I share a detail from a large, ungainly drawing just because I’m having so much fun — and why not. I am doing the 36 x 48 inch drawing as though it were a drawing in a sketchbook.
Lots of freedom is wonderful. The gestural scribbling is good exercise for the arms and shoulders. So, what’s not to love about this process on an amazingly lovely day where Mother Nature on the other side of the window seems to be cheering me on. She’s such a swell gal.
Another mountain showed up at the studio. This one arrived on a paper towel. You just never know. These mountain visitors adore my studio.
Mountains are ungainly large and difficult to move so if you want to move a mountain it’s helpful to break it into pieces and move it one piece at a time. That’s what I’ve done here.
If you’ve ever read this blog, you might recall this mountain scene which began with some small drawings including the one below.
I have obsessively drawn this modest mountain lots of times. And it has transformed into a painting measuring 30 x 40, but the painting is having an identity crisis, so I abjure reproducing it here at present. We’ll let the painting have some privacy for the moment.
Hope anyone reading this sometime blog finds topics of interest. May life treat you well. Be sure to notice all the visual splendor around you.
The earth has a slow process for creating mountains. My process is relatively slow too, but not as slow as Mother Nature’s process. The mountains I make on the canvas seem to emerge slowly, however I can happily report that so far none of them takes millions of years. That’s good news since I’m not convinced my patience would ever stretch to accommodate that timespan.
My mountains emerge across weeks of time. They begin usually as images I find and manipulate in photographic form, which afterwards get translated into a variety of drawings, and from the drawings at last a painting begins. The acrylic painting above measures 30 x 40 inches and began as quite a small drawing in color pencils (below). My mountain’s got a little tweaking still, but that’s all and it will be ready for installation.
How about you? How’s your patience managing? Does your patience keep pace with the demands made of it?
Crayon lines form a landscape of assembled scribbles, like a drawing made of brightly colored spider web threads.
When I was engaged in the thick of my Big Tidy Campaign of 2017, having read Maria Kondo’s book The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, I found things that had disappeared into life’s alluvia. I found, for instance, the photographic inspiration for this fanciful landscape at around the same time as I found the drawing itself, which I had started as only a vague sketch. Having the two things converge in time once more seemed like a token from the universe that maybe I should continue drawing — and so I did.
It was a great confluential good fortune, actually, because I had really loved the idea but I don’t recall now what event interrupted my work, causing the drawing to languish. With photo and drawing reunited, I could take up the theme once more. Indeed, I found the photo first and remembering the drawing thought to myself to have a new whack at it. But then soon after I also found the drawing. It measures 24 x 36 on beautifully woven, straw colored Nideggen paper.
I love the devil-may-care approach afforded by crayon drawing. It’s scattershot, a roll of the dice.
I love the dynamism of scribbled lines applied to a peaceful foggy clouds covering rolling serene blue mountains.
A place, a quiet land. If you go there, you find resonating silence. I imagine being poised for something.
The morning begins. Or perhaps the day ends? Can you tell the sunrise from the sunset at that horizon moment? Or is some context necessary. Do we know the meaning only relative to our own internal clocks? To our awakening or our soon arriving sleep? Or is there some absolute physics of aspects that defines beginnings relative to endings?
A small study of thick paint and bright arbitrary colors seeks to ponder these weighty entropic questions in its small colorful way.
I have wandered the hills and valleys, splashed in the lakes, swum with the fishes, and sung with the birds. I drudged through leaf litter in the dark forest and lifted my head to see the sky and watched it fill everything until all you could see was sky.
I had a traveling companion, an adventuresome Mockingbird who stands sentinel over one of my trees some mornings.
It was entirely mental travel. No baggage fees, no boarding passes, comfortable seating and plenty of free coffee and healthy snacks. The only passport anyone ever asked for was imagination. And we had enough of that to give the boarder guards a run for their money!