Well, what would you do with it?

Several years ago, I was given a project at work: managing the artwork and printing for a huge, sprawling series of archaeological reports. This being a well-funded expedition, the reports were to be in color. This, and other factors dictated that we have it printed overseas.

I got to design the dustjacket. Now, each printer and bindery has their own way of doing things; one uses thicker cardboard here, one uses a different kind of paper there, and it's no good trying to guess at what the exact dimensions will be. So I wrote a note asking for the dimensions of the soon-to-be book. What I expected was a dozen numbers, or perhaps an Excel worksheet; what I got, express-mailed from Singapore a few days later, was... a book.

724 pages, using the exact paper they'd use for the final product. And every one of them was blank.

They included a sample stamping on the cover that I found amusing. Sure, who wouldn't want a book like this?

So what would you do with it?

It served its initial purpose quite nicely, and then sat on the corner of my desk for several years. I knew what I wanted to do with it. And so, finally, after all this time, I've gotten started: I'm going to practice my chops at drawing in pen and ink. I'm going to fill it up, and work on my skills. So what if it takes me ten years....?

The first drawing. I've had this walnut shell sitting in a little basket, just waiting to be drawn.

One page down, 723 to go.

For BIG mistakes

There is a story that has become legend in my family. One afternoon, almost 40 years ago, my sister was supposed to be taking a nap. She got out the crayons instead. She then proceeded to draw a mural on the wall, as high as she could reach, and as long as the bed was wide. (Ah, but she'd "stayed in bed," right?) Given that this was in a rented apartment, this was a problem. You can't just paint over crayon — it acts as a resist — it has to be removed. So my parents picked up an eraser, and for the next several weeks (perhaps even months) my sister would have to sit there, every day, working away at the crayon marks until they were all done.

I have seen this eraser. It's about four inches across, and about eight inches long, and aside from a very worn corner, what stands out most is the print on the side: FOR BIG MISTAKES.

* * *

I've been discovering crayon marks on the walls again. We've got the oldest of our young artists paper-trained, but Risanna has been taking an interest in the arts as well.

Yes, baby! PAPER! Paper is a good place to draw!

The marks on the walls and cabinets remain, though. So today, Deborah brought home an eraser...

Yep! Same thing, 35+ years later!

Isn't it great that such things can continue from generation to generation?

Art that Speaks to You

Sometimes, you're just walking/riding/driving along, and art just calls out to you, by name. Sometimes, quite literally:

This guy obviously subscribes to the "If you can't make it good, make it big" theory.

Seriously. All that, on one train. And I didn't even look at the other side.

Deborah and I, with a certain amount of seriousness, describe graffiti on trains as "authentic urban art, direct from the nation's urban cultural epicenters, in a free traveling exhibit." Some of these guys have talent. I stood and looked at this one for quite a while:

Can you see the skate ramps?

And this one caught my attention, as well:

The amazing thing here is, along with his excellent use of color and shading (with a spray can!) the guy signed his name. Obviously, Mr. Jennigs either isn't worried about being prosecuted for his work, or he (rightly) wants credit for what he's done.

When was the last time you stopped and took a look at the art spoiling your town?

Fiona's Picture Place

Fiona draws constantly. And, frankly, some of these drawings are too good not to share. To that end, Fiona now has her own blog:

http://fiona-art.blogspot.com

I've got a whole stack of drawings to scan and share, although I have no hope whatsoever of keeping up with her prolific and prodigious output. Go, bookmark, and enjoy.

My Kid Could Paint That

At the insistence of a number of people, we rented My Kid Could Paint That. The odd thing is that it's a documentary: A four-year old girl created abstract paintings on the kitchen table that sell for tens of thousands of dollars. The ambiguity is: did she really?

The movie is really more about art and adults, and the stupid things they do to each other, but there was a lot that resonated with me as an artist — particularly the frustration of the parents to prove to everyone that Marla really did do all the paintings herself. The work that gets captured on camera seems like the work of a normal four-year-old; a start-to-finish video of a complete painting is criticized for not being as "polished" as other works. Watching this, I could see why. Would I produce a great opus on a red canvas in a dreary basement while NBC secretly filmed me, and someone was egging me on to do something great? Probably not.

Even under ideal circumstances, I don't sit down and knock out a great book cover every time. Some of them stink. Some, I get no inspiration. Some, I start, and find something more interesting along the way. (Those are fun.) And some of them are good. The expectation that Marla produce an outstanding work every time is frankly unrealistic. I'll reveal some of my own bias here: I think some of those paintings look way too good. But most of them, the vast majority, I think she did.

My sister-in-law, Sara, was inspired by the film, and got out a canvas and paints for her son.

If you ever come across the works of Galahad Grey Gove in the future... that's his real name. But, like every other artist that ever made it big, it's all about the marketing. So. You saw it here first...

Design Your Own Luck

This is a cover I'm working on, and I'm curious to see what people think of it. Comment away!

Know

Just this afternoon, I came across an online application called Wordle. The idea is that you paste in a bunch of text, and it creates a "word cloud" that gives prominence to more-frequent words. So... I pasted in the entire text of "You Know You're an MK When..."

I have yet to figure out a good way to save these as high-resolution files, but it seems like a great potential illustration tool.

Art Fair

The first weekend in June brings a number of things to our neck of the woods (heart of the island?) including, most noticeably for us, RVs.

But, but, but, that's our backyard... OK, we don't own it, but it's our backyard nonetheless...

The real reason for all those RVs, though, is the annual Art Fair, which is a lot of fun for us to go and browse. Not that we buy much — we generally can't afford it — but it's fun to go be inspired, and talk to the artists. This is the fourth or fifth one, so many are familiar faces now.

The talent and variety are amazing...

Irridescent glass tiles...

Vases...

One of my favorites from the show, a landscape by Dick Heffelfinger.

We didn't end up buying much, but did take home a few small pieces by some local artists.

We got to watch this young artist paint a rock, and then, we got to take it home with us! And the artist, too!

Art

It seems hard to believe that just a few weeks ago, I was reading daily updates from the Art Department at Grace about Prof. Art Davis going in for surgery, and the optimism about making a full recovery from his cancer. I smiled when I heard that it had been successful, and that he was back at home recovering, and grading senior portfolios with his wife on the couch. Then, suddenly, the cancer spread, fast and vicious, to his spine and liver, and he was back in the hospital again, going downhill fast. He was only there a few days, and died April 30.

I didn't go to the memorial service, as we had company over, but I talked to people who had gone, and was surprised to hear the tales of steady prodding and encouragement — usually, the best I had gotten out of him in class when my pieces came up for discussion was, "OK, that works," before moving on to the next piece. Twenty years of being told you were a good artist didn't count for much here. If nothing else, it was grim practice for the unappreciation of my first (and very nearly last) job as a graphic designer. The guy just about had me convinced I was mediocre, and that the best I could hope for was to not have my work criticized publicly.

Near the end of my penultimate semester, as I was getting ready to go get married, and get a job, I was sitting in his office, when his phone rang. He took the call.

"This is Art Davis." (pause)
"Of course. One of the most talented and creative individuals ever to come through our program."

My jaw just about fell off my face as he proceeded to give the most amazing reference I've ever heard. Whoever it was, I wanted to meet them, just to know who it was Prof. thought so highly of.

"Wow," I said, once he'd hung up, "what I'd do to get a reference like that!"

Prof. looked at me with a quizzical, pained expression.

"That was for you."

Thanks, Prof. Davis. Thank you.

Another artist in the family

The other day, Fiona was busy scribbling away on a piece of paper. I asked her what she was doing. "I'm drawing a fish!" I smiled at her, expecting her to bring me over a 30-second drawing. Several minutes later, she handed me this:

It took me a moment to catch on. At first it looked like a blob of scribbles, and then it started looking rather familiar. I walked over to the fishtank.

I don't think I did that good when I was four!

Guess what I finished last night?

All that remains now is to spray the thing, have it photographed, remove it from its backing board, and ship it to its new owners. The can of fixatif, however, says "DO NOT USE IN HIGH HUMIDITY" in all caps amidst a label otherwise marked by a fair amount of restraint. It was 95% this morning. I'm guessing that counts as high humidity. I daren't move it until I spray it, so I guess I'm praying for some really nice weather to stroll along any time now!

Drawing to a Close

I've been working on this thing for months. A year, almost. It's almost done. Just a few hours left, filling in the background with blueprint-style drawings of various parts, and then I can reclaim nearly half of the back room in my shed. I'll definitely have to get it photographed by a professional before I send it out to the couple that commissioned it. I don't know whether I'm excited to have it be done, or if I'm going to miss having it around to work on...

They said it couldn't be done...

Just so you know, you can do shading on a Magnadoodle. You just have to hold the magnetic stylus at a very low angle.

And now, on to my third impossible thing before breakfast...

A grand canvas

Since October, I've been working, an hour here, a half hour there, on a canvas out in the shed. By chance, I happened across a post on CycleForums from a couple out in Washington that wanted a charcoal-on-canvas drawing of motorcycle parts to hang over their mantel. A few emails later, I had the job. It's not a small piece, and neither charcoal nor canvas are forgiving of mistakes, but I'm having a good deal of fun with it.

The working environment — the shed was the only place I could fit a canvas this big. Back when it was real cold out, It took over an hour of running the heater full-blast to get things up above freezing. The brown bottle contains Skullsplitter, which I highly recommend, if you're the sort that takes such recommendations.

Progress to date. For those of you completely unfamiliar with motorcycle parts, that's a rear shock overlaid with a brake rotor. More parts will be appearing in the days to come.