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.