Merry with a Twist

Despite the fact that I haven't posted in quite awhile, please accept glad tidings from a very silly sketch.

Don't Wait Up

By now you've figured out that wordplay is a big part of how I get inspired, whether inspired to draw some all-too-literal take on a phrase (see the above and also Rabbit Rabbit) or to give my random sketch some cunning, punning name and then extrapolate from there.

Today I was thinking of the two divergent meanings of the phrase "don't wait up." Depending on context, the imperatives could not be more different. In the case where they are active, telling someone "don't wait up" means they are moving on without you. Or there is the opposite (more specific) case where you are active and the other person is told "don't wait up" so that they are content to fall asleep before you return. The only situation in which one could inhabit both contexts for the phrase? Being asleep on a horse (or, should the situation serve... a camel.)

I think about these things so you don't have to.

Rabbit Rabbit

Do you say some variation of "Rabbit, Rabbit" at the beginning of each month? I do! (err...when I remember.) For a brief history of the practice visit this link to Wikipedia (Wikipedia! When you don't need to know anything more than the other guy!) Apparently it's a British tradition that is especially common in Massachusetts. What I want to know is, who first told me about this, and more importantly why? It's kind of a fun idea but when you're five and six it's also pretty scary, especially since I always felt like it was an urgent talisman against bad luck as much as it was an easy-to-miss one-shot-chance at good luck; a lose/lose situation for a forgetful child.

My original idea was draw both a very cartoon-style rabbit and a more realistic one, but that didn't look right so I ended up with two fairly realistic rabbits of two seemingly different breeds. I didn't say "Rabbit Rabbit" this morning, so perhaps it's just my luck (and lack thereof.)

How It Works

Time Slip

A Bit Less Hazy

This is one of my first successful exploits using Adobe Photoshop.
I confess that I have spent nearly as much time ranting against Photoshop as I have using it. For someone who can work wonders with Microsoft Paint it seems deliberately, maniacally counter-intuitive. Lasso tool? History brush?? Dodge tool?!? ("Shall i just give up and go mad now, save you any more trouble?" )
The sketch itself is nothing much, and I almost didn't use it for today until I thought to google "create fog in photoshop." There, I got step-by-step instructions that included something called a Gaussian blur. Through my beginning with an end in mind, some of the program's logic revealed itself. In the end I had enough confidence to tweak a few things outside the realm of the instructions to get certain effects. The experience "shed a little light" on why some people love Photoshop.
I just assume they can't use Paint.

I'm Forever Drawing Circles

Please Hold

A cliched image for a sadly-too-common experience. I've been waiting on the phone for nearly an hour.

This is the caller just before me. He dialed in 1989.

What He Doesn't See

This is a sketch of a man contemplating his fist*. Beware holding a person inside you where your heart ought to be.

*In lighter thoughts: If he wasn't bare-ass naked, I'd say he was checking his watch.

Freefall

Traveling Song

Joyeux Quatorze Juillet !

Je n'parle plus bien le français (je n'ai pas souvent l'occasion de parler.) Domage. J'espère réapprendre dans l'avenir.

Snoopy Applies Himself

I've been applying to jobs since the moment I woke up (ok, and sketching Snoopy, which didn't take that long.) You'd think applying to a lot of similar positions simultaneously would make things easy, but it doesn't- It's just mind-melting. I need to be in a very Zen place in order to plow through cover letters, and it is very easy to fall from that place. Just thinking too hard about what any given job might actually entail is enough to send me under my desk.

This is a reproduction of an iconic image of Snoopy that I actually have hanging over my desk (see, I haven't gone far!) I wouldn't be comfortable yet trying to draw any known cartoon character from memory. I wonder what it must be like to draw the same characters over and over, how does one ensure that, when they behave in a novel way, they retain their characteristics? Cartoonists must have a strong sense of the proportions of each character, and how those can be maintained and displayed in the character's every activity.

One thing I know about Snoopy- as goes his nose, so goes his attention. In the drawing I have above my desk, his nose nearly falling off his face, as it is directed towards the typewriter. If I look at it too long, it's absolutely absurd and not in the least bit nose-like. In my first and very subtle attempt to remodel a character for my purposes, Snoopy's nose is set on straight, his eyebrow is up, and his eye is unfocused. He looks hesitant, as though he doesn't know what to write next, or if he can dare to write at all. He looks a lot like I feel. Dear Hiring Manager....

The First is Sweetest

Today is the first anniversary of my grandfather's death. He was a man with personality but also personae. Everyone who knew him has a strong impression of him, and in our family there are conflicting views of who he was, who he wanted to be, and how he would like to be remembered. I try to recuse myself from these disagreements; he sometimes liked to deal in absolutes and stereotypes but I cannot pretend that he embodied them and, at the end of the day and right to the end of his life his opinions and characteristics were as many and as subtle and as contradictory as any man's, and moreso. As an engineer, he had a good grasp on things that were immutable, and he knew he was not one of them. Since I lived in his house and was, in a way, the last of his children, perhaps I did see his definitive character but, had he lived a day longer, it would have been his right and prerogative to surprise me.

I get to keep the moments we spent together, the things he said to me. They are only a part of who he was, but they are mine now and no one can tell me they are not real.

This sketch is the only tribute I could think to make to him today. Grampie and I used to have coffee together, but he always had a glass of water first thing. More than once he told me "Cara, nothing tastes better than the first glass of water in the morning. Gimme a glass of cold water, nothing all day tastes sweeter."

This is my first glass on this first anniversary; I chose one of my more complicated pieces of glassware and admit I agonized over it a bit, but it was no less than he deserves. I miss you, "Gampie," this and every morning.

Take Me Away

I've been told by the authorities that I should not draw packages unattended. In my defense, it's not a bomb, it's a metaphor

(equally explosive, decidedly less deadly.)

A great many people I know have recently left the area, chosen demanding careers, or traveled to exotic places. Perhaps they would not seem to be moving so fast or so far away if I did not have a terrible sense that I am standing still.

Follow Your Swan

It was requested that I draw a swan boat (native to our Public Garden) but not in a touristy way, so here it is. Additionally, this sketch is a reminder to some friends that, in order to find fulfillment, sometimes you need to disregard your pedigree and find someone outside to emulate. Even if your loveliest idols prove hollow and wooden, at least you will have escaped the confines of what came before.

The Kids Are Alright

This idea is, for starters, a case of cryptomnesia (yes, wikipedia. sigh.) The Kids Are Alright is the name of a movie that's opening soon. This isn't my first experience accidently pirating a title; when I was eleven I wrote a short story about kids who met in a meadow to secretly practice their musical instruments. It was called Field of Dreams (I built it, and nobody came.) I digress!

This is not my most aesthetically pleasing sketch, but it's an image that came to mind when I suddenly thought about something that bothered me the first time I heard it said: Referring to somehow deviant people as "round pegs in square holes." I don't know about you, but my pediatrician's office had a game with blocks where you could indeed fit the round peg through the square hole. Circle gets the square, if you will.

Where I live, aberrant behavior is basically the norm, yet all these "outcasts" hold jobs and feel comfortable. Not to say that there hasn't been a lot of change in American thinking since the cubical mores were established (and I'm not making any prescriptions here) but the social and political structure at home and at large still doesn't seem (to me) to have bent much to accommodate difference, even though the society is more openly diverse. Why not?

The answer is pure geometry- We may be whatever shape we want but, in order to fit, we must shrink a little. Is that acceptable or deplorable? That's up to you to decide.

Tag!

I'm having some doubts about blogspot as a platform. I like the simple layout and the ease of use, however I don't like that there do not seem to be comment threads or alerts. Is conversation possible?
Maybe its ironically egomanical to worry about creating a community when only three people are actively following. Still, I see potential in this idea and want the format to accommodate my ideals as well as my reality. With that in mind, I'll be looking for a possible website transference- I'll keep you posted.
Meanwhile, I've been thinking about another aspect of blogging culture: Tagging. What are the tenets of tagging? I've taken it under satirical consideration in today's sketch. I have a feeling that if I were to categorize my sketches by subject, I might find the same subjects over and over, suggesting a lack of imagination on my part: feet, hands, bikes, sardonic comics, coffee mugs and other still lifes from my stale existence. Tagging could be a way to monitor my increasing skill in drawing certain subjects (e.g. hands.) Otherwise I'm at a loss.

Walk on the Sun

This sketch frustrated me so much that it almost killed my interest in drawing feet. Almost.
When I stepped out into the heat today this was the image that came to my mind, and I wasn't willing to give up on drawing it, even when the bare feet were at their most unrecognizable. Ultimately, it has exactly the effect I wanted: Luminosity! I'm pleased with it, but I can't believe my compulsion to draw exactly this when all I really meant to say was OMG is it hot out there!

Unpacking My Day

You just never know who or what will be in your day.
It was so hot last night that didn't sleep for more than a half hour at a time, then I dragged myself up at 4:45am in order to make the 5:18 train and be in Salem before 7 to help my mother move. Yes, I'd heard it was a national holiday, but all the electronic schedules said the trains were running normally. Sure enough, when I got to the station at 10 past, the gates were open. So I waited.
And waited. And waited. I grew increasingly more awake and therefore more aware of how exhausted I was. Turns out the train was running on an unadvertised Sunday schedule. Surprise! The first train didn't arrive until 10 past 6. I got to North Station to take the choo-choo (as my grandmother would say: the subway is the "train" the commuter train is the "choo-choo") and discovered that I couldn't get a to Salem until 10:30. Tired and ticked off, I seemed to remember a long distance bus leaving out of Revere, so I took the subway to Revere Beach to find it. I found myself staring out over the ocean at quarter to 7 and, for the first time ever, was bored by its pale blue immensity. Gulls took a Sunday-type break from the work of elegant flight to idly skwack and waddle. The seaside was sedately devoid of romance.
I wandered from bus stop to bus stop, trying to figure out where the 450W would stop, since I heard it takes an "irregular" route on Sundays. I was going to wait on the northbound side, but that would be far too logical. Instead I chose a bus stop on a westbound side street labeled for every local but the 450W and, sure enough, the one and only 450W of the day pulled up right against my toes. (hells yeah, I still got it!)
I rode on towards Salem, hoping that this stressful adventure was just a once-a-year renewal of my certification as Maven of Public Transportation. I arrived in downtown Salem at 8:30 and made a beeline for the corner full of coffee shops. Walking in the opposite direction was a best friend from high school, dressed in barista green. She smiled as though she had expected me, then brightened even more when she actually realized who I was. We doubled back to her Corporate Coffeeshop, where she slipped me some much-needed caffeine. She made me promise to call her once I was done moving things to come and see her new place that she's renting along with another great high school friend.
After the unfortunate novelty of the Sunday schedule my day took an "irregular" route down memory lane as I moved my mother's things. Most of what matters to me fits in my apartment, but among Mom's many things there are still a few that are transportive to nice moments in time. I was pleased to find an antique sewing machine that I had bought a few years ago, loaned to my grandmother (who was going to get it fixed,) and given up for lost after she died.
After my first McDonald's lunch in years and a day of moving well done I went to see my friends' new place. We laughed at the glass ghosts of their fourth of July festivities and at the images of ourselves in old photographs (and tapes!) they had at hand.
By now I was starting to fade, but I bused myself to Boston for one more event- An excellent staged reading of a British play. I was invited to stay for champagne, but I was afraid of where the bubbles might take me and opted for the train instead. As though to make up for the morning's events, an 11:03 rumbled right up to meet me.
This sketch is too literal; this post is too much a chronology. Sometimes, though, it's good to be reminded of how much you were able to pack into a day: what joy you were able to fit in around your irregularly-shaped frustrations.

United We Stand

"...the greatest voice is the voice of the people - speaking out - in prose, or painting or poetry or music; speaking out..."
-Robert F. Kennedy

Perhaps no artist spoke with such clarity of message and in such detail about America as did Norman Rockwell, to whom this sketch is an homage.

American With a Mohawk emerged when my initial sketches of the veteran, before I detailed his cap, looked like a guy with a mohawk. It takes all kinds of Americans to make America, and, thanks to our dense popular culture and iconographs like Norman Rockwell, we have a great deal of common understanding. It takes only a few differences to fundamentally alter each citizen's American experience (else the military man might also sport a mohawk.) To be at the mercy of fate and unpredictable consequence doesn't feel like equality, and often we rage against it. Some are more at ease, but we are all free to pursue our happiness.

Speaking out in prose and sketches is how I chase my happiness. Thanks for listening.
God bless you, and God Bless America.

Nowhere Man

I curled up in the warm, dim park after work tonight and sketched the guitarist as he serenaded me with Beatles tunes. I was in such a cozy state of mind that I barely noticed I was having a conversation with a foreign student who had pulled up next to me. What am I drawing? Do I go to Harvard? Oh, I work at the theatre, that's cool. The sketch is good. He's Manny. He thinks I'm very cute.
Wait...what?
After making this assertion the young man in question actually ran away in his embarrassment. It was adorable and (once I took my eyes from the page) so was he. Worthy of Craigslist's Missed Connections but, if sketching in the park is indeed attractive, perhaps an indicator of connections to come. At any rate, sketching is easier than owning a dog.

Sweet Rides

Caught the bikes outside the house being cuddly.

This is an adorable image I really wanted to commit to paper, and it was difficult to choose which details to keep as opposed to which would complicate the idea. You'll notice most of the cabling didn't make it. Can you see the shadow of the leaves that encapsulates the scene? Sketching dappled sunlight posed a special challenge. Overall, I'm pleased with how it turned out.

Fair Trade

I got recognized at the coffee shop tonight, and not because this blog is famous (yet!) The barista was several years behind me in high school, had a brother in my grade, and was in a musical with me. He looks very different but I, apparently, look exactly the same.

Being served by people one knows is unnerving. I've experienced this dis-ease on both sides of the counter. Now that I'm the customer I'm thinking I'd love to catch up with this guy; I'd love to relax and get some coffee before I go back to work... but I can't do both at the same time.

If I were a little less socially awkward I'd

(unfinished)

Fan Girl

Drawing an oscillating fan, no matter how old-fashioned, turns out to be a difficult lesson in geometry.
Demonstrated in this sketch is the age-old and largely ineffectual trick of putting a bowl of ice in front of a fan to simulate air conditioning. I did one better and snagged the air conditioner from the room of my absent roommate (don't worry, I'll put it back in time for his return.)
A few more ideas are expressed here- that I can't believe the month is over, for one. I hope that having completed a month of sketches means that I can stay on track for the whole year.
Also (as you can see on the calendar) tonight I finally went to see my friend Rob's band INFRASTRUCTURE- This was the first night when they were playing and I wasn't working, plus it was a free show! They rockabilly-ed the House of Blues and I got to be a fangirl! Today has been both hot and cool.

That's the Way Boys Are

This sketch is for my sister, who I have re-imagined as a scorned young woman out of a Lesley Gore song, because her boyfriend isn't meeting par at the moment.

'Ris: You know a lot of Lesley Gore songs- she sang "It's My Party (And I'll Cry if I Want To)" and "You Don't Own Me" (which you might be interested to hear in Italian too.) All of her songs are really catchy, if very predictable in subject matter and very early '60s in style. However if you listen to her lyrics you'll notice that very little about relationships has changed in 50 years! You need to hear"That's the Way Boys Are," I think it will make you feel better. Also check out "Maybe I Know" (you're b.f. isn't a cheater, but the song is my favorite) and, just for fun (or irony) "Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows." (P.S. You can click on the picture to enlarge it)

There's no way I could do my pretty sister justice in this sketch, so please forgive me. Neither does this depict the actual crimes of which her boyfriend stands accused (or how HE looks,) however it is a representation of an eternal truth- boys can be scum (Sorry guys! Prove me wrong!) Notice the chaste blonde very clearly wears his pin. Also, the temptress looks vaguely like Lesley Gore!

***Love you, stinky Ris :P ***

Welcome

Hello and welcome to She's So Sketchy! If you are just discovering this blog because I just announced that it exists, then thanks for coming! I'd love it if you would follow it, comment, make suggestions as to what I should draw... anything to keep the project motivated for a full year!

Yes, the plan is that I draw something every day for a year post it to this blogspot, and write about it. Sometimes the sketch will be motivated by the desire to write, sometimes the opposite. Rules are there ain't rules (yet!) I started on June 3rd, 2010, the day after I left a truly horrible job. The June 3rd entry explains my inspirations.

As for my artistic credentials- I went to a high school with an amazing visual arts program...and took Chorus instead. Most of the sketching I've done has been in the course of designing costumes for theatre, or for the sake of stress relief. I hope this experience makes me a more confident and creative artist, even if I never graduate beyond the medium of pencil.

Oh- and so far the local mascot is The Asshole Zebra. I love him in a clearly unreciprocated way.

Today's sketch is an interesting doorway I saw in Cambridge. It's drawn mostly from memory, which explains the lack of any significant shading. I thought it would be a nice image for a day when I hope to receive visitors.

Now that you know I'm here, please come back, follow along via RSS feed, and make suggestions! If you still need convincing: I'm more fleshed out than XKCD, more open than PostSecret, and more evil than Sinfest... not to mention more frequent! See you tomorrow!

Enjoy Your Cake

For some ideas there are no words, so today's is not a very long post. Just thought I'd mention that a lot of people I know are getting married in the coming year. Sketch sums up the way I sometimes feel about that.

I Love the Nightlife

The title is a little funny considering I rarely have a free weekend night. Instead, I work at the American Repertory Theatre's run of The Donkey Show, which is A Midsummer Night's Dream without Shakespeare, set in a club (with a bar) to disco music. If you have not seen it then you MUST, and I will find you tickets.

This is an iconic image from the show- Titania, Queen of the Fairies, is held aloft while singing Alicia Bridges' "I Love the Nightlife" . And yes, the masses of muscle and lack of clothing are accurate to the proceedings. What you can't see is the glitter.

There is so much glitter.

Imaginary Lighthouses

When I was in Kentucky, I met a pastor who had never visited the ocean- But was obsessed with lighthouses. His office was full of lighthouse images, from paintings to statuettes to embroidered pillows. I commented to him that most of his lighthouses were imaginary. You see, lighthouses exist to serve a very specific purpose, and there are a finite number of them in the world, and each one is purposefully different. In most countries, they are controlled either by historical preservations or by the coast guard. Each one is registered. Therefore, if you draw an off-the-cuff image of a lighthouse, it is either a very specific lighthouse, or it is imaginary. If you improvise a realistic house in needlepoint, there may very well be a house in the world that looks very much the same (given the sheer number of houses on earth.) If it does not exist, you can build it. The same is not true of lighthouses; you cannot simply build them. Castles are an even better example. Wouldn't you readily admit that a castle you would draw would be imaginary? Real castles are far between and easily numbered. I think I forgot to mention castles to the pastor, who thought I was speaking in tongues. The other people I was with when I met him were downright embarrassed for me. But now that I've written it here, it makes sense, doesn't it?

The lighthouse I have drawn is like a combination of Maine's Portland Head lighthouse and Bodie Island lighthouse in North Carolina, but it is unabashedly imaginary.

Old Fashioned / New Media

I am absolutely confounded by Twitter. @ ??? # ??? wtf ???

I'm a fan of YouTube from way back, and was among the earliest subscribers to lonelygirl15 (before it jumped the virtual shark,) fascinated by the potential for new media in entertainment.

However the sound of my own Tweets make me cringe. I feel like the lisping suspender-sporting kid in full headgear shouting "Hey guys! Wait for me!" If anybody cares to give me a Twitter tutorial, you can find me @surrendertojoy . Tweety name is a nice sentiment but moreover a reference to the song 40 Grand in the Hole by Mike Doughty. DO click the link, because that's a live version of the song that starts with some terrific banter that explains why Mike Doughty is my favorite musician.

This sketch, by the way, breaks one of the cardinal rules of sketching (and of all things) : K.I.S.S. In trying to present a lot of old fashioned things as a foil to the Twittering laptop, the sketch became way too complicated, and paradoxically a lot less detailed and specific than I prefer. I might even call it unfinished. My inability to Tweet is clearly infecting my sketch!

All This Coil

I have been so nervous over the past few days! I've got a lot to be anxious about (underemployment, existential career crisis, and a running injury that's acting up) but none of it is new. Still I have a sense of impending doom, and I feel myself bracing for the worst. What's this mysterious and growing shadow over my head? What's that whistling getting louder and higher?
WHY AM I IN THIS HANDBASKET AND WHERE AM I GOING?
It's definitely a night for employing the Three B's: Beer, Book, and Bubblebath.

The Fuzz

Yesterday I had two strange experiences involving police officers.
The first was in a line at a store- Two cops were in line in a non-commital way; they wandered off to pick things up and backed up to consider things. I stepped in front of one of them and then apologized, as one does when one has mistaken the nature of the line. One officer protested and actually grabbed me by both shoulders and pulled me into line in front of him. It stunned me for a minute, even though it seemed like a nice gesture. Forcibly moving strangers is not okay. Forcibly moving small women is fairly easy, and therefore especially not okay. Did he assume it would be fine because he's a cop? You'd think he would know better.
The second encounter inspired the image: later that same night there was an angry drunk outside the train station. I was reading on a park bench and he had taken the adjoining bench when three cops came to confront him. One asked me if he had been yelling obscenities and I admitted he had been. A second starting asking the drunk basic I.D. questions, and then told him they would help him to a place to sleep for the night. The drunk hesitated, and the third officer suddenly burst out yelling, telling the drunk to get on the train and get out of town. I had never thought about that before: that a cop's obligation is not to the people they encounter but to the neighborhood they patrol. That thought made me uneasy, and so did the yelling. Cop #3 shouted the drunk away into the station's door and, as a parting shot cried "and take a F*CKING SHOWER!"
Even as a law-abiding citizen, none of my experiences with police have been positive, so I'll just add these to the list. I find cops to have questionable judgment. Perhaps that's why they're called "The Fuzz."

Treehouse

I drew this in an iHop at 3:30am today. At that hour that iHop (instead of being full of degenerates like myself) hosted a lot of people having heavy conversations. Recent college grads were talking about the necessity of working long hours and living in out-of-the-way places in order to stay afloat. A table of gay guys talked about growing up in foster care, and what it took to make a family, and whether or not they ever wanted to get married. A couple talked about dealing with aging parents.
I felt guilty not for overhearing them, but for not having committed myself to any of these concerns in my own life. The maturity of the grads made me especially anxious; since I'm not plodding away at an accounting job I will never achieve anything.
I thought "Is it too late to live in a treehouse?" I always kinds of wanted to live in a treehouse. Not a crappy treehouse (pictured.) That's a 3:30am treehouse. I'd want a 1:00pm treehouse, at minimum.

Father's Day

Tomorrow I'll be working on a ladder again, and that, combined with the current holiday, got me thinking about something perhaps better explained by the sketch. Manual labor is often my vocation; I do not know if I would consider it an avocation. As of now, I take any available tech gig because I have no financial safety net. I won't pretend there are not aspects of it I like very much, but I wonder... If my upbringing had been different, would I feel compelled to do what so many think is a man's work? On the other hand, if I have a true passion for it that could have been supported early, how much more would I know now? How much more confident would I be?
Just a thought. Happy Father's Day, everyone.

I'm With the Band

Today I went to see Jim Henson's Fantastic World, a traveling exhibit about the evolution of Henson's characters and career. To see the genius of a lifetime summarized in one room was both inspiring and daunting. After Henson, how much imagination could possibly be left in the world? How could I go home and draw anything after seeing what he had accomplished? Then again...how could I not?
The kingdoms of cartoon creatures seemed totally depleted by the Muppets today, so as I headed for work in Harvard Sq I set myself the task of doing a very quick (ink!) sketch of a band that was playing outside (or rather, of the instruments that were being played.) I gave myself only two minutes to draw what I saw, however I was interrupted at 35 seconds by a photographer who wanted to take pictures of me drawing the band! Permission was granted, and it was all very meta-artistic. I think Jim Henson would have approved.

Very Good Morning

I feel a little more relaxed just looking at this sketch. I gave myself this morning to do some reading in a comfortable chair, and giving in to a pleasant mood made me want to draw, which means to me that this pet project is in the right place. Maybe it's just the sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows talking, but I'm really pleased with how this sketch turned out.
I feel enough at ease to confess to you that I really like feet. Not to the point of a fetish, but just think about it- Feet are wonderfully complicated in addition to being dead useful and, if kept neat, they can be aesthetically pleasing. On a good day I like MY feet, if that's not too vain to mention.
I also really like coffee, but that's no great revelation. Still, who'd have thought the combination of feet and coffee could be so soothing?

The Amazing Zoo / The A$sh*le Zebra

Today I took my roommate to the Franklin Park Zoo.
He's a big fan of zoos in general, and we had planned many (failed!) trips in the past. For my part, despite having lived in this area all of my life, I had never been to Franklin Park or its zoo. As I understand Franklin Park is Savannah & Serengeti, while Stone Zoo is more woodsy, i.e. there are no bears in Franklin Park, but there are giraffes! (I love giraffes.) Fun surprises included a wandering pair of peacocks and my new favorite bird, the African Pygmy Falcon, which I think is adorable but would probably just eat me.
As I was oggling giraffes, my roommate mentioned that the zebra was anti-social. I thought he was criticizing it for being blase about visitors, but he pointed to the informational sign which said that, in fact, Grevy's zebra (Equus grevyi) is an anti-social animal who will sooner protect its watering hole than its family. It's Burchell's zebra (Equus burchellii, also in attendance at Franklin Park) which are the pleasant pack animals we readily imagine.
After that, I couldn't get the image of the asshole zebra out of my head, so I had to immortalize him in pencil.
Go ahead. Make his day.

Please Add Paper

Copy machines are a fact of life, people (at least until we all have the iPad.) Please, please learn to use them. Or, if you find yourself in the least bit of doubt about your abilities, spend the extra 3 cents a pop and let me make your copies for you. Don't make me run your self service machine for you, it is literally unacceptable.
I got a fancy degree from a fancy university. Now I make your crappy copies because you go to a fancier university. Take pity on me, and save being poorly remembered in a sketch.

Tonight a Balloon Saved My Life

My thoughts do tend towards "everything happens for a reason." I'm not so Pollyana-ish about it; I have a macabre belief that it's a matter of moments. Doubling back for your forgotten wallet keeps you from getting hit by a car. Maybe I just feel this way because I ride a bicycle.

Which leads me to tonight's topic.

Today I started riding a drop handled racing bike for the first time. Since it's not my usual bike, it doesn't have the necessary flashing lights on it (white on the front, red in the back.) Riding an unfamiliar machine, I was nervous about biking after dark without giving warning to all the surrounding cars. At my urging, my roommate very kindly came by the store where I work and brought me a blinking red light.

When I left the store, a friend of mine from the adjoining ice cream joint gave me a white balloon. As he tied it to my handlebars I couldn't help thinking that it was an interesting replacement for my front light. I then biked for 10 minutes to a friend's house to watch the Celtics (lose the) game. Who knows what wonders that white balloon did for my safety? If it made even one driver double-take, then I was that much safer.

When I got to my friend's building, I untied the balloon with the intention of bringing it inside as a sort of gift. I still don't know how it happened, but string snapped above my grip and the balloon escaped up into the night. I was able to watch it for a full five minutes before I couldn't distinguish it from the stars. The experience was surprisingly lovely and reassuring.

Rose Is Rose

What is the obligation of a sketch to an object? Does that differ from its obligation to a photograph? I'm afraid it does. I reason that a sketch of something in real time can be an evocation of that thing; a suggestion. How can a sketch artist be expected to capture the shadows in a changing sky? A photograph has pinned down those dark spots for us, an even without color we might be expected to copy faithfully in shades of gray. I stopped drawing when it was convenient for me; I stopped drawing when I ran out of patience; I stopped drawing when I thought I saw a rose. There is some art in deciding; there is some art in the choices, but this image-of-an-image-of-a-rose will sooner gather dew than be art.

Call Me Daddy

This sketch in honor of “Little Orphan Annie,” the comic strip chronicling that red-headed ragamuffin created by the cartoonist Harold Gray in 1924. "Annie" ends syndication today, and the last strip is a strange cliffhanger. It seems to me Annie has become a female version of TinTin, getting kidnapped for each time he gets hit over the head. My sketch is a copy of a frame in one of the earliest strips. It's well worth a look, and of course you can critique my attempt at the iconic pair. Little errors in angle and size add up to change the way the characters look. I spent quite a while on Annie's face before pronouncing it "cute enough." Amazing how one stray pencil mark in a cartoon evokes totally different stereotypes of ethnicity or personality...Suddenly Annie looks mean, or flirtatious, or Asian, or (dare I write) mentally deficient.
Interesting to note: Conservative cartoonist Harold Gray used his characters in thinly-veiled attacks on FDR, big government and labor unions. Annie was never a charity case.

Exerrent Kung Fu

After a long day of lifting I unwound with friends and saw The Karate Kid. It was very well done, with nice parallels to the original. Also, Jaden Smith and Jackie Chan give great performances. I forgot it was a children's movie and, from the number of adult voices cheering at the ending, I'd say so did everyone else in the theater. The great thing about going to a movie with smart friends was deconstructing it afterwards. Topics included the fact that it is an advertisment for visiting the new, world-friendly China, and the fact that the idea of a white child beating out natives at a national sport would have been unpaletable, but Jaden Smith kicking ass is much more P.C. (and, y'know...adorable.)

Turning In Early

I'm heading off to Nod earlier than usual, because tomorrow I'm moving the costume stock of an opera company to new storage facillity. That will involve an early wakeup, some biking, and and a lot of heavy lifting. You'll hear more about the company sometime later, I'm sure- My work with them often involves sketching! For now, though, I bid you goodnight.
(P.S.- Actually bed not pictured.)

If the Rain Comes

Is every June going to be like this from now on?

Sketch to Self

I'm not a big fan of ice cream. I recognize and am resigned to the fact that it tasted soooo much better when I was a kid, that my local mom&pop New England ice creamery has no contemporary equal, and that my tolerance for long lines in summer decreases with each passing year. Know all this, I can usually pass up ice cream for a healthier option.
I write "usually" because I have had brownie batter ice cream three times this week. I justified it because it was almost FREE, because I felt I needed sugar to get through my shifts at work, and because it satisfied chocolate cravings.
So again I write:
SKETCH TO SELF:
Just because ice cream is surprisingly alluring, available, and discounted DOES NOT mean that you should eat it frequently.
Love and Kisses,
The Management

P.S. Please note the total failure to draw a circle. I take some small pride in the shape's wobbliness because although we copy like cats here at She's So Sketchy, we never trace.
For those Eddie Izzard fans among my readers, those are the rules... which we just made up...

Nothing New...

...under the sun.
When I thought of that familiar phrase, this is what I pictured.
On that subject, though, I should tell you that mine is not the first sketch-a-day blog (I'd figured as much.) Notable examples include this mechanically-centric set of sketches, and the SketchingEverday domain name belongs to this talented artist. And, of course, there's already severaly highly populated Flickr groups .
I have made peace with the fact that this is not an original idea, and that (compared to the work of others) my sketches may be, well...garbage! But I've spent so much time thinking about the things that I fear can not do, especially as an artist, that since this is something I clearly CAN commit to, then I absolutely must. I will be be deeply disappointed if sheer repetition doesn't make me a better sketch artist at the very least, but I have to face that possibility too. Even if I end up where I started, I hope I sometimes will have wandered to a higher place.

UPDATE: Insomnia led me to see this excellent quote flashed briefly across the local access channel at 3am: "If we attend continually and promptly to the little that we can do, we shall ere long be surprised to find how little remains that we cannot do."

Samuel Butler

Good Housekeeping

Maybe I'm setting feminism back 60 years, but I'm VERY pleased to be home getting my laundry done. I cleaned my apartment like I was out for revenge- Take THAT all of you terrible bosses who have been wasting my time!
Perhaps I should be pleased the place is so messy; it feels that much more cathartic to clean it. I can't take all the credit for the clutter, no- I live with two guys who have been more than happy to do the hard work of leaving things around. And since returning to old fashioned stereotypes is the theme of the day, I will say that when I do not get a chance to scrub things, nobody does. I do believe there's a scientific basis to this disparity in seeing dirt (one that doesn't involve my womb jumping up and strangling my brain.) To be fair, every once and a while I turn around, and they've gone and washed something I've been dreading (silverware!) One's also really wonderful about taking out the trash.
When all is disinfected and done, I like the fact that I can sometimes be slovenly in my apartment now, and that the guys feel free to be so. It means we trust one another, that we're comfortable, and that we're busy- too busy to put one thing away before we take out another.

Beat L.A.

I dragged myself from closing the store to a friend's house to watch the basketball game and I was SO GLAD I DID. I haven't been a faithful Boston sports fan for several years now, and I've never followed basketball. I was surprised how comfortable I felt critiquing the game after only a few minutes, as opposed to baseball (which I've watched a lot more but without opening my mouth for fear of revealing myself to be nearly clueless compared to other locals.) So basketball can be accessible and exciting. Who knew? I'm sure it helps a little that it's The Finals. And, y'know...that we WON tonight.
This is my first attempt at copying a character for blogospheric purposes- This is the Boston Celtic's mascot Lucky the Leprechaun. He doesn't look especially athletic to me, with the pipe and cane and all. Then again, none of our players look particularly Celtic!

Chimeras

In Greek mythology, the Chimera was a monstrous fire-breathing creature composed of the parts of multiple animals: upon the body of a lioness with a tail that terminated in a snake's head, the head of a goat arose on her back at the center of her spine. The term chimera has also come to mean, more generally, an impossible or foolish fantasy. (yes, yes Wikipedia...imaginary scholarship befits imaginary creatures.) I thought I should try drawing something from my imagination and this is the result. I was thinking about the monster mashups created by this thoughtful and multi-talented blogger: look, look they are so cute!
I think the Rhinosnail is my favorite creation, but I really enjoy the dubious look the Turtlebeast is giving me, as if to say "A Duckaroo? Do you really expect me to believe in something as absurd as a Duckaroo?"