Drawings, stories and stuff

Last week I taught a class on Sumi-e painting. I brought in some orchids and this freesia plant as subjects to paint. This style of painting is always so lovely and relaxing. It also makes a great workshop because it’s very accessible to people who don’t consider themselves very adept at rendering an image to “look like the real thing.”

I usually talk a little at the beginning of the class, explaining that the intention of this style is to capture the essence of the subject, rather than focusing on the mimetic details. I wish I had brought my camera to the class because they created some wonderful images. For now, I’ll just share this sample I completed during the class. Enjoy!

First strawberries of the season are here!

We just had an entire week of rain, which has left everything chill and soggy here in the bay area and blanketed the Sierras with snow. But down in southern California, they’ve had just enough rain and sun to start producing these beauties.

Hooray for summer fruit!

It’s that time of year when things get cold, wet and very green around here.

And no matter how many years I spend in this climate, I am full of delight and fascination when I see the way moss grows on EVERYTHING. I guess it’s a just a novelty for me; when grass sprouts from a rain gutter I stop and stare… thinking, Isn’t that awesome?

The smell of these apricots filled the kitchen this morning.

I love how summer fruits announce their presence through the nose. They are real head-turners: beckoning us to follow our nose toward this sweet, temporal ambrosia. Unfortunately, most commercial grocery stores just can’t carry the delicate ripeness necessary for a truly ripe apricot. When they are tender to the point of bruise-like soft spots is when they are most divine.

I have to admit, I’m a bit of an apricot snob. It’s mainly a result of growing up with an apricot tree in my grandparents’ yard. I learned to judge ripeness when the apricots were tender and squishy, like baby skin – their sweet little freckles smiling from a bowl in the kitchen. I remember going though handfuls of them, spoiling my appetite for dinner. But maybe I was just getting my fill so that later in life when the grocery store produce disappoints I can hold on to that sweet memory. But just this weekend I found some perfect apricots at Diablo Foods and snatched them up. Two of them went into my breakfast (yogurt, blueberries, and pecans) and the rest perfumed my desk as I painted them today.

When I draw or paint something I always come away feeling like I have a more intimate knowledge of the subject. Every curve, color, and spot has been scrutinized. It’s like the difference between reading a poem and memorizing it: once you’ve processed it in your memory new discoveries are possible. Suddenly, you understand this thing in a way that (maybe) no one else has. You almost fall in love with it: noticing the subject and wanting to draw it (the initial attraction), then discovering its deeper complexities (the long-term relationship). Am I over-romanticizing the fruit?

It’s just an apricot, I know.  But after spending a few hours studying and smelling these apricots I feel smitten.

I hope everyone makes room this summer to spend some time with summer fruit. I’m looking forward to many more sensory affairs in the months to come.

This gerbera daisy has such weird colors, he demanded I draw him. So, yes, I’m back to the colored pencils.  It’s something for the week. I’ve been very busy with work and I’m preparing to go out of the town for the weekend, but I drew this last night – because I told myself I would.

The following is a bit of writing I did last month; I’ve been waiting to share it. I think it’s appropriate as a reminder to myself and anyone else feeling the busyness of summer approaching. Read the rest of this entry »

I used colored pencil here and I’m rather pleased with it.

This is an intersectional peony, her name is Hillary. I love the different names for flowers.  There are simple, reliable names, like Hillary, probably named for someone’s daughter or mother. But more often new flowers are given absurd, silly names: names like Blue umbrellas, Tiny monster or Tomato soup.  I imagine it’s somebody’s idea of a joke, an excuse to say things like “My Black Negligee strangled out the Eskimo Pie; maybe I’ll get a Pink Teacup to replace it.”

I may have to start buying plants based on their silly names and write bad soap opera poems like this one:

Read the rest of this entry »