Sweets

Just to prove I haven't been slacking off lately, here's the dessert table I was working on for the LAS Charity ball this year. The Lao American Society is basically a culture group to support and conserve Lao heritage and provides enrichment events and scholarships. My mom and I help out once in awhile for decorations and desserts.

Food can also be art, yes?

One of the plates. Pictured are some hand-dipped chocolate covered pretzel rods, coconut cakes, and mini fruit tarts. The presentation is a mini Lao khan toke and folded banana leaves. The flowers are gumpaste.


Also provided were chocolate dipped strawberries, mousse cups, pudding cups, chocolate dipped marshmallows, mini chocolate cakes, purple rice with coconut topping, and petit fours.



Super secret presentation trick: Use some old cardboard boxes or pails to get the height or shape you want. Then cover liberally with fabric. TADA!!


Simple fondant covered yellow cake. Rolled wafers on the edges, with some gumpaste flowers for decoration. I was going to do some piping on the top edges, but it was 3 am and I wanted to sleep.

The table was refilled three times and then completely gone by midnight.

Here's a recap of the event by another blogger, Boon Vong: http://www.b-vong.com/journal/?p=5463

And LAS's official home page: http://www.lasga.org/

Spotlight: Vagabond (Takehiko Inoue)

Vagabond is a Japanese historical fiction comic about the life and travels of Miyamoto Musashi. I know Japanese comics have a weird connotation of either being super girly (magical girls and talking animals) or for man-children (ninjas vs. pirates), and yeah, I read those too, but Vagabond is really a special work of its own.

The story is superb. It's primarily about Miyamoto Musashi and his journey to become "Invincible under the Sun." Why? Well, that's also part of the journey. As he matures, he realizes what it really means to be such a man. The sword fighting is brutally realistic but balanced with the characters' thoughts on how their lives revolve around it. This isn't a "save the world from evil" kind of plot. It's just people living how they can in a very rough time in history. Every character is genuine with their own history.



The art is wonderful, no exaggeration. It's the sort that makes me both sad with envy and jealously motivated. It's starts off mainly using pen but later moves into more and more brushwork and washes. Words can't do it justice, so you'll have to settle for these pictures or looking up more for yourself.


It's very philosophical for a comic. The funny thing is, I felt like a lot of what was being said about swordsmanship and life also reflected art. Although that may not be a coincidence since Musashi demonstrated great artistry in his later years.

One of my favorite parts like this was Musashi trying to cut through a snowman with a twig. After some reflection, he trusts in the tool rather than his own conceptions. "There... I feel it in my fingertips. The weight of the twig." His movements start to change and at that moment he remarks, "I can't help but smile" as he cuts through the snowman.

I've had that feeling before, probably discovering a new way to hold a brush or such, so seeing it reflected in such a way was a surprise and a joy. I also had to smile.

Monsters

I really like drawing monsters.
But sometimes I wonder if some ȏ͈̘͙̠̞ͪ͛̆̑ͤ͐̕f̟͚̗̌̾ͩ͂̇̈́ͅ ̦̂̆ͤ͛m͉͎̼͉͉͒͑̄̾͋̚ẏ̭̘͓̗̲̜̋̂̋ͭ͂͡ ͍̖̩̪̬͖̏̍́w͉̄ͮ͒̈́ͦ͂o̯͖̮͔͇ͬ̌̎͛͆ͮ̀ͅr̞͈͚̓ͭ̅͋͋͠ͅk̡̫͙̈͐ͪͩi͆͐͗̅̊͛ͫ̀͟͏̸̥s̶ͣ̒ͬͧ̿͒̇͏͔͖ ̜͎̟̞̺̽ͫ̌̚͟ͅc̨̛͖̠̭͚̖͙̱ͮͣ̒̎ͪ͠o̟̝͖̙ͤ̑̓ͥͯ̐͐ͬ͡m̷̸̛̥̺̫̻̦̓ͦ͆ͅi̡͖͔̤̺̞ͨ̅͗̒̒̚̕n̡̺͛ͯ͑̐g̵̨͕͕̜̹̤̪̍̅̆̊͗̄͊̚ͅ h̶̦͈͕̻̠͍͚̣̰̜̣̺̰ͤ͑ͭ̉́̂ͣ̈̒́͜͢o̻͈͓̜̫̜̘̹̘ͣͣ͌́̃̃͊̄̅́̀̀͡͝m̛̻̗̤̰͈͎̲̠̦͚̪̯̅ͥ̋̈͌͌̋͐̓́̏̊ͣ͡ę̛̛̳͔͚͍͎͍̠͔̜͐͐̄̌̾̀̀͝ ̅͆͋̓̏̒̈́͐ẇ̢̟͍̬̫̞̺̙̼̤̻̈́̉̓́͟i̷̡̖̙͖̜̺̥̜̮̳̹͕̦͌͗̉͆̓͂͋̔̀͢͜t̴̫̫̣̥͚̙̞͖͓̋̔̊͛ͤͤͫ̓ͥ̀h̵̩̰̝̥̰̲̭̬͍͍̼̼͍̣̲ͧ͑ͨ͒̄̂̇̔̀̋̓͆ͫ̔̕͢ͅ ̛̘̞̭̻̣͙̙̮̇͋̏ͣ́͠͡m̧͕̟̼͈͔̼͕̖̜̳̲͖̭̌̈́̐ͫ̌̋̍͐͑͒̀͞ͅe̵͎̦̜͎̹̦̰͎̯̎̊̈́͂͋ͤ̒ͩ̌̏́̃͊͂̀̔̂͢ͅ

Smile

I drew this a few years ago when I was in a weird time in my life, trying to figure out my priorities. One thing consistently came up. Perfect strangers had told me I looked sad or upset. A man even jokingly offered a quarter if I would just smile once. I took the hint. So this drawing was done as a visual manifestation of what I needed. Something simple, but important.

I wanted to smile more.

Smiling does come easier now, with friends, family, and memories. But looking at this drawing as I am today, I realized something.

The most genuine smile always comes from "that feeling."

I don't know what to call it. Love? Seems too romantic. Passion? Too strong. It's a more of a deep, slow-burning affection. A sincerity. A warmth that starts in the chest, bubbles up and out into the arms, the hands, the fingers, and flows out to the paper. And sometimes just enough reaches the lips, which curl into a quiet smile. If the pen is being particularly clever that day, it might even turn to laughter.

That feeling is what brings out the greatest smile, and the greatest drawings.

Which is why I think most people I know haven't seen it, my genuine smile. The things that draw it out are mostly art and music, things I tend to cultivate alone, lest I be labeled the aloof artist in a social setting. And to be honest, many of my friends and family aren't on the same wavelength as me with this sort of thing.

The result is me, pencil in hand, smiling to myself.

Is it a little lonely? Yes. But it's a step in the right direction.

Envy

"Make her with her face covered by a mask of fair seeming; show her as wounded in the eye by a palm branch and by an olive-branch, and wounded in the ear by laurel and myrtle, to signify that victory and truth are odious to her[...] Make her heart gnawed by a swelling serpent."
- Leonardo da Vinci on the personification of Envy

Da Vinci had like ten more attributes to her but the mask, branches, and serpent are the ones I recall easiest. Envy is my first muse because genuine jealousy was really what made me want to get better at art. It's hard to be surrounded by artists in both textbooks and studios and not think, "I want that. I want to do that. I am willing to dedicate years of my life to be able to do that." So I picked up a pencil and started.

One Percent

"Just hold the image in your head and-!"

There's a story I really like about a goodhearted young man who is often mistaken for a rich and cultured heir, but he and his family are actually very poor. They often eat plain rice for meals, but to cope with it in a fun way, they imagine what food they would like to eat really hard then take a bite.

I like to think I do the same thing with art. Every adventure I've had, every book I've read, every piece of music that has ever moved me. I keep them close to my heart, right beside all the artists I admire.

So when it's time to draw, I recall all those things, hold them tightly, and then-!


If I can even put out 1% of the feeling stored away, it'll be worth it. So I keep drawing.

Wasuremashita

I've been having a bit of a writer's/artist's block lately. My stuff tends to have a narrative or illustrative bend to it; so naturally what I end up doing is bouncing back and forth between imagining a story and trying to draw it out. This works out pretty great.

Except for the times it doesn't.

So when that happens I drag out my big box of old sketchbooks and leaf through the stuff I forgot for inspiration.


Ethan and Virgil again. These guys have been around for a long time. One of these days I'll commit to doing a series of drawings about their adventures to really flesh out the story. I've been itching to do one of Death's parlor since forever ago.


The unnamed couple. I imagined this story probably back in high school. If you know girly comic tropes, this should sound familiar: girl falls into a fantasy world, meets guy, guy helps her get back home, they fall in love at some point, etc. Shenanigans happen. I don't think I ever came up with an ending for this.


...What?

Cartoons are awesome, don't even lie.

Anyway, I think I'm past my block now. Not only did I find a goldmine of ideas to rework, I just came up with a neat side story involving a medical intern and what he finds in a box.

A day in the life of Ethan

The day he died, specifically.

Man, I just realized I've never really drawn Ethan happy. Now I feel bad. I'll have to work on that.

Dialogue

At 5am and with a broken internet connection, I had a moment of stubbornness, mixing boredom with exhaustion. Refusal to sleep, but too unfocused to read. So instead I picked up a pencil. Admittedly, it made for some lovely lines.


I really missed drawing, it was like reuniting with a friend. Natural smiles and comfortable conversation. The pencil was friendly and boldly declared decisions it was confident in, soft spoken in places it wasn't. And even then, it could retrace those unsure places once it had more information.

It felt more like pulling out lines that were already there, they just hadn't been readily visible yet.

But there still has to be some restraint. If all the possible lines in the world were drawn at once, it would be like living in a enormous tangle of knots. All visual noise and no discipline. But if there were no lines at all, the resulting void would be a terrible, silent bore.

In the end, lines and space are best kept in constant contrast.

Although I must admit to enjoying high tension between the two. Only existence and absence have had a longer rivalry.

My Space

My work area on a good day. Given the amount of drawing, painting, and sugar work I've been doing to get away from my job stress, I can assure you it does not look like that now.

General organization:

• Inspiration and unfinished pieces go on the wall where I can see them.
  
• "Finished" work and things I don't want to look at anymore go in the corner on the floor.
  
• Underneath the desk on the right is a box of magazine clippings, fabric swatches, and other knick-knacks I hold onto for future inspiration and reference.
  
• Under and on the left is a pile of old sketchbooks I thumb through for recycling ideas.

Not shown: in the basement, I have a gallery of early work that covers the entire walls, including a wall of just self portraits. Everything there is too rough to do much with now, but too nostalgic to just roll up and put away. So everything just hangs there like a forgotten ode to the beginning.

Just looking at this photo reminds me that I need to glue my dragon head back together and catch up on my embroidery. Art keeps me busy, but at least it's the kind that cathartic.

Ai deshou?

As someone who has spent much of their time changing faces to suit the situation, I forget who I am sometimes. When that happens, I just go back and remember what makes me smile. Because those memories are constant and at the root of my being.

My love, my passion.

So here is one facet of my love: old books.

Old books are a combination that I absolutely adore: history and the printed word. Before internet, before computers, before even movies, this was our way of spreading information and entertainment. This was our advancement.


I bought this book some years ago, with very little information on it. The online seller put the bare minimum up about it, probably due to English not being their first language, but the pictures sold me on it. When I first opened the package, it was love at first sight. The book was so fragile, I was almost afraid to touch it. Every page is thinner and more delicate than newspaper, almost fabric, like a dollar bill that has gone through the wash too many times. The whole book itself sags under its own weight if not supported properly.


I decided to get more information about it. The problem was I only knew a moderate amount of Japanese, and even then the cursive script of this era was unreadable to me. So I decided to use what sources I had: my professors. Luckily for me, I was taking World History at the time with Dr. Lutz. She agreed to look over the book for me with her coworkers. Interestingly, even though I told her what to expect, she still seemed delightfully surprised when I brought it in.

She brought it back a couple of days later, resealed in its original mailing package inside an archival box, along with small packet of information. Dr. Lutz told me that her coworkers were amazed by my book and pointed out certain highlights in the information packet. Apparently it is an issue of Kinmo zui Taisei by Tekisai Nakamura and Shusui Shimokobe from 1789. A sort-of encyclopedia with short descriptions and an accompanying illustration.


These are the only pages scanned because I like to handle this book as little as possible. Just peeling apart the pages is nerve-wracking because every crease has been there longer than I have been alive. It has a few holes from where small bugs have eaten through as well, but those in itself are amusing because you can trace where an insect burrowed through five pages decades ago.

How did I get this book?

Ebay. For only $100.

The internet is a magical place.

Unfinished Portrait

During my last semester in college, I was doing a series of Da Vinci inspired paintings and copies for general practice. This unfinished portrait was a detail of the rightmost angel in "Virgin on the Rocks" (the later version now in the National Gallery in London) seen here:


But while working on it, I realized the painting looked very much like my mother in her early twenties. Just to confirm it, I brought it to my family and they agreed. It's not like I carry around a youthful photo of her, so I'm not sure what triggered in my subconscious to make it this way. It remains unfinished to this day because now I'm just not sure what to do with it.

Do I correct it enough to finish the practice? Or do I run with the idea and paint a sepia-toned portrait of my mother as an angel?

Seems oddly Freudian...

Kinnaree - WiP 2

A new year is ushered in and all I get is stress. Yay adulthood!

I kid, really, but mostly I've been surprised by how little time I have to myself now. Most of the day goes towards work and with that means less time for art. Any time I do have for art I genuinely have to fight for. And I do not lose fights, thank you very much.

Last year I was working on a kinnaree painting but eventually hit a dead end with it. Recently though I picked it back up to rework the idea. Now this is the first panel of a triptych, the composition of which will be borrowing heavily from this Hiroshige print. I'm still working out their anatomy since I have to maintain a balance of realistic bird-legs while keeping them graceful and dignified. Looking at them and thinking "fat duck" kind of defeats the purpose.


I haven't really set a deadline for this, but rather I was hoping the triptych layout would force me to work on landscapes and objects more than the figure. We'll see how well that turns out.