Excuses for not posting (and Moleskine sketches)

Excuse #1:  I have a new home studio!  Yes, finally, and in time for the new year.  Figuring out how to arrange it has been difficult.  

First the drafting table was facing west with the easel facing northeast.  

Then the drafting table was facing east, with the easel facing, well, northeast.  No one in the family liked that one.  

Then the drafting table was facing southeast with the easel facing northeast.  My wife hated that one!  It was visceral.  

Finally, as of last night, the drafting table is facing south towards the easel that is facing northeast!  Voila!!  Feng Shui!  Nirvana!  

There.  That’s done.  Where are the brushes?

Excuse #2:  For my new space I ordered a new computer.  (My wife has suddenly become awfully possessive about the one we shared.)  So the computer arrived and I plugged it in but it fell asleep and never woke up. 

Several calls to 24-hour customer support and there was nothing left to do but to return the lazy box back to the online dealer.  Fingers tapping.

Excuse #3:  The dealer told me (well, chatted to me) that I had to replace the laggard with the exact same computer.  They’re kidding, right?   No.  

Didn’t you read the fine print in the ad? they asked.  Well..no.

Squint – “ah, yes, there it is,” I acknowledged.  

Painters should always squint, I am told, that way you can determine the actual value of a thing.  

So true. 

Then when it finally arrived, I plugged in the new computer, turned it on, and the monitor stayed completely dark!

So I called them with my paw pointed forward, my painter’s eyes squinted, my teeth bared and my tail upright, ready for attack.  When I found out that it was all because I plugged both the blue cord and the white cord into the monitor and - shouldn’t I have known that I had to choose one or the other? - I slunk/slinked/slank away with my tail between my legs.  

They said something like this:  You choose the blue cord, the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You choose the white cord, you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.  

For the record, I chose the white cord.

Now the computer purrs like a kitten and follows every white rabbit down its hole.  Really.

Excuse #4:  So then was time to install all the stuff I need on the computer:  the browser, the bookmarks, the pictures to paint.  Not quite done with that yet.  I haven’t installed Photoshop (and the version I have may be too old for this computer).  My  scanner is hooked to the other computer, and my wife is standing there like a mamma bear at the mouth of her cave.  What do do?

Excuse #5:  I bought a new lamp for my drafting table but still need to buy the day bulb.  It’s dark in here.  Hey, do you notice that once you start buying cool studio stuff, it’s hard to stop?   My needs grow by the day.  Shoulda chosen the blue cord.

So there you are.  Five good reasons for not posting.  There are more, but I don’t want to disturb you more than necessary.

I am ready to leave the dark year of 2012 behind:  to carry the losses in my heart and mind, but move forward as well, beyond the barrier of the new year.  I am poised in my studio, ready for action.  Brush in one hand, pen in the other.  Both held upright as though ready for a meal.  And I’m famished. 

Thinking about it, there's something else customer service said to me: 

I'm trying to free your mind, Dzan. But I can only show you the door. You're the one that has to walk through it.

So true.

And how about you?  Are you ready for the new year?

Gobble, Gobble

Ink and watercolor of Mexican Restaurant in large moleskine
(Double-click for clearer image)

Yes it's turkey for breakfast,
And, well, turkey for lunch. 
And it's turkey for dinner ..

See, I've got a hunch
That although turkey is good on Thanksgiving day,
And though the day after (the next), I can
Say the bird's best - 
That I'd rather have Mexican
On all of the rest.

And how about you -
Do you feel the same?
Do you now feel that turkey is
Your middle name? Do you now feel
That turkey is the food that we eat,
That your belly's expanding as you sit on your seat
And eat turkey each hour because that's how you feel -
That if you are what you eat, then you'll be next year's meal?

If you feel that way,
Then gobble with me,
And watch out for knives,
And for Black Friday deals.
And waddle away to a place that is safe,
And watch what you eat in upcoming meals,
Because maybe, just maybe, if it's
Junk you consume, like hot dogs and
Hamburgers, pizza, and fries,
You'll reach next Thanksgiving,
And next year survive.

At First Glance #2

5" x 7" ink and watercolor on Fabriano Artistico rough paper

Your momma was right.  You are special.

In one nicely written web article that you can see here, a Mr. O. Hooge (how I love that name), of British Columbia, Canada, said that if you go back 10 generations, following the father's line only without even taking momma or all sorts of various deaths of potential ancestors into account, the chance that you exist at all is at most 1 in 6 x 10¹⁰⁰.

He then shows you the zeros, which is a nice touch:

1 in 6000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000.

Wow.


In a Huffington Post blog post which you can see here:
Dr. Ali Binazir says..
that Mel Robbins, a self-help author, states..
that scientists say..
that your chance of being born is about 1 in 400 trillion!!
Maybe those scientists are taking all those factors into account that Mr. Hooge set aside.  I don't know.

But according to the scientists, you, dearie, are 1 in 400 trillion!!

No room for the zeros here.  Sorry.

You can look at this another way. If you were a rabbit, you'd probably only be 1 in 1000.  If you were an ant, you'd probably only be 1 in 100.  If you were a grain of sand, you'd probably just be 1 in 2. Well, thinking about it, a grain of sand isn't born.  My numbers.  Sorry, Mr. Hooge.

So you are lucky to be here!

And that is the reason for my "At First Glance" series.  It's my attraction to the uniqueness of each and every individual out there (and that, of course, includes you).


When I was at one of the attractions here in South Florida, I pretended to snap a picture of a building, but I was really taking it of the crowd.  Sneaky.  And the girl at the top of this post was among them.  This is my second drawing for the "At First Glance" series.  Each are on a white field and drawn freehand in pen in a kind of  "sketchy" style, as though on site, then colored in watercolor.  The first in the series is here.

I suppose it is the uniqueness of folks that attracts me when I am out and about, sketching, too.  My small moleskine is always in my back pocket; my pens, always in the front.


Here are a few of my sketches from life.. 

Here's a couple I sketched at a restaurant at breakfast.  There is something about the whole feel of this that I like - I wonder if it would make a good painting?  I did something different this time.  I painted everything in the same color underneath, quinadrone gold.  Each color - not yellow - that you see is a result of glazes on top.

ink and watercolor in a small moleskine

Below is a girl I saw a few booths over.  Each time I sketch is a challenge - I am always wondering if it will come out all right.  Sometimes it makes it hard to make the first mark, the concern of it.  But I must always make the first mark.

Sketches are always interesting, because I learn something each time.  This time I gave her a shnoz.  I would probably do it differently next time I draw someone at that angle.  And that is the key to progress.

ink and watercolor in a small moleskine

Here is the local pharmacist, drawn while standing in line to pick up a prescription.

I showed my family this one, and they all said it was a perfect likeness!  I like that!

ink and watercolor in a small moleskine

So look in a mirror today.  No matter whether you straighten your hair, polish your bald head, smile at what you see, or recoil in horror, remember your uniqueness.

Then do something with it!

***

PS - The experiment with the SKB SB-1000 pen bore fruit.  The pen marks faded by half in the sun.

Captain Elaine, whose blog is here, said in her comment to my post, that there are always two issues - not only do you have to worry about the sun (UV resistence), but the ink, if it's not archival, may fade on it's own in the dark! 

I once spoke to an aging artist who, with a sad wistfulness, said that all his old sketches were fading.  I enjoy the line, the feel, of the SKB pen.  I'm not sure I'm done with this pen, but that's probably enough.  When I use it, I'm beginning to feel like I do when I eat something that's bad for me.  I've gotten rid of two fugitive paints from my palette, so it seems reasonable to abandon this pen as well.

So I've picked up the Pigma Micron again.  And I'm getting used to it..

At the North Pole

Ink and watercolor in large moleskine

I am standing at the North Pole of art-making, and my compass is spinning out of control in each and every direction.

But, just as they say each December, it is magical here.

Which way to turn?  I have been exploring traditional watercolors because I want to understand the medium and hone my skills, and that is good.

I have also drilled a hole into the ice, and placed one big toe into the world of acrylics.  And I like it, although my toe is blue.

Then there is the world of ink and watercolors.  I sketch almost everywhere I go (though not each time) and my obsession, as always, is people.  The above sketch was made on a glorious day at the opening ceremonies of my nephew's little league.  I had the luxury of time to sit and sketch - a wonderful stretch of time.

Then there is my small moleskine filled from cover to cover with many more modest sketches.

I lost interest in coloring my ink drawings with watercolor.  Competely and utterly.  My compass had turned the other way.  So all of it has been left uncolored.

dip pen and brush with ink

Until now.  The needle has turned.  So I finished coloring the above drawing last week and more will come.

I also have the idea for a series of ink and watercolor figures.  The first is done, and you will see it soon.

And my exploration of both watercolor and acrylic is continuing.

The needle points other ways too.  I did this drawing of a girl from a photograph as a kind of experiment, using a pen dipped in a bottle of ink, and, for the hair, brush and ink.  I love the line I get from the dip pen - and brush and ink is a wonderful.  The possibilities are endless, I think.

Now, pardon me, my helpers have arrived - all of the muses that help me make my toys, these pictures, are leading me away with their little hands...

Return of the Floating Heads

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!

Waiting

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.

Doing the Reasonable Thing

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.

Return of the Floating Heads

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!

Z'Art

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?