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
So in the spirit of reportage,
re·port·age /r??pôrdij,?repôr?täZH/, many
of my post are drawings which address the features of note made during my near daily excursions from the sanctity of my home.
Some take liberties as to the manner in which I lay pen to paper, to wit: a stain on a floor that I interpreted to be a prancing bull elephant (I did in fact allow my imagination license to conjure said sketch). Others may find me doing my level best to depict, illustrate if you must, that before me with fairly faithful effort in the format most widely know as “realism” or often “naturalism”.
The following drawings would be just such examples, captured in the favored nomenclature of those crafty artists self described as “urban sketchers”. I count myself among the loose affiliation of this cadre.
First drawing, executed just this afternoon, is of a street light on Clark but several yards from my Lincoln Park apartment. En route to a much frequented coffee house with the aim of sketching a collective I’ve nicknamed The Chessnuts, (misspelling intended), I spied the very deteriorated concrete and rusted steel base of the previously mentioned streetlight.
Stopped dead in my tracks, an opportunistic nature insisted I whip out sketchbook & pens. I complied. Thus I present the entitled sketch ….. “chicago infrastructure “.
The Second drawing dates from January 2019 when, descending from the Metra platform at Clyborne and Ashland, I was awakened to a harbinger of Chicago’s aging public transportation superstructure. The rusting rebar bones of a crumbling concrete pillar were glaringly obvious. “Sit your arse down and start drawing young man!”, came the terse instruction. Swiveling my head to find I was “alone”, I complied.
The Third drawing was completed August 2015 whilst I sat in the air conditioned comfort of a pie & coffee shoppe in Evanston. What so captured my attention was the canary yellow steel braces that had been added to the concrete train trestle. Interesting choice of color as the bird in question was often brought in to mines to warn miners of the viability of the air quality or the lack thereof.
Please note in the detail provided in the Fourth image of yet another example of columnar decay. I suppose because the Romans, who made considerable use of concrete, built structures, many of which are with us still, more or less, like, some 17 to 20 centuries hence, we should rest assured as to the durability of these building materials and turn out attention to more, shall we say, “pressing matters”?
Well, prioritize as you most judiciously decide, I just thought you might like to know, vigilance has it’s place. Or reward. For it was none other than that old sage Ben Franklin who quipped,”A stitch in time, saves nine!” I have to give props to one who’s command of language resulted in such weighted eloquence delivered with extreme economy.
I have much to learn dear sir. Much to learn.
Drawn with fountain pen and Pitt Artist Pens on Stillman & Birn Nova series toned paper.
Hung out near closing time at the mega brew corporate cafe on The Mag Mile. Lu Lu, Raven, and Abigail pumping the evening crowd full of caffeine so they can make the club scene till last call. Pitt Artist Pens and a fountain pen on Rhodia Dot Grid notebook.
Back in court. Cook County Courthouse, Skokie, IL, the Honorable F. Andreou presiding, Officer Valenza of the Cook Co. Sheriff Police, Cook Co. Clerk BH. Went to cover a specific case, the defendant was still incarcerated and trial date got moved. Stuck around to draw and watch proceedings which were a combination of Zoom meetings and and one witnessed that actually appeared in the courtroom.
I logged into the Zoom feature so I could see close ups of the judge, defendants, witnesses, and counsel but my very expensive iPhone kept dropping the signal. As a result, didn’t get the best representation of Judge Andreou nor Clerk BH but the attending lawyers and Deputy Valenza all felt the officer was clearly identifiable. One lawyer comment that I even got his salt ‘n’ pepper at the temples.
“Shucks ma’am, that’s my job.” {Mic drop}
Draw with fountain pen, DeAtramentis Document Brown Ink, and Pitt Artist Pens on a Rhodia Dot Grid notebook.
Latest installment of The Java Knot. An online graphic novella in the making.
“Nabbed this dude while sketching last week on the Metra beneath the streets of Milan. Would hold the phone to his ear, then after a few seconds, look at it and dial or text something, then back to the ear again, whoops, only to pull it away and tap the keyboard briefly before returning it momentarily to his ear only to……. Crossed and uncrossed his legs. Bent ‘em under him. Pulled ‘em out as you see them, then, one out the other tucked behind, and then….. he was practically dancing.
Not sure if he kept getting a call center robot or was getting put on hold, or, or…or, fuck if I know.
And he did seem a tad flustered, {pissed, flummoxed, enraged, confounded} I mean, look at his features. Eyes scrunched up, furrowed brow. Looked like the blood was rushing to his face and shiny head but that could just be a sun burn. Truth be told, I was getting irritated trying to capture a moving target and perhaps, perhaps, I was doing that transferring thing my young, ”woke” therapist keeps warning me about. Clearly somebody was irritated. I was pretty certain he was audibly grumbling under that mask. You could see the muscles in his temple squeezing. Veins were most evident. And his jaw was gnashing about, making the powder blue folds on his mask flex like an accordion.
Somebody said “Gawd Dammit!!!”
Me.
It was me. Just shot out of me. Fortunately the mask I was wearing muffled it some. Plus it was a bit noisy on the subway car. Small talk, the constant PA messages and other ambient noises probably covered my English curse in the car packed with Italian speaking commuters. He never looked up, but the person to my left reading a book did slightly tilt their head in my direction.
Nice. Take no note of the vexed cat across the aisle working up a sweat and spewing jibberish into his mask. But I let go something like a verbal sneeze and I get the treatment.
That was it. I could just make out an utterance from my scarlet faced friend and it wasn’t Italian.
And then, I heard it ! “…jeón ce PaA!!!!”
And then, I heard it! “….???? ?? ???!!!!”
Fountain pen and Pitt Artist Pens on Clairefontaine Rhodia Dot Grid notebook.