Been traveling a bunch lately and adding some from here, some from there as I sit at the airport gate. Four different airports comprise this sketch.
Pitt Artist Pens on a homemade sketchbook using mulberry paper.
The month’s gathering of head studies. So, what DO you call a bunch of noggins?
A bushel??
Fountain pen and Pitt Artist Pens on a #Rhodia Dot Grid notebook. #uskchicago
Gosh, I miss life drawing. I draw from life on a regular if not daily basis. But to draw the human body, uncovered, to really slow down and take an intense accounting of this marvel of the world. To see the structure and the substructure while capturing the play of light over the form. In the past two years I’ve barely drawn the nude and have stopped attending live sessions. I gave the virtual, online live session a go but there is a subtle spatial difference of drawing from a screen, a two dimensional surface filmed from the singular perspective of a lense and standing before a figure. When drawing live, in the same space before a model, I feel the negotiation between my two eyes. The very tricky play of parallax which creates the jostling of binocular vision.
And the craft of translating the third dimension onto a plane. Dealing with the slow fatigue of the model holding 15 and 25 minute poses, where the greater the difficulty of their pose, the more the wrestling match with gravity creates settling of the body, and the not always slight twists which may ease the strain of the pose but tease the artist to accommodate new profiles and morphing negative spaces. I miss it and I love it. All that and the accounting of lights nuanced play over the form. Again, each minute shift means light edges and slips to new real estate.
I enjoy looking at this marvel that is us.
Every sleek contour, every wrinkle, crevice, bulge, scar, wart, hollow, hump, jut, droop, dimple. The heft and hang, the flab and fold, the sheen and shade, where there’s hair, where it’s spare, the stretched and gathered, the glint of light on pout or snout or knuckle or nail.
Ah and skin. That marvelous organ which wraps and conceals all that writhes and wriggles beneath. At times dry and cottony, other times it more resembles satin or warm alabaster where one can literally see light penetrating it’s surface.
And the extraordinary dance between the hand and eye, and the mind and the heart that is the craft of drawing. The Thesaurusian challenge to describe as simply as possible or with as wide an alphabet of marks as one may, the same features again and again and with tireless return, again with no loss of delight.
Know thyself.
I’ve been missing it.
Â
Drawn with a variety of fountain pens – usually with water proof pigmented ink or water resistant inks some of which are dyes, white grease pencils -aka White China Markers, my trusty Faber-Castell Pitt Artist Pens, on the rare occasion a color pencil, on various papers.
Â
Sometimes a drawing just doesn’t seem compelling, or finished, or is enough of a disappointment that you just want to go back into it. A self portrait I did bugged the hell outta me and then, as I sat down to have lunch, I was looking over recent work, including the aforementioned selfie when my lunch arrived. The grilled salmon. I had also been looking a friend’s drawing of a captured warrior who would surely be tortured. The rest just fell together or conjoined.
Â
Drawn with fountain pen and Pitt Artist Pens on a Stillman & Birn sketchbook.
Â
Stopped into the corporate coffee station at North & Wells wherein pitched battles of chess are in heated swing and sway. The observant among you will notice the gent on the right is playing with the black chess pieces but appears to also be holding a black pawn as if he captured one of his own. The reason being the games were very rapid and would quickly conclude then these two combatants would switch pieces. So as I sketched they were alternating who opened. Anyway, their intense postures didn’t vary much throughout their set.
Fountain pen and Pitt & Artist Pens on a Stillman & Birn sketchbook.
 
