The M'Reptunians Walk Amongst Us, And Other Things At I've Been Framed On Foster

4122

This is why I've Been Framed is a place one cannot do without. Not only it it just a great place with revolutionary artistic energy, but you meet extraterrestrials.

The extraterrestrial was in her full camouflage as a terribly charming 7-year old young woman possessed of a firey, fierce creativity. I will explain.

We wanted to stop by this. our favorite art place and the best one in the world, because Spouse was looking for pink fluff for cat toys. Our youngest feline, Tabitha, loves fluff toys, but she's very particular. They must be a specific shade of pink. And she's annihilated the ones we had for her and finding that pink, which seemed quite common, is proving unexpectedly, uncommonly difficult to do. 

Prairie thought she might be of help, so off we went. 

Once we were there, I wandered about looking at art supplies while Spouse's attentions were more directed. Chatted with Prairie, which is always a pleasure. She showed me a bottle of linseed oil which is part of her extensive collection of vintage art supplies. I should have gotten a picture of this ... it had to be from the 1940s or so, it had the label of a downtown Portland pharmacy that had a phone number that a named exchange (CEdar, I think it was). And the vintage bottle was gorgeous and the contents still looked okay, though I think one has to go beyond mere looks when it comes to eighty-year-old linseed oil.

It was at that point I crossed paths with the young lady from M'Reptune. She was engaged in animated extemporaneous discourse with Prairie, who had moved down to that end of the room by then. This small brown-haired force of nature was there with an older woman we'll presume for the moment was posing as this incredible being's mother; their down jackets - properly pillowy in PNW construction - had identcal colors. And she had so much to tell us about her treks and travels. 

At first it was not revealed that she was extraterrestrial; her first representation was that she was technically a cat. She then demonstrated moves that suspiciously echoed the chaotic interaction our cat Ralph had with the belt on the fuzzy pink robe we kept on the bed for the itty bitty kitty committed to make biscuits on, so her claim actually has come credence.

She then clued us in on the M'Reptunian connection after that, while letting us know enroute that she was technically also a squirrel. 

It was impossible not to be entertained by her banter, and I'm not kidding, it was non-stop, on fire but unconsumed. Tiny TED talks about the amazing culture and technology of M'Reptune reeled out of this young woman's imagination at a rate of knots, tales of her hyperspatial travel (it takes her two milliseconds to go from here to M'Reptune, for what that's worth) and I just bathed in this tiny delightful sun of instant creativity. So much unafraid, unabashed exposition, such joy in telling us of her worldbuilding, I couldn't help but smile and just listen. 

There is a quote variously attributed to Beaudelair and Rimbaud, that goes "Genius is the recovery of childhood at will". I've always had the rational grasp of that, but here, displayed in front of me, unfiltered and unabashed, was that childhood that those of us who strive for creativity seek to capture. Most all of us had periods in our childhoods where we had these daft kid-ideas that we played with, created stories with, made drawings and paintings. I've for years, in the way of Proust, tried to get it back. Now that I've seen it up close with someone who couldn't help but share it, maybe it'll be a little easier to find.

As for our alien interlocutor, she left the shop about the time me and Spouse did, but as she left she gave me a gift, asked me if I wanted of her technology, and into my hand she dropped a M'Reptunian ray gun. 

It's mine now, this M'Rretunian ray gun, given freely, and nobody can take it away. 

It's unlikely, but I hope I remain the world long enough to see what direction she takes that fabulous ball of happiness in. They might stop by IBF again, who knows?

That drove back some shadows on my brow, and I tell you no lies there.

For me, what did I get? Feast your eyes.

It's a vintage Grumbacher Gainsborough oil paint box. When originally sold it carried 24 tubes of Grumbacher Gainsborough oil paint in the two middle compartments, painting accessories in the long compartments left and right, and brushes across the bottom, at least I think that's the way it works. And it'll carry some art accoutrements for me, I just have to figure out which ones and why. 

Also! I've Been Framed Art Supply Center is holding a showing in June and an Artist Trading Card swap at the end of it. Anyone not familiar what ATCs are and why they're nifty, well, Google that stuff, or even better, stop in IBF's Art Supply Center at Foster and Powell and ask 'em about it. They'll fork over a single blank ATC media - either smooth or textured, a little 2.5" x 3.5" card and you go wild and drop it by and at the end of the showing we all swap 

ATCs are a fun, low-stakes way of dipping a toe into the grassroots art world. All sorts of media happen, acrylic, mixed media, oils, watercolors, and the lot, but I personally find it's a great pairing for drawing and cartooning. However, it's all great fun and the trading cards one gets out it are decidedly delightful and the very definition of unique.

IBF's Art Supply Center is located where it always has been, 4950 SE Foster Road, here in Portland. It's a one-of-a-kind place, Prairie is our hero, and anyone reading this owes it to themselves to stop by.

Drawing the Saint Johns Bridge, Part 2

3699I continue to extend the work on the Saint Johns Bridge drawing.

I am half going with my eyes and half going with my gut, just like I did with Mt Saint Helens. Since the trusses of the span are rather complex, I'm taking it little by little, and it's proceeding as such. But just like I finally decided to push through and go for broke on the Mt Saint Helens drawing, it seems to have done the trick here.

I guess I just didn't trust myself as much then.

Maybe I should have started over with an undistressed piece of Bristol. Oh, well, I'm all in on it now.

Also, We Are Drawing The Saint Johns Bridge

3695We are either languid on one project or trying to do more than one simultaneously.

About three (!) years ago when I finished the drawing of Mount Saint Helens - Luuit - in eruption, I felt great guns to go on to something else. What do I love? Landmarks! What sort of landmark? How about something more geometrical, like a bridge. What's the best bridge? The Saint Johns Bridge, of course.

So I sharked me a picture of it from the intarwebz (this is before I had a good one of my own) and laid down my grid on a big piece of Bristol, and started in. And then, finding the structure in some parts was more complex than I thought, hit a wall.

And this piece of Bristol has lain there ever since, while I painted over it and cats walked over it (don't fret, it's not as nasty as all that ... nothing an eraser and a bit of elbow grease can't fix).

So, today, something told me to get it back up to the top of the stack, said "to hell with the technical complexity, this is about learning something, just stick it out and do the best you can", and I accomplished this:

I am once again painting,which in this case is drawing, and what is drawing but painting with graphite? And after I laid that down, I had that spark, that frisson, that something just clicked. Like with the drawing of Luuit, I finally ... finally ... grasped that I could just possibly do this, just represent it the best I can, take it easy, one square at a time, and come as close as I can.

The Luuit drawing was an approimation, after all, and look how good it wound up!

Yeah, I can do this.

Unboxing Paris Flower Shop, Dimensions PaintWorks #73-91651

3694Done with the last work, on to the next one.

We have before us today the Dimensions PaintWorks Kit #73-91651, Paris Flower Shop, design credit to The MacNeil Studio which represents artist Robert McNeil (who has a Facebook page here and the I found the original at artlicensing.com here).

Parenthetically, I must add that looking up these artists is giving me a great visual lesson in artistic voice. And here is another way that PaintWorks kits are more than just an idle PBN habit. They're always teaching you something you don't know.

Anyhow, this morning I opened the box, which looks like this:

... and removed the contents, which look like this:

The standard stuff, really. Hey, it's PBN: you couldn't expect more than this: The media itself, thick card, 20 inches by 14 inches, the mixing chart and painting diagram, 18 acyrlic colors in PaintWorks' splendid paint pots, and a round, #2-ish brush.

A couple of technical points of interest: the brush matches the quality bar of the other components of the PaintWorks line that I've come to enjoy. It is a cheap brush, but it's a well-made cheap brush, good-quality gold fiber bristles (no doubt synthetic), fit and finish of the ferrule is good. Though I usually use one of my serious brushes for this, I'd use the provided brush. And usually the provided brush in a PBN is more than a hindrance than a help and it typically really only good for throwaway things like spreading masking fluid, but these are just a bit better than that. Also, the painting and mixing chart which, up until now, has been both sides of one sheet, is half-on-one-sheet-half-on-another. PaintWorks usually provides two, one being the painting chart and the other being a sheet of instructions and tips in English, French, German, and Spanish, but they split the duties this time.

The finished scene is certainly romantic and intriguing with all the different things in it to paint, and I think this is going to be another good one. I'll be documenting my progress by the day as I go, posting them all here.

Drybrushing The Moon

3693 Now, as I said before, Lighthouse In Moonlight is essentially finished, but for a few areas of drybrushing. And, in the past, being the impatient artist that I am, I basically blew it off most of the time. This time, with such wide areas of drybrushing to do and the potential to improve the painting, I decided to really apply myself and try.

Hence the two graphics.

The first is the painting before, the second, after. And there is something to be seen and learnt here.

Before Drybrushing

After Drybrushing

Doing PBNs you learn to process the posterized look of them, it's just part of the visual language of the thing, so you learn, in your mind, to interpret. PaintWorks kits give you the opportunity to kick it up to the next level by encouraging these little painterly techniques. Its directions for drybrushing are: load the brush with the lighter color, use a paper towel to wipe off the most of it then, with a realtively dry brush with enough color to leave on the painting, dab into the darker color. The resulting thin, translucent layer of paint seems to blend in from the lighter color to the darker color, disappearing into the darker and setting up the visual blending. My original attempts were unsatisfactory.

Then, The Brown Eyed Girl, who had drybrushed with aplomb in painting her RPG miniatures, suggested I pinched the belly of the bristles rather than wipe. And I tried this. It helped a great deal, if only to give me the courage to go in again and be ready to make a mistake or two. In places I laid it down a little too thickly and was able to blend it out before it dried too hard.

The results are fairly satisfying if not wholly accomplished. I don't doubt I have a ways to go, but practice will bend toward perfection, if not ever actually getting there; the hard, posterized color edges around the Moon and on the lighthouse tower have been softened and the soft layer of light color visually influences the darker color in a kind of atmospheric way. The first image is before I tried; the second, after I decided I was through.

I'm pronouncing this effort a qualified success, and am much more likely not to blow this step off in future works.

PBN Today: The Process of Lighthouse In Moonlight

3692Of the PBN boon provided me by my Brown Eyed Girl on my birthday, I've breached the first and have largely conquered it. And here's the general arc of the diver.

The PBN in question was PaintWorks by Dimensions' #73-91424, Lighthouse in Moonlight, based on a painting by artist Al Hogue. This work is very much his artist's voice, if you see the other works on his site: soft-focus stylized landscapes drenched in moonlight made of magical realism. All very dreamscape-like.

In the past my overall strategic approach to one of these paintings was to find a color and hit it wherever I found it, trying to get as many of, say, color 4 (or any given mixture) in one pass. This has been efficient but ultimately unsatisfying. The layout of the painting seemed to speak to me to try a different approach: doing one region at a time even if it meant I'd be remixing and reopening pots later on. It made it a very rewarding experience.

I started with the sky because enclosing the Moon appealed to me in a gut way.

The clouds and moon precipitated out of the sky like those old Polaroid instant photos developed. It was fun to watch it happen.

Once the sky was sufficiently filled in, I moved on to the promontory.

This is a painting with a great many small fussy areas to fill in. It's not uncommon for me to regard these as small countries, with areas you get familiar with and then move on once you've done your time there. Specifically satisfying was to watch the colorful foliage display blossom under the brush. Al Hogue knows from palette; the colors, warm and cool, coming out with a lush, rich sense of calm and comfort.

I then worked up the tower of the lighthouse, ending at the rather detailed filling in of the light and structures around it itself. If I get nothing else from PBNing, the dexterity workout is worth it alone.

Last but certainly not least I entered upon the sea and the waves. I'm always charmed by the way the interplay of color, thoughtfully selected, makes for the illusion of a phosphorescent, translucent, yet solid wave of water. This painting had that and more. At this point, I hit that moment of epiphany, got that feeling of frisson when the painting became more than just a pattern of lines I was filling in with color but a thing I was creating, that had volume and space and depth, that I was a participant in. I'm convinced that this is part of the magic of art making, whether you're creating original work or rotely following directions. You get into it and it gets into you.

This makes completing a mere PBN more than just following directions. PBNs are an easy way for the non-pro to get a taste of what the pro feels when they're in the zone, and it's a great feeling to have, that moment of realization. I recommend it to literally everyone.

In the more practical wise, it was satisfying to watch the waves emerge from the ground the way they did, and it was also easy to recognize that it was the interplay of light and dark colors, perspective generated of contrast, that made it all so.

Next, and cruising into the homestretch now, we get the colors that define the foreground and cause the small wave in front to emerge from the pattern just like the bigger wave in back did. Warm colors reflecting the lighthouse and reddened moonglow and darker greens giving dimension to the water's surface tie the whole thing into a coherent whole.

All but completed. All the colors are filled in but I'm going to confront a thing now. The extra added feature of PaintWorks kits, as I've said before, is that it gives you more than just a pattern to follow, it encourages you to take it a little farther. There are blends that would make this painting even more of a visual treat, blending the borders between the gradient bands circling the Moon and the shadows on the lighthouse tower and these call for drybrushing, which the kit, as all PaintWorks kits do, give you instructions for.

PaintWorks' system gives you actual instruction in some basic painterly things. Drybrushing is the most common. However, not only am I an impatient artist, I also am having a bit of trouble grasping drybrushing. I've tried in on a few of them and have been dissatisfied with the results. However, the Brown Eyed Girl, whose skill with painting RPG miniatures I've sncerely not matched elsewhere, gave me some protips on drybrushing and I learned something there, and I'm going to try them here. I'll work around the Moon first, then try them on the tower if it works.

So, stay tuned for that.

Beach Chair Trio: The Opening Act

3591And here's the first moves on "Beach Chair Trio", the PaintWorks PBN by Darrell Bush.

It's a smaller work, only about 17x11, and the dark and the second dark colors are easier to cover in a single sitting. And even though there is a black to fill in, and a black pot of paint, the black on the card isn't black. It's a combination of color 2 (a red) and color 5 (a green). The result is a dark yet warm purple. The second-dark is a very light blue (color 6) and a darker yet neutralized blue (color 8) resulting in the seafoam swells.

Eggplant and Peppers: The Opening Act

3590There's not much to see here, but it's the foundation to "Eggplant and Peppers".

The author suggests I block in the veggie outlines with black chalk. I went with a 2B Lyra Graphite crayon because it'll work just as well for my purposes and I don't have any black chalk anyway.

Letting my compulsion toward frugality override my desire to happily create, I used a canvas panel which I obviously accidentally intended for something else, or which intercepted something somehow, and I figure I'll work it in somehow (which is perhaps an unwarranted fit of artistic competence at this point, but I'm going to roll with it).

I'll be fine tuning the blocking just a little, but just a little. The author is encouraging me to keep it loose here and to bring the finer detail when I go in and actually do the painting.

Two Paintings: One With Numbers, One Without

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A preview of the next two things I want to attempt, painting-wise. Number one is another PaintWorks PBN. Number two is the real challenge.

Pictured above is the PBN. It is another PaintWorks product, this one titled "Beach Chair Trio". It's a smallish one, only a little bigger than 17"x11", and contains just twelve colors. This is similar to the "Flower Shop" PBN I did a while back. There is an opportunity for drybrushing practice here. I expect the usual level of PBN satisfaction from this.

... and the second one:

A while back I picked up a book by John Barber called The Acrylic Color Wheel Book. It contains a slidable color wheel in the cover so you can easily envision the mixes it calls for, and several projects that look pitched at the beginner painter who wants to gain skills to do more solid work. It is the kind of stuff that sits on the next level of proficiency that I want to attain on this journey.

I've reviewed the work "Eggplant and Peppers", a still life, quite a few times. The feeling I have of it is that of the swimmer about to dive into the deep end of a cold swimming pool and is still building up courage to do so. But in that way, it calls to me, such a mundane painting to do so, but it does. And I can picture me doing the techniques it calls for. So it't time to push into it.

I'll be documenting it all here on this blog and on the Facebook page I've started, The Daily Paint by Number. Wish me something resembling luck, or at least, perserverence.

Veni, Vidi, Legere

3582Art on the chalkboards at Powell's City of Books is always splendid. This I enjoyed Imperially.

 

This board is on the stairwell going from the Gold Room to the Pearl Room, which is heaven because that's where the art instruction books are and it's wholly proper to ascend as unto heaven for that biz, and will doubtless be up for about two more weeks. 

Patron Saints of Art: The Current Pantheon

3515A.

The lapel of my rather-battered jacket tells a story, or at least I try to have it entertain all comers.

Right now, it's got merely five autos-da-fe. They are, as follows:

Saint Thomas Pynchon. The quitessential Great American Novelist, wrote towering books mapping the angst and banality of male American life of the 2nd half of the 20th century into a odd world that exists on the edge of reality but can still be plainly seen. It's in your face but it isn't really there; it's the glimpse of reality you get in the flash of a atomic explosion that dazzles your eyes then fades away.

Saint Patrick McGoohan. Individuality as freedom and prison all at the same time: six degrees of freedom is also six degrees of imprisonment. And we all have our reasons for wanting to break free, and maybe you believe them or maybe you don't. It takes a Village, as they say.

Saint Andrew Warhola. You might be the brightest star in the firmament, son, but your time will be oh, so, fleeting. You will then be absorbed into the MCP of pop culture, program ... but only if you do it right.

San Salvador Dali. He not only did art, he was art. Last, year, to settle a paternity case by someone claiming to be an heir, his body was exhumed. His mustache was as perfect as it was when he was interred. He not only has immortality through his art, he has immortality as his art. If he were alive, he would definitely approved.

Saint Jake Richmond. Tells the story of an outsider not of their own doing, does the hard work, every day, work of the hands head and heart. He's not the only web comicker I admire, but he is Portland's.

Last night, when going to werk, I got Olivia a drink at the Chevron station, she was parched and wasn't going to carry me much farther. The pump jock asked me about my buttons and I told him about my current patron saints and told him about The Prisoner and reading Pynchon and he thought that he might try some of that out.

"Are you a teacher," he asked?

"No," I said, "I just like smart shit."

And so it goes.

Wife Art: Colored Coffee Cup #1

3530.

The Wife™, as me, carries about a handful of art tools at almost all times. When so moved, and we get a plain coffee cup, no designs, she goes to work.

The result is usually as delightful as it is simple, and authentic because it's totally of-the-moment.

"It's okay. Toss it out." says she?

Not on my watch, pal, not on my blog.

[liff in PDX] I've Been Framed Should Definitely Be One Of Oprah's Favorite Things

3519.

A visit to I've been Framed nourishes the heart. Even if I just pick up another blank book for my sketchbook/diary backstock ($3.99 for a Daler-Rowney, such a deal!).

It was when I was browsing the block-printing and screenprint department that I saw this:

... which I think of as Domo-kun goes Diving.

And, on the other side of the column from Domo there, here was Oprah:

Everyone should get a new art. And that should be one of Oprah's Favorite Things.

After I noticed it, Mark, who's always a pleasant personage, let me in on a thing. If you visit IBF on any regular basis, as we've been doing for more than a decade now, you'll have noticed an evolution in the glorious gallimaufry in the interior decor. As it happens, as the legion of people who've worked at IBF have found other opportunities and moved on, as people will do in a working life (especially one in art) they are afforded the chance to decorate part of a wall, making the interior of IBF not only a wonderful, fun, happy place to browse and find, but also a story of many of the people who've worked there.

I respond strongly to that. I didn't think there was a way for IBF to be any more charming than it is ... well, my friends, I was wrong.

Best. Art supply and framing store. Ever.  

[map, art] A Club For Those Who Want To Map Like Jerry

3481.

Back in 2013-2014, which I documented for the record, I documented my stumbling upon the organic life's work of a man named Jerry Gretzinger, who was creating, as he went, an imaginary world, 8 x 11 sheet by 8 x 11 sheet.

It's quite large now. over 50 feet long in one direction, and his world has toured the world, being shown in museums and art galleries. At first it was said to be called "Ukrania", but the name which has stuck is simply "Jerry's Map". Since it's been a while, here's the idea: Jerry began creating an imaginary city during lulls in a tedious job. The year: 1963. The original town, Wybourne (the original tile, pictured right) grew and grew from that beginning and then, as interests do, he moved on and shelved it. Eventually, a nephew discovered the stored map, asked him what it was, and he started growing it again. And never stopped.

This is something I've done and many aspiring artists and map affectionados such as myself have copied it. To us, Jerry is a hero because he's made a true commentary on the many forms art takes ... process, evolution, accomplishment. He operates on a set of basic rules controlled and governed by his own internal logic and directed by a deck of around 100 command cards fashioned from recycled playing card decks. These cards prompt for everything from introducing new colors to generating new tiles to creating new collages on the tiles to archiving and refreshing the world. So, to my mind, like no other artist, Jerry's Map not only chronicles the change in art over time, but it chronicles the changes the artwork makes on the artist, who folds that back into the process. The changer is changing the changed, and the changed is changing the changer.

Today I stumbled on a sub-Reddit called "Mapping Like Jerry!". It's a collection of similarly-inspired and aspiring artists who, seeing what Jerry has done, are moved to create their own versions of imaginary worlds. Jerry himself takes part, joyous as the friends he's obviously made along the way.

The sub-Reddit is at https://www.reddit.com/r/JerryMapping/.

[art] The 10 Commandments Of Art, Portland-style

3480.

Saw this yesterday at I've Been Framed, the Portland AF art supply and framing store that can, literally do no wrong (I've tested this):

Anyone who knows me knows I'm not exactly a commandment-based life form. But if you have to adopt a set of them, this is as good a set as I've seen anywhere.

The spirit of generosity and accommodation is ideal, and some parts of it apply to more than just art. I tender it and my observation as a humble gift to the general conversation.  

[art] The Weird Dystopian Past/Present/Future of Simon Stalenhag

3475.

Looks like I may be a bit late to the party on this one, because Simon Stalenhag has been doing this for a few years now; his books, Tales From The Loop and Things From The Flood, explore this bizarre world.

But for me, the first-timer to his work, it's a viscerally-disturbing yet visually-compelling and intellectually-intriguing thing. Giant mecha stalk the landscape; inscrutable glowing monoliths dominate the skyline; legions of people wearing what seem to be VR headpieces causing them to resemble queer birds wander the landscape, apparently in thrall to some hypnosis from within them. The technology appears human, yet not-human; was there an invasion? Did some sort of technological breakthrough run amok?

The styles seem as once far future and near-past; cars and homes that came from California tracts of the 70s and 80s mix unironically with tech that seems to have come from 200 or even 300 years hence. Civilization seems to have been severely compromised but seems to function on some level; a young lady with her sidekick android explores suburban and rural homes which have been deserted and have fallen into some disrepair; perched on one item of living room furniture is a TV set from 1975. In a desert outback, great things resembling crashed spaceships decay; in other settings, mundane police investigate. Cables run from mysterious machines into houses and buildings which may or may not have people inhabiting them.

This world is full-tilt-boogie wierd, and gets at once under the skin and stays there.

His website is full with a metric f-ton of his work, and he gives you and upclose and personal look by not only posting his work but also extreme closeups of detail. The artwork looks as though it was done with acrylic, and the brushwork reminds me of Vincent diFate. So if you take diFate, add in a large helping of technological dread, garnish with retro-recent-future dystopia and a generous side of Blade Runner a'la Ridley Scott, and then amp that up to 11 on the eerie, you have this amazingly compelling vision.

The website to visit is http://www.simonstalenhag.se/.

[art] Motivational Drawing Board Art Courtesy of Fanaticon

3453.

Two weekends ago the Klein Force traveled across light years (not as heavy as actual years) to a teen-run micro-comicon that had it's second iteration this year. Advised by the inimitable Jake Richmond (Modest Medusa), Fanaticon is a microcon organized and run by the teens in the Manga Studio art class he facilitates through Portland Parks and Rec. We went to last year's and found it inspirational, and the same with this years. Some old friends, some new treats, some quality face-time with Jake, some great fun chatting with Pharoah (really looking forward to the next episode of Black Fist, my friend) and a couple of bits of inspirational art for postinga bove the drawing board.

I just now realized that I'm evolving the long-neglected drawing board into an altar of sorts; whether or not the universe cares about it, our human psyches need ritual, even an informal or brief one. My religion, such as it is, has only one sacrament, and that's the pursuit of art in the form of word and drawing.

The assembling altar has a totem and and two affirmations here; the cat, our main spazz Mason, comes as a fuzzy gray bonus. His mind is elsewhere. Possibly on Mars.

The single line, I HAVE THE SKILL, is a line from a song by a band who called themselves The Sherbs and was done in 1980 on their album The Skill. It's affirmational in a down-to-earth way: the first verse and chorus run thus:

Ain't no magician, no miracle makerI am the shoreline, you are the breakerAll I can say, if this life that we're livin'Is a death-defying thrillI have the skillI have the skill

We're not supermen and superwomen but each day we live, we defy death. Why am I so afraid? But it continues in that straight-on, straight-ahead style. It's a great pep-talk of a song. The line is set in Micrgramma Extended because that's the headline type on the album cover design.

The other two bits of art came from Fanaticon, and speak to me in different ways.

That cutie of an orange fox with the pink ears is a representation of my totem, the fox. Just like many other metaphysical symbols, I didn't choose it, it chose me; I've always been fond of foxes, and the more I thought of foxes, a few years back, the more I saw them. I figured my local universe was giving me a role model. So I went all in on the fox as that point, and this one, by local artist Jillian Lambert (jillianlambert.com) I fell for instantly; the cute cartoon rendering, but most of all, the texture of the coloring … that made it real, authentic, and very seductive to the eye. And the fox is happy for no particular reason. Acquiring a cheer like that, both practical and motivational, would be a boon. It's a lesson I can take.

The type on the right is a dynamite design by Robin Casey (rozdraws.com) and has the right combination of resolve and irreverance that makes me smile, and not just because of that. The type is fun to look at, reminding me greatly of the elan with which sign painters sometimes go to town when they kick out the jams. You can paint great pictures with type, and this is a great example of how.

And I'll look at it every time I sidle up to the drawing board and push to create something … anything.

[art_in_PDX] Sharpie Art Cartoons in Powell's City Of Books

3417.

Right now, on one of the endcaps on one of the aisles of graphic novel and comics rows in the Coffee Room of Powell's City of Books, there are 6 roughly drawn yet thoughtfully-done and skillfully-executed cartoons. Here's one set.

There are six of them (they're still there as of last weekend), three on one side, three on the other. They appear to be drawn on imprecisely-trimmed foamcore board with a Sharpie. They seem to be very zeitgeist inspired, some obviously, others more indirectly.

Here's the other set:

Let's take 'em one-by-one. Top, left:

BLM. No explanation needed by now, I trust.

Next:

The Political Is Personal. For a variety of reasons I won't expound upon here (though I will eventually elsewhere) I have learned this to the bone over the last year: to the bone. Not just last week's presidential spasm, but a variety of events, votes both local and national have tied the political to the personal in my life like never before.

Thanks to 2016, I'll never look at politics quite the same way again.

This next one is enigmatic, and I'll leave the meaning for the inconstant reader to decode for themselves:

A lot of emotional responses obtain for that one above. None of which I can really put into words, but then, sometimes, art should do that to you.

That was the left side. Top right, now:

A young, hip, modern woman reads from a book on whose cover are the rubrics IMMIGRATION, SAME-SEX MARRIAGE, TRANSGENDER, CLIMATE CHANGE, EDUCATION, ABORTION, WAR. 
Important issues before. Even more, after. It's fitting that a woman should be reading them, because I think we should be hearing more from women about things like this. We know they know a lot, but the last election strongly suggested that we don't really want to hear what they have to say.

I wish that would change. I think we're collectively going to be sorry that it isn't.

Another enigmatic one. Decode the meaning for oneself:

And this last one also spoke very loudly to me. I once aspired to cartooning; editorial cartoonists have long been heroes of mine, and I've gone on to be fortunate enough to get to know a few astoundingly well on Facebook (never let it be said that Facebook never did anything for me). And this is what they do.

A revolutionary act. Especially considering the info-tainment and ratings center that modern news seems to be evolving into.

A tiny, vital art gallery, in the coffee room at Powell's. Meditation during book church.
I highly commend it to you. 

[art] Fugitive Colors of the Past

3399.

There's a rubric in art I like: fugitive colors. They're colors that get away from you, over time. Alizarin crimson is a notorious fugitive.

Basically what's going on here is a factor of the way pigments interact with sunlight. Colors, quite simply, bleach out and fade over time in paintings. Reds are the hardest to keep in place, it seems, and alizarin crimson is about the worst. You'll know about a color's fugitiveness by looking on the package: typically, there's a specification for permanence on any given tube of acrylic, oil, or watercolor or pan of watercolor, and the higher the permanence, the more likely that color's going to be standing by you over time after you create your work.

There are some colors that are actually no longer with us; they've truly escaped us. There's a variety of reasons for this, usually having to do with something about the materials; too expensive, too poisonous, or too fictional. There's a luminous quality to white lead, for example, but you make a habit of using it (providing you can actually get it) and you'll pay with a bit of your health. The colors arsenic can enable add to the artistic atmosphere, but the stuff it releases won't add anything you want to your breathable atmosphere. And things like that.

Here at a blog called Hyperallerigic, blogger Allison Meier recounts the stories of a handful of pigments that have completely escaped to the past, never to return: White lead, lapis lazuli, even (ha!) mummy brown, made with real mummy, as the legend has it.

The article can be read by pointing yourself at http://hyperallergic.com/74661/the-colorful-stories-of-5-obsolete-art-pigments/.

[art] Why Do You Think You Need To Draw A Straight Line?

3397.

Now that I've returned to drawing and plan to draw more I can expect this to happen.

Now, it must be said that my drawing talent is middling at best. I, as every aspriring artist, want it to be more, and that's why we practice. And what follows is some philosophical ruminating; feel free to skip. But it is a question I heard whenever I found myself drawing and people would look at what I was doing.

When you have a reputation as an artist, people will do that. They love to see art happen. And when they do, a phrase comes unbidden, almost compulsively from those who admire what you do:

Oh, I couldn't even draw a straight line!

Which is a nonsensical thing to say, when you think about it. There are, I'm confident to say, absolutely no straight lines in my sketchbook. I've looked it over. They don't exist. But the question is ere asked and I've heard it enough in my life that me, only an aspiring artist with middling talent who still mostly draws for his own pleasure that it's become this conversational token, something that is handed over for the privilege of watching (which, ironically, is free, so long as you don't, like, lurk over the shoulder. Bubble, people!)

The more one thinks about it the more quizzical it becomes. It's patently easy to draw a straight line, anyone and everyone can do it; get yourself a ruler, a piece of paper, and a pencil, and run that one bad boy along the other. Et voila! Straight line achievement unlocked.

Pointing out that simple truth, of course, isn't the answer, because that isn't what people mean, not at all of course. Everyone, I think, has a yearning to do art; they don't because they think there's this mystical barrier keeping them out, that once they quit being kids, when the only excuses they needed were a box of Crayola and a stack of scrap paper (or maybe a wall, as many parents still struggle with budding artists who want to do installations), they had to have training. They had to be accomplished. They had to produce perfect finished works or it wasn't worth starting.

You can point this all out to an admirer, and still you'll hear it: I can't do art. I couldn't draw a straight line. Which makes you wonder who said drawing a straight line became the barrier for entry into the artists' clique.

You don't have to be able to draw a straight line. Not only that, you don't have to really want to be a capital-A-Artist. You just have to want to do some art.

And, I find myself coming back, as Ouroborous, to the head from the tail with this thought, which leaves me with another one: Why do people who admire art being made feel compelled to declare that this simple thing, they cannot do? I don't know if anyone, including me, will ever be sure, but I have a feeling that, when seeing art being made, we all hear the call to do it ourselves, and art in society is not treated as a given but as an option, and we fear failure at the trying.

I suppose I would ask anyone saying that to look at themselves and ask why, and just that once, answer that call. Perhaps people feel as though you need to be going for pro status for just trying, and that's certainly not true; I have gotten so many hours of pleasure out of simply drawing for the simple creative act I've lost count of them. I'd advise my interlocutor to come to terms with that thought; try drawing simply as a perfectly private pastime. The world, after all, isn't full of commercially successful artists. That isn't everyone's destiny. But one may well enjoy drawing for pleasure, and you don't even have to see yourself as an artist to do that. Bob Ross and Bill Alexander built empires on teaching people to do art that they liked just because they liked doing it, and not much more.

And if you, after trying to draw for pleasure, feel that it bores you, then don't regret letting that go. The world is, after all made up of artists … and art lovers. And if you enjoy just looking at and being around art, we artists appreciate that, truly. Because a great deal of the fun of doing art is knowing someone's going to look at it and maybe even like it. We could very well be pointless without the rest of you.

So, do some art. Even if you can't draw a straight line.

Nobody ever said that was really a requirement, anyway.

I'll probably revisit this idea some time down the road.