Showing posts with label drawings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drawings. Show all posts
Thursday, February 03, 2022
Thursday, October 21, 2021
drawing and painting practices
I've been busy today just practicing and trying to match colors - my perspective / depth perception is still going to take a lot more practice to get past my eyesight - which was a bit off before the cataract surgery but is even now more 'different' than it was before
tried to draw my daughter here with the blue jacket she likes to wear
This multimedia paper has a brighter white than the other brand, I am enjoying that
first attempt at painting a forest image a friend posted for me
I've saved them to the network so I can try again
Monday, January 13, 2020
January Journals 13
waiting room
They took another tooth out at the dentist today.
This is a bit of a vision I had while waiting afterwards.. of peach and green lines encircling and taking the pain out of my head and away and back around
Wednesday, January 08, 2020
January Journals #8
Did a lot more today at the tile worksite on very little sleep... time to sleep tonight soon and up and run again tomorrow This is a wonderful little tool for the price - we did more than 3/4 of our cuts at the tile jobsite the past few days with this, and it was nice to not be sprayed with water in 30 to 50 degree weather for every single cut.
Friday, January 03, 2020
january journals #3
Continuing in the vein of January journals.
A few months ago I sat down and shared ghost stories with a friend, and somehow he dredged this one back up from my memory about a place we used to scare each other silly with in my youth. I don't know if any of it is true, but this was the rumor and narrative we told around campfires and driving in the back of pickup trucks in moonlight back in the 1980s.
I am going to recount you a tale, a ghost story, from my youth. It is not one I have found written anywhere else, and I will tell it to you exactly as I remember it. It happened up in Northern Minnesota, on a farm out in Arbo Township. There were two brothers, named Capeleddy, and they both lived in a two-story house down on the bend of the road just before the Civil War. One of the brothers, the older one perhaps, went off to war, leaving his young wife alone at the house. The younger brother was working in a logging camp, but then he came home to the family farm while the older brother was away.
It was said that the young wife and the younger brother fell in love and had an affair. I could only wonder if they perhaps had wondered if the older brother was still alive after the war. They were living in the house when the older brother came back from the war. When he arrived back home he heard tales from other people of what had been going on out at the farm. He arrived with a loaded gun, and without asking any questions, shot his younger brother out in the field behind the house. He was supposed to have shot him through with a shotgun while the brother was defenseless. Then he went up into the upper story of the house and shot his young wife, as well. Then he shot himself. The tale continues that if you go by the Capeleddy farm late at night, especially in the moonlight, you are supposed to be able to see spirits walking through the upper story of the house and in the field back behind it.
But, it was always told to me as a child not to look too hard, and never to let the spirit of the older brother see you, because he would chase after you Washington Irving style and try to pull you into their misery and you would never escape. The building was completely abandoned in my childhood in the 1980s and falling apart. Part of the tale could have been told simply to keep children from trying to go there and falling through the floors injuring themselves. We talked a lot about the place but none of us ever set foot on it beyond the fenceline.
You could see through the upper stories at night that the moonlight really did shine oddly through the building. I'm sure it was just a trick of the light. I don't know if the story is true and the few times I ever tried to look up the name I did not come across anything. But, who knows? It could have just been a tale my older siblings made up to scare the pants off of me. But everyone did refer to it as the Capeleddy farm, and that there were gravestones somewhere on it. I do know that nobody ever lived there during the decade plus we lived a few miles down the road.
And a sketch in my Brooklyn Art Project sketchbook
The Alice theme continues throughout the entire book
A few months ago I sat down and shared ghost stories with a friend, and somehow he dredged this one back up from my memory about a place we used to scare each other silly with in my youth. I don't know if any of it is true, but this was the rumor and narrative we told around campfires and driving in the back of pickup trucks in moonlight back in the 1980s.
I am going to recount you a tale, a ghost story, from my youth. It is not one I have found written anywhere else, and I will tell it to you exactly as I remember it. It happened up in Northern Minnesota, on a farm out in Arbo Township. There were two brothers, named Capeleddy, and they both lived in a two-story house down on the bend of the road just before the Civil War. One of the brothers, the older one perhaps, went off to war, leaving his young wife alone at the house. The younger brother was working in a logging camp, but then he came home to the family farm while the older brother was away.
It was said that the young wife and the younger brother fell in love and had an affair. I could only wonder if they perhaps had wondered if the older brother was still alive after the war. They were living in the house when the older brother came back from the war. When he arrived back home he heard tales from other people of what had been going on out at the farm. He arrived with a loaded gun, and without asking any questions, shot his younger brother out in the field behind the house. He was supposed to have shot him through with a shotgun while the brother was defenseless. Then he went up into the upper story of the house and shot his young wife, as well. Then he shot himself. The tale continues that if you go by the Capeleddy farm late at night, especially in the moonlight, you are supposed to be able to see spirits walking through the upper story of the house and in the field back behind it.
But, it was always told to me as a child not to look too hard, and never to let the spirit of the older brother see you, because he would chase after you Washington Irving style and try to pull you into their misery and you would never escape. The building was completely abandoned in my childhood in the 1980s and falling apart. Part of the tale could have been told simply to keep children from trying to go there and falling through the floors injuring themselves. We talked a lot about the place but none of us ever set foot on it beyond the fenceline.
You could see through the upper stories at night that the moonlight really did shine oddly through the building. I'm sure it was just a trick of the light. I don't know if the story is true and the few times I ever tried to look up the name I did not come across anything. But, who knows? It could have just been a tale my older siblings made up to scare the pants off of me. But everyone did refer to it as the Capeleddy farm, and that there were gravestones somewhere on it. I do know that nobody ever lived there during the decade plus we lived a few miles down the road.
And a sketch in my Brooklyn Art Project sketchbook
The Alice theme continues throughout the entire book
Thursday, January 02, 2020
january journals
I had a lot of time to kill yesterday and I made a couple little journal entries in a new journal that I bought.
Here is the first one - very philosophical
The tree coming up in twisted branches, separating and reaching in two directions - then it decides as many living things do, to double back on itself, to change places. In doing so it may seem to some to lack direction but to me it is the essence of its beauty the assuredness of time spent alive, the faults and thorns and obstacles of life that make us bend with the wind and seek the light. The Beauty comes in the spaces we live in between all the certain things in life, and often, in spite of them.
And the second one - more fun, and hopeful, and silly.
Here is the first one - very philosophical
The tree coming up in twisted branches, separating and reaching in two directions - then it decides as many living things do, to double back on itself, to change places. In doing so it may seem to some to lack direction but to me it is the essence of its beauty the assuredness of time spent alive, the faults and thorns and obstacles of life that make us bend with the wind and seek the light. The Beauty comes in the spaces we live in between all the certain things in life, and often, in spite of them.
And the second one - more fun, and hopeful, and silly.
The New Year has come and we all expected it but down in the cracks of my psyche I hear these words ‘twenty twenty’ and am impressed we have made it this far. It seems like such a huge numbered beast, out in its pajamas drinking champagne – something larger than we imagined with punk rock hair but still down to earth, not totally unfamiliar, as it was once described in our childhood.
We have found the monster from where the wild things are and set him down toast and juice and the morning paper, eyeglasses set upon his enormous nose as he tries to do the crossword with a tiny pencil. I imagine myself stealing glances at him through my eyelashes as I cut up my eggs and add more pepper to the tops. I am making sure I am not dreaming, and wondering about, honestly, how badly he will tear up the carpet in the rec room dancing to the Eighties Flashback or how long it will be before he puts out a knee going down the garden stairs carrying too much to the table.
Have we really gotten so old? Is it just that now we are more free to imagine these things give them names and take the risks to bring them nearer to everyday life than to the true fantasy? It is much funnier, when they are near to hand, and much more impactful, as well. In a morning still fading with the sounds of fireworks in my ears, I have let my imagination wander freely. And it is out there in the dining room fondling crystal paperweights and unfolding all of the guest towels with abandon. It is only a figurative guest, but one that brings a smile to my lips as the eggs cool and the coffee begins to sputter. And for this, I think that perhaps twenty twenty and I will get along, if we can just get past hitting our heads on the doorframes.
Saturday, March 31, 2018
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Friday, June 06, 2008
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