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)