One More Post About The View...

... and then I'll shut up. I did this watercolour one morning when everyone else was still in bed. It's not a masterpiece, but I really like the way drawing or painting something forces one to *really* look at things. I find they stick in my memory better.

Not Feeling Like an Adult Today

Creepy creepy creepy.

We have had a wide variety of excellent models in my life drawing class. In all my life drawing classes, actually. Today for the first time, we had one I just plain didn't like, and it's making me feel really juvenile, like I'm 13 again.

He told us all about how he'd been fired as a secondary school teacher (I think this is what he said, but he was speaking german with a strong french accent, so I'm not sure) because he had been very vocal about the overly harsh punishments for students caught smoking, so now he is working as a model. He kept shifting his feet as he said this. We've had some models that are a bit nervous or shy, but this was something else.

Then he told us about some artsy photographs he had posed for taken by Big Famous French-Speaking Artist (of whom I've never heard, but that doesn't mean much.) He offered to show us these pictures on his laptop (which he just happened to have with him) and my Excellent Art Teacher said ok (perhaps EAT has heard of BFF-SA.) So the pictures are dragging on and on and scary model keeps saying "oh, this is the last one" and EAT is starting to itch, I can tell, and making 'we should get drawing' noises and so on.

So when the guy has finally finished looking at a dozen plus naked picture of himself and taking us along for the ride, he takes the towel off to pose, and voila, his penis is purple and standing out parallel to the floor. Hey, I guess it can happen.

He assumed one difficult pose after another and always told us what he was doing. Javelin. 100 meter dash. Bow and arrow. I wouldn't have minded his playing olympic athelete if it made him happy, but he couldn't hold the positions.

In the middle of class we always have a 20 minute break (it's a 3.5 hour class), but he decided not to put any clothes back on. Because I am such a stinky drawer (love that word) and need the practice (and focus) I usually stay in the room. Not this time. There was one last person fetching her purse to nip down to the cafe, and he was sidling up to me. I'm sure it meant nothing. I'm sure it was totally innocent. I'm sure the fact that he has no eyebrows, that his face looks like it's been pealed, that he has no lips and that his elbow does this weird sort of moon crater-dimple-inverted nipple thing when he straightens his arm had nothing to do with it. But I left anyway.

So now my skin is still crawling *and* I'm feeling guilty about it. Honestly. I really don't know if it was me or him.

Blech. Anyway, the only thing that held still long enough for me to draw it was his right foot (above).

Is There Such a Thing as Distechnia?

On the off chance that anyone actually clicked on the two sketches that I posted a couple of days ago and noticed the incredibly bad quality, I have re-posted a couple of new images of the same which are... less bad.









also, i've been rejected again. didn't want to write for their stinky ol' mag anyway...

Some Drawings, At Last.

We had an excellent model a few weeks ago- about 100 years old, very interesting to draw, but alas I was doing really poor work that day and didn't do him justice at all.

This week I did a little better; still not great, but here it is. Again, the model was good, beautiful, Ruebensesque, and tough as old shoes. Really, I don't know how they hold those positions.

Here are two drawings from the same pose, one in pencil, one in charcoal.

Comfort Food

Comfort food doesn't really have that much to do with eating. Not for me, anyway. It's about someone taking the time, about a human touch, some love going into it. I think I could sit and look at cupcakes all day.

On another note, I planted my violas and pansies out today to ensure a new batch of cupcakes next spring/ summer. I'm already looking forward to them. I don't even need to eat them; just have a cup of tea and admire them.

Lost For Words

I don't have much to say at the moment. I am grumpy and trying to figure out what I need to do. Now that I'd decided once and for all to write and *only* write this autumn, my favourite and extremely excellent former teacher and sent me a letter, asking for a few more students to fill up his life drawing class which is in danger of being cancelled. So now that I've said I will only write, I have this to post:

I think it's the first time Middlekid has held still long enough for me to do a scribble.

This week's prints

So, monday before last, I printed a portrait of Captain Mossbeard, the pirate, which was drypoint on plastic. (sorry about the crappy quality, I am so analog it isn't funny. I'm learning.)

Then we made prints on the inside of tetra paks! Not my best artistic effort, and they don't stand up to many prints, but it was fun. (And cheap!)

Then, last monday, we prepared plates for etching. Beveling, degreasing, warming, covering with asphalt, smoking, then the tranfer of the sketch using white oil pastel (you can see the traces of the white lines on the copper plate) and *then* exposing the copper, by scraping the asphalt coating with a sharpish tool.... *whew* can't wait to see what it looks like printed...

(and yes, i'm too daft to figure out how to turn it right side up at the moment.)

Reproduction, Printmaking, Renovation, Vomit.

Life is very complicated lately. Middlekid had her birthday yesterday (yay Middlekid!). Unfortunately, Thirdling had a case of the galloping barfies. So I'm trying to run a birthday party between barfs, it's raining on and off, and when we've managed to survive all that, we still have to take the car to the garage.

Now, I am on the phone and in the garden arranging a gazillion appointments for estimates to have the eaves painted/balcony railing replaced/wintergarden built/windows replaced. And tonite I have my class (which makes me really glad that Thirdling is not throwing up any more. at least I don't have to worry about her tonight. )

But what I really want to know is, when will I get my period? It's a week overdue. I used to be so regular. I know I am not pregnant; I know why it is late- it's because I am getting old. But when will it come? Am I still fertile? Do I want another baby? Does other half want another baby? I am feeling lost and tired today. It's all wearing me out.

We are going to do soft-ground etching tonight, so I am off to find a subject.

The Prints

Finally, after some twiddling and reinstallation from my better half, I seem to be able to load pictures from my phone to my computer!

So, here is my first attempt. This was mostly an excercise to learn how to use the press; it is not an intaglio print. I made it by inking the plate with gold ink, the star was torn paper, place over the plate. I also used thread, and scraped a few marks and letters in, though the word 'shine' did not comeout very readable.

This is my first intaglio. Made my scratching marks into the copper plate, inking, and printing. Check out the anatomically incorrect frog...

My Very First Print!

Well, my printmaking instructor has turned out to be quite normal. I love just being in the print studio- the smells, the machines, the lithograph stones, the copper plates. I am finding printmaking very complicated, and it is definitely a labor of love. So many things need to be adjusted, prepared, cleaned. I will post my first print, as soon as I can. It's a monoprint, really, just to get to know the machine, not intaglio, but I'm kinda proud of it :)

Douglas Adams meets Monty Python

Oh, right- wasn't this blog supposed to be about writing? And art? My writing and my art? No no, that was someone else's blog...

All RIGHT, All right, yes, it was me...

So. I come home from my two weeks of holiday, and in the huge pile of mail is the letter I was expecting;

Dear would-be student,
your printmaking course has been canceled due to lack of interest blah blah blah.....

I received an identical letter last fall. I was struggling then, too, to figure out what it was I was supposed to be doing, what I wanted to be doing. I asked myself, 'why did fate allow this course to be cancelled?' Then I found out I was pregnant and thought, 'oh, that's why.' And then I wasn't pregnant anymore. So the course is cancelled a second time, and I'm not surprised or upset, and don't care why, and then the phone rings. It's the teacher of the course. There has been a mistake, she's been talking to the school faculty, the course will take place, blah blah blah.

Now. Why did this woman have to sound like an over-drugged sing-songy left-behind space hippie on the phone? I could almost see the rainbows and peace symbols and smell the pot. I was so unconvinced, I nearly told the woman I couldn't make it; I was busy every Monday night for the rest of my life, sorry. Why couldn't there have been an instant rapport? A sudden indefinable feeling of trust? The conviction that I would have something exciting and edifying to look forward too on Monday nights? I really could have used that.

So who's steering this, anyway. What is the meaning of life? I am trying so hard, I want to do something good, so SOMEBODY, please, give me sign! In the mean time:

Me: Waiter, bring me a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, please.
Waiter: Yes. Something to drink?
Me: That is a drink. Does the bartender know how to make it?
Waiter: ummm... with sandwiches.
Me: No, I don't want any sandwiches. Does the bartender know how to make a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster or not?
Waiter: Ahh! About five minutes.
Me: Forget it. Just bring me a slice of lemon and a large gold brick.
Waiter: Que?
Chorus of patrons: He's from Barcelona!
(lively jig ensues to the tune of the Blackadder them)
Me: Hang on, is this that improbability drive thing again? (I duck a bowl of petunias as it flies through where my head used to be.)