Day twenty-one );ate): A cluster of wooden buoys hung on the porch, now strewn with crunchy leaves. It hadn’t been swept since the summer.
#Inktober. See more at @edaggarart
This is a fun little sketch I started while watching Project Runway. It is one of few ‘reality tv’ shows I enjoy, mainly because the contestants (however manipulated, scripted, or edited out of context for drama) do actually design and create the clothing on the show. I love watching the process, and seeing the results.
Here is a repeat of half of a spread I posted several days ago, paired with a new painting that I did on the back of the same page. The markers had bled through, leaving a ghost on the obverse, and once I had the half-pans out, I couldn’t resist painting a new face over it.
Some time back, I began a series of drawings with a project in mind: a coloring book, all about studies of hair. Well, after I’d got three of them inked, I had a few printed on card stock, for test runs.
I’ve been looking forward to doing an hombre on the woman’s hair, and I really enjoyed painting these. However I have to admit these are not ideal subjects for a coloring book, as I’ve suspected for weeks now. Not so great for colored pencil work, nor for people who don’t consider themselves artists. maybe. It’s one of those ‘back to the drawing board’ moments. Whether I’ll still work on some sort of coloring book, or work on something altogether new remains to be seen.
As he is in my memory, Handsome Red
Two of our horses were in the dream, the Arabians, both of whom perished last year. So, too, the miscreant aptly named Pyewacket— a fierce disagreeable little cat whose provenance is known only inasmuch as she is the progeny of one of the feral cats that took up residence in the barn a few years ago.
I was trying to connect with the horses at turns. But my Night shade was finding them, not the real me— a defensive version, relating to Pye; always the trickster version,
It spooked and scared the horses, the gentle kind— So they told me, in their way, I must find them as myself.
I whispered in my sleep “I don’t know how.”
And Red somehow telegraphed the message to me through what technology he found in that place, it told me
When the stars are going out—
And you’re looking for a face before you leave—
Make it mine.”
And I tried like hell to escape the deep molasses of sleep, to find him; to remember— To shake it all off and just recall that one moment, of him.
Him, merged with my childhood; Magic; the Elysian Fields, the Farm— the Infinite; revisiting me. And I did, sort of— but he was talking about when the Stars Go Out. So I’ll meet him when I die.
I have to wait. (I’ll always look for his face.)
Animals are the closest I get to religion.
. . .