itesser ink: progress, uncensored

It's been a long day. It started early with a nice breakfast of eggs, toast, and tea with my husband, even though he's not feeling amazing.

Session four of talking to kids about drawing went pretty well. The mass of the class has been weeded down to six or so girls. While I'm sad that I failed to engage the ones who aren't showing up any more, short sessions mean that I have to give a targeted lesson, which has a narrow scope of interest. If you're not interested in learning anatomy, there's not much I can do.

Hm. Focus on the good things. To go along with the torso references I had printed in the handouts that I whipped up last night, I projected a few on the whiteboard and had a few of them step up and practice locating the skull, ribcage, and shoulder line of the references by tracing them on the whiteboard. There was also a cool moment of teaching how the collarbone indicates what someone's shoulders are doing.

The biggest struggle is getting them to find the sweet spot of sketching fast to achieve line control and drawing slow to achieve line accuracy.

I always feel like I'm drawing poorly around them. My demo drawings are usually done while I'm talking and also working fast because time is so limited. But I feel like they're awful and don't properly illustrate what I'm trying to convey. BLEH.

Got home, tried to restart my day by doing some reading that I hoped would turn into a nap. It didn't, but I found the passage of past continuous that I've been waiting for.

Waiting is the wrong word. It implies that I needed or expected it to happen, neither of which are true. Even if the whole book had passed without something like this particular scene occurring, I wouldn't count it as a waste of time. Shabtai's style is, without a doubt, an acquired taste. I'm glad I've acquired it, but even without me adapting to his rambling style, I would have seen the scene of Israel and his roommate's lady friend throwing a knife at the wooden board as beautiful. It is at risk of falling into my own personal trope of "every emotion leads to sex", and also does nothing to buck the trend of nobody in the book being both happy and faithful, but I still enjoyed it. After reading the passage once, I immediately thought "this needs to be a poem" and wrote down the concept and the page number on a sticky note.

Maybe I should have taken a stab at it then. I'm sure not in the mood now. But I give this rhyme some effort and time...

what moves?


Outside my window
small ones dwell
between the leaves
and in the well.

Sometimes they dance
while I do sleep;
more oft in dreams
I hear them weep.

They curse the caging
garden wall
each time winds bring
the wild's call.

I mourn with them:
I have roots, too,
but I can hide
from freedom's view.

There, I found the energy to double the size! And I avoided referring to the sky as blue! Twice the victory.

Between reading my book and reaching this point of stretching my brain, I discovered another season of CSI:NY on Netflix, sorted a couple thousand files, and eked out some pages of drawing in my sketchbook, including prelim doodles for one of those opportunities I've been considering.

This is not those doodles (but the bird in the upper right is one of my favorite things right now):



Oh, that reminds me to share this mind-blowing-ly bizarre music video.

Labels: drawing class, mini world, poem, scannies

Today was very stressful. Except for that part where I was running errands alone for a few hours. That was only slightly stressful. (The errand-running wasn't stressful, my overall level of anxiety was just lower.)

I have zero confidence in the classroom. But I'm going back anyways, at least tomorrow. =\

In a strange way, if I had made up my mind on what to teach three hours earlier, or six hours earlier, or one hour earlier than I did, it would not have lowered my stress level. The only reason I'll be able to sleep is because I ran out of seconds to second guess.

Now look at photographs (scans) of the good old days...




And listen to music of the good old times...

Not exactly feel-good poetry today, but the music it was written to [youtube] makes me feel good, in a cathartic, melancholy kind of way. Don't watch the video. It's really creepy (huge eyes on real people) and is not at all what I imagine listening to the song.

The Longest Night

I think of the date we never took,
the time we never went to France.
The day was hot
but night came quickly;
the sun spied us sitting together
and could not set fast enough.
He pulled the warmth down into the sea.

You saw my sweater,
offered to hold it.
I wanted to be so immodest.
I wanted my shivers to draw you closer,
my sweater forgotten.
But I wrapped myself to stay warm.

It was the longest night.

I remember the cafe we dined in
and the story I told you there
Both were tinged with longing for the Old World.

The walls were painted with nostalgia
and I saw the matron
standing by the door
Lost in thought, lost in memories
lost memories.
Her hair looked like and exhausted sunrise,
the sunrise in my story.

I spun a tale about a place I'd never been
but we both longed for.
Your eyes, your smile
took us to the castles, courtyards, queens.
The danger, the intrigue,
the gardens with tame swans.

I said words
you gave them light.
Our soup grew cold.

It was the longest night.

*marks it as "revisit more"*

Labels: drawing class, excuses, mini world, poem, scannies

Today marks seven years of bloggity goodness. Three thousand three hundred and sixty six posts spread out over two sites and eleven projects. Wow. Nearly 2500 of those were on LiveJournal. Take that as you will.

Here's that very first post, no editing or alteration. *cringe*

12:10 AM, 30 November 2001

*sigh*. . . for the past two days... I have beeen haunted. Maybe the story starts before that, but the "haunting" is what has occcupied much of my mind since then.

It's a litttle strange to walk downstairs in the midddle of the night, turn on a single light, and seee someone you hardly know sittting at your kitchen table. I had beeen reading East of Eden, as my boook report was the next day, and I decided to make myself something hot to drink, hoping it would keeep me awake a bit longer. So... my book was laying open on the counter, I flippped the light switch, and there he was, as casual as can be. He said to me, "You said you wanted to talk to me. So talk." It was a litttle freaky, since his appperance was alll in my head, but I answered. The words started, and I told him some of the thoughts in my mind. I don't think if this person had actuallly beeen there he would have stoood for it, but the version in my head merely sat and listened.

Freaky, I say. And that's not the end of it. This acquaintence of mine didn't go away. In a chair in my rooom, in my truck as I drove to schoool, walking me to classs, nearby as I sat to eat lunch...

He's not a ghost, and I don't get creeepy feeelings when I "seee" him, but it stilll seeems right to calll it a haunting. Or else I'm totallly crazy.

L&L,
me

*raises tea mug* Here's to another seven years.

Labels: bonus post, memories

Great day of drawing today. It's about all I did for six or seven hours. The rest of my time was spent in a haze, trying to recover from the mental exertion of drawing for such a prolonged period of time. I'm sadly out of practice with the marathons.

Here's one page hot off the scanner:

A Public Service Announcement

When the world sends a message
it will use a postage stamp
and deliver through the mail,
unless you are a tramp
avoiding the whole system,
in which case it sends a fax.
But when the world sends a message
it's not important, so relax!

A few awkward lines directly from my period of demi-absurdism.

Labels: mini world, poem, scannies

This is the last thing I must do today, and there's no particular reason I can't do it now.



Drawing has been really hard today. Sometimes reaching it involves pushing through a wall of stress, but today getting to that place wasn't good enough to dissolve the tension. And ugly output didn't help either. I'm taking the rest of the night off and taking tomorrow to be a day to really sink into my sketchbook and work some kinks out. I'm actually looking forward to it.

The list of things to read won't get any smaller, but it's not so important. They'll still be there Wednesday.

Stress Fracture

This is me
taking my time
This is me
changing my mind
This is me
closing my eyes
This is me
have no surprise.

Self barricaded
against the riot sound
floors and doors and windows
busting open all around
I cannot stop the menace
keep the howling wolves at bay
I won't ever buckle under
but I will run and run and run away

Another old one with some minor tweaks. Like using scotch tape on a broken window mirror. I wish I could imagine a worthy application for these emotive snapshots. All that comes to mind is storyboarding a wordless comic to go underneath, depicting some scenario that would justify this particular brand of melodrama.

Labels: poem, poetry, scannies

Hm, I need to use that title sometime. *makes note that turns into a long detour*

I mentioned IndieFeed a week ago, but today Scott Woods gave my ears a transfusion, so I'd like to give a link-out to the former's feature of the latter that went out today.

The poem being performed at a link from that link is called "Queen Takes Black Knight". It weaves a solid story at the beginning, but what really made an impression was the imagery at the end. Carefully chosen words move the piece from the details of here and now to ideas tinged with fairy tale and archetype, while keeping it grounded.

I may be trading one vice for another when I let my flickr trawling fall to the wayside and subscribe to a dozen more podcasts, but at least when I listen to podcasts I'm free to draw. There's little else I can do! Podcasts and drawing are a good match. Let's wrap up this post so I can get back to it.

Observing

Sometimes in life
my pulse slows

It happened before
and now again
the familiar sensation

my pulse slows
the branch snaps
I carve too deep
more strong, more steady, more slow

I find my robes
layers of comfort
smelling of beast and death
of instinct, survival
and ancestor memories

satisfied, sleepy
nod to the fire
my pulse slows
slows

slows

This has 0% content in common with the poem I picked earlier today. The poem I picked out, one of the earliest I considered salvageable, was a lot worse than I expected once I got it to my workspace. I liked the opening lines and the theme of November being a transitional month, but it was really a shoddy application of language.

"Observing" is brand new, inspired by the inner mood that led me to pick out "A Lady's Song" (the poem you do not see). If I did it right, I shouldn't need to say that inner mood includes things like a heavy sleepiness, being full of tea, and bundled against the relative chill outside.

Labels: poem, poetry, scannies

Top of the pile today, the high holiday of consumerism for our religion of capitalism, is making art with kids.

Last Thursday was my second day in the classroom talking to 5th graders about drawing. In the 30 minutes I have, it's hard to slow down and really teach. As exhilarating it is to get out there and impression young minds, I tend to worry I'm doing it all wrong.

I spent the first hour and a half putting together individual sketchbooks for the kids




And bound a few of the extras as proof-of-concept that, should a kid exceed the bounds of their first sketchbook, I would be able to collect multiple volumes together in a single compendium



Stapler binding for the win!

The first page has chatter about drawing in the form of Frequently Asked Questions [img]. The last page has suggestions for How and What to Draw [img].

What I wanted them to take away from the lesson was the value of quick, light lines. I demonstrated by doing rough gestural drawings on the whiteboard, and instructed them to do four in pencil and four in pen, to try different mediums. When our time was up, I collected their sketchbooks and spent another ninety minutes giving individual comments and suggestions via sticky notes.






This coming week I have Monday and Tuesday available, we'll see what my mom offers me. It's pretty clear to me that some time with basic anatomy would be well spent, I'm just not sure how to do it. Reference photos and sketching each one twice while talking about it? My mom suggested that I give more time for individual demonstrations to sink in.

I think my main talking points will be

+ Identifying the torso-shape
+ Head/chest proportions.
+ Doing those things in life drawing

The handout will also include notes on shoulders and spines, plus some fresh drawing mantras. (ie: "draw what you see, not what you think you see")

More about how awesomely productive today is, plus your daily poem/sketches after I make all those things happen.

Labels: bonus post, drawing class, photos

Oddly enough, today ends on a note much more familiar than I have hummed in a week or more. (Drawing!)

On the topic of positive thinking (or not doing so intentionally, and still having things to smile about), two opportunities have come my way in the last two days. One is short term and you'll hear about that next week. One is longer term and more tentative. The latter involves trying my hand at screenprinting. Two exciting projects I don't want to jinx.

Here is a brief photo essay about the 30 hours I was gone. A few more in the Flickr set










In the interest of keeping things chronological, in this gap of time I wrote today's poem.

Foraging

Merlot in hand
I stumble
into the rain-soaked grove
guided in circles
by birdsong

I marvel
at fading remnants
of the citrus crop

when high heels
betray me
mud on flannel pants
chilly earth to skin
I abandon
my search for yesterday's
memories

I follow the rooster back
to pick up
where last night left off

Some commentary below




More here at Flickr

The above poem is a high context daydream based on reality. Odd relationship with linebreaks in this one. I wish I could end that one line with "yesterday" and somehow indicate the possessive right before "memories". Or is that trite? What keeps me from shortening it to merely "yesterday" is sentimental attachment to the context that inspired the poem.

Last of all, a good old fashioned scannie:

Labels: excitement, mini world, photos, poem, projects, scannies, thanksgiving, the ranch, trips

You see, this post was written and put up about 12 hours late, and this post (the one you're reading now) was written directly after that and will be posted 12 hours later (if the post-scheduling feature goes well).

Normally this space is used to ramble about something on my mind, or the events of the past day. All I could write about Wednesday's events thus far is the stress of needing to get a bunch of things done and wanting to drive down to San Diego as soon as possible. Although taking time to write on any theme right now would be counter-productive.

Nightcap

The ice is in the freezer,
The rum is in the car,
But I'm here with you, baby,
I don't wanna go far.
Your sweet kiss so exciting,
Never flat or stale.
I never want to leave
My dearest ginger ale.

The silly poems are most likely to come out right the first time around, I think. While I probably wrote that while alone in my San Marcos room, it reminds me of something that happened with Reagan, probably within weeks of penning that poem.

He lived in a rather rural area in San Diego county and the most nearby place we could go to get food and hang out was an Indian casino/hotel/resort. We liked that it was open all hours of the night because sometimes I got out of work at 11pm and had to drive nearly an hour to his house.

One day before we were officially dating we bought Thai iced teas at a noodle shop in the casino, and I realized that I had a big bottle of rum in the trunk of my car. We walked out to the parking garage, topped our drinks off with rum, then wandered around the casino for a few hours, slightly tipsy. Sitting on the wet grass by the abandoned pool and talking about life, the universe, and everything is one of my favorite memories from that period of time.

Here, a 10-minute digital speed painting (along side reference photo). Amy took it on a recent trip to Italy. Probably one of my favorites of the 600 pics she and Kazu brought back.



Alright! Should be back to regular late-night posting on Thursday. Lots to catch up on now, and there will be even more then!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Labels: memories, poem, poetry, speed painting

There is no particularly good reason that I've taken so long to do a make-up post this morning. I've been up for at least three hours. I think I'll blame it on staggered muti-tasking.

Posting didn't happen last night because I've been falling asleep unexpectedly early. Perhaps all the sleep lost when I had my cold is catching up with me.

Last night Reagan and I spent some time together at the bookstore. It was almost like a real date. We shared coffee and a brownie, talked about drawing, did sketching from life. Two things I did on my own: look for a recipe for martini cookies and read Poetry East. (No luck with the cookie recipe.)

But the literary magazine was something of a revelation to me. I liked a lot of what I read (flipping through at random), and didn't get annoyed or sick of it before it was time to leave. Granted, it might have only been twenty minutes at the outside, but it was still an experience that made me want to sit down with a notebook and really study the things I enjoyed, making note of the imaginative devices and phrases.

Don't tell Reagan, but when we came home and watched the last bit of No Country For Old Men, I dozed off. Fortunately it's on the Netflix website.

I thought that after a nap I'd be able to get up and do some writing and/or drawing, but that didn't happen. Here are the two very last un-posted scans I have.




And something appropriate for yesterday:

April, 2006

one way ticket to love
the blood through my heart
only has one way to flow
when you look at me
only one place for me to go
I drop everything
and I cry
and I sing
and I buy
my one way ticket to love

Labels: excuses, movie, poem, poetry, snooze sketch

No! Now I want to go back to drawing!

While I didn't pull out any of my workbooks today, I moved closer to being back in the swing of things and moving beyond the comfortable internet triangle of LiveJournal, gMail, and Twitter.

My burgeoning affection for One Night Stanzas encouraged me to visit the site directly and peek at updates before my official post-sickinesss reading of it through my feed reader. (The official reading is when I study a post and make notes about how it influences and inspires me.)

In that cursory reading, I noticed that the most recent featured poet, Simon Freedman (link might be broken?), said in his featured poet interview that he has been writing since February of 2008. He's collected a surprising (to me) number of publications since then and made me think about the beginnings of my own writing. I didn't do it for competitive comparison, of course, just to practice how I'll answer the question when the time comes.

I think maybe this month of revising and reposting archaic works of mine is an attempt to give a concise answer to "when did you start?". I remember writing poetry as long ago as 7th grade (1997), but it was obviously dreck by my current sensibilities. Taking time now, at the beginning of this new attempt at poetry, to revitalize old scraps that have some value to them, is my way of tying up loose ends. By renovating the relics, putting a more mature eye to them, I say "Now is a new age, and you are part of my now."

This isn't simply a matter of spring cleaning and deciding what to keep, what to put in deep storage, and what to sell at the yard sale. I'm coming back to an abandoned home and seeing what can be salvaged after the war, the flood, and the animals that came through and nibbled on things.

Here's something that didn't break down too much. Didn't have too much time to break down. If I ever become a singer/songwriter, this will be among the first songs I work on. In 3/4 time. (First two thirds are revised, last third is all new.)

Today's Kiss-on-the-Wind

It's six in the morning, it's cold and it's raining
I don't want to get up for work or for school.
I reach for my laptop, it needs no explaining
the blogs, the news, and sweet email from you

You've got a star in my gmail inbox
shining away on my internet view
you bring a light to dark, empty hours
days are so long but your words pull me through

Stuck between overdrive and out-of-gas stalling
I stumble around and it's not even noon
The phone is ringing, I ignore the calling
I re-read your letter, can't write back too soon.

You've put a star in my gmail inbox
twinkling there on my internet screen
you bring a light to dark, empty hours
in morning and evening and times in between

Get home late, it's dark out, my dinner is cold
Been days since I've seen you, feels like a full year
Although reading your words will never gets old,
You whispering to me's what I want to hear

You've lit a star in my gmail inbox
It's all I can see on that internet site
you bring a light to dark, empty hours
And If you come over we'll stay up all night!

:)
All of these are at least a month old, but they'll have to do. Hopefully tomorrow will be an amazingly productive day so I can get posts for Wednesday and maybe Thursday ready ahead of time. We'll be out of town visiting family and I won't be taking my laptop.

Labels: mbear, poem, poetry, projects, snooze sketch