Notre Petit Ménage d'Inspiration

Oui, c'est moi, Grenouille, and other sources of inspiration. Two compagnons joined us during Noël. Le coq verre vert which Etienne calls a "glass rooster" (he does not yet possess a name) and a trilobite noir (à ma gauche). The trilobite is l'homme antique in our ménage, reportedly 500 million years old. I must admit he does appear older than Etienne. Give the photo un clic and see for yourself.

The acorns are from two different trees (mais oui). The petit specimens are from gluercus coccinea (Etienne uses the tres petit word "oak") which dropped them near la maison de belle-mere. The grand specimens are from an "oak" in Asheville, a "burr oak" says Etienne.

The chunk of rock, rouge et creme, Etienne insists was once a piece of wood. It is hard to credit this, but perhaps it is like the trilobite, non? A fossilisation, oui?

Tout notre petit monde is on top of a carousel which Etienne uses to turn his monitor either to his tall stool, or to his drawing, where he stands.



Et voici "in context," as Etienne says. Note his great fondness for pencils which have not yet any point. It is another "dragon hoard" along with the unopened music CDs under our table. And pointless pencils are far more charming than pointless quarrels. Perhaps someone should inform the politicards belligérantes?

Voila, it is time for Etienne to draw some sheep à nouveau et encore et encore... But these are French sheep, so perhaps he will endure it.

Etienne Squares

The family October holiday in the woods turned Etienne from his facade d'Internet and towards a quieter place. It is not that he has ceased to paint and draw, but, rather, that he has ceased to talk much about it.

With a little twisting of his arms, and with the encouragement of his cheri, I have persuaded him to allow me to post. I thought I would begin with a few of his recent accomplishments.

These are tres petit, only six American inches square. Perhaps, once you see, you will understand why I begin with these?

Etienne has been forever fascinated with trilobites. He told me he spent hours as a boy splitting rocks in search of these and other animaux antique. My bones hurt considering how the trilobites got in the rocks. So long in there, like genies in bottles. This painting (en acrylique et prismacouleur) was the first.

Then the escargot. It seemed to Etienne that these were all to be animaux petit. The muse had spoken.

Then there was a wren, which Etienne calls "the Ninja." The other birds fear the wren; it is here then there and not between.

Et finalement, Etienne asked me to pose.

SLC Sketches - 3

My last full day in Salt Lake City I went back up the hill toward the capitol to draw two lovely old houses on State Street. Brown Prismacolor pen. No pencil first - just sat on the grass across the street and jumped in with the pen. Mistakes must be "faked" into the drawing, since there is no erasing. Like a musical performance, where errors are best handled by acting like they're how it was supposed to be played... On the way back down I picked up a yellow cottonwood leaf, from a huge old specimen, and put in the journal to press.

Then the next day, on my way home, I drew this prior to boarding. It was cloudy with frequent showers, so there were no strong shadows. I looked at this after I got home and realized that without something on the ground beneath this plane (like a shadow), it looks like it's floating there. Jet as toy balloon. Wausach Mountains in the background. The peaks all around the Salt Lake basin are like shark teeth, and subtly colored in ways that change with the sunlight and shadows. I like them a lot.

SLC Sketches - 2

On South Main in Salt Lake City, Utah I bought a fun little journal in a used book store (Sam Weller's - if you've read your Pickwick you know that name...). The cover is like leather, has a nice feel. Inside the mustang emblazoned cover is a binding with dozens of small black and red images of nothing but Chevys. Knowing how we fought over Ford vs. Chevy as gradeschool boys (I was in the Chevy camp mostly because my best friend was rabid about it) this juxtaposition made me grin.

Here is a very windy sunset over the Oquirrh Mountains, southwest of downtown. I did this from the roof of a parking garage, knowing I would have a free viewing point and a wall to draw upon. Click for larger images. Prismacolor pen and colored pencils.

Salt Lake City

I happened to be in Salt Lake City for a conference and found myself surrounded by streaming crowds of Mormons who were also there for "Conference." The Temple area is beautiful.

I did this sketch just inside the gate to the garden, just south of the Temple. There are several graceful old plane trees there, and the sight of the sunlit building through their branches is what made me stop and spend an hour.

In other settings I would have people of all ages and backgrounds looking over my shoulder and commenting, but here only children struck up conversations with me. Parents sometimes joined in after their children started it, but even then, the parents did not encourage the conversations, or add anything to them. It gave me a polite taste of what it feels like to be an outsider - something I'm not used to.

Click for much larger image. This is 9 x 12, done in pencil, then inked with prismacolor pens (which don't run when wet) and other pens (which do run when wet) and watercolor crayons. Water was added with a Niji water brush. Then the pencil was all erased. The Temple has windows all the way to the ground, but I felt the incomplete lower section of the sketch made the building seem taller - which it certainly is.

Life Drawing 09192011

Anyone who reads my blog may be bored of seeing these... I would understand. But I remain excited about these because I see change and progress, and because I continue to have little idea what I'm doing throughout the process of creating these images. Each one is a plunge into the unknown, using materials which continue to feel unfamiliar, uncomfortable, and extremely imprecise.

And that's what I love about the whole process. The model takes the first pose, I observe the major shapes, lines, gesture, and light, and I leap into the page with a brush full of wash. The time goes quicker than ever. I lose track. I am in a space well beyond words. I don't know any other way to get there except in dreams.

I can't stay more than about two hours without feeling like I need to come up for air, but I love going there. It's like a diver entering a reef - can't stay too long, but there is a sense that this is not a foreign place. Rather this is home, a place deep in our past and deep in our hearts where we might live forever if we could figure out how to return, how to grow the wings or gills or souls necessary for this thicker atmosphere.

All of these are done in a 14 x 17 Strathmore sketch pad, in watercolor wash made from watercolor crayon shavings mixed with water, and then lines added with the same crayon and/or a brown china marker. Click on any image to view more closely.

Missing my Dad

Today after breakfast I attempted to unstick the disposal flywheel with a broomstick, as recommended on the Internet. It beats putting your hand in the unit... (It's like Nathan Lane's / Zero Mostel's rule from "The Producers" - "Never put your own money in the show!!")

It had been humming when we flip the switch, with no other action, which research indicated was likely due to a stuck flywheel. Moving the flywheel took some force, and did not seem to be leading to free motion, which did not give me a good feeling.

Well the whole thing popped off the bottom of the sink. After I got over the shocking view of daylight shining up through the drain, I actually chuckled. I had figured I would end up replacing the unit, and with it already partially disconnected, I decided to finish the job this evening. I got a new, significantly better model on my lunch hour, after checking reviews and the amperage, and installed it this evening in about an hour with no real mishaps. It's quieter, and the flywheel is stainless steel, instead of the alloy which had rusted out on our old one. (My sons and I have a hard time understanding why any task which mixes metal and water leads an engineer to choose ordinary steel - like AC condensate pans, or garbage disposal flywheels. The three of us look at each other, raise our eyebrows, and tip our heads to the side in that facial expression our family uses to signal an encounter with a form of insanity.)

But the person I most wanted to call and compare notes with, the person I wanted to boast to about my little plumbing and electrical job, the person who would have gotten the biggest kick out of the story of the unit popping off under the pressure of my broomstick, was my Dad. I'll have to hope he's watching and listening somehow, but I sure do miss getting to tell him and hearing his laugh.