Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Monkey and Cat


Micron Ink with Photoshop
Referenced from a picture that I saw one time in an old 80s National Geographic.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Two Different Approaches

Blue Gel Pen, 1st Drawing


Pencil, 2nd drawing

I think I like the pencil one better. What do you think? C'est quoi tu trouves?

Also, I want to share a little quote. I'm reading this wonderful book called Imaginative Writing by Janet Burroway, and one of the things that struck me was,

"'The progress of any writer' said great poet Ted Hughes, 'is marked by those moments when he manages to outwit his own police system.'"

This rings so true for all you drawing and painting "theorists" out there, does it not? It applies so well to all creative pursuits, I believe, which means that it applies well to our human mind. For some reason it's when we least expect it that we do something we actually like.

Friday, September 10, 2010

intaglio shmintaglio

Bon-a-tirer! What, what. My first intaglio print EVER.

This is an anting blue jay. What is anting, you ask? Simply when a bird (typically a jay) lands on an ant mound, the ants get into their feathers and clean their feathers pretty well. And, hey, he might just eat some of the ants while he's feeling hungry. A pretty good deal for him, not so much for the ants. Its like going through a carwash and then eating the carwasher.

Anyways, I thought it was an interesting phenomenon, donc, Voila! Hope everyone had a good labor day.

Friday, September 3, 2010

change of scenery

I am officially back in Provo, which is a lovely place in the summer. It's hard to believe that in but a few months I will be cursing the cold weather and the icy pathways to class. I've been running up these sunflowered hills every day, trying to get acquainted with Utah's natural beauty, which is something I didn't really let myself do last semester. Running tends to help me do that.  Also, I have an intaglio class this semester, for which I am thoroughly excited.

      

       



       


But always up the mountainside you're clambering,
Groping blindly, hungry for anything,
Picking through your pocket linings--well, what is this?
Scrap of sassafrass, eh sysiphus?