There's an adage that "a true craftsman never blames his tools." While the sentiment is understood, tools are not irrelevant. Sometimes there can be a wonderful synergy generated when a craftsman uses a particular instrument.
A guitarist can own a dozen guitars but only feel inspired when he picks up that one with the perfect tone. He'll write a song that wouldn't have been conceived on any other guitar. A fashion designer, surrounded by reams of cloth, may find that perfect texture of material that always results in beautiful garments. Perhaps, a porn star has her favorite brand of lube. The point is this: there are items/utensils/materials that can elevate the creative process to produce something greater than the sum of their parts, namely the artist and it.
For me, it was my beloved Koh-I-Noor Red Chalk 8802 pencil. During a brief affair, we made beautiful drawings together. Every time I touched its fabulous tip to paper, I produced magic. I dare say it, but I think that it was love.
As much as new art supplies are constantly introduced, others are unceremoniously discontinued. I tried buying another one, but couldn't find it. I searched online and through every art store to no avail. It had become extinct. My muse had evaporated.
Until yesterday.
I went to an art store in Little Italy and found my pencil. After four years apart, we've been reunited.
Unfortunately, my bliss comes at a cost. The pencil is not available on its own, only as a single part of an eight dollar pencil set. But this means nothing. How can you put a price tag on happiness?
If there is one thing I've discovered about art supplies, it's that you need to stock up on things you like. I'll be buying out the entire supply next time I go.
Aaaahhh, me and the Koh-I-Noor Red Chalk 8802 pencil... we're MFEO.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Some recent figure watercolors....
Melissa Laying Down (watercolor on paper. 7 1/2 x 3").
Melissa Sitting (watercolor on paper, 3 1/2 x 5").
Zara Sitting (watercolor on paper, 4 x 5").
Lisa Sitting (watercolor on paper, 4 x 6").
Melissa Sitting (watercolor on paper, 3 1/2 x 5").
Zara Sitting (watercolor on paper, 4 x 5").
Lisa Sitting (watercolor on paper, 4 x 6").
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
The Locusts Are Coming.
Get out the bug spray. The locusts are coming. The apocalypse has arrived.
I saw the sign: A Mark Rothko painting has just sold for 73 million dollars at auction. It is the second highest amount ever paid for a modern art painting.
Are you f@$#ing kidding me?
"Which painting?" you ask. Is it the one with the large square or the other one with the large square or the other one with the large square or the one with the large square? Oh wait -- maybe it's the one with the large square.
Exactly.
(If you think I'm kidding, do a Google image search on Mark Rothko.)
I've railed against Mark Rothko many times in this journal. I believe that peoples' affection and museums' embrace of him are simply a conspiracy to piss me off. I don't get it.
I love to hear people tell me how amazing a painter he is. How his colors undulate and squares are windows to different places and the heavy and deep meaning contained within its simple design.
Fine. I'll buy any argument for one painting.
But he did the exact same painting for twenty years. When you repeat yourself for that long, it starts being about something else.
Perhaps, that you can't draw.
If he was a photographer he'd be taking photos of babies dressed up like flowers or dogs dressed up like people. Wait? There are already photographers doing those two themes? Damn.
The good and bad of Rothko: If you've seen one Rothko painting, you've truly seen them all. Is that an artist you want to promote? How did this happen?
"Warhol did the same thing," you say. Yep, he did. He extensively reproduced an image with slight variations. But you see, he was mocking mass production. He was mocking the consumer.
Perhaps this is my problem. I feel that Rothko is mocking us.
I saw the sign: A Mark Rothko painting has just sold for 73 million dollars at auction. It is the second highest amount ever paid for a modern art painting.
Are you f@$#ing kidding me?
"Which painting?" you ask. Is it the one with the large square or the other one with the large square or the other one with the large square or the one with the large square? Oh wait -- maybe it's the one with the large square.
Exactly.
(If you think I'm kidding, do a Google image search on Mark Rothko.)
I've railed against Mark Rothko many times in this journal. I believe that peoples' affection and museums' embrace of him are simply a conspiracy to piss me off. I don't get it.
I love to hear people tell me how amazing a painter he is. How his colors undulate and squares are windows to different places and the heavy and deep meaning contained within its simple design.
Fine. I'll buy any argument for one painting.
But he did the exact same painting for twenty years. When you repeat yourself for that long, it starts being about something else.
Perhaps, that you can't draw.
If he was a photographer he'd be taking photos of babies dressed up like flowers or dogs dressed up like people. Wait? There are already photographers doing those two themes? Damn.
The good and bad of Rothko: If you've seen one Rothko painting, you've truly seen them all. Is that an artist you want to promote? How did this happen?
"Warhol did the same thing," you say. Yep, he did. He extensively reproduced an image with slight variations. But you see, he was mocking mass production. He was mocking the consumer.
Perhaps this is my problem. I feel that Rothko is mocking us.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
For the Birds.
Close friends and faithful readers of this journal know that I hate birds.
Or do I?
This past Sunday, Juliana and I went to the San Diego Wild Animal Park.
We walked along a path and encountered a man-made marsh, where two pelicans sat before us, one of them watching two young chicks.
I started taking lots of pictures when a beautiful white egret flew high into the trees.
I mumbled something.
"Do you know what you just said?" Juliana began. "I'm not sure I even know you anymore. You just said that you love birds."
"There is no way I said that."
"Yep."
"No way."
"Maybe you need to qualify your bird statement," Jules said. "You don't hate all birds. You just hate pigeons."
"I guess you're right. I like ducks. I like pelicans. I guess I just hate pigeons. And gulls."
And to qualify my bird hating statement -- I also hate massive flocks of birds flying overhead that could potentially poop on me.
But I do love ducks. And pelicans.
My whole world just turned inside out.
(As an aside, the cheetahs at the Wild Animal Park rock!)
Or do I?
This past Sunday, Juliana and I went to the San Diego Wild Animal Park.
We walked along a path and encountered a man-made marsh, where two pelicans sat before us, one of them watching two young chicks.
I started taking lots of pictures when a beautiful white egret flew high into the trees.
I mumbled something.
"Do you know what you just said?" Juliana began. "I'm not sure I even know you anymore. You just said that you love birds."
"There is no way I said that."
"Yep."
"No way."
"Maybe you need to qualify your bird statement," Jules said. "You don't hate all birds. You just hate pigeons."
"I guess you're right. I like ducks. I like pelicans. I guess I just hate pigeons. And gulls."
And to qualify my bird hating statement -- I also hate massive flocks of birds flying overhead that could potentially poop on me.
But I do love ducks. And pelicans.
My whole world just turned inside out.
(As an aside, the cheetahs at the Wild Animal Park rock!)
Monday, May 07, 2007
Rock Poster: Secret Apollo (5/12/07 Show).
I designed a rock poster for Secret Apollo....
The koi fish were painted on Bristol board using gouache (opaque watercolors). The painting was scanned and then text added using Photoshop.
The koi fish were painted on Bristol board using gouache (opaque watercolors). The painting was scanned and then text added using Photoshop.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Anne.
When it comes to level of difficulty in art, painting a live female model has to be at the top of the list. After not having done it in a couple of years, I gave it a shot this past week, with the result being Anne (oil on canvas board, 14x18").
Saturday, April 28, 2007
The Devil Just Put On His Winter Coat and Mittens.
Something went frighteningly awry today. I purchased a book titled, National Audubon Society: Field Guide to Birds.
Hell must have frozen over. I hate birds. Absolutely loathe them.
I'm not sure what happened. I can't explain it. It's possible I was drunk.
It's like I don't even know who I am anymore. A stranger unto myself. I mean... I bought a book... on birds.
Maybe a pigeon slipped something into my drink. They hate me, you know.
And I, them.
(Especially the rock pigeon -- columba livia -- whose ancestral nests used to be made on high cliff ledges. It's average length is 13 1/2"... oh my god... what the hell is happening to me?)
Hell must have frozen over. I hate birds. Absolutely loathe them.
I'm not sure what happened. I can't explain it. It's possible I was drunk.
It's like I don't even know who I am anymore. A stranger unto myself. I mean... I bought a book... on birds.
Maybe a pigeon slipped something into my drink. They hate me, you know.
And I, them.
(Especially the rock pigeon -- columba livia -- whose ancestral nests used to be made on high cliff ledges. It's average length is 13 1/2"... oh my god... what the hell is happening to me?)
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Frozen Pen.
When it comes to achieving creative goals, there are helpful hints but no secrets. If you want to become a writer, write. If you want to become a painter, paint. It's that simple.
Mostly.
For various reasons, I have a tendency to make the artistic process complex.
I sit down and know I want to create some art. But what medium? What subject matter? How should I render it?
Accompanying these questions is my desire for everything I produce to be perfect. It's a hard way to begin -- knowing that you can't make a mistake or fail.
All of these phenomena feed together to form a maelstrom and it causes me to feel overwhelmed and when I feel overwhelmed I simply shut down. Nothing gets done.
To combat this, I try to remove decisions and judgments from the equation.
It started eleven years ago when I moved to Sacramento after graduating from college. Every evening at 10pm I would turn the radio on and listen to Loveline with Adam Carolla and Dr. Drew. Routines are effective.
My goal each night was simple. I had to either complete a drawing in my sketchbook or write 500 words that formed some semblance of a scene or short-short story. The story didn't have to make sense. I didn't ever have to look at the drawing again. When the goal is straightforward -- to simply have something by the end of two hours and to do it every evening -- it made things less precious. It was about completing the task. Personal criticism was eliminated. I actually got things done.
Recently, I have found my creative output to be random and haphazard. My intent is earnest. But as soon as I sit down at the drafting table I find myself feeling overwhelmed. I shut down. The blank paper remains blank.
I want to be artistically prolific. I want to create beautiful things.
I had to get locked back into that evening routine that proved successful in the past. Once again, I found my savior on the radio. The local station, 94.9 FM, has a program that airs every night from 10pm to 2am. It's called Big Sonic Chill. It's pitch perfect as it provides a laid-back, eclectic mix of songs that establish an ideal mood and ambience. You can check out a recent playlist by clicking on this link. Not only has it provided a great atmosphere and established a disciplined routine, but it also lets me discover new music (for example -- I'm infatuated with Sia's song, Breathe Me).
Every evening my pen has been moving and it feels good.
Mostly.
For various reasons, I have a tendency to make the artistic process complex.
I sit down and know I want to create some art. But what medium? What subject matter? How should I render it?
Accompanying these questions is my desire for everything I produce to be perfect. It's a hard way to begin -- knowing that you can't make a mistake or fail.
All of these phenomena feed together to form a maelstrom and it causes me to feel overwhelmed and when I feel overwhelmed I simply shut down. Nothing gets done.
To combat this, I try to remove decisions and judgments from the equation.
It started eleven years ago when I moved to Sacramento after graduating from college. Every evening at 10pm I would turn the radio on and listen to Loveline with Adam Carolla and Dr. Drew. Routines are effective.
My goal each night was simple. I had to either complete a drawing in my sketchbook or write 500 words that formed some semblance of a scene or short-short story. The story didn't have to make sense. I didn't ever have to look at the drawing again. When the goal is straightforward -- to simply have something by the end of two hours and to do it every evening -- it made things less precious. It was about completing the task. Personal criticism was eliminated. I actually got things done.
Recently, I have found my creative output to be random and haphazard. My intent is earnest. But as soon as I sit down at the drafting table I find myself feeling overwhelmed. I shut down. The blank paper remains blank.
I want to be artistically prolific. I want to create beautiful things.
I had to get locked back into that evening routine that proved successful in the past. Once again, I found my savior on the radio. The local station, 94.9 FM, has a program that airs every night from 10pm to 2am. It's called Big Sonic Chill. It's pitch perfect as it provides a laid-back, eclectic mix of songs that establish an ideal mood and ambience. You can check out a recent playlist by clicking on this link. Not only has it provided a great atmosphere and established a disciplined routine, but it also lets me discover new music (for example -- I'm infatuated with Sia's song, Breathe Me).
Every evening my pen has been moving and it feels good.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Pass the Ketchup.
I've been watching the Discovery Channel's beautiful and engaging series, Planet Earth. The cinematography is stunning. However, despite the enraptured and layered enchantment of the series, I quickly realized that an animal's life consisted solely of eating, not being eaten, and humping.
Watching the series, I became preoccupied with two thoughts.
The first thought.... You can tell me that an animal has an extra thick layer of fur. An extra layer of fat. Oil in their skin. Or air pockets between their feathers. But regardless of this information, I can't believe that these winter animals aren't freezing. I can't wrap my head around the science that says animals sitting in a pile of snow or amid a freezing stream are warm. And if you watched this series with me you'd understand this because every two minutes I'm saying, "That animal must be freezing its ass off."
The second thought.... Last night I watched a leopard eat a monkey and a lemur eat a moth. In both cases, I said out loud, "That must taste horrible." And I'm saying this as a person who is not a picky eater and will eat anything. But still. If someone told me that monkey tasted like chicken I would think him a liar. Do animals have particular palates? Do they have preferences or is meat simply meat? Does taste factor in? A predator has neither condiments nor spices. I've eaten deer, pheasant, rabbit, squirrel, elk and even an elk's heart -- all can be tasty. If given my druthers, I'd use my extra leopard energy to pursue a quick deer even if it made me tired. But you could put a three legged monkey with arthritis next to me and I'm not budging. Has there ever been a leopard that's spotted a lazy monkey sitting on the ground and said, "I'm starving, but monkey tastes like ass. I'll pass."
Watching the series, I became preoccupied with two thoughts.
The first thought.... You can tell me that an animal has an extra thick layer of fur. An extra layer of fat. Oil in their skin. Or air pockets between their feathers. But regardless of this information, I can't believe that these winter animals aren't freezing. I can't wrap my head around the science that says animals sitting in a pile of snow or amid a freezing stream are warm. And if you watched this series with me you'd understand this because every two minutes I'm saying, "That animal must be freezing its ass off."
The second thought.... Last night I watched a leopard eat a monkey and a lemur eat a moth. In both cases, I said out loud, "That must taste horrible." And I'm saying this as a person who is not a picky eater and will eat anything. But still. If someone told me that monkey tasted like chicken I would think him a liar. Do animals have particular palates? Do they have preferences or is meat simply meat? Does taste factor in? A predator has neither condiments nor spices. I've eaten deer, pheasant, rabbit, squirrel, elk and even an elk's heart -- all can be tasty. If given my druthers, I'd use my extra leopard energy to pursue a quick deer even if it made me tired. But you could put a three legged monkey with arthritis next to me and I'm not budging. Has there ever been a leopard that's spotted a lazy monkey sitting on the ground and said, "I'm starving, but monkey tastes like ass. I'll pass."
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Recent figure drawings.
Stephanie Sitting (Pen on paper. 4x5". 3/07)
Zara Laying Down (Graphite on paper. 8.5 x 3". 4/07).
Jill Sitting (Pen and colored pencil on paper. 5 x 5". 3/07).
Jill Standing (Pen and colored pencil on paper. 3.5 x 5". 02/07.)
Zara Laying Down (Graphite on paper. 8.5 x 3". 4/07).
Jill Sitting (Pen and colored pencil on paper. 5 x 5". 3/07).
Jill Standing (Pen and colored pencil on paper. 3.5 x 5". 02/07.)
Monday, April 02, 2007
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