tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50336998895591935002024-03-05T03:23:08.595-08:00Not Picassoan adult aspiring to be a childUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5033699889559193500.post-36639506843760626482013-11-02T19:47:00.001-07:002013-11-02T19:47:18.427-07:00Timbuktu Tea<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I finally pushed myself again. The house was quiet, so I took a moment and said to myself: No judgement, just draw.</div>
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So I opened by box of photos from Mali for inspiration and found a man from Timbuktu pouring tea. </div>
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Cultural side notes: </div>
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1) Tamasheq (Tuareg) men cover their mouths as a sign of respect. </div>
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(Women do not cover as a cultural requirement)</div>
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2) The Tamasheq people are also know as the Blue People due to their deep blue indigo garments tinting their skin. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVM7YkpUVnT71A-89qRJR0IVX0-trMWanDzO7pEz_eYoO1JpXPgm4p7DPXRwote5ag0PaT4V1TA51IhHNwJ5DbnkdXTXa8czagk_OF0wKHx5G5SahDcT8y8wAF33AcAQDEIuaB9BnrD6U/s1600/photo-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVM7YkpUVnT71A-89qRJR0IVX0-trMWanDzO7pEz_eYoO1JpXPgm4p7DPXRwote5ag0PaT4V1TA51IhHNwJ5DbnkdXTXa8czagk_OF0wKHx5G5SahDcT8y8wAF33AcAQDEIuaB9BnrD6U/s400/photo-2.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My rendition <br />Faber-Castel colored charcoal on paper</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioSIRVMf0K0Ic3F3vlthOdtVLZ7xEPpTTdBcMKc-Yi-H0RjiSi7lGd1sza28C1ICThB0Lfflhykt6xi8m3AdvEhtIWv4xYGk_3VAnPVBDg6AeSSSkFE0uYEX5bDVzcPzuDrAO7Ubtojww/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioSIRVMf0K0Ic3F3vlthOdtVLZ7xEPpTTdBcMKc-Yi-H0RjiSi7lGd1sza28C1ICThB0Lfflhykt6xi8m3AdvEhtIWv4xYGk_3VAnPVBDg6AeSSSkFE0uYEX5bDVzcPzuDrAO7Ubtojww/s400/photo.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Original Photo<br />(Tea ceremony)<br /> </td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5033699889559193500.post-45385578865103680762013-02-24T11:45:00.002-08:002013-02-24T11:45:51.994-08:00Self Portrait in CharcoalAh... The self portrait. Sometimes the easiest person to find to sit still for you... is yourself. So here's a late night charcoal of me... However, since I was sitting back and trying so hard to be a good still model, this is what I thought I was drawing:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfI8OqCK4RqhdtDnJszADkvUtxrszW59T3OL6p-vQGbVuJNxU9H9o6SmEE0iwAKsUaxfoVD7Vf9NdOozm18Tv4h3pSrrhlyq2_FUbAv4ivv1HYVupBHqnIn1YGnKkIpO2F_uYX2V96XHc/s1600/IMG_0823.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfI8OqCK4RqhdtDnJszADkvUtxrszW59T3OL6p-vQGbVuJNxU9H9o6SmEE0iwAKsUaxfoVD7Vf9NdOozm18Tv4h3pSrrhlyq2_FUbAv4ivv1HYVupBHqnIn1YGnKkIpO2F_uYX2V96XHc/s320/IMG_0823.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(Picture taken from a low angel where my eyes were when drawing) </span></td></tr>
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And this is what I actually drew </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJvM9BL6Vq5_BFYWtfmuekyVR4Nbv_D3KeFboosP8SyFKexWzdQUBNO2HF7IFhxp3QZjkm7IT__-5KyPK5u8rRALMhwPiNkbVdqU9DU9k_SSMrH9fTutU3iQ8aLvZNrNcDFqwyLUvcHE8/s1600/IMG_0838.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJvM9BL6Vq5_BFYWtfmuekyVR4Nbv_D3KeFboosP8SyFKexWzdQUBNO2HF7IFhxp3QZjkm7IT__-5KyPK5u8rRALMhwPiNkbVdqU9DU9k_SSMrH9fTutU3iQ8aLvZNrNcDFqwyLUvcHE8/s320/IMG_0838.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(Picture taken from above) </span></td></tr>
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I totally elongated my forehead and smashed my my facial features like a child's. But I finally drew! Here's to art.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5033699889559193500.post-40314121345667791922012-04-02T17:20:00.001-07:002012-04-02T20:13:58.552-07:00Statue: Ode to Starbucks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Darn it. I knew life gets in the way of play time. I've packed, shipped, stored and unpacked my crayons, among other adventures. But I found them, and this pack of black paper I must have purchased over a decade ago while trekking through South Eastern Australia. (Why buy a pad of art paper while traveling? Addiction and hopeful aspiration: Although I'm sad to say this is only the second page I've used.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVzIID22eiw5LEi9v7pRzMDcbN-c2TNszN6HnMLtudBg_lVfx6utkChXr_Caj43XzgVSo3_GG2DyDa-E7WE01MFqiCxrL-_n-QV7W4mwsWHGQwZH3Ysz_0H0HwKBmnZSBufZDzav9JJGg/s1600/ode+starbucks+full.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVzIID22eiw5LEi9v7pRzMDcbN-c2TNszN6HnMLtudBg_lVfx6utkChXr_Caj43XzgVSo3_GG2DyDa-E7WE01MFqiCxrL-_n-QV7W4mwsWHGQwZH3Ysz_0H0HwKBmnZSBufZDzav9JJGg/s320/ode+starbucks+full.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ode to Starbucks (Right Hand): Conté on Black Paper</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQPJlURKoPHbRwbClTwidfTBlRyhrlwpYKi_OJcXA2nwifrHV0HOKWhvuZs5ElKPmcJWimBsKzMa7OnEvdhMM4d9bylWdE6OIjzP9ZvvasqUvwO8YwdIJx18QnxWlRzPQD9Xluh-n2lpE/s1600/ode+starbucks+close+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQPJlURKoPHbRwbClTwidfTBlRyhrlwpYKi_OJcXA2nwifrHV0HOKWhvuZs5ElKPmcJWimBsKzMa7OnEvdhMM4d9bylWdE6OIjzP9ZvvasqUvwO8YwdIJx18QnxWlRzPQD9Xluh-n2lpE/s320/ode+starbucks+close+up.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Close Up (There is a chocolate bar in the left hand)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxTWtW7nEIyyyN0DheIMBNRWsvCseOLCxJHh6GQLW2kIFhugEQ_G-7KAFk6t0NALw4l3iTTwqHStLy2x0Nen6W8Sqx6MYJhqosJfXpdeI4CEW1wfdhkl50rCiUhn7Ppte2KBtKmxanKvY/s1600/Ode+to+Starbucks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxTWtW7nEIyyyN0DheIMBNRWsvCseOLCxJHh6GQLW2kIFhugEQ_G-7KAFk6t0NALw4l3iTTwqHStLy2x0Nen6W8Sqx6MYJhqosJfXpdeI4CEW1wfdhkl50rCiUhn7Ppte2KBtKmxanKvY/s320/Ode+to+Starbucks.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Landa Park, New Braunfels, Texas<br />
January 15, 2012</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5033699889559193500.post-19466955979820771202011-07-15T06:55:00.000-07:002011-07-15T06:59:28.782-07:00Raison d'être<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The problem with adults is that we're all grown up and they take life seriously. It's really quite disappointing, this 'serious' stuff. So many of us value mature activities; like making money or entertaining ourselves by spending it. But what about all the adults that loved to make art as kids? Where did the art go? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">When discussing serious adult themes, like life paths and professions, my dad likes to add one sentence, "Well, I always thought you'd make a good artist." Even though I've never seriously considered the option, my dad's words remind me of the little girl who loved showing her latest masterpiece to her daddy. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">So, I'm not Picasso. I'm not an aspiring artist trying to make it big. I am, however, an adult aspiring to be a child. All the artwork, photographs and other medium are mine, unless otherwise credited. And yes, some may come with stories. This is a conté crayon flower based on a photo I took. </div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI3BMFIhHKvAuEiXT4wDdEveXrP15LaHJsc2_dKdORV2jXYam5zzM4CUFAMs940rlIelD0nAJBHZSm8lQSF_1oN_ik4Sf_FzAeZDbjSpEkSC0HyPKvs3QBMQmjUVz8UfSkyg0B1k8c1fQ/s1600/P1020850.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI3BMFIhHKvAuEiXT4wDdEveXrP15LaHJsc2_dKdORV2jXYam5zzM4CUFAMs940rlIelD0nAJBHZSm8lQSF_1oN_ik4Sf_FzAeZDbjSpEkSC0HyPKvs3QBMQmjUVz8UfSkyg0B1k8c1fQ/s320/P1020850.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">conté crayons on paper</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqT6zhE9_GyODV6mfgQDEaO2C4ZGkOfVV4wfH1DkVKjDyaCdBZ5sBxna-2d4WqT64jv4vqy14KUbU7-ySze0ZIRmdkR8Miy9SJJ-ErHKCZ40epUZKFtIHy3L-CTd-A7aY0RQz2SNVZMB0/s1600/P1020852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqT6zhE9_GyODV6mfgQDEaO2C4ZGkOfVV4wfH1DkVKjDyaCdBZ5sBxna-2d4WqT64jv4vqy14KUbU7-ySze0ZIRmdkR8Miy9SJJ-ErHKCZ40epUZKFtIHy3L-CTd-A7aY0RQz2SNVZMB0/s320/P1020852.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">close-up of flower</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSQooLXuRTMGGAV3KJjbB8FNacMTILhHMOdVc2i1UFHexRf6D3uJIMxzb2_trq0TvwT-mZoASJlM64Ju1zNkhClTkkWnt-gkr9gv1SChhovTxPEShJnb7SFUy_TXZI4skKNrkRPMs8U9k/s1600/flower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSQooLXuRTMGGAV3KJjbB8FNacMTILhHMOdVc2i1UFHexRf6D3uJIMxzb2_trq0TvwT-mZoASJlM64Ju1zNkhClTkkWnt-gkr9gv1SChhovTxPEShJnb7SFUy_TXZI4skKNrkRPMs8U9k/s320/flower.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old Salem, North Carolina, July 4th, 2011</td></tr>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1