Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Blurred Lines

Wow, this has been an election cycle to remember.  I am both dreading and waiting for this one to be over.  As someone who is always looking for blame I am picking reality television for this one.

We are at a point where celebrity equals outrageousness instead of talent. When cameras follow around an aging rock star, or a family built around a sex video, or even the uneducated behaving badly we can laugh it off as they head to the bank. Except this time it has permeated our democracy.  Just the other day a NBC broadcaster touted that “this is the biggest reality show vote”. No lady, this is our government.

When commentators like Bill O’Reilly (full disclosure: a fellow Levittownian) and his Killing Historical Facts series replaces true researchers and historians such as Doris Kearns Goodwin, Max Hastings, or David McCullough we better take notice. Quick answers are not necessarily the correct ones and we should not confuse popularity with credibility.

When Trump keeps yelling about the election being rigged, or conspiracies and repeats his dogmatic catch phrases it reminds me of this quote:

“Make the lie big, make it simple, keep saying it, and eventually they will believe it.”  –AH

Now I’m not comparing Trump to Hitler. He’s more like Mussolini, but hey I’m an optimist. However, he does run his campaign like a brown shirt. And it is because of this lack of separating reality from reality TV shows that has gotten the U.S., and in particular the republican party in this quandary.  But I don’t think that is the only reason.

Many Americans are facing a new reality. In 1989, it was forecasted that white Americans of European descent will become the minority by 2050.  The east and west coasts has had diverse populations for over one hundred and fifty years and had their own issues of acclimating.  During the Irish potato famine (England’s genocide) when immigration was once again an issue, the slogan was NINA or No Irish Need Apply. Now it is reaching many conservative states with Hispanics and Middle Easterners. This benign racism can cause a real fear of job loss, land acquisitions and a change in lifestyle.  Someone help us! Take back America! But take it back from whom? Or for that matter for whom?

“I’m the only one that can fix our problems.” –DT

Obviously I am a Clinton supporter. More importantly, I am a supporter of democracy first, with a great respect for many in the Republican Party. Members who really care about service and dedication like John McCain, Cory Gardner, and Lindsey Graham.  No one loses an argument when it is with someone that also cares about the same thing. Clever, eh?

So I am asking my republican friends, who are more than a handful and hope that we stay friends, to preserve our republic by electing a dedicated public servant instead of one who has dedicated his life to private enrichment. Before you know it the four years will be up. This will give you time to regroup and get your house in order. At least you know there will still be a house.

Skull study. Pencil on toned paper.
This is about as optimistic as I can get these days.

Thursday, September 22, 2016

I got nothing.

I'm spending my time trying to catch up on my monthly art projects and preparing a new syllabus. So, unfortunately, or fortunately, I once again have nothing clever written here. I was working on an essay about hate, but I didn't care too much for it.

So below are two pieces: the color version of what I was working on last month: Drawn to Art, and an alternative idea for the same project. Comments are always appreciated and quickly ignored.

Friday, September 9, 2016

Nothing to Read Here

I have been derelict in my posting this summer. But I had good reasons. One daughter got married, another is preparing for college, and life has given me a few bumps in the road. At least it did my car when driving back from a college visit trip in Santa Fe. $3,000 later it's as good as new and ready for the VW recall. Yippee.

Teaching three courses this summer and three this fall, has given me little time to golf much less draw or write. My wife is consumed with the election coming up so we have a direct feed from CNN and PBS Newshour. Please don't mention politics if you happen to meet. On top of that it was my 20th Wedding Anniversary last week and I dropped the ball on that too. (Again, another topic not to bring up.)

There are two competition deadlines looming as well. One is in a week. So here I am posting the b/w stage of the work, and I hope to have the color posted by 9/15, the due date. It is based on a Normal Rockwell Saturday Evening Post cover and inspired by a Stone Temple Pilots song.

Maybe after that I can think of something clever to write about.

Here is the finished piece in color with minor changes. 

Monday, June 20, 2016

Shelf Life

In keeping my promise of doing one new piece per month for 2016 along with my regular work here is a recent pencil. It was inspired by a class assignment called "Shelf Life". Using 3-5 objects that represent who you are produce a black and white 11 x 14 self-portrait.

I did a similar one last year and could not decide on how to proceed. I took this opportunity to do a number of hand studies instead. So I kind of did the assignment…sort of.

Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Completed Cover

Below are a few stages of the children's book cover I just delivered. I posted the pencil drawings last two posts. Here is the finished inking, which I then scanned and brought into Photoshop. After approval I added color, but Ruby's clothes did not match 1800s Colorado. An oversight where I needed to patch in a dress. I added some dirt to it and little touches on the back. Then I added the front cover copy (back cover type is being handled by someone else) and uploaded with Dropbox. Any questions or comments please write.

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Reunion Station

This is the spot. She knows this is the spot. Even after nineteen months she could not be mistaken. No, this is where they are to meet, reunite to be accurate. She sits on the ledge watching the passengers file pass. All the trains exit this way. If he were on one he would have to be here, unless…no this is the spot. This is the day.
She tugs nervously at the hem of her dress. It is the floral one she wore when they first met at the USO club, blue with big red poppies. He teased her saying she looked matronly. Now, sitting on the cold green subway tiles she regrets choosing it.
She could hear another train pull into the station. The wheels echo along the arched ceiling. Military men and civilians trickle then stream through the dark corridor. Their shoes clicking on the tile like hail from an approaching storm. The dampness makes the air heavy and still inside this traveler’s tomb. Napkins stick to forearms. A torn placard with a white horse hangs on the wall opposite. Where is he?
She takes the letter out of the small pocket of her dress. It is his last letter and she sees hopes and dreams. He wrote less and less but she knew how much he cared, how they would spend their lives together. But that was three months ago. A lot can happen in three months. A lot happens in three days overseas. He must feel the same way. He must.
A piercing scream turns her head to the left. Two young girls in matching burgundy outfits run up to their father. He scoops them up as if they are bubbles in a bath. A couple embraces right in front of her. Have they no decorum? She cranes her neck around them. A few rush pass, a cigarette in one hand, duffle in the other. They all look so familiar.
The subway ride here made her nauseous earlier. Her head rested on the cloudy window as the stations blurred by. She had not eaten much the last week or two and slept even less. But she tried reading his letter over and over looking for something extra, something that would tie her over until she saw him. She rehearsed what she would say to him. During that ride she checked her make-up with the small compact she keeps in her clutch. The loudspeaker rasped out Grand Central. She reapplied the blood orange lipstick and stepped over the gap and into the terminal.
Now she sits, squirming on that hard ledge. It felt nothing like their last night together. The cool breeze from the passing summer storm brought a germinative relief through the open window of her apartment. Even the tattered curtains that danced about seemed buoyed with hope. How comfortable that spoon felt. How soft his kisses were. How strong his hands held her. How uncomfortable it was when he left.
Another train rolls in and pulls her back to the present, another champagne pop of passengers. Rubbing her shoes together causes a scuff she tries getting out with a little spit on the handkerchief that she wears around her arm. She can’t have him see her like this. She stands on the ledge hoping the extra height will cause him to appear like a white rabbit out of a magician’s hat. It doesn’t as she nearly topples over. 
She begins to pace. Nerves and the cold will do that to a person. With each step she takes questions creep into her head. Maybe he missed the train? Or maybe it was delayed? What if he changed his mind? What if, what if…the questions go round and round without answers, because there is only one. She looks at her watch. It’s late. The handkerchief around her wrist becomes soaked with tears and mascara. She rises and tries to walk out, but instead collapses her head landing on the ledge. “What’s happening?” she says to the ceiling lights shining down at her. “It’s just that I haven’t eaten…yes, that’s it,” she tells herself. “I’ll just rest a bit, close my eyes. Then he’ll be here and everything will be alright. He’ll be here…I just know it.”

A small crowd forms around her prone body. A policeman writes in his notebook. Age. Name. Address. Who is she? What is she doing here? They open her clutch but find only the compact and lipstick. A man in uniform pushes his way through the crowd. He drops the bouquet he was carrying on the ground. “Do you know her?” someone asks. He answers, “I do.” He sits next to her cradling her lifeless head. The passengers disperse and continue their trip leaving these three alone in the corridor. A whistle sounds as another train approaches.

Saturday, May 14, 2016

Squirrels and Why I hate them

I have a guest writer this month who supplied me with a poem.

Squirrels and Why I hate them
by Larry O’Roarke, Irish Terrier

There is no purpose to a squirrel
No reason to exist
And if I travel ‘round the world
My opinion wouldn’t switch

They’re short and hairy with tails too long
Their chirps give me a pain
Without the trees I’d catch them all
And chew their little brains

On top the fence they act so brave
My anger will not sway
I’ll leave my mark, I’ll have my way
Along the palisade

Every day they taunt me so
At night they haunt my dreams
I twitch and whimper to and fro
I hate those little fiends

They make a mess all through the yard
Eating bulbs and tubers
When I get old, my health all marred
I’ll learn to shoot a luger

Next step in my cover. Finished pencil.