Last month I created more images using my watercolor paired with digital vectors technique, this time for some editorial illustrations. They were for an article suggesting things to do while in NYC based upon visitors’ astrological signs, which was published earlier this month.
These took a departure from my food illustrations, in that these form complete scenes. It was more challenging, to be sure, and I learned a lot in the process. It was also great fun, honestly, and such a pleasure to be able to create things like this at work. My watercolor half-pans have basically set up permanent camp at the office.
Be sure to check out the full article on nycgo.com— it’s cheeky and fun!
It’s a fine Sunday, breezy and overcast; not bad qualities for a lazy morning at a window-side desk.
A long time ago I used to use crow quill dip pens for drawing and lettering. Though it can be a chore keeping those nibs clean enough to flow nicely, their character cannot be matched by the modern ink-filled pens that strive to emulate the look. It is, in part, the tension between the sharp metal and the paper that makes it unmistakable.
This little monochrome sketch has aways touched me. It somehow reminds me of Tove Jansson’s Fillyjonk character. I’ve been posting forgotten things from old sketchbooks on IG; follow me @edaggarart to see more.
This is a sketch from a couple weekends ago. My friends Sarah & Tara were performing at Freddy’s Bar & Backroom, and the band that followed them was
Elijah Shiffer And The Robber Crabs. The sax player had a sort of steam punk-looking alto sax— it had a machine-like patina not generally associated with such an instrument. .
I began to draw it, but with so much detail amid all the movement, it was difficult to pin down. Anyway, I quite like this sketch, even unfinished.
I think the original title of this was A sick thing upon the rocks in the very early morning. It’s from when I was a teenager in college. (I think the sketch that precipitated this ink drawing originated during an acid trip; that coming down feeling—)
As I see it now, looking through the archive, it looks to me like a personification of the tail end of winter. Fighting in vain against the sun; unwilling to exit stage left; refusing to retreat for its Persephone months—
Those during which she must return to where she’d been abducted. By absent-mindedly eating the pomegranate seeds proffered by Hades, she doomed herself to a third the year in the underworld, thereby depriving the surface of the world of green things growing during her absence.
That is Winter, which doesn’t like to take its leave quietly, gracefully.
. . .
(TBH, the way I wrote the title of this post reminds me of nothing so much as the GOP, but that’s a different sort of post altogether.)
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.
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.
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.
. . .
Sorry I missed yesterday’s post deadline. Here is one from the archives for December first. Car in Snow.