Mucho Mucha (with a dash of Da Vinci and Bernini)

An art dump of some practice work from this month. Haven't had much time to do original stuff, so I end up copying out of my books and whatnot. Art history knowledge has its perks.

Also made me realize my gummy eraser is so used up it's more of a smudging device now. Time to buy a new one.

Twenty-Four

My birthday was last week, the day before Thanksgiving. Since it always falls on the same week as Thanksgiving, my friends are usually out of town or with their families so I spend it with my sister. Dinner and drinks.

No parties, no presents. And lately, since I've started working in a bakery, no cake because I've gotten sick of it.

But something different did happen this year. I happened to be working and word got around about my birthday. Or rather, one very loud friend of my mother decided to run down the entire bakery and deli to announce it.

Later, one of the managers brought me this cactus.

And then the bistro area broke out into song.

After I got over the initial shock, I smiled and decided it was a good year.

Music Blend - Kishidan

It sparkles down, the desktop was our stage
Those jewel like days are unending
I tell my fellow students (all right) to shout from their chests

"Too fast to live, too young to die!"

This band.

It is my favorite band.

Kishidan is Japanese "yankee" rock band. "Yankee" in this case means a delinquent youth often in the style of greasers in the 50's, complete with pompadour, leather jackets, and motorcycles. They somehow manage to have an endearingly dorky (and occasionally embarrassing) stage presence but at the same time remain completely sincere and heartfelt about their music. I think that combination really moved me and made me into a loving fan.



I could go into a lot of other reasons why I like them so much, (like coming-of-age nostalgia, burning spirit, goofy dances, awesome hair, and a loving disregard to a dignified image...) but really it's because they are fun. I want to be friends with them and hope they have all the good things life has to offer.

Long story short, they are silly and I love them.

Daytrip

Since my sister's wedding is coming up, I haven't had much time for myself and art. Paintbrushes and charcoal had to be stored away so that futons could be rolled out for out of town guests. All free time was now dedicated to decorations and desserts.

But right before the sudden rush, I spent a whole day completely immersed in drawing and me-time.

The morning was pleasantly slow as I headed to the museum, taking Marta so I wouldn't have to think about anything while I traveled. An empty head is a luxury nowadays.

The short walk from the station to the entrance was a nice wake-up call, the air brisk and misty. I got my ticket and sketch pass, using my member pass for the last time since it was expiring the next day. It reminded me that exactly a year ago I had been coming here regularly not only for school but just to waste time after classes.

The Da Vinci exhibit was breath-taking. It was composed mostly of his drawings and some sculptures based on them. Being close enough to see the glint of the impression the stylus made on the paper me realize very suddenly that this was real thing. I'd be lying if I said I didn't almost cry.

Afterwards I went around my usual haunts, seeing which pieces had changed or moved. But my favorite place was always in front of the Medea statue. She has a very comfy leather seat placed just-so in front of her so that I can kick up my feet and draw her for hours, as she looks down in apparent disapproval.


The lined paper is because, in my morning daze, I forgot a proper sketchbook so I made do with my work notebook. So now she sits alongside a list of what cake slices and brownies to put out for the following Saturday.

But still, for being terribly rusty, I enjoyed re-learning drawing through her. I opted for not using my mp3 player so I could hear the museum. Once before, I was rewarded with the lovely singing voice of one of the museum employees. She sang a lullaby I can't remember the words to, but still recall the feeling. This time though, it was the rise and fall of conversation of the visiting grade schools. Highschoolers and elementary students. There would be a general hum that slowly built into an almost deafening crescendo, then suddenly quieted as the "shush"es of adults intervened. Rinse and repeat.

I hope that once everything is settled, I can have another lazy outing like this. It's good for the soul.

Experiment - thin acrylic

Crying

The inevitable has happened.

Music Blend - Jero

Didn't have time to work on the experiment (napping and adventuring was had) so instead I thought that maybe once in awhile I'd showcase my odd taste in music.

Today, you get African-American enka (1940's traditional Japanese ballads) singer, Jero.



Inheriting his love for the melodramatic genre from his Japanese grandmother, he's the first black enka singer in history and has won over not only the older enka audience but brought in a younger generation of fans.



He didn't understand the actual words of the songs growing up, but said that he could still feel the "heart" behind them and thus fell in love with it. I think that for both music and art, breaking language barriers and having the feeling behind the work move the audience is the greatest achievement.

Experiment - Day 2

Transferred to 16 x 20 canvas and changed orientation. Still debating acrylic v. oil...


I think her expression somehow became more... kind? Yeah, I'll run with that.

Something Old, Something New

I have a terrible habit of leaving artwork at not quite "finished." So in an attempt to fix this, I'm going to be trying out a new thing to bring together my drawing and painting styles. The sketch is a rough concept I'm using for this experiment.

Next few days will be pushing it as much as possible with progress posted daily.

Adulthood

Sometimes you just need to draw something silly. (And if you know where that hat is from, you earn +5 nerd points)

Recently I've been doing "grown-up" things like working, worrying, and general stuffiness. I tolerate it for a majority of the day, then go home to be silly.

Put on my mismatched pajamas, read my weekly adventure comics, and watch my favorite band take off their pants on stage. On a good day, I'll go out with friends to drink, then play on the park swings after hours. On a great day, the bats come out just after dark.

Or if it's a raining, we stay inside and play a video game. Usually it's one that involves hitting monsters for gold and experience. Yelling at the TV is not required, but it seems natural after kicking a giant in the shins.

And if I must go solo, there's tons of fun to be had around town. Zoos, aquariums, museums, galleries, parks, forests, caves... I want to see them all.

So maybe I'm not really a "grown up" by some people's standards. But those people can stuff it, because there are adventures to be had and I refuse to miss any of them.

Priorities

I made a choice shortly before graduating that I wanted to get into the pastry and dessert business. It seemed like a weird jump from art history, but I was too bored with essays to stay in academia and too passive to compete in the art world. So I decided to compromise by starting with cake decorating.

Cake is a lovely thing, especially when you consider it's usually reserved for special occasions, shared with friends and family. And since every host wants to impress and entertain, presentation becomes paramount so there is absolutely no half-assing when it comes to decorating cake. You can't "almost finish" a wedding cake. Artistic pride wouldn't allow it. More than once I've looked up from pressing lace fondant or gumpaste flowers and noticed dawn creeping up.

It felt like studio classes all over again, and honestly it wasn't a bad feeling.

My usual traditional artsy habits have to be put to the side when this happens, but it can't be helped. I'd really like to reach a professional level one day while still maintaining my drawing and painting.

Here's hoping my pencils and pastries balance out.

Spotlight - Destino

Disney + Dali = ???

Now if only they'd do more like this.

Pins and Needles

Something unusual from me: a sculpture, done almost exactly a year ago as the last project of 3D Design. The assignment was to build an object (preferably clothing, if I remember right) from smaller objects.

I am secretly amused of terrible puns, so I decided to walk on pins and needles.

There are over 200 needles woven into the wire-mesh sole. The safety pins were superglued into form, one-by-one, with reluctant patience.

Originally, I was going to build a sister piece to it out of eggshells, but I had a hard time remembering not to throw them away.

Please Stand By

Productivity levels: Erratic

Second Wind

Tree Lady makes a return... and appears to be growing.

I've had a bit more clarity in the last couple of days, so I've started drawing again. Might be dipping back into charcoal and painting on panel with acrylics, if the inspiration stays.

Yelling into the Wind

I'm never quite sure if I should be doing more or less of it.

Pace

My week's been a bit rough. Several events, good and bad, came up and I'm still digesting a lot of it. So forgive me if this post and the next few are more sentimental than usual.

I originally started this painting last year as a way to study oil paints on my own time. I remember being frustrated with skin tone in particular. The subject is Leonardo Da Vinci's sketch of Pleasure and Pain. Bridging his sketches into oil was a fine challenge I set up for myself. Even better, my oil teacher used the magic word "can't" (as in "you can't make an oil painting out of it if you love the sketch too much") and that got me motivated.

But I set it aside after awhile because I knew I needed to learn more before I could do it justice. That is, until last week.

A very close friend of my family fell ill. Cancer. He basically mentored my mother back when she first came to America, so I've known him my entire life. They built a company from nothing together which later became one of the top ten in its industry. It was later bought by Old Williamsburgh Candle for a hefty sum, but without his company Harold always seemed a little sadder.

Even though it's been over 15 years, running around the factory on my "sick" days are still very important memories. Every once in awhile, Harold would bring me an old toy and I would cherish it.

When I heard the news, I didn't know what to do with myself.

So I started painting.

I think in such a situation when I felt utterly unable to help someone important to me, I ended up trying to control the painting instead. The initial earnest gestures are there, but now they are overlaid with a little more understanding and patience.

I don't intend to give it to Harold. I don't even think I could finish it in time. But when I asked my mother what I should paint for him, she told me I didn't have to. I just had to be there.

Anniversary

It's been exactly one year since I went on my study abroad to Thailand and Cambodia.

The trip was a turning point for me; not only was it the first time I had been overseas, but also my first glimpse at the region my family was from. I could go into the oddities of being an Asian-American in Asia versus an Asian-American in America, but it'd basically be a sociology paper and I've had enough of those.

The photo is from Cambodia in one of the many temples that was either Hindu or Buddhist, depending on who smashed it up last. It'd be nice if I were joking. Buddhas carved into Linga then back again, back and forth until finally someone just throws the whole pedestal outside. The art conservationist in me cries.

In all the areas we went to in both Thailand and Cambodia, tourists can climb all around and on the temples. If it was a contemporary temple, it was in use and you could go in. If it was ancient temple, you could go in and (if you're a jerk) mess with everything.

But the experience of walking around in a centuries-old stone labyrinth in the jungle was surreal. It's preserved fantastically, at just the right point where it's obviously ancient, but still retains it structure and sculpture. If you go during the off-season when almost no one is there, you feel like a lost adventurer who stumbled on something wonderful.

Sloth

There are days when I just need to take time off. No errands, no tasks, no demands.

There will be another train in five minutes, stop running.

The canvas will still be there tomorrow, stop pushing.

So every once in a while, I put down the pencil and go outside. If I'm lucky, it's pleasant enough to go barefoot. I often end up sitting on the steps and just staring out at the horizon. If a change is wanted, I close my eyes and listen.

During these moments, I think about everything. Or nothing. Depends on the day.

This is the closest I get to art without actually doing art. I believe that art is the practice of making a mental concept into a physical image. So naturally, a healthy mind is just as important as a developed skill set.

Although the definition of "healthy mind" is always arguable, particularly with artists.

Every exercise needs a rest and stretch, mental ones are not excluded. So when feeling overly stressed and troubled, just stop. Stop, turn it off, and go outside. I'm not asking you to smile and pretend the problems aren't there, but to take a moment and clear your head. You will lose a bit of time, but it's much easier to take on something without a cluttered brain.

Pride

I made a decision one day; the first and biggest I had in several years.

I decided to be more like my drawings.

Confidence.

Zero hesitation.

No regrets.

To bring depth to the simplest materials was my goal. A dirty bit of charcoal and crumpled paper could bring the coldest critic to his knees when handled at its best.

Motivation is absolutely key. As artists, we have already chosen the hard road of supposed elitists. But it's not about being the best. It's about being your best. Damn anyone who tells you otherwise. If it's important to you than that's all you need to set you on your way. But don't let it stagnate. Use it to improve, to learn, to love, to live. Fight for it tooth and nail.

Chin up.

Chest out.

It's not enough to reach for the stars. Grab the sun, and if it burns, endure it.

Exhaustion

A little nonsense now and then

is relished by the wisest men

Copying Machine

During my senior year of college, I spent most of my free time between classes in the library copying illustrations out of books. I'd jot down the book and page number, then take a sampling of things that interested me: poses, anatomy, costumes, etc. Sometimes there would be a theme, a day concentrating on eastern textiles, then the next on art nouveau.

I had misgivings about copying at first. I was afraid of becoming too reliant on it and losing the ability to create on my own. It's hard to find joy in having a camera and scanner as rivals.

But I found that in following someone else's lines, the motion and modeling became more instinctual. It wasn't so much training precision as it was natural flow. I learned the lines of Mucha and could combine them with Munch's tone. Or give an asian monster a touch of grecian style.

Studying as much art as I have, it'd be impossible for me to make anything sincerely "unique." But now I use that experience as a throwback in my art. My drawings are me because they contain all the things I've loved and learned before.

Spotlight - Magnetic Movie

Magnetic Movie from Semiconductor on Vimeo.

"In Magnetic Movie, Semiconductor have taken the magnificent scientific visualisations of the sun and solar winds conducted at the Space Sciences Laboratory and Semiconducted them. Ruth Jarman and Joe Gerhardt of Semiconductor were artists-in-residence at SSL. Combining their in-house lab culture experience with formidable artistic instincts in sound, animation and programming, they have created a magnetic magnum opus in nuce, a tour de force of a massive invisible force brought down to human scale, and a "very most beautiful thing.""

Beautiful, indeed.

More info on the creators here.

To Craft a Line

I've recently taken up quilling after a chance encounter with an instructional book. The thought had never really occurred to me to use paper strips as 3D lines. Wire had been considered, but I felt like the kinky bends in wire didn't have the same feel as a flowing line. Embroidery (another craft I'm fond of) was also a candidate, but was too rooted in having a 2D surface. So quilling was an exciting new technique to pick up.


The above is the beginning of a super secret project I hope to make into a series. For scale, the largest coil in the back is the size of a dime. I'm sure there's some sort of irony in the fact that my favorite work threatens to blind me.

But during research, I noticed that quilling had the same pitfalls as other crafts. It was... well, crafty. Most of its uses were in scrapbooking and card-making. It had a place in history among leisure crafts, but nothing on the level of museum quality appreciation. There's not a problem with that really, but I wanted to take it to another level. To make it "art."

The area between art and craft is funny, defined by scholars using big words to make big points. So for contrast, here are some small, pointless words on the same subject, (or any subject, really):

Start at the edge and work towards the middle to bridge.

Start in the middle and work out towards the edges to build.

Right now I have art and craft, and gradually I will bridge the two. And when I do that, maybe I'll have the skills necessary to build it further and see where it goes.

Nautilus

On Wednesday, someone asked me what my "drawing animal" was, and I automatically replied, the nautilus. It's a funny animal that I think I resemble the most: elusive, awkwardly cute, and runs into things because it can't see where it's going.

It is in my nature to look behind me as a nautilus does. As both an artist and art historian, I look behind me at what others have done. Even if they lived a thousand years before me, doesn't that mean that I should have the same (if not better) tools and materials as they did? What's stopping me from painting like Rembrandt or carving a piece on the same level as Angkor Wat?

...a lot of things, really, but lack of effort and inspiration won't be among them.

The "drawing animal" question was asked on the day I attended a drawing event at school, despite no longer being a student. Wholeheartedly, I enjoyed it. Bouncing off the energy that everyone was putting in. Action and reaction. Punchlines and laughter. Dancing and embarrassment. No one "owned" that drawing, just as no one "owned" that moment. It was ours. And it was shared.

But when the time came to leave, I hesitated and pressed the elevator button with my back turned to it; facing the work and people I wasn't sure if I would see again. The walk to the station felt particularly quiet and lonely that night.

Always the nautilus, I look back and watch it all. Learning. Changing. But could I, should I turn my eyes forward and look ahead for what may be? Certainly I would go faster and spare myself some pain, yet the cost may be forgetting not only those who pass out of sight, but myself as well.

I don't know the answer. I hope I find it one day.

Yin and Yang, Pen and Paper

Contrasts are some of my favorite things. Gears within a clock. Songs without lyrics. Milk in coffee.

That was one of the reasons I started to use ink.

It was only recently that I would even think to pick up a pen instead of pencil. Pencil was safe. Not only did it have an eraser, but could also be used lightly if you were scared. But then I noticed that a lot of my work looked quite the same. Very soft, very unsure. I wanted to make a decision. To be bolder, more confident. I needed to go black and white.

So from then on, the pen slowly crept into my toolbox. My first love was the gummy, but stable ink of an old ball point. Then, I later became acquainted with a very fine, quick-to-the-point detail pen. And I eventually came to know the free flow stylings of an unpredictable nib pen.

With ink, I only have two choices: Is it there, or is it not? The illusion of depth can come later, depending on how close you want to force "there" and "not there" together.

But the balance of contrasts has leaked into my entire work ethic. When I work on something that needs intense concentration, I prefer the work area to be a war zone. It is in the mess that I feel the need to make sense of things. But if I am working on something that needs free movement and spontaneity, everything needs to be pristine and out of my way. Like leaping into fresh fallen snow.

So at the moment, this is how I live my life. Balancing what I should and should not. Can and cannot. And just for fun, maybe, I'll run in the opposite direction to see what happens.

Margin Stories - Ethan

I mentioned before that I had a habit of doodling scenes of stories I've made up on the sides of my homework, so I thought it would be funny to share them here once in awhile. I've already shown off Tree Lady's evolution, so here I present Ethan, the formerly unnamed hero of the Nyx saga.


Ethan, a shy quiet boy, is on a journey to rescue his older sister's soul by slipping into the dreamscape of Nyx, the land between life and death. In the background are the antagonist and Ethan's guide, both equally insane. Most of the time I just like to draw Ethan meeting a few residents of Nyx: scary monsters, surreal animals, pirate teddy bears, and whatnot. He's a fun way to bounce off expressions, even if it's usually fear or confusion.

This particular drawing I was trying out an actual illustration sort of look, like what I might put on the cover of a comic or something. But as you can see, I got lazy with the digital coloring because colors just aren't my thing. And since those profiles are bothering the hell out of me, I might attempt to update this drawing now that I have a better feel of a pencil...

Ethan's story actually has a second part, but I haven't figured out enough of it yet to draw it properly. Hopefully it'll be easier to flesh out now that he has a proper name.

Arts and Crafts and Fire

A house burned down in my neighborhood yesterday, sometime after 3am. A few months ago, the building next to my sister's apartment also went up in flames. In both cases, no one was hurt. In both cases, I've had to take my usual walk right next door. Since I didn't have to dwell too much on my own bittersweet mortality, my mind wandered to where it usually does: art.

Fire, violent and impetuous, is part of our artist hive mind of symbolism. Both destroyer and creator, it's the glue that holds together the mobius strip of life itself. Western culture's example of this is seen best with the phoenix, reborn from it's own ashes. Southeast Asia has its own distinctive motif to represent the concept:

This curling, almost feather-like design is central to most traditional Buddhist Thai art and used on houses, temples, and decorative work. It can symbolize two things depending on form and context: Kranok - the cleansing flame of Buddhism, or Kanok - humanity's flame of impulsiveness and passion, which can be quelled by Buddhist teachings to reach enlightenment.

Like what happens to many religious motifs, its mythological intent slips further away as it usage becomes more decorative. Here is the same motif, but highly stylized:


This is the top of a small craft box I bought from a tourist shop in Chiang Mai. The motif is simplified to the point of lines and dots, made to sell to silly travelers like me. Furthermore, it was a cheaper, hand-painted alternative to the gold leaf lacquer boxes of nagas and elephants. Whether or not the painter knew the history of the iconography wasn't what he was hired for. He was hired to paint as many as he could as fast as he could.

And yet I love it dearly.

The thin, precise lines of acrylic paint bring me great joy, combined with the S-curves I use so much in my own work. Lovely stops, starts, and flourishes. I'd like to think that the painter could make lovely original work with lines like these. For what it is and its possibilities, it's terribly charming, this art-inspired handicraft.

Am I contributing to the dilution of art into craft? Maybe. But maybe art and academia need to be set alight once in awhile so it can be reborn as well. And then later on, when the position has come full circle, we can have this discussion again from the other side.

Spring Cleaning

I've been going through a lot of boxes shoved into one corner or another in the house, and have been coming across more and more old sketches. Some of them in proper sketchbooks, others on the margins of history notes. This one in particular was hanging out in anthropology, next to some bits about language and stratification. By how sparse the actual notes are, I can tell my focus at the time was mainly on this.

It's funny though, all of this cleaning is like opening up a time capsule. There are some terrible, naive drawings that embarrass me to the point of wanting to burn them. But then there are charming, oddly out-of-place ones that make me want to pick up a pencil again.

All of them seem to be snapshots of my mindset at the time. Flighty or focused. What was important to me. What bothered me. How far was I willing to go for it. I could see potential in a just a few pencil marks, if I had just pushed it a little more. There's at least a decade's worth of these moments that I've been carefully pouring over this past week. Seeing what I missed or overlooked.

But now that we're reunited, it's never too late to breathe life into them again. When the room is clean, it'll be time to start anew with what I apparently had all along.

Artist Spotlight - Felice Varini

If you ever needed an artist to mess with your sense of perspective, it's Felice Varini. He's a Swiss artist who works in painting large-scale environments to be seen from a single point. The above photo is in no way digitally manipulated. Here's the same work from a different angle:

As usual, the whole "But is it art?" debate crops up among critics and scholars. I'll keep my thoughts on that long-running issue to another post, but in Varini's particular case, I'd say the he's putting a twist or even reversal of the traditional trompe-l'œil. Instead of 3D illusion on a 2D plane, it's a 2D illusion on a 3D environment. Especially in this time of computers and digital art, when his work is viewed on the internet, the initial reaction is usually a disbelieving "Why is that photoshopped on there?"

For more his website is here (in French.) After you select a work, click on "hors point de vue" for other points of view.

Tree Lady

For awhile now, I've had a few recurring characters that pop up on the margins of homework or other pieces, but the one I like the most is the one I so cleverly call Tree Lady. When I first drew her she looked like this:


Back-breaking posture with stylized swirls. Also, lack of arms. I was actually amazed that I still had this in an old notebook of art history notes. She's also the only recurring character I draw that doesn't have a story of some sort attached to her. Tree Lady is purely for drawing exercise and she changes a bit each time. At one point she had wings, which were then replaced with branching arms and spindly fingers, seen here:

Tree Lady's general posture stays the same, though a little less painful-looking each time. Never seems to open her eyes though. I think this was a plan for a clock I was going to make. I have a secret love for mechanical bits and pieces, so there was going to be moving gears and whatnot behind her. But then I just started rolling with her design and started making it into a drawing instead. Here's a more recent incarnation:

She's very unfinished here (note the classy lined paper) but I like the direction it's going in. I think I stopped short because of the realization that I wanted to put her in a more formal media like ink or watercolor. Or would that defeat the purpose of changing her a bit every time I depict her? Setting her in ink might make that particular design canon and that seems silly to do to her. The use of pencil is so casual to me that I don't have to worry about presentation or what is canon for her design. For instance, here she started sprouting another pair of arms. And her usual straight hair has picked up wind somewhere. Will she have legs next perhaps?

Ah well, despite my best efforts, I'm sure she'll work her way into something eventually. She always does.

Mini Masterpieces

When I'm feeling particularly off some days and want to do art but not think too much (especially recently with my week-long sickness), I usually end up doing miniature copies of famous paintings. I'm pretty sure this isn't how most people would think to use an art history degree, but it's fun and doesn't use a lot of paint. May also make me blind in the process. I primarily use my smallest brushes and a couple of pins for these.

This one, Thomas Eakins' Gross Clinic, is still in development, but it's been a fun challenge just because of the number of figures in it. I particularly like that Dr. Gross' forehead is a big shiny white spot in a somber and dark surgery room. I'm not usually a big fan of American art, but Thomas Eakins won me over when the professor talked about how he would write letters to colleagues about the ridiculously hard time he had making the jump from drawing to oil painting.

I can't help but be charmed by famous artists who shared the same problems even a hundred years before. Art changes and evolves, but now just as always, the art student must go through the same motions and frustrations.

A room with a view - part II

This is Wat Arun in Bangkok, Thailand. There are better and more photogenic views of it, but this picture stayed in my memory because of where it was taken: a squatters' home.

One of the professors, being in very good standing with the local community for his historic conservation work of the area, had a friend who took all of us on an unofficial tour through the back alleyways and shops. We passed a butcher's, a fish market, an ice maker, an impromptu garden, and a few other non-tourist places, eventually coming to the squatters.

Their home was a makeshift of aluminum sheets, boxes, and old advertisement banners, divided to give each their own privacy. The common area opened up to a small dock into the humble view of Wat Arun above. It was funny because we didn't actually see many of the squatters. They didn't care that we, a bunch of westerners, had just barged in and looked around. But they were there, definitely. I could hear them just casually chatting, occasionally a chicken would also pipe up. There were even a couple of beautifully cut beer can windchimes spinning happily in the breeze.

I thought it would be rude to take a picture of the inside of their actual home, so instead I directed the camera to the view to keep the memory. These people were not "sad" or "poor" in the very least. They had their home, their health, and the view. That was enough.

Midnight Soup

I've been sick lately so you get a foot:

This is when I'd usually wax philosophical, but due to a mixture of cold remedies and general laziness, the only thought that pops up is,

"Why the hell didn't I sharpen my pencils?"

It looks like someone stepped in some spaghetti. How this situation might've occurred, I don't know. I try not to question it.

Lesson learned: sharpen your pencils or you'll end up with drawings that confuse the hell out of you years later.

Kinnaree - Work in Progress

A kinnari/kinnaree/kinnara is mythical creature with the top half of a human, usually a woman, and lower half of a bird (often cited as "swan" in English-translated literature but pictorial evidence suggests otherwise) They describe themselves as thus:

We are everlasting lover and beloved. We never separate. We are eternally husband and wife; never do we become mother and father. No offspring is seen in our lap. We are lover and beloved ever-embracing. In between us we do not permit any third creature demanding affection. Our life is a life of perpetual pleasure.

In Thai mythology, they are akin to angels or muses, flying between the human and mystical world and being the very ideal of song and beauty.

Traditionally, they look like this:



Just getting to the base idea and pose here was more exhausting than I'd like to admit. I wanted to definitely keep the kinnaree's lower half as a bird even though contemporary trend has her sporting human legs more and more often. I could go on and on about the anatomy problems that comes with a woman with wings on her hips and bird legs, but let's just say there's a reason you don't see ostriches sit in chairs...

Waiting

Arrive 15 minutes early, but 30 minutes pass.

Phone call. Apology, just woke up.

15 minutes of impatient pacing.

Rummage around in purse, find pen. More rummaging, find receipt.

1 hour late. Drawing lines lines lines lines...

1 hour 30 minutes late. Still drawing. More frustration. More lines lines lines lines...

2 hours late. Arrival.

Back into the purse goes frustration, impatience, pen, and receipt.

Conductor

I was once told that I draw like a conductor.

Thinking back on my own gesture drawings, the comment was pretty on-mark. A baton has a lot of power in it, even though it isn't the actual producer of the music. It's direction and discipline. Held with a practiced, but flowing gesture.

I recall instinctive straight lines with small flourishes on the ends. Curls instead of points. Attempting accuracy without coldness.

I'm actually very jealous of those with musical talent. Notes and sounds can be universally understood and move people without the benefit of common language. So art became my instrument. I haven't quite fine tuned it yet, but I keep practicing and learning. Listening to those who came before me. The goal isn't a bigger audience, but to create a sound that resonates.

Artist Spotlight - Jung Kwang

"I never hurt anyone by my actions. I am a Buddhist mop. A mop is something that gets dirty itself but makes everything it touches clean."

Jung Kwang is a Korean Buddhist monk who practices what he calls "unlimited action." Unlike the traditional monk, he gambles, has sex, swears, goes where he pleases, etc. and does so without any sense of remorse or guilt. Literally having "no limits." Jung Kwang in no way encourages others to do the same, but says that in doing so he serves true Buddhism to remind others of their own habits and patterns.

He applies "unlimited action" to art as well, being described as in a sort of drunken trance, before suddenly descending upon the paper in a whirlwind of focus.

"Look at that line. It is the line of enlightenment. There is only one line like that in the universe, and it will never be made again. You cannot think to make such a line and succeed; it must come from having no limits to your action of painting the line."

I only happened to find out about Jung Kwang when I picked up a small, grey unmarked book "The Mad Monk" in the library (ND 2073.6 .Z8 J862). I'm very fond of his word puzzles. His intention to create a dialogue of actions was something I understood very well. It wasn't "good" versus "bad," just action and reaction. And if he stumps you, then you have something more to think about. If you answer back, then he smiles and starts again. He lives as he paints as he practices. If only we could all be so lucky.

"But Jung-Kwang, I'm only half-done."

"Which half? Quick, show me."

A room with a view

This is actually one of my favorite photos from my study abroad, even though you can't tell from just looking that it was taken in Cambodia. It's a window from a ruined temple taken from the inside. I remember just staring at it for a bit and realizing that back in the day, hundreds of years ago, the room must've had quite a lovely view out into the courtyard and surrounding forest. But even with time and neglect, the fallen ceiling stones and moss had created a new type of view which I would argue is just as beautiful.

Artist Spotlight - Zdzisław Beksiński

Beksinski was a polish painter whose work was often seen as grotesque but morbidly fascinating. He's been compared to H.R. Giger before, but I believe Giger's work to have a more metallic, machine feel to them compared to Beksinski's hyper-organic figures and landscapes.

Personally, I like that even though they have a haunting feeling about them, some (like the above) have a sense of humor or sometimes even a bit of hope. They're interesting themes to put together. I'm currently working on a series of mythological creatures, so maybe I'll draw on this style with the more horrifying ones.

When Beksinski was found murdered in his home, some of us joked that his creations had finally come to life and done him in. We laughed, but nervously.

...just don't visit his website before you go to sleep.

Charcoal

This drawing is two years old. It's been two years since I first picked up a stick of charcoal. Accidentally rubbed it on my nose. Gotten it under my nails.

Things may have been different if I hadn't... but regret was never an issue.

I met many wonderful, influential people along the way. Read graffiti on a Pompeian fresco. Stood on a mountain on the other side of the world. Rode an elephant. Learned when to press on. When to stop. Smiled.

I am very grateful.

The Artist's Dilemma

I've been put in the awkward position I'm sure most artists have gone through. A relative has asked me to paint a piece to put in their home. The usual questions are asked: What would you like? Certain colors important? What sort of style? Size? Placement?

The initial answers to all of the above were a resounding "I dunno. Surprise me."

Sigh.

We did eventually narrow it down to an Asian subject in a European style, inspired by the client flipping through an art history book of mine and seeing Delacroix's Algerian Women in their Apartments (detail below)


I've already gathered research materials, various pose sketches, etc. but still have the nagging thought in the back of my head: "I don't really want to do this." Making something specifically to put up on a wall has always been dreadful for me. The need for it to become a "pretty," finished piece.

To illustrate, just recently my sister came into my room and noticed one of my larger canvas. She promptly yelled, "Oh my god, what is that?!" It was a non-traditional self-portrait in which I was exploring a non-traditional muse of mine, the embodiment of Envy. Needless to say, he's not something you'd want to show guests. I like him very much.

That sort of expectation puts me off of being any sort of professional artist. I'd much rather be left to my own devices, having a chat with my canvas or questioning the validity of my pen's remarks. But unfortunately, I'm aware the world doesn't work that way. I will paint my client's wishes for a tiny profit and she will tell her friends. They, in turn, might ask me to do the same. And so on and so forth.

And hopefully, if I'm lucky, I'll have enough to get by so I can continue doing what I love. Such is life.