Sunday, December 02, 2007
Art: Palais Theatre.
Palais Theatre, St Kilda, Victoria, Australia (Pen and ink on watercolor paper. 5.5x7").
Friday, November 30, 2007
Materials.
I vary and experiment with mediums and materials frequently. Here is a quick sketch of the Sydney Opera House I did playing with pen on watercolor paper (a combo I hadn't used much before).
Sydney Opera House (Pen on watercolor paper, 6x4"). Based on personal photo.
Sydney Opera House (Pen on watercolor paper, 6x4"). Based on personal photo.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Art: Study for Palace of Fine Arts.
I love San Francisco, with one of my favorite sites being the Palace of Fine Arts. I took this picture when I lived in the Bay Area many years ago...
An artist will do "studies" of a subject before committing to a larger piece. In my early days, I avoided doing studies because I believed there was something magical in that first attempt at interpreting a subject -- a certain indefinable energy -- and worried that this magic would be lost if I drew it many times before. But now I realize that studies are imperative as they allow you to better understand and interpret the subject matter. You have to figure out what works and what doesn't. You are seeking maximum impact.
One may believe that there's something special in the first time you have sex with a new partner. But mostly it's just awkward and clumsy (of course I'm speaking of the general populace -- I'm always fantastic). It takes some experimenting before you get good at the humping. Each partner is different. You figure out what works and what doesn't, and it's developed through a combination of communication, trial and error, and experience. This is the basis for doing studies. You want the painting's toes to curl.
I'm pondering doing a large scale painting of the Palace of Fine Arts. I've been developing some studies to make sure that I've perfected the humping. Here are a few early examples:
Study of Palace of Fine Arts (pen, ink, and colored pencil on paper, 5.5x8").
Study for Palace of Fine Arts (ball point pen on paper, 8.5x11). For this one, I'm trying to figure out the best arrangement within the frame -- the mise en scène for those fancy types. The Palace of Fine Arts is an enormous and magnificent structure. The dynamic is altered by simply playing with its placement within the frame.
Study for Palace of Fine Arts (watercolor on Rives BFK paper, 7x12").
An artist will do "studies" of a subject before committing to a larger piece. In my early days, I avoided doing studies because I believed there was something magical in that first attempt at interpreting a subject -- a certain indefinable energy -- and worried that this magic would be lost if I drew it many times before. But now I realize that studies are imperative as they allow you to better understand and interpret the subject matter. You have to figure out what works and what doesn't. You are seeking maximum impact.
One may believe that there's something special in the first time you have sex with a new partner. But mostly it's just awkward and clumsy (of course I'm speaking of the general populace -- I'm always fantastic). It takes some experimenting before you get good at the humping. Each partner is different. You figure out what works and what doesn't, and it's developed through a combination of communication, trial and error, and experience. This is the basis for doing studies. You want the painting's toes to curl.
I'm pondering doing a large scale painting of the Palace of Fine Arts. I've been developing some studies to make sure that I've perfected the humping. Here are a few early examples:
Study of Palace of Fine Arts (pen, ink, and colored pencil on paper, 5.5x8").
Study for Palace of Fine Arts (ball point pen on paper, 8.5x11). For this one, I'm trying to figure out the best arrangement within the frame -- the mise en scène for those fancy types. The Palace of Fine Arts is an enormous and magnificent structure. The dynamic is altered by simply playing with its placement within the frame.
Study for Palace of Fine Arts (watercolor on Rives BFK paper, 7x12").
Friday, November 23, 2007
Art: Claire de Lune.
Claire de Lune coffee shop (Pen and watercolor on paper. 5.5x8").
I drew this while sitting at one of my favorite local coffee shops, Claire de Lune. I used a fountain pen with non-waterproof ink and a wet brush to create the blue/black bleeding ink effect. I relied on watercolor to add green to the plants on the left.
I drew this while sitting at one of my favorite local coffee shops, Claire de Lune. I used a fountain pen with non-waterproof ink and a wet brush to create the blue/black bleeding ink effect. I relied on watercolor to add green to the plants on the left.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Friday, November 16, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
Monday, November 05, 2007
Why I Need To Hire A Sniper.
I understand the romantic allure of wind chimes if you live on the prairie. The winds come through and create random tones -- adding sounds to previous silence -- and letting you know that there's a whole world out there. It breaks up the solitude created by quiet. It lets you know that you're not alone. It's a message carried from the city to the fields by wind.
But in the city, there are few sounds more annoying.
Perhaps the cause is that when people own a place, they want to make it feel homey. Hanging wind chimes serves this affect, despite the fact that the environment is not conducive to this. They want to fulfill the image they had in their head when they dreamed of independence, regardless of the constraints placed on them by size or location of said home. Many people surround them, and may not want to hear wind chimes.
When I first moved to California I lived on the ground floor of an apartment complex. My upstairs neighbor had a balcony that hovered above mine and an entranceway porch that did the same. Both his balcony and entranceway were absolutely saturated with potted plants. My neighbor would water his plants so much that an avalanche of water would cascade down onto my place -- filling my patio three inches deep and creating a curtain of water that made it difficult to physically walk out of my front door. I had a virtual waterfall outside my door. The man above me did not have the environment to support the lifestyle he desired. He needed to move or drastically reduce the amount of plants he owned. A person that owns twenty acres of land in the middle of nowhere can set up a gun range outside if he so chooses. A person in a dense community cannot. Depending on where you live -- there are constraints -- both physically and ethically. A goldfish grows in proportion to the size of its tank, and so must you.
I'm not sure if people are just spatially unaware or simply don't care. I hope it's not the latter. Clustered together like bees in a hive, we are acutely affected by one another.
Two weeks ago, a neighbor across the alley hung a cluster of green ceramic leaves on their third story balcony. The wind chimes make horrifically chaotic chatter. When the breeze picks up, it sounds like someone throwing a dozen xylophones down a stairwell.
Is this person unaware of how sound travels, or do they think that the unpleasant clinging is confined only to their balcony? I can deal with the infrequent tones of simple silver tubes hanging, where they rarely touch one another, but this cluster configuration of twenty ceramic pieces is constantly bumping into each other like rush-hour commuters in a Tokyo subway. In an urban area such as ours -- where we constantly hear traffic, car alarms, helicopters, and shopping carts rattling as they're pushed by homeless people down our alley -- why on earth would you want to add extra noise pollution? Doesn't common decency play a part? The fact that they don't care may bother me more than the noise itself.
I can't begin to describe how annoying or distracting they are. For this reason, I need to hire a sniper. When the wind dies, I'd like him to quickly break every green ceramic leaf with a speedy bullet. Hopefully the sound of gunfire will make my neighbors move to the prairie, where they already seem to think they live.
But in the city, there are few sounds more annoying.
Perhaps the cause is that when people own a place, they want to make it feel homey. Hanging wind chimes serves this affect, despite the fact that the environment is not conducive to this. They want to fulfill the image they had in their head when they dreamed of independence, regardless of the constraints placed on them by size or location of said home. Many people surround them, and may not want to hear wind chimes.
When I first moved to California I lived on the ground floor of an apartment complex. My upstairs neighbor had a balcony that hovered above mine and an entranceway porch that did the same. Both his balcony and entranceway were absolutely saturated with potted plants. My neighbor would water his plants so much that an avalanche of water would cascade down onto my place -- filling my patio three inches deep and creating a curtain of water that made it difficult to physically walk out of my front door. I had a virtual waterfall outside my door. The man above me did not have the environment to support the lifestyle he desired. He needed to move or drastically reduce the amount of plants he owned. A person that owns twenty acres of land in the middle of nowhere can set up a gun range outside if he so chooses. A person in a dense community cannot. Depending on where you live -- there are constraints -- both physically and ethically. A goldfish grows in proportion to the size of its tank, and so must you.
I'm not sure if people are just spatially unaware or simply don't care. I hope it's not the latter. Clustered together like bees in a hive, we are acutely affected by one another.
Two weeks ago, a neighbor across the alley hung a cluster of green ceramic leaves on their third story balcony. The wind chimes make horrifically chaotic chatter. When the breeze picks up, it sounds like someone throwing a dozen xylophones down a stairwell.
Is this person unaware of how sound travels, or do they think that the unpleasant clinging is confined only to their balcony? I can deal with the infrequent tones of simple silver tubes hanging, where they rarely touch one another, but this cluster configuration of twenty ceramic pieces is constantly bumping into each other like rush-hour commuters in a Tokyo subway. In an urban area such as ours -- where we constantly hear traffic, car alarms, helicopters, and shopping carts rattling as they're pushed by homeless people down our alley -- why on earth would you want to add extra noise pollution? Doesn't common decency play a part? The fact that they don't care may bother me more than the noise itself.
I can't begin to describe how annoying or distracting they are. For this reason, I need to hire a sniper. When the wind dies, I'd like him to quickly break every green ceramic leaf with a speedy bullet. Hopefully the sound of gunfire will make my neighbors move to the prairie, where they already seem to think they live.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Recent sketches.
Top row (left to right):
- Figure study based on reference from The Nude Figure: A Visual Reference for the Artist (pencil on paper, 1.5x3").
- Shasta (from live figure. Watercolor on paper. 4x3").
- Sketch based on reference from Calvin Klein ad (pencil on paper. 3.5x8").
- Jules laying in hotel room bed in Nice, France (pencil on paper. 5x8").
Bottom row: Studies from George Bridgman.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
My Right Shoe Tried to Kill Me.
On a Friday afternoon, I wandered through work's cubicle lined hallway and noticed that I had developed a slight limp. It had arrived quietly, but became more pronounced as evening approached.
I walked across the parking lot and found it exceedingly painful. I almost needed to hire a rickshaw to transport me to my car. But I made it home and hopped to my front door.
I took off my right shoe and isolated the cause of the pain to my big toe. A distinct red crescent surrounded the nail.
As the weekend wore on, the pain became unbearable. I felt a combination of sharp pain and intense pressure -- like my toe had inflated with air and had to be released. I couldn't put any weight on my foot and even certain laying positions caused issues. It started taking over my life.
I persevered over the weekend and went to the doctor on Monday. She looked at my toe and deemed that it was infected, but found no puncture marks.
"Sometimes this just happens," she said. "There can be no external marks, but your shoe can rub the toes together in an odd way to cause an infection."
I looked down at my right shoe with extreme disdain.
She prescribed antibiotics.
"If the pressure becomes too great, can I lance it?" I asked.
"I wouldn't recommend it." She then shrugged and said, "But you're on antibiotics so nothing much can happen."
A day later and I found myself with a sharp heated needle hovering above my toe. However, there was a problem. I've lanced a thousand blisters in my lifetime, but this was different. The blister was not on the surface of the toe. Instead, it was between the toenail and skin. I had to shove the needle into the tough skin immediately above the nail.
It was unbelievably painful. I would say that it was the equivalent of childbirth, but I can't actually believe that childbirth would be this painful. I nearly wept.
Subsequently, I banished my shoe to shoe hell, located one circle beneath bowling alley rentals.
I walked across the parking lot and found it exceedingly painful. I almost needed to hire a rickshaw to transport me to my car. But I made it home and hopped to my front door.
I took off my right shoe and isolated the cause of the pain to my big toe. A distinct red crescent surrounded the nail.
As the weekend wore on, the pain became unbearable. I felt a combination of sharp pain and intense pressure -- like my toe had inflated with air and had to be released. I couldn't put any weight on my foot and even certain laying positions caused issues. It started taking over my life.
I persevered over the weekend and went to the doctor on Monday. She looked at my toe and deemed that it was infected, but found no puncture marks.
"Sometimes this just happens," she said. "There can be no external marks, but your shoe can rub the toes together in an odd way to cause an infection."
I looked down at my right shoe with extreme disdain.
She prescribed antibiotics.
"If the pressure becomes too great, can I lance it?" I asked.
"I wouldn't recommend it." She then shrugged and said, "But you're on antibiotics so nothing much can happen."
A day later and I found myself with a sharp heated needle hovering above my toe. However, there was a problem. I've lanced a thousand blisters in my lifetime, but this was different. The blister was not on the surface of the toe. Instead, it was between the toenail and skin. I had to shove the needle into the tough skin immediately above the nail.
It was unbelievably painful. I would say that it was the equivalent of childbirth, but I can't actually believe that childbirth would be this painful. I nearly wept.
Subsequently, I banished my shoe to shoe hell, located one circle beneath bowling alley rentals.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Saturday, September 01, 2007
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