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.

Donna ai ka na, kore...

I can't quite remember when I realized I loved drawing. I had always enjoyed it as a hobby, mostly on the side of my notebooks while the teacher was speaking. But I treated it the same way I treated most things at that age, something I coasted through because I could.

Somewhere along the way, that changed. Sitting on the bed in my dorm room, I looked down at a drawing that had already been presented in critique... and there was the realization that it wasn't enough anymore. I could do better. Damn the grade and whatever pride and complacency I was holding onto, I wanted more. To draw more. Bigger. Faster. To fight and earn every inch of competency.

And for the first time, something was actually fighting back. I relished it.

That experience I wouldn't trade for the world.

Patience - part II

I was flipping through an older sketchbook for stuff to rework when I found this. I copied it out of a book about Thai painting (ND 1021 B64, page 31, as noted). Some nice lacquer work in there if anyone finds it.

The drawing itself though reminded me of how oddly patient I was with it even though it was done in pencil, taking a couple of hours. It's much more graphic than anything else I've done: flat, stylized, but elaborate. Haven't drawn anything like it since. But seeing it again now, I'd really like to do similar work with watercolor or ink. If I ever gain proper control over the two, anyway.

Patience

I wish I had more of it when it comes to drawing. Ink especially. Instead I explore in a rush, not sure what I'm looking for. The end result isn't very pretty, but I wonder if that matters sometimes.

...man, I miss pencils.

Shall We?

In memory of my favorite drawing pen.

MIA since May 2008, in Siem Reap, Cambodia.