Today, though there isn’t any art this time around…and I apologize for missing this last couple of Sundays, as I didn’t have anything I thought worth while to show at the time…today is an extra special day! For it was the day that my boyfriend was born in the year 1972, and my nephew was born in the year 2000! HAPPY BIRTHDAY GUYS!
So, despite having to work all day, as my boyfriend is scheduled to do so, we’ll be going out for sushi come dinner time; my treat to him as it’s something we both enjoy immensely, and can never get enough of due to the lack of funds. I can’t really remember the first birthday present I ever got him, but I do remember our first Christmas together. He’s the first boyfriend I ever brought home for the holidays, and perhaps the only one that I was overly excited to introduce to my parents. I can’t say all of my past boyfriends were bad boys, but out of all of them this one is by far the sweetest and more family sociable.
He loves kids, and when my sister brought her three kids to our parents’ house for Christmas, I knew just who to sick the older two on. While he and my niece and nephew played at one end of the house, Kermit and I were hanging out at the other end. She was startled at how quiet it was, to which I put my arm around her shoulder and wished her a Merry Christmas. “Do I get to take him home with me?” She asked, to which I told her no, because I needed him down here with me.
That Christmas, my dad took him out to gift shop for me. Admittedly, there was little my boyfriend knew for sure what I wanted, and simply got me a couple of books wrapped with an envelope stating that he owed me one LARPing event.
What is LARPing? Live Action Role Playing. Yes, I used to run around in costume and beat people up with foam weapons. But finances got tight, and I’ve had to stop playing. My boyfriend knows how much I love to play make-believe, come up with storylines and pretend to be someone I’m not. So, he made up the IOU so that someday I can play again. I’ve been saving it for an event a couple of friends want to take me to up in the state north of us.
I racked my brain for nearly a month trying to figure out what to get my boyfriend for Christmas, and his best friend who knew him longer than I kept asking me for advice as well. I think I finally got through to him to just simply give the man gift cards, since there isn’t a whole lot of inexpensive things my boyfriend wants. However, I had the luck of figuring out what to get him after “I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas” came onto the radio that year. Since my boyfriend started obsessing over it, as we had never heard it before then, I went out and ordered him a CD with the song on it, as well as an illustrated book that had the lyrics, and topped it all off with a stuffed hippo I saw down the street from where I worked at the time. He plays the CD every Christmas at work now, and the hippo is on a gargoyle post/shelf thing that I have on the corner step of the stairs. A part of me wishes I could get Abby’s farting hippo from NCIS, as I think he would love that for the fact that it’s a prop that coincides with our favorite character in the show.
My sister has named my nephew Scooter on her blog, so I will be calling him that here as well. I got to meet him when he was four months old, when my sister brought him to CAMP so our dad’s friends could meet him. I remember when we went to the airport to pick them up, and Kermit handed him over to me to hold for a moment, it was the most awkward moment. When it comes to babies, I can’t hold them for anything; I sign of my lack in motherly instinct. But I managed long enough for them to take a picture of us, and my sister soon took him out of my arms.
There is a picture of have of him and my other sister lying on the couch. It’s a profile of her, with him lying atop of her chest as he faces the camera. The lighting is soft and warm, but it’s still a rather dark photo. Truly beautiful in showing a maternal glow within my oldest sister. They’ve tried to replicate the photo with the children that followed, but they don’t compare to the original.
Scooter is smart, vibrant, energetic, and quick to learn. His first love was trains, soon followed by tornadoes and later by the Titanic. His brain soaks in information he reads, hears, and watches like a sponge, and he’ll pour it all back out to anyone who will simply listen. My dad bought him his first train set, which we’re in the process of getting fixed up after his younger brother got a hold of it. I even remember talking to Scooter on the phone one time, telling him about the shop my boyfriend and I work at, and how it was filled with model trains and had a layout and all sorts of things I know he’d enjoy. “Mommy! Mommy! Aunt Cere says there’s a store that’s full of trains! We have to go so we can go see the train store!” I forgot to mention about all the layouts the train club has up at the train museum…but I don’t see them visiting me anytime soon.
Here’s hoping your Birthdays are special and filled with all the joys of spending time with your friends and family.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Self Portrait
The assignment was to draw a self portrait using conte crayons and a mid tone paper. Black and white without any blending. I practiced just with a pencil and sketch paper to see if I could get the dimensions right, considering how much of a perfectionist I can be when it comes to drawing in a semi-realistic form. But I didn’t like the way I looked. I blamed it on my hair, and thus paid $50 at some place I had never been to that gave me a really fun hair style. Some years after it grew out, I went back to it because my friends at the time insisted that it screamed me. It screams me only if I’ve got the money to upkeep it, which I don’t.
This self portrait is from the Winter Quarter of 2002, for my Drawing 2 class. Honestly, I hate drawing myself. No wait, I don’t mind drawing myself in a not so realistic form, as I did it for three years in a short lived web comic, but I don’t like looking at myself for an extended period of time in front of the mirror while I attempt to replicate the image before me. Hence why I ended up getting the hair cut. I couldn’t get the longer hair style to look right in my drawings. That, and the southern heat and humidity was driving me insane. With as thick as my hair is, and how unused to the southern weather as I was, I desperately needed a change to help me feel a bit cooler.
This self portrait makes me laugh though. There’re a lot of good memories connected to it. It’s the class where I met this one guy who out of the blue came to over to me and declared that he wanted to be my friend. He was a film major, and used me in a lot of his projects in one of his first film classes. First one dealing with telling a story using photographs, one of which I have, while another was a music video, which I luckily have a copy of. Looking from the video from when I was 21 to now shows me how much my face has thinned out. And I still am told that I’m too young to know where there’s a good liquor shop around town.
My friend was hilarious as he complained about how he didn’t see the need to learn how to draw the human figure. Basically, he didn’t want to take a figure drawing class because it meant having to draw over weight men and women. Not that all of the models were over weight, but the idea of looking at the naked figure of someone that was completely disgusted him. I want to think he got over this particular fear once he finally took the class, but our friendship dwindled once I moved out of the dorms. My fondest memory of him, though, are the times he and I spent with another friend playing Frisbee in their dorm building court yard.
But he wasn’t the only one involved in the memories that this portrait reminds me of. My teacher that assigned this piece required us to have it 80% of it to be done by the next class. It was an over the weekend project, and knowing how much I disliked drawing myself in the mirror I immediately set to work; just to get it done and over with. By the time we had our first critique, I had more than the 80% that was required, and only needed to make a few adjustments with the background before the next class. My teacher was impressed, and kept pointing out all the different things he was trying to drill into our heads. What they were, I can’t remember specifically; but what sticks out the most when I think of him was his love of lines and scribbles. His theory on drawing and art was anti-rendering. No blending, nothing overly realistic. You made a mistake, then it’s what made the piece better. Never erase the mistake, or else you’ll never remember where you made it to begin with. Compared to the teacher I mentioned in my first post that told me I needed to clean up my work, this drawing teacher was my hero. Despite the times where I want things to look beautiful and perfectly clean and well rendered, this teacher showed me that being sketchy and messy was just as beautiful and worth while.
I cannot thank him enough for that.
After the assignments had been handed in and graded, mine was returned to me with a note of apology. And as soon as he was done passing back everyone else’s projects, he returned to my desk to apologize in person. It wasn’t for the grade, as I received an A+, but it was for the fact that my portrait was on the bottom of the pile. So by the time he got to mine, the wall he had to display our works was already filled. He felt that it did my piece a grave injustice not to be displayed. Honestly, I wasn’t too concerned about it, and consistently told him that it was ok. A roommate of mine some quarters later was pretty sure she saw an enlarged version of my self portrait hanging up in that class’s building. I’m guessing he found a way to make it up to me.
This self portrait is from the Winter Quarter of 2002, for my Drawing 2 class. Honestly, I hate drawing myself. No wait, I don’t mind drawing myself in a not so realistic form, as I did it for three years in a short lived web comic, but I don’t like looking at myself for an extended period of time in front of the mirror while I attempt to replicate the image before me. Hence why I ended up getting the hair cut. I couldn’t get the longer hair style to look right in my drawings. That, and the southern heat and humidity was driving me insane. With as thick as my hair is, and how unused to the southern weather as I was, I desperately needed a change to help me feel a bit cooler.
This self portrait makes me laugh though. There’re a lot of good memories connected to it. It’s the class where I met this one guy who out of the blue came to over to me and declared that he wanted to be my friend. He was a film major, and used me in a lot of his projects in one of his first film classes. First one dealing with telling a story using photographs, one of which I have, while another was a music video, which I luckily have a copy of. Looking from the video from when I was 21 to now shows me how much my face has thinned out. And I still am told that I’m too young to know where there’s a good liquor shop around town.
My friend was hilarious as he complained about how he didn’t see the need to learn how to draw the human figure. Basically, he didn’t want to take a figure drawing class because it meant having to draw over weight men and women. Not that all of the models were over weight, but the idea of looking at the naked figure of someone that was completely disgusted him. I want to think he got over this particular fear once he finally took the class, but our friendship dwindled once I moved out of the dorms. My fondest memory of him, though, are the times he and I spent with another friend playing Frisbee in their dorm building court yard.
But he wasn’t the only one involved in the memories that this portrait reminds me of. My teacher that assigned this piece required us to have it 80% of it to be done by the next class. It was an over the weekend project, and knowing how much I disliked drawing myself in the mirror I immediately set to work; just to get it done and over with. By the time we had our first critique, I had more than the 80% that was required, and only needed to make a few adjustments with the background before the next class. My teacher was impressed, and kept pointing out all the different things he was trying to drill into our heads. What they were, I can’t remember specifically; but what sticks out the most when I think of him was his love of lines and scribbles. His theory on drawing and art was anti-rendering. No blending, nothing overly realistic. You made a mistake, then it’s what made the piece better. Never erase the mistake, or else you’ll never remember where you made it to begin with. Compared to the teacher I mentioned in my first post that told me I needed to clean up my work, this drawing teacher was my hero. Despite the times where I want things to look beautiful and perfectly clean and well rendered, this teacher showed me that being sketchy and messy was just as beautiful and worth while.
I cannot thank him enough for that.
After the assignments had been handed in and graded, mine was returned to me with a note of apology. And as soon as he was done passing back everyone else’s projects, he returned to my desk to apologize in person. It wasn’t for the grade, as I received an A+, but it was for the fact that my portrait was on the bottom of the pile. So by the time he got to mine, the wall he had to display our works was already filled. He felt that it did my piece a grave injustice not to be displayed. Honestly, I wasn’t too concerned about it, and consistently told him that it was ok. A roommate of mine some quarters later was pretty sure she saw an enlarged version of my self portrait hanging up in that class’s building. I’m guessing he found a way to make it up to me.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Painting Aprons
My boss decided to have us wear aprons at work, to help distinguish us from the students to those who were new to the shop. And trust me, we got all sorts of new people seeing as we’re a tourist town as well as a college town. When she told us we could decorate our aprons, I had started painting a phoenix on mine to use up some paint I didn’t like, while my boss doodled on hers. After a while, she got sick of her doodles and contemplated using a different apron. I offered to paint a locomotive on her apron to cover up the doodles, but instead she had me paint on a whole new apron. As seen below!
Though it is mentioned above in the title of this journal, no prints will be made of this particular piece, as I’d rather not be sued for copy write infringement. Comments are always welcome.
Now, these images were taken before I washed the apron. This is as clean and crisp anyone’s ever going to see them ever again. Like I said, I’m not a big fan of the paint I used, for more than one reason. But considering how well it did after I washed my apron, I thought it would hold up just as well with my boss’. I was wrong. However, I think it still looks nice with the faded style to it. ~shrugs~
I started with the locomotive above first. I worked from a photograph that was on the cover of a Southern Railway book. ( MBI Railroad Colory History's Southern Railways by Tom Murray. ) Because I was using someone else’s photograph, I am unable to charge my boss for the project, as that would be copy write infringement. Not that I would want to, I’m glad to make her happy with little things like this. ^_^ She was, however, really nice to let me use the paints from our stock free of charge.
The Southern Railway is my boss’ favorite line. And she insisted on having the logo above specifically with the bar beneath it. The Southern Crescent logo seen below is her favorite passenger line. Originally, it was requested to paint the logo below on the locomotive; however she changed her mind and decided to put it on the side pockets instead.
Below is the logo for the shop I work at. 20 years ago, it first opened as a hobby train supply store. But as time went by and the ownership changed, it soon evolved into a duo train supply store as well as an art supply store. With the growth of SCAD ( Savannah College of Art and Design, which I am an alumni of. ) my boss saw the benefit to catering to the increase of students in town as well as to the train buffs. Nicely enough, the architect students find uses for the train scenery that we keep in stock, such as the trees and gravel, and as of a year or two ago we started making supply kits for first year students’ fundamental classes. We’re the only art store in town that gives the students a discount, and we’ve gotten many thanks for our efforts and courtesy.
Though it is mentioned above in the title of this journal, no prints will be made of this particular piece, as I’d rather not be sued for copy write infringement. Comments are always welcome.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
The Day after April's Fool.
Today is my sister’s birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY BIG SISTER!
Her blog name is Kermit, as you might have seen her comment on my first post here. She is the middle of three sisters, being four years younger than one, and six years older than the other, being me.
Ever since Kermit started her blog, she’s been wonderful enough to write up beautiful posts about her sisters on their birthdays. So I decided to give it a try, just to show how much I love my middle sister. Sadly, there won’t be any art in this post, as I hadn’t prepared anything and I realized that any of the sketch books I used that had any art pertaining to my sister are currently in storage. That’s a place I don’t plan on returning to until I’m ready to add more boxes to it, or am ready to weed more crap out of it.
ANYWAYS! Let’s try to keep on track today!
For as long as I could remember during my early youth, Kermit was always there for me. She would play doll house and Ewoks with me, along with some random video games we had for the Commodore 64. She taught me how to make my bed, wash my laundry, brush my teeth, wash my hair, vacuum, dust…a lot. Kermit was more like a mother to me at random points of my life. When Dad was away for work during the week days, I went to my sister for help with my homework. She encouraged my drawings, much like she’s doing now with her own daughter.
And Kermit wasn’t that bad at drawing herself. I’d scan it if I had it here now, but since I don’t, then I won’t; but she drew in one of my first sketch books a picture of a little blonde girl in a blue dress, along with a little story of a brown haired girl in a green dress who went off to find her father. At least, I think that’s how it went. Without it in front me, I’m afraid I can’t remember too well. I just know that I would try so hard to mimic her pictures, because I wanted so much to be like her. I wanted to draw like her, sing like her, enjoy the same music as her, as well as hang out with her friends with her, just like she used to play with mine with me. Though I don’t share her love of jazz music, she is the one that got me interested in Simon & Garfunkel, and I give her credit for the eclectic collection of music I enjoy today.
Kermit was the only reason I tolerated going to church for as long as I did. She has a beautiful voice and I miss being able to listen to it every week. When I later explained this to her husband, he thanked me for sharing her voice with him, and letting him steal her away. I’m still trying to get Kermit to send me a copy of her singing one of the Christmas Songs from Midnight Mass, just so I can listen to her voice again.
It was funny at times, as this little old lady came up to me one day to tell me how much she loved Kermit’s singing. When my sister came out after service, the lady went up and told her everything she had told me, and commented on how I always waited patiently for Kermit to come out afterwards. Thus, she proceeded to ask, “Is she your daughter?” “Well sure! I had her when I was six years old!” My sister responded with a good humored grin. She and the lady had a good laugh before we finally went home.
When she started going to college, she always planned to have me come visit at random points; whenever I had a week vacation and she was still in classes, she’d have me come visit her and hang out with her friends. I adored it, and with her being so close to NYC, Kermit, our other sister, and Dad took me to see some Broadway shows as well.
Things got confusing after she graduated, and I can’t say I know all of the complete details; only because I tend to be in my own little world and am usually the last to know anything that goes on in the family. Together, we are quite dysfunctional. However, I did know that Kermit was getting married, and despite the tension brought on about her choice in faith, churches, ceremonies, and so on; Dad promised to put me on a plane to Utah so I could be there for the wedding as soon as we found out when it was. That didn’t happen.
And nothing was really explained to me until I wrote Kermit a letter about some books of hers I had. I mentioned briefly about my reaction to the wedding notice we received in the mail, and that no matter what everyone else thought or said, I was really happy for her. I mean, seriously. I know that we disagree on several things, but the fact that she found a faith as well as someone in that faith that makes her happy? How could I not be happy for her? She’s my sister! She deserves to be happy in any way she deems suitable for herself, just like everyone else!
The letter she wrote me in response, to this day still makes me cry. The genuine love in her words, the insistent apologies for forgetting how old I really was, and the asking for forgiveness; she already knew she didn’t need to ask. I was overjoyed to learn just how much my sister loved me, how she saw me, and to let her know that I loved her as well.
These memories are what I hold dearest to my heart whenever I think of my middle sister. I hope her family realizes just how wonderful a person she is, and that they never take her for granted. She is a wonderful mother, and an equally as wonderful sister. I should know; I consider her as both. I hope that even if she doesn’t get the gifts on her wish list, that her birthday is still filled with love and joy.
Her blog name is Kermit, as you might have seen her comment on my first post here. She is the middle of three sisters, being four years younger than one, and six years older than the other, being me.
Ever since Kermit started her blog, she’s been wonderful enough to write up beautiful posts about her sisters on their birthdays. So I decided to give it a try, just to show how much I love my middle sister. Sadly, there won’t be any art in this post, as I hadn’t prepared anything and I realized that any of the sketch books I used that had any art pertaining to my sister are currently in storage. That’s a place I don’t plan on returning to until I’m ready to add more boxes to it, or am ready to weed more crap out of it.
ANYWAYS! Let’s try to keep on track today!
For as long as I could remember during my early youth, Kermit was always there for me. She would play doll house and Ewoks with me, along with some random video games we had for the Commodore 64. She taught me how to make my bed, wash my laundry, brush my teeth, wash my hair, vacuum, dust…a lot. Kermit was more like a mother to me at random points of my life. When Dad was away for work during the week days, I went to my sister for help with my homework. She encouraged my drawings, much like she’s doing now with her own daughter.
And Kermit wasn’t that bad at drawing herself. I’d scan it if I had it here now, but since I don’t, then I won’t; but she drew in one of my first sketch books a picture of a little blonde girl in a blue dress, along with a little story of a brown haired girl in a green dress who went off to find her father. At least, I think that’s how it went. Without it in front me, I’m afraid I can’t remember too well. I just know that I would try so hard to mimic her pictures, because I wanted so much to be like her. I wanted to draw like her, sing like her, enjoy the same music as her, as well as hang out with her friends with her, just like she used to play with mine with me. Though I don’t share her love of jazz music, she is the one that got me interested in Simon & Garfunkel, and I give her credit for the eclectic collection of music I enjoy today.
Kermit was the only reason I tolerated going to church for as long as I did. She has a beautiful voice and I miss being able to listen to it every week. When I later explained this to her husband, he thanked me for sharing her voice with him, and letting him steal her away. I’m still trying to get Kermit to send me a copy of her singing one of the Christmas Songs from Midnight Mass, just so I can listen to her voice again.
It was funny at times, as this little old lady came up to me one day to tell me how much she loved Kermit’s singing. When my sister came out after service, the lady went up and told her everything she had told me, and commented on how I always waited patiently for Kermit to come out afterwards. Thus, she proceeded to ask, “Is she your daughter?” “Well sure! I had her when I was six years old!” My sister responded with a good humored grin. She and the lady had a good laugh before we finally went home.
When she started going to college, she always planned to have me come visit at random points; whenever I had a week vacation and she was still in classes, she’d have me come visit her and hang out with her friends. I adored it, and with her being so close to NYC, Kermit, our other sister, and Dad took me to see some Broadway shows as well.
Things got confusing after she graduated, and I can’t say I know all of the complete details; only because I tend to be in my own little world and am usually the last to know anything that goes on in the family. Together, we are quite dysfunctional. However, I did know that Kermit was getting married, and despite the tension brought on about her choice in faith, churches, ceremonies, and so on; Dad promised to put me on a plane to Utah so I could be there for the wedding as soon as we found out when it was. That didn’t happen.
And nothing was really explained to me until I wrote Kermit a letter about some books of hers I had. I mentioned briefly about my reaction to the wedding notice we received in the mail, and that no matter what everyone else thought or said, I was really happy for her. I mean, seriously. I know that we disagree on several things, but the fact that she found a faith as well as someone in that faith that makes her happy? How could I not be happy for her? She’s my sister! She deserves to be happy in any way she deems suitable for herself, just like everyone else!
The letter she wrote me in response, to this day still makes me cry. The genuine love in her words, the insistent apologies for forgetting how old I really was, and the asking for forgiveness; she already knew she didn’t need to ask. I was overjoyed to learn just how much my sister loved me, how she saw me, and to let her know that I loved her as well.
These memories are what I hold dearest to my heart whenever I think of my middle sister. I hope her family realizes just how wonderful a person she is, and that they never take her for granted. She is a wonderful mother, and an equally as wonderful sister. I should know; I consider her as both. I hope that even if she doesn’t get the gifts on her wish list, that her birthday is still filled with love and joy.
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