Some end of the decade urban sketching.
Working with various fountain pens filled with DeAtramentis Document Black Ink and Pitt Artist Brush Pens in Stillman and Birn Gamma Series sketchbook. #draw #urbansketching #stillmanandbirn #fountainpen #deatramentis
I enjoy watching people at work. Over the last dozen years or so of going to life drawing sessions, I’ve turned my attention to the artists as they ply their craft. While not completely still, their movements are generally gradual enough to catch the gist of their posture with the added challenge of frequent adjustments. An artist standing at an easel may back off with some frequency but even those seated upon the bench know as a horse might need to shift to relieve pressure or numbness. I draw with ink so should the artist move significantly I either begin a second drawing or incorporate the new position right on top of the drawing in progress in the manner of pentimento. I’ve dropped into life drawing sessions across the country, but the primary place I work on my nude figure drawing chops is the venerated Palette & Chisel. Some of these artists I’ve worked alongside for years such as my friend Misha, who hails from Minsk, Bielorussia where he studied art as a young man. A wonderful subject in his own right he is very dogged in his approach taking glimpse at the figure before working with a long practiced surety. Others rapidly look back and forth between page and subject. One in particular, Bodo, very actively tilts his head left to right while quickly looking up and down and working alternately on different sections of anatomy making him one of the more challenging to capture a likeness of. Mary Qian, seen in baseball cap and in the final drawing, frequently looks thru a pair of binoculars to help her with detail.
U7
Medium used: Faber-Castell Pitt Artist Pens, various Fountain Pens, Platinum Carbon Ink, deAtrementis Ink, Pentel Brush Pen, Tomoe River Paper, Hahnemühle sketchbooks, repurposed ledgerbooks, Stillman & Birn sketchbooks,
In the cold grey of winter it’s appealing to work from nudes modeling the warm glow of the flesh.
Drawn with fountain pen, Platinum Carbon Ink, F-C Pitt Artist Pens on Tomoe River Paper. The last 2 were drawn with graphite. » Continue Reading…
Flew to Italy on Xmas to join my beloved Giamila and her family on the Ligurian Coast at the beautiful town of Sestri Levante for eight days and then travel together by train back to spend 5 days in her hometown of Milano.
Giamila, her mother, father, brother and sister-in-law had already taken a train to Sestri Levante, so when I flew in to Milano, I had to hop on a train that took me into the main train station, Milano Centrale where I then boarded another train for a two hour plus ride to join up with them. As I speak no Italian, Giamila taught me a couple phrases to aid me in finding the right train. “Scuzi, dov’é il treno per La Spezi”?
Being that I hadn’t switched to a European SIM card in my cell phone, if I headed off in the wrong direction, it would have required some serious focus on the part of a traveler who didn’t sleep on the 12 hour trip from Chicago to Italy to get back on track.
All worked according to plan and Giamila met me with huge smile and warm embrace at the train station of a glorious seaside town whose views, baked goods, and seafood were off the charts.
The above drawing is an imaginary landscape drawn during the train ride, the very smooth train ride I might add, back to Milano.
Drawn with Faber-Castell Pitt Artist Pens, fountain pens, Platinum Carbon Ink, in Hanemühle, Tomoe River Paper, and Stillman & Birn Nova Series sketchbooks.
Once more into the breach! Memorial Day. A sober day of remembrance of and for those who sacrificed for a higher goal. Devotion. I’ve spent that day for the last 15 years at the Palette & Chisel Art Center’s 12 hour Life Drawing Marathon, drawing nude women and men, of all shapes, sizes, persuasions, and color, along side artist of similar variety, grateful that I live in a society that has made an effort that we may openly practice the arts and sciences. That the study of the human body can be conducted without shame. That I am in a room peopled by members of my society that decades ago, would not have been able to share this moment, openly practice this craft together, or use the same restroom. Unfortunately, that privilege cost people their lives.
Just this week, two people died in an attack on a Portland public light rail. They died defending the civic and human rights politicians are quick to extoll, one of them was a veteran. A white racist suprematist murdered them when they stuck up for two teenage girls he was verbally assaulting for living in “his” country.
It’s simple thing I do on this special day. I devote myself to a craft I believe in. A craft practiced by millions and millions over the centuries. One that has educated, enlightened, informed, delighted, challenged, inspired, carried meaning and understanding into the future that we may know something of who we were and are. A craft that some have been punished for having the temerity to express new or differing ideas from those who would venture off the well worn path. Some of their efforts were hidden, burned, destroyed. Some of those who practiced were themselves blacklisted, banished, excommunicated, and murdered.
All I do is draw. To me, the craft does demand devotion. And sacrifice, and tho it hasn’t yet cost me my life, there are those for who the sacrifice proved too much. For me, it has been sustaining and has delivered much more to my life than the considerable amount it has required. I love doing it and am grateful that I have been supported in my pursuit first by my parents, and then by boatloads of people, some teachers, some friends and peers, collectors and patrons, and even scores whom I have yet to meet.
I don’t take it lightly that I can so very casually traipse out the door, sketchbook in hand and draw, my society, and the privileges it enjoys. Thanks to those who have given so much that we may have so much. We may still have a ways to go to live up to our inalienable rights, and full equality, and incidents just as that which occurred in Portland show that we live among those who would resist the promise of this country’s Constitution and history, but I sit on that wooden horse in that studio, surrounded by 30 odd people, open my sketchbook, and on that day, as with every day in the year, I am truly thankful to enjoy what so many have worked and sacrificed for. My mother would have echoed that sentiment with, “Amen”.
