Views on the city with shifts in angles and in scale

drawing of buildings from aerial viewdrawing of buildings from aerial viewNYC roads and parks (drawing)

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Focal lengths and depth of field on pencil drawings

pencil snowscape with oak tree

Here are a couple stills from a scene into which I’m working that oak tree drawing and the landscape I’ve been working on. I’m still getting the hang of working with cameras, and messing about with focal lengths and such, to get the depth of field. It’s slow going, but enjoyable.

pencil snowscape with oak tree and fence

The red oak that dwarfs the big barn

pencil drawing of a red oak tree by E Daggar

Another drawing in service to the animated short I’m working on. This is one I did last weekend, and I’m hoping to get the barn and silo illustrated from at least one point of view this weekend. Also: fences.

I’m looking into learning more about the puppet tool in After Effects, too, so that I’ll be able to get a wider range of motion out of the creatures I’ve yet to flesh out.

In the meantime, I also have several illustrations to do for the documentary side project I’m working on. So much to do, and weekends go by awfully fast.

A pile of airy bones in an attic room beneath the pitched roof

Dry-point on plexi print of a house insnow
I want so much to write. I’d like to be still for a day or two; to draw. To draw at a rate more like I was in October— daily. Or nearly so. To have space for things to percolate and bubble to the surface from below.

Instead, I’ve been kept moving, pulled in multiple directions— and good ones. I’m feeling positive and interested in both the work and other pursuits I’ve been drawn to lately. But I miss the drawing, and its attendant writing.

I look forward to my week upstate at Christmastide, to be still some. And of course to time spent with my family and the animals. Wanders around the Farm to say hi to the Dudes*, take photos, and listen to the quiet of winter up there. Walk the fields. Watch murder mysteries with Mom; talk books and politics with Dad; see a movie with the brothers, sisters-in-law, nieces and nephews. (Probably the odd game of euchre or gin rummy.)

Some quiet nights in the second floor with a big orange cat lying on the bed as I read or type away on my laptop. Maybe he and I will get lost in the attic for minute, time traveling through old things, cast aways in an uninsulated room where the occasional bird finds her way in but not out— leaving behind, at length, a pile of airy bones in the low-ceilinged space beneath the pitched roof. A room mostly neglected and filled with the memories of several generations. (My kind of room)

All these things will make me feel rested and calm; remind me that no one is ever at the helm in this world. Not for long, anyway, and there is a comfort in that. Just as there is comfort in watching slow snow falling on the grass, gone brown in the fall in preparation for the long winter’s sleep.

.  .  .

*the horses

The car broke down on a lonely stretch of road

Sorry I missed yesterday’s post deadline. Here is one from the archives for December first. Car in Snow.

The day following the feast was sunny and mild

The day following the feast was sunny and mild, inviting of a long wander. Following lunch in a sunny local, we embarked on a meandering walk that included many stops along the way in a handful of neighborhoods.

Eventually we found ourselves again at the harbor, staring out at moon-glittered water in the early dark. We breathed in the salt smell of that black and brackish channel where the sea and river meet; entrance and exit of the city where  boats are welcomed by la dame verte.

The carving knife has been sharpened on the whetstone

drawing of a turkey for dinner

And the steaming bird, fresh from the oven, rested on the sideboard, waiting to be carved for the feast of giving thanks.