewhat acquainted with my new Winsor & Newton watercolors, and been trying to color neglected drawings in my Moleskine. I feel I need to get them out of the way before I can move on, you know? The above drawing was done in September, and colored a few days ago. This gentleman was in Einstein Bagels. I decided to put him on a train traveling cross-country through Arizona. I have no idea what the interior of such a train looks like, but he looks comfortable enough.

For Shadow Shot Sunday, I contribute an old warehouse and the setting sun:

A final note: I am so sorry for the terrible tragedy that has struck the people of Haiti, and extend my deep sympathy. One of the true reasons for part of the delay in posting on this blog was because I wanted to paint a special tribute to the Haitian people before continuing my usual frivolity. But I could not think of what to paint. I scrolled the web for ideas, exploring Haitian culture and landmarks and history. Nothing. If a picture paints a thousand words, for this event, there are no words. My sincere wishes and hope for the recovery and success of the Haitian people. If inspiration strikes, I will offer the small gift of a picture, for what it is worth.

Beers and Sears

2010-01-03T21:58:00.012-05:00

At a New Year's Day family gathering at my house, my father-in-law turned to me, and said, "So, when are you going to paint?"

"Paint!? My god," I said, "it's all I want to do but I never find enough time. Do you know what it is like to always want to paint and hardly ever be able to do it?"

That's when he gestured to the door we'd hung a few months ago, but that I'd yet to paint on the inside.

"Oh, that," I said.

I painted the door the next day.

But today I had the chance to color a picture that I sketched in my Moleskine on site at Cantina Dos Amigos in Satellite Beach, here in Florida. I wasn't too crazy about the food, but from our booth we had a great view of the bar and of the bartender and of the couple she was serving. Wonderful place! Who needs good food anyway?

I've been reading so much on all of your blogs about the cold and the snow and the ice and I just can't imagine it myself. So I send a shadow shot your way from sunny Florida for Shadow Shot Sunday so that you can look at it for just a moment, close your eyes, and dream. This seems like some exotic locale, but it was just some palms against a Sears department store. (And no, I'm not trying to be cruel. Consider it a gift.)

My cousin Ellyn, when she visited from Boston several years ago, said I live in paradise. I laughed, but as time has passed I realize that it is true.

Our Tilted World

2009-12-31T17:14:00.017-05:00

I've been away from this blog for eighteen whole days since my last post, and it's felt like forever. As Ellen so elequently described my family's last few months in her kind note: "Sometimes it seems like the world has just tipped over and none of those close to us can get their footing." And it has been just like that.

Thankfully, though, those I love are coping with their losses, as hard as they are, and overcoming their illnesses and dealing with their medical conditions. They are resilient and strong and admirable. At their age, octogenarians, they should be relaxing and enjoying, but that is not the way it is, apparently, and some of their greatest challenges occur in those years.

I should have realized this, of course. That this is not the way it is. The world is, after all, tilted. To be precise, our Earth has a tilt of 22.4 degrees. Not a single globe on this earth is upright. A reminder for the new year, I think. Each year we want the next year to be perfect. But it never is, of course.

Why not? Because our world is tilted.

And I can live with that. I have to. In fact, I want to.

All in all, 2009 has been a good year. I started my blog in March 2009 and returned to art after a quarter of a century. I have made new friends online - wonderful friends - you have been so encouraging, and I am more grateful than I can say. I have learned much, and have so opened the floodgates of creativity that it is sometimes hard to think about anything else. The blog has fed the art, and the art has fed the blog. I began painting in watercolors, and learn more about the medium each day. And I so appreciate the warm wishes all of you sent my way when things grew a bit harder.

Today I am excited about 2010. So many possibilities. There are so many, I don't know which way to go! The world wobbles as it turns, don't you think? The drawing above is a fun development for me. I've been drawing with waterproof ink. Above, I tried using water soluble ink intentionally, first drawing with the pen and then using a brush to spread the ink. How can I use this?! I can't wait to explore.

I have a new, artist quality set of watercolors that I am just beginning to use. I will continue to sketch in public. I sketched the gentleman on the left through a window, although I colored it later with the new paints. After I sketched this man - I call him Boris - I handed the drawing to my 9-year-old nephew Jake. Jake walked straight to the window directly in front of Boris, looked down at the drawing, up at Boris, down at the drawing, and up at Boris again. Tell me, do you think the man noticed? What a hoot! Somehow there is always a surprise when I sketch in public.

I have been totally taken lately with the Helga paintings of Andrew Wyeth. His watercolors have depth, atmosphere, feeling. He uses a dry brush technique, which I would like to explore. I have spent hours staring at his sketches, studies and finished paintings in the book, Andrew Wyeth: The Helga Pictures, by John Wilmerding. You can almost see how he does it. Almost, but not quite. He uses pencil, and then paints, so I decided to do the drawing on the right at the same restaurant as Boris in pencil, rather than in pen, as a first attempt. I expect to do more of this.

I am glad that the world is tilted. So many facets, so many angles, so many possibilities! There is nothing dull about it! So much to think about, and so much to do!

Happy New Year! May you perch yourself on your tilted world and laugh at the joy of it in 2010!

Staying Within the Lines, and Without

2009-12-12T19:47:00.017-05:00

I'm posting this on the road. For that and many other reasons, Dan's is practically a blank Canvas this month. Not what I had hoped. Yet a blank canvas is made to be filled.

A blank canvas is possibility.

I've been driving along the Southeast United States on I-95 from Virginia, through North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia, to South Florida. No scanner in sight. As I've driven south, temperatures have risen from the 30's to the 70's. Soon I will be in Miami, comfortably at home in my 80 degree habitat.
And soon my car will be parked, like this car for Shadow Shot Sunday and for Hey Harriet!, bathed in the shadows from the hot sun.

My simple version of photography gives me the chance to focus on one aspect of art - composition - without all the rest of it. Now I find that I am always on the lookout not only for everyday matters to draw, but for shadows to shoot. It's all part of the same thing, as far as I am concerned - seeing and presenting.

The lawn will be high when I get home, and all of this I-95 driving - straight forever, within the lines - strains my creativity bug. As I said, my temperature is rising. Here is an example of what this creative fever has done to me (swine flu, step aside):

One day, when I was mowing the lawn, my 13-year old autistic son, Matthew, wanted to try. I gave him the mower and stood beside him as he began mowing masterfully, except in one way. Matt would snake and curl around and across his area of the lawn, without regard to order. I would have him swerve back and loop-de-loop so that he could catch the tufts of grass he missed. And this was doing the job, though rather unconventionally.

But I'm a father - and as such, I am compelled to teach. I told Matthew that he could accomplish a lot more if he walked in straight lines, and went back and forth to accomplish the task. This way, I wisely explained, he would not have to go back to catch spots he missed. And I tried to guide him.

That's when he lost interest and walked away.

A few weeks later, when I was mowing the lawn again, I thought about Matthew and his unorthodox mowing. And I thought to myself, Why do I mow in straight lines? Each time I turn the corner it costs me time! Maybe Matthew has it right! Why do I have to do it like everyone else?

You creative folks were first and foremost in my mind at that point. And since I feel part of the clan, my old skin that stays within the lines is starting to shed.

So I parked the mower in the center of the large square that is my front lawn and began to mow in circles, in ever wider spirals. If there are no corners you do not have to stop! Soon I was crossing the sidewalk and extending to the front swale, and occasionally, of course, I would have to go out into the road.

It was at this point, when I was in the road, that my wife marched out the front door and asked, "What on earth are you doing?!"

Thelonius Monk, the creative jazz musician, once walked around the house tilting all of his pictures with his wife frantically following behind, straightening them. He was showing her how to look at things differently.

I like to think I am like him.

I read a saying the other day: Adults do not grow up. They merely learn how to act in public.

I like that.

This is now my preferred method of mowing. Though I must confess, I have to do it when my wife is not around.

Look See

2009-12-01T20:22:00.028-05:00

At around age thirty, I learned to see, and it had nothing to do with art. It was when my wife's cousin Joe invited me to go birding for the first time.

"Sure - I'll try anything once," I said.

This was easy to say because there is no danger in looking at birds. And though it was not even true - what I said - because dozens of activities would have had me running the other way, it felt like the right thing to say.

We drove into the heart of Miami-Dade County. You could see the condominiums beyond, I remember, so this was hardly a primeval forest.

But I was a step away. Just one step. And it was enough. I was looking in places that I never thought to look before. And when I looked, I saw. For the first time.

And I remember on that first walk I stopped dead in my tracks because of a bird unlike any I had ever seen before. It was large. With its wings spread, it seemed about the size of a small dog. To me it looked prehistoric. Its bat-like wings, black with white dripping at its edges, were spread at its sides like sails, its neck was curved and twisted like a snake, and its beak was long and pointed, daggerlike. In the heart of the city. One step away. This creature that I had never known existed, until the age of thirty.

It was an Anhinga. Photos of anhingas are here and here.

Since then, whenever I step outside, I look around. I listen. The long dreary drive on the Florida Turnpike is now interesting. There are owls at my home now and then, and hawks in my neighborhood. They had been here all the time, of course. I just hadn't noticed.

The other day when I woke up I encountered (yes, that's the right word) the silver vase on the floor in my living room, the same vase I'd walked passed a hundred times before. The reflection of colors and light was stunning. I rushed to grab my paints, and the result is the picture above. By the time I finished painting, the light had changed, and the vase was just a vase again.

Everywhere everyday matters are special.

When my nephew Jake and I decided to paint together, we had to look around the kitchen for perhaps thirty seconds before I found a fascinating subject to paint. His sketch is in the last post, and mine is here.

So just as my wife's cousin Joe invited me, I extend the same invitation to you: Take one step. Open your eyes, and look, and see..

Creativity by Jake

2009-11-29T19:23:00.011-05:00

My heart has many chambers - many more than a doctor could find. And three of those chambers are reserved: for my nieces, Emma and Ashley, and for my nephew, Jake - Jacob Kent.

Today is Jacob's post.

Jacob, though he is only nine-years-old has tried his hand at watercolors. He drew an ornamental plate of his grandmother's that you can see to the right. He did, I believe, a wonderful job. But I am only the uncle - what do I know?

I sat next to him sketching and painting the same thing. It was my version of the plate - not a perfect representation of what I saw, because, as we know, art is not photography. And thank goodness for that.

So Jake drew, and his was not perfect either. He found that his leaves and vegetables crowded a bit towards the top. Sound familiar? This left him with a choice.

He could:
(a) Give up;
(b) Add more leaves and vegetables (which is what I would have done); or
(c) he could be more creative than that.

And as I looked on in amazement, Jake did what is so natural for kids his age - so nonchalantly natural - he chose "c", and was creative.

"I think I'll add a cat," he said, and he did. Not only did he add the cat, but he allowed the tail to fly beyond the outline of the plate, which in itself was enough for me to raise my mental grade for Jake to an A plus (not that I was grading him), and to lower mine to a C.

Then Jake thought for a moment.

"What color should I paint the cat?" he asked me.

Well, being the artist that I am - acutely observant, and fully aware of the sights of nature - I naturally thought of browns and blacks. But instead I asked him, "What color do you want to make it?"

Jake thought for a moment. "Blue," he said. "I'll paint it blue."

I have a lot to learn from Jake about creativity.

Before I came to his town this weekend, Jake did some works in watercolor pencil, a medium I know many of you use. He did a Thanksgiving Turkey:

And especially in preparation for this blog post, he sketched the world:

So this is Jake's Post. Please feel free to leave your comments for Jacob. I am sure he will appreciate it.