portrait of a salesman

This gentleman bullied Pedro and I into buying a beautiful cactus-silk carpet in Meknès that we didn't need. I figured he owed me something in return...

It really is a pretty carpet!

new watercolours

I've got to say, painting with Schmincke watercolours is a dream...
Thanks Mom!

a sketch on the road

Somewhere along the road between Meknès and Rabat, we stopped to grab a quick bite. With the utmost discretion, I pulled out my watercolours and sketchbook to draw a man in a djellaba who was enjoying a lively conversation with his friends. I don't think he noticed.

I've been so bad at keeping current with my blog, you'll have to forgive me for sharing the sketch over a month late! In the next few posts, I'll be taking you back even further to November, when I took a quick little trip to one of the Canary Islands. Are you ready?

dots of ink

sketching ram prasad

On a pleasant February afternoon, Pedro and I were having coffee in Thamel when I spied a magnificent moustache out of the corner of my eye. This was a moustache I needed to draw. I tried my best to sketch the owner of the fine facial hair, a security guard for a nearby hotel, as he moved about quickly between guests and friends, but eventually realised this was a ridiculous tactic if I wanted to draw a portrait. Fuelled by caffeine and Pedro's encouragement, I gathered the guts to approach the man for a sit-down. Lucky for me, Ram Prasad was more than happy to oblige.



I think I drew him a little chubbier than he is, but still, his is one of my favourite portraits that I've drawn. When I finished pencilling him in, I ran off to a photocopier and made a copy to give him. Upon receiving it, his pale green eyes sparkled, and his moustache rose with the big smile beneath it. I thanked him, and shook his hand. I wonder how he is now, after the earthquake... how his family is... I hope they are all safe. 

now, sit real still

I was sketching the gate at Shechen Monastery while Pedro was chasing warblers in the nearby trees, when a group of young monks heaving cases of soda paused to watch me draw. Most peeked, smiled bashfully, and carried on with lugging the soda, but I was eventually left with two boys who decided to sit with me.

After some silence and more smiles, the boys began to whisper at each other fiercely. Suddenly, one of them cheekily blurted out: "He wants you to draw him!"

This earned him a little punch in the arm from his blushing friend. I abandoned my lousy sketch for a fresh white page, selected a suitable pencil and told the blusher to sit real still. His name was Jamyang Tashi, and he was from Mustang.



Jamyang sat with such dignity for a young lad, though there was mischief in his sideways glance as he peered at the lines that were adding up to become his face. An older monk passed by and gave his approval— a grin, and a "same same". The boys were pleased with this, and Jamyang lit up when I showed him his finished portrait. I told him I would photocopy the drawing and bring it back to him, but I wasn't sure if he fully understood what I meant. The next day I returned with the copy and tracked him down to the classrooms at the back of the monastery. He appeared in the window of a very dark room— I could barely see him, except for a set of gleaming white teeth behind the window grate. I passed him the photocopy, which he received with both hands, thanked me, and skipped off.

yoghurt and sour plums

The heat hits its peak at around one in the afternoon and everything goes silent, save for the buzzing of insects. The few birds who brave the intensity flit from shadow to shadow, their beaks wide open in an attempt to cool themselves. The only ones who seem to revel in the sun are the lizards, who bask with their heads high, on toasty rocks.

We patrolled Akseki for lunch, which was a little bit of a challenge as it is Ramadan (Ramazan, to Turks), a holy month of fasting for Muslims, and most eateries are closed. Fasting for Ramadan is one of the five pillars of Islam upon which the faith is built— the other four being: testimony of faith, prayer, giving alms to the needy, and making the pilgrimage to Mecca if possible. The fasting begins at sunrise and ends with the call of the azan at sunset, when iftar is held; the meal that breaks the fast. Luckily for us, a small pide shop was open for business, with two other customers quietly munching away.

After lunch we headed back to the hotel, where Yusuf bey insisted we sit with him for a while with a çay. This lead to stories about the past, about how Yusuf bey coincidentally lived in Büyükçekmece for a time, and about the Dutch birders who had previously passed through his doors. Eventually I ended up sketching him for a very patient hour, and even more çay.



He offered us yoghurt, and sour plums.

mahmut bey and göbeklitepe

Sketching at Göbeklitepe this year was not as easy as last year, as the site is now under a temporary wooden shelter, but it's still such a marvellous place to get out a pencil and sketchbook. Last year, I regretted that I hadn't asked Mahmut bey if I could sketch him— it was a mix of shyness and a little bit of the pressure of being in a group that was on the move that held me back, so I was determined to get a portrait of him in my book this time around. I was pleased that he remembered me, and even more so that he agreed to patiently pose for a sketch under an unforgiving sun. I have no idea how much time passed, but after a while, he started to get fidgety.

A group of important-looking people had arrived with a police escort to inspect the site, and he broke his stoic pose to keep an eye on their whereabouts. Eventually, he glanced up at the sky with his squinty eyes, and politely asked if I could just take a photograph of him instead. Grateful for any time with him, I thanked him with a handshake and watched him disappear under the wooden structure. I was left with a decent pencil sketch of him and a photograph, which I used for colouring, while in my hotel room later that night. I'm pretty happy with the result, and glad that I overcame my shyness— after all, if portraits are my favourite subjects for sketching, I have to get comfortable talking to people!



Click here to see two sketches from last year's visit to Göbeklitepe.

meeting yunus bey

In a shady courtyard in Urfa, I asked the wrinkly-eyed father of a tobacconist if I could draw him. He seemed confused but kindly accepted, leaning against the tree he was sitting under for support. His eyes darted back and forth between my face and the white page of my sketchbook, occasionally straying toward his son and the small gathering crowd, searching for answers. He indulged me for a good twenty minutes and the çay that his son offered me, and when I handed him the book for his approval and signature, those eyes of his formed a brief film of wetness.

I have missed sketching.

all it takes is a smile

to make a connection, no matter how brief.

making time

So here's where I'm at with the ink portrait I begun nearly a year ago of an older gentleman who I met in Kathmandu's Durbar Square some time ago. I have taken long breaks in between sessions of maddening stippling, but I hope that I can finish it shortly and move on to another drawing. Still, I must say that I have loved the process of this piece, and I'm not sure if I am ready to complete it.

I expected the artwork to just pour out of me when I moved away from the city and shortened my commute, but things just don't happen that way do they? Time gets filled with some other often meaningless activity (mainly wandering around the internet), and I find myself complaining about not having enough time.

In two weeks I'll be returning to Urfa and Göbeklitepe with my sketchbook and camera.
Let's see if I can make the time for some drawing then.

sometimes progress is slow

In a week I have managed to complete his left eye, and add some minor shading here and there. It's not much, but considering that he is a 61 x 92 cm (approximately 24" x 36") piece of pointillism and I have a full-time job, I think it's ok. I hope to finish most of his face this week, but before I do that, I'm off to the Greek border in search of some geese. The skies are the clearest cerulean, and it would be a shame to stay indoors on this pseudo-spring day. I'm not sure what I'll find out there, but hopefully I'll have some lovely landscape photos for you tomorrow.

resolutions

I'm not a fan of making resolutions, because somewhere as early as March I usually abandon them, letting the associated guilt consume me. I don't like feeling guilty. This year however, I'm going to give making resolutions a try, and hopefully achievable, by keeping things relatively simple:

• More art. I have been neglecting my artwork for far too long, and this has been making me feel bad. You would not believe how many pieces are lying about my apartment in various states of incompletion. 
• More sketching. I used to consider myself a 'compulsive sketcher' (this is claimed in my profile), but have barely produced anything of note in the past two years.
• Revamp my website. I honestly cannot remember the last time I added anything new to it— this is naturally tied to the previous two resolutions.
• More gym. Bodies do strange things in their thirties.
• More reading. A resolution which never works, but at this point, even reading two books this year would put me ahead of previous years. I find this sad, as I used to be an avid reader. Can I blame this on the internet?
• Improve my Portuguese. This cannot be difficult as I can barely complete a sentence— anything would be an improvement! I would really love to be able to hold a complete conversation with Pedro's parents. 
• More blogging. 
• More owls. I really, really want to learn more about owls.

So here's a start at least at tackling the first resolution: I've put several hours of 2014 into finishing my ink portrait of the Nepali man which I abandoned at some point last year. His moustache is now complete, and his nose is almost there. The problem with pointillism is that you work for hours and hours and see little progress, making it easy to get discouraged. Wish me luck!

I hope you all have a harika new year, and that 2014 is full of love, happiness and health. May you meet all of your resolutions!

faces of urfa

merhaba, hello

harran

It was a fine afternoon for exploring, so we headed south to the town of Harran, famous for its beehive-shaped adobe houses. There is evidence that the area has been continuously inhabited since the Early Bronze Age, and the earliest records of an actual town named Harran date back to around 2300 BCE. The beehive shape, which is said to have remained unchanged for 3000 years, serves to cool the interior of the house during the relentlessly hot summer months. Over time, people abandoned the beehive houses for more modern abodes in the village, leaving the old adobe structures for the tourists.

Upon entering Harran, it was clear that the village was not doing so well. Gangly kids with smeared faces played in the dust, while adults eyed us intensely from dilapidated homes. Within minutes, we were approached by a young man on a motorbike who insisted that we follow him. He offered us protection from harassment, and presenting a weathered university ID card, claiming he was also a guide. We explained through the half-rolled car window that we didn't need a guide, and even if we did, we didn't have any money left to pay for one. He frowned in offense at the mention of money, and assured us he didn't want anything in return— he simply wanted to show us the beehive houses and treat us like guests. Having heard the very same lines before in other parts of the world, I was suspicious, and doubted his sincerity.

"No money, you promise? We do not want a guide."
"No, no! I don't want anything! I promise."



We were led to a courtyard edged with a row of conical mud houses converted into one long gift shop packed full of gaudy trinkets— some of which had me searching for the 'Made in China' sticker. A lady in a glittering magenta robe with a hard look in her kohl-rimmed eyes followed us, half-heartedly insisting that I buy a new scarf from her. She rolled the edge of my cobalt cotton scarf in between her fingers, then dismissively tossed it back to the place it was previously resting, against my chest. My raised brow incited a peal of laughter from her, and I shook my head with a smile, leaving the shop for the courtyard, which had gathered a small group of people.

At this point the man who had brought us there had become edgy, and urged us to leave— we shouldn't stay with "these people" any longer, we should rather go with him to see a tower somewhere outside of the village. There was no way I was going with this guy anywhere, and told him that we would stay with "these people" for a tea, and do some sketching of the beehive houses. As soon as Pedro and I pulled out our sketchbooks, there was a flurry of excitement expressed in a mixture of Arabic and Turkish. The lady in pink introduced herself as Jamila. She led me to a little stool with all the excitement of a child, and asked me to draw her.

"You make my face, then you give me!" She grinned.
"Tamam, Jamila, ok."

She sat up straight, lengthened her neck and tried not to smile, but she was beaming from ear to ear. I felt strangely relaxed— I'm usually too timid to draw a portrait on demand, preferring to capture my subject unawares.

It was a quick sketch. I would have liked to have coloured her vivid scarf and dress, the lovely tone of her skin, and those blackened lids, but we needed to move on. Our 'non-guide' was pestering us to leave with him, and I suspected that he was going to ask us for money soon. I carefully tore the sketch out of my book and placed it in Jamila's eager hands. She showed if off to the other ladies with pride, who muttered maşallahs at me in appreciation. Jamila and I exchanged a series of thank yous, in both English and Turkish, and I headed back to the car with Pedro.

"Where are you going?" The young man asked. "Don't you want to see the tower?"
"No, I'm sorry, but we need to leave."
"But, you need to see the tower! Just come with me, I will show it to you."
"No, thank you." I firmly replied, climbing into the car.
"Well, I took you here. You should pay me for that!" He suddenly became the harasser, who he assured us he would protect us from. 

"Remember, you promised me." I reminded him with a wag of my finger. He then spun around, jumped on his motorbike, and angrily sped away. I looked back at Jamila and the others, who were happily chatting away, inspecting the sketch. It made me feel better.

and then there's this:

A portrait of a Nepali man, that I've also been working on for the past month.
Stippling with a dip pen is both meditative and exhausting— exhausting in a good way.
It's been a rough couple of weeks. Diving into these drawings has been so soothing.

Untitled (so far).
61 cm x 91.5 cm, India ink.

excuse me, may i take your photo?

and a namaste to you

I'm back in Boudha after a little adventure to a very wet Pokhara.
Leeches, gastrointestinal distress, mysterious hooting birds, and rain, rain, rain...
Stay tuned!