into everything as fire
blended with pure sky
I attempted the portrait of my cousin this morning. I kind of like this. Unfortunately I painted it on the board of a sketchbook rendering it “unprofessional”. Oh well, they did tell us in art school to always use good materials.
A rough sketch. It felt freeing to paint larger and directly with paint rather than drawing in pencil and then painting.
The zombie version in case you forgot.
I posted this sketch of my cousin and his family a couple of weeks ago.
I started putting color in and doing the faces. It looked so bad that I printed the original photo, cut out the faces, glued them on and proceeded to totally mess it up.
They look like zombies. And they are a very cute family. So I messed up and I graded myself: F.
A stream of consciousness drawing. I just started drawing figures and then gave them all the same face.
A drawing of a woman I work with. I started in pencil but then found a Pilot Rollerball at work and went over it. It kind of resembles her but my husband (with whom I work) didn’t know who it was. Should I show you the photo? Sure, why not.
Yazmin is Dominican and I like her huge eyes and lips. I will have another go at this at work tonight. The night hours are working out well to do some drawing (hope my employers are not reading this however).
My daughter challenged me to a timed painting of a photo I had just taken of Birdman. It was a cool challenge. Never tried it in my life!
Here’s Birdy with the painting. That’s my husband’s Navajo rug in the background. It’s been hanging on that bannister for years.
Finally a little sunshine here but more snow coming I heard : (.
You are less
than I remember,
and more than
I superimpose myself
like a mask of light.
I’m not really sure this satisfies the dVerse prompt to write a letter, but I immediately thought of the stitching and Photoshop layering I had done using some childhood photos, trying to make a composite of is and was.
Another self portrait: from a photo of me at around age five (?). I had cut a chunk out of my bangs. I still chop off my hair sometimes when it gets too long and then have to get an emergency appointment with a professional.
I added a few things in the background that were iconic to me. The zither had sheets of music that you put under the strings and plucked the corresponding strings. The little jukebox (all busted up now) played a song when you put a penny in. The white horse was a piece I got at some junk shop; I remember my mother being amused that I spent my babysitting money on a little object like that. I had a happy childhood.
Here’s the zither and the little jukebox. The white horse is lost to history.
My daughter painted in watercolor, no pencil sketching first. Although this is simplistic I think it caught her mood. She didn’t hate it which is something. So glad it is Friday. I hope everyone has a good weekend. Weather is looking promising here in NJ.
Wherever I look I find photographs. Boxes of them in closets, albums randomly scattered about…there aren’t many of my father’s mother Dora. I tried to catch how happy they looked in the photo:
I keep gravitating towards the old photos and black paper with colored pencil and Neocolor. Trying to be more diligent about sitting down and drawing every day.
This was before I put a background behind Dora and Joe. I like it a little better like this.
From of killed but spaces why? morning reply no what.
Where? more it when? tomorrow killed has and.
Black another questions wear gun color of sorrow and again just;
Remain will the empty.
I wanted to acknowledge Las Vegas. The dVerse prompt to ignore grammatical rules seemed a good way to reflect our country’s continued loss of syntax. But when I went to write something it just seemed I had nothing more to say. A quick look through the MTM archives counted at least 13 previous posts related to gun violence. Remember the shootings in Kalamazoo in February 2016? That’s what the black grid above was done for.
The two faces above? Victims of Dylann Roof in 2015. And below, cops killed while sitting in their patrol car in NYC in 2014.
Gun of again another why? color more empty is sorrow remain.
Of killed killed;
From what and the just black spaces;
Has and will no it questions shots unfilled.
Morning where? when? Tomorrow
Every day 88 people die by gun violence in the United States.
To make the poems above, I took what I had written for Kalamazoo, and plugged it into the Dada Poetry Generator. I did it about 15 times; all the results were pretty accurate as reflections of my jumbled feelings, and I chose two to use in this post. You can see the original poem here.
Jimmy Kimmel said everything I want to say and more in his monologue the other night.
Charlotte Bacon, 2/22/2006
Daniel Barden, 9/25/2005
Olivia Engel, 7/18/2006
Josephine Gay, 12/11/2005
Ana M Marquez-Greene, 4/4/2006
Dylan Hockley, 3/8/2006
Madeleine F Hsu, 7/10/2006
Catherine V Hubbard – 6/8/2006
Chase Kowalski, 10/31/2005
Jesse Lewis, 6/30/2006
James Mattioli, 3/22/2006
Grace McDonnell, 11/4/2005
Emilie Parker, 5/12/2006
Jack Pinto, 5/6/2006
Noah Pozner, 11/20/2006
Caroline Previdi, 9/7/2006
Jessica Rekos, 5/10/2006
Avielle Richman, 10/17/2006
Benjamin Wheeler, 9/12/2006
Allison N Wyatt, 7/3/2006
Rachel Davino, 7/17/198
Dawn Hochspring, 6/28/1965
Anne Marie Murphy, 7/25/1960
Lauren Russeau, 6/8/1982
Mary Sherlach, 2/11/1956
Victoria Soto, 11/04/1985
once again we ask:
why? no answer. no words left.
a prayer: have mercy.
All art from previous posts on the occasion of death by gunfire in the news.