Double Talker

Up until after midnight, I still had that feeling inside that I had to draw something.  This girl emerged.  One mouth wasn't enough for her.  She's a double talker.

Fingers smudged and smeared with charcoal, clock close to 1 a.m., and the sinking knowledge that I'll have to be getting up in 5 1/2 hours, I still feel better for having brought her forth into the world.

Modest Male

I love the entire nude I drew here, but jeepers creepers, I hesitate to post the entire thing (even though it's simply art) because even blogger stated last month it was going to give the boot to any blogs they deemed contained too provocative material.  They abandoned that plan, probably after threats of crossing First Amendment Rights, but I am still leery based on follow-up language and warnings. Isn't that so sad?  In America - a country based on free speech?  To quote Marvin Gaye, "What's goin' on?"  Anyway, I'm going to give my little male nude a bit of modesty.  If anyone wants to purchase this baby, you'll be getting the full monty! (-;  

Here's the curtailed full view (on Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram as well) and following that is what I put on FB, because that social media seems to be getting more and more conservative.

Generation Gap at the Movies

About a month ago, I was re-watching the HBO Documentary, "Banksy Does New York" in which the elusive British street/graffiti artist, Banksy, made a new work of art each day for a month in October 2013.  At times, people actually removed his artwork from it's location or covered it up and made people pay money in order to see it and take a picture of it.  I think my favorite part is when he had an old man in the park sell original Banksy paintings for $60 each, and people just walked on by.  The few who did buy some of his artwork found out later that each of their pieces was worth 10's of 1,000's of dollars--such irony.

Flash foward to this past week, and I began drawing over this speckled watercolor sheet I had.  An elongated blob on the left side of the page looked like a man to me, or a shadow, and I pulled the ink out to form him more.  Anyway, that's how my modern day theater developed.

For more on Banky check out his website http://banksy.co.uk/. If you have amazonPRIME, you can watch his 2010 film, "Exit Through the Gift Shop" for free.  People say it's about Banksy himself, Banksy says it not.  Whether tongue-in-cheek or not, it's great and an insightful look at the drive to be an artist/filmmaker and what an artist is.

Back Off, Bird!

Here's an experiment of combining drawing styles, using cutouts, and different media à la Jonathan Twingley from Danny Gregory's and Koojse Koene's Sketchbook Skool.  Buy his book, "The Badlands Saloon:  An Illustrated Novel" here.

This is a big one 18" x 24" Not sure if I'm done with it yet...

Draw while staring at my computer desk--yes, it's a mess:

Carla Felt Like A Yoga Loser - SOLD

Carla felt like such a yoga loser.  While everyone else was doing complex poses, she couldn't even complete a Fists Forward Bend.  She decided she no longer wanted a "yoga butt."

You know, I didn't write this in my post initially, but I'll add a little story here.  I lasted about 90 seconds in a yoga class.  It was offered at work, and as it so happened, a co-worker and I had to work late.  Then I had to run out to the car to get my yoga gear which I had forgotten to bring in.  It was hot and humid and I was rushing.  And THEN, I couldn't find which room it was. Finally I get into where I need to go, everyone is relaxed and breathing.  The instructor keeps saying, breath in and breath out, but my heart is POUNDING from all my racing around.  I start the in and out breath, but it's going too fast for me, and I start to hyperventilate.  I start to think my yoga mat is "smelly."  Finally I can't take it, grab my crinkly plastic bag and smelly mat, and hightail it out of there.  Ah, yes, it was so relaxing! (-;

Mimi Liked to Match Her Accessories

A friend of mine, who frequently changes her glasses, recently acquired a funky red pair.  I thought I'd pay tribute to them in this piece of art.

Mimi was in love with her new red and white eyeglasses.  She thought they added just the right amount of pizzazz to her face.  Yet...something was amiss.  She liked to match her accessories, and nothing in her jewelry box went with her new specs.  In fact, no bangle or bauble could she find to make her visage sublime.  That was until, she found a pair of springtime white gloves in a bottom drawer.  Why, these will do the trick!  And indeed, once those soft, snug mitts of refinement were on, she pulled her entire look together and was a vision of springtime loveliness!

Decisions, Decisions - French Fries or Onion Rings?

Decisions, Decisions - French Fries or Onion Rings?

Seriously, don't underestimate this never-ending conflict!

Acrylic, Ink, Gouache

Kimberly Nichole - House of the Rising Sun

Just like Annie Lennox's performance of "I Put A Spell On You" at the 2015 Grammy's, I am MESMERIZED by this incredible, incendiary, delivery on The Voice tonight of the "House of the Rising Sun" by Kimberly Nichole.  When she screams out, "Moooootherrrrrrrrr..." at 0:57, I literally cried.  Incredible, incredible, so incredible.  She owned the entire night.  Amazing.

Kimberly Nichole - "House of the Rising Sun"

Man, and shot out to Meghan Linsey, as well, singing "Girl Crush."  Love Meghan's talent and voice as well and can't tell you how many times I watched her sing Aretha's "Natural Woman."

Meghan Linsey - "Natural Woman"

One more of my favorites, who unfortunately is no longer on the show, is Sarah Potenza singing "Wasted Love."  Can you tell I'm infatuated with The Voice?

Rudolph Nureyev

I've always loved the beauty of Rudolph Nureyev and Mikhail Baryshnikov, those Russian ballet dancers capable of unimaginable feats of grace, strength, and control.  Their hooded eyes and taunt skin, stretched tightly over cheekbones and muscle, added to their bodies beauty and prowess, n'est pas?

Here's a drawing of Nureyev in the latter part of his life.  Still possessing those haunting eyes and bones of cheek.

Blossoming Magnolia

Our Magnolia tree is blossoming.  I sat outside Saturday afternoon before that David Lindley concert that I posted about yesterday, and soaked up the world of spring.  Here's a snapshot, no filters or image-enhancement at all.  

The sky was really that blue, the flowers really that pink.  

Oh beautiful Nature, I love you so!

David Lindley

Last night Kman and I saw multi-instrumentalist (at least 16) David Lindley play.  My hub said, "You know, you think you see someone play the guitar really well, and then you see someone like this guy who blows them out of the water."  He was right.

One of the highlights was Lindley playing an ancient instrument westernized--an electric "oud" handmade by a Middle-Eastern friend. It had such a beautiful sound, and  he played it beautifully, at times playing an Irish-tinged tune on it.  Take about fusion-flavored, world music!

I sketched him quickly while he played.  He started the song out slowly and then ended up in a lively frenzy with his left leg swinging around in a a 3-part movement.

Here's the other thing.  He's 71 years old, and someone like that has a lot of stories.  Playing bluegrass in front of Walt Disney and his wife; stories about Ry Cooder and Dolly Parton; eating Helen Reddy's apricot-suited husband's entire box of jelly doughnuts and getting kicked out of the session for an irreverent comment to said square spouse; running away from skinheads in London in 1969 with a friend from Belfast; referencing the Japanese warrior term "throwing away the scabbard"; regaling and winning over a tough NYC music critic and crowd with his x-rated, but funny, imitation of Jimmy Stewart (with which he also blessed our crowd).  Hilarious!

I said to Kman, what a life of experiences from all over the world.  That's one autobiography I'd love to read.

Finally, he talked about the illogic that speaks to all artists/people not going in the expected direction of life.  He said he was supposed to be an architect (landscape architect), but the banjo called his name.  Another calling from the Muse, and the world is blessed that he listened.

From YouTube, Lindley beautifully playing the electric Oud in Copenhagen:

Lennon and McCartney

Oh, my poor blog.  I have been away for quite awhile...  Life events and being sick on and off for several weeks had depleted my energy and left me with not much to give to the cyber world.

Blah, blah, blah.

Just a little explanation as to where I have been, BUT now I'm back, babies!

Let's start with just a little doodle of a couple of songwriters.

Bunny Berigan

As bunnies start to profusely propagate with the approach of Easter, keep in mind the following great man of jazz (and trumpet), Bunny Berigan.  Although Bunny (born Rowland Bernart Berigan) lived a very short life, dying of cirrhosis at the age of 33, he left the world with some wonderful music like his compositions  "Chicken and Waffles" and "Blues." His 1937 classic recording, "I Can't Get Started" resulted in an induction into  the Grammy Hall of Fame in 1975.  Wouldn't it be a shame for people to forget Bunny's brilliance?

I originally became aware of Berigan through Woody Allen's (a huge jazz lover) films/soundtracks.  Anyway, I hope you enjoy a different sort of hare this coming week instead of the usual sugary bunny peeps.

12" x 16" Bristol - Acrylic, pastel, Ink, metallics, graphite, charcoal

Lots of texture in this creation.

Bunny Bergian "I Can't Get Started" 

Flowery Language

I'm finding myself involved in too many things.  This situation happens to me frequently.  I'm interested in this, I'm interested in that, and pretty soon I am running out of time no matter how much I chase it.  I've overextended myself yet again--will I never learn this lesson?!  I find myself in a tizzy as project deadlines scamper on down the road, and well, you know the score, I'm sure.

And even though I'm in this state, I still feel a pull, a tugging at my sleeve--or rather fingertips--that I MUST make something.  Draw something, paint something, before I forget how.  Well, I don't think I'll forget, but let me just say, I know exactly how Alan Bates' character (the painter Saul) in the film "An Unmarried Woman" felt when he said, if he stopped painting for one day, he may never paint again.

Anyway, here's the fellow that came out of me today--a tortured Mr. Reginald.

Nearly driven insane by unrequited love, 

Reginald STILL spoke in flowery language.

(acrylic, India ink, gouache, pastel)

I really liked the look of this stripped-down version below.  

I thought it had a "letterpress-feel" which I loved.  

Alas, I couldn't stop myself from bringing forth those flowers.

Sauna Scowler

Gide felt anger rising within him until his muscles flexed and sweat droplets quivered in ferocity.  How dare those new hotel guests invade his early morning sauna?  He threw them his most smoldering of scowls to send them on their way.

Myrna, Her Bike, and Her Floppy Straw Hat

It was spring so Myrna decided to take her bike and her floppy straw hat out for a ride.

Happy St. Patty's Day

Deaglan was feeling a little low on this St. Patrick's Day, missing his homeland a little more keenly than usual.  He felt his face fold into furrows as he scowled against the cold wind.  Winter was giving a last little gasp, and this Irishman wasn't too happy about it.  He was just about to resign himself to feeling cranky all day when someone on the street turned his frown upside down with the offering of a free Shamrock coffee.

"My luck is changing, Deaglan thought.  He felt his wrinkles soften as he accepted this serendipitous gift, and reminded himself of a saying from his homeland, "If you're lucky enough to be Irish, you're lucky enough."  He was.  Hope you get lucky, too. (-;

Summer Pierre

Back at the end of 2010 and the beginning of 2011, I was in quite a deep state of sadness.  A growing unrest and unhappiness had been building in me, and all I knew was that I wanted to draw, bake, and read.  I wrote it in my journal, I said it aloud, I felt it in my heart.

Now, I had been creative throughout my life, painting as a child, but writing most of all.  I really began to draw and paint around 1997 and came to be viewed as an artist by some people a few years later. Still, I didn't entirely devote myself to art until about 5 years ago.

That mantra (draw, bake, read), along with the pledge to dedicate myself until death to becoming the best drawer I could be, saved my life.  I read Patti Smith's, "Just Kids," and I came alive with her beautiful words and dedication to art.  How could it be that the "godmother of punk" had felt the way I was feeling about being an artist?!  I've written about Patti several times before on this blog, but that's not who I want to talk about now.

There were a few other inspirational people whom I began to run across, and one of those was Summer Pierre.  She is a cartoonist, an illustrator, author of two wonderful books, and a formerly touring indie rocker.  If you are unfamiliar with here, please do yourself a favor and check out her website HERE.

I ordered Summer's books, "The Artist in the Office:  How to Creatively Survive and Thrive 7 Days a Week" and "Great Gals: Inspired Ideas for Living a Kick-Ass Life" and further felt driven--and INSPIRED, and dare I say, CAPABLE OF, living my life as an artist.  I still am an "artist in the office," but Summer made me feel that I was not alone in this situation.  And isn't that just the greatest gift?  To know that you're not alone in this world when you feel exactly the opposite--that there are others who know your struggle even if they don't know you?

   

I began to follow Summer's blog, and her honest posts.  She did not shy away from sad thoughts or hard feelings.  I liked that.  A lot.  I mean, I loved that.  Because somewhere in my past, it probably was from Natalie Goldberg ("Writing Down the Bones")--yes, it was--who said that it is your obligation as a writer (artist) to be honest.  I took that directive to heart.  You risk a lot by doing so, people thinking you're bi-polar, too open, embarrassing, but you know, whatever!  If Patti Smith, Natalie Goldberg, and Summer Pierre can risk it, I can, too.  Besides, what company to be in, no?

So, Summer is becoming more and more famous for her witty, insightful, and intelligent comics. In one of her posts, she invited readers to exchange postcards with her, which I did.  I'm trying to cut to the chase, peeps.  On Monday (3/9/15) of this past week, Summer posted this comic on her website and also posted IT online at Medium.com.  I'm in it, people!  I'm the painter from IL writing about peaches!  What an honor to be included in something written by someone you have looked up to and admired.  Well, there are just no words.  Please check out Summer for yourselves!

Doodling Maryann - Not Available

My co-worker was talking to me the other day, and I decided to draw her eye.  I can't stop myself from drawing when the moment hits, so I just go with it.  Anyway, we were discussing something rather involved, so I just kept drawing--taking advantage of a moment when she was on the phone--to continue doodling.  I did have some struggle, as she was constantly shape-shifting--turning her head, looking up, looking down at the computer and keyboard.  I did my best to be a ninja doodler--stealthily trying to hide my lines from her.  Here she is with my rudimentary tools- a pen and a few mini-colored pencils I had in my desk drawer.

Oh, yeah, there's also a little birthday cake drawing for me, too. (-:

By the way, Maryann is such a good sport.  I am continually humming and singing,

"All day and all night, Maryann, 

down by the seashore sifting sand"

These are the only verses I know, and yet she STILL has not screamed, "stop singing that!"  Only time will tell if she can continue tolerating my mindless serenade. (-;