November 2005 Archives


Four boxes (three of cloth, one of clay) and a wooden comb sit on one end of my bureau. I was working with water-soluble oil pastels and ink tonight. The oil pastels go on much softer than the watercolor crayons, but don't move as far with water. Fewer colors in my set, so my choices are based on value as much as hue. (That and the strong incandescent cast of light in the bedroom affected my color blends and combinations.)



Sunglasses on the dresser - unused in late autumn.


Tonight I redrew this detail of a corner of a giant pastel drawing from last summer.

Working in watercolor crayon in a small sketchbook is different at first from the sweep of my arm across more than a meter of paper, and then I begin to lift color around with the waterbrush and find some of the same freedom of movement.


Noticing that the city sky has a pinkish gray cast to it on a hazy night. This was drawn partly with all the lights off, so that I could see the branches outside. As my eyes got used to the dark, I began seeing more color, and the sky grew lighter. When I turned the lights on again, the sky went back to its usual night color of blue-black.



Left on the table.


I love the feeling when I let go of language as I'm working, and find myself just pushing paint or crayons around. I learn so much from that play with shapes and color. I step back from it afterwards and say - that's what I was doing - and I can see the whole, then.

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Revisited the blue vase from last night, this time with watercolor crayon and no ink, laying the color onto the page thickly and then blending with the waterbrush. Trying to get at the intensity and glassiness of the color.

Last night I was so sleepy when I was drawing the vase that I actually began to fall asleep several times while making the picture. I would nod, and then jerk awake and continue drawing. I can remember beginning to write the date on the page, and deciding that the year was 825 - not sure why, and then I woke up and corrected it, although now I wish I hadn't. I like the watery-dreamy-sleepy feel of it as it is. The odd date would have been in the right spirit for the drawing.



Ink and watercolor crayon.


Self-portrait, late at night. Pen and ink.



Books to put away are just stacked precariously on the corner of the coffee table. We are in the middle of picking up - company is coming for Thanksgiving.


Green earrings, and the tissue paper which wrapped them. Souvenir of a trip to Philadelphia.



Limestone lion, China ca. AD 525, University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. This is one of a number of wonderful lions in the great rotunda. Drawn in situ, and then added color later in the evening.


Blue skies, bright sun, and cold - for a day of trains and lunch. Philadelphia to New York to Philadelphia again. The locust trees were glowing golden in Union Square.



"Restoring facial bar," says the label. I think it is soap.

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I am about to travel again for a short period of time for work. Supposedly the hotel has free internet access. Apologies in advance if that is not the case - I'll have a bundle of posts on Sunday afternoon or evening when I get home again.


So far, I have dodged my childrens' colds. (It is early in the year to be confident, though.)


Terry cloth and tile, pen and ink.


Zinnias hang on in the garden, even after a frost. Gangly, neglected, but still blooming. I am hoping that they'll still be standing a week from today, so that I can have them on the table at Thanksgiving.



Now that the house plants are inside, we have leaf shadows on the walls at night again.


Fountain pen, brush pen, and waterbrush.

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Late night contour study of a small child.



On top of the bookshelf is an eyeless stuffed tiger. This was an exercise in trying to draw with freedom - and without too much sentimentality. (Fountain pen and watercolor crayon.)


A late rose left on my desk last month - now dried - still smells faintly, if I bring it close to my face.


Very late this year, the leaves have finally turned color and begun falling. Today the wind swept thunderstorms through, but the last soccer game of the year was played anyway. (Parents vs. kids - kids won.) Good to have the time to draw outside - we won't enjoy many more warm days here before spring.



This time I was working with brush pen, watercolor crayon, and then waterbrush.


The shoe is black; the dots are white or silver. A friend of mine is partner in an online shop called You can find lots of tempting things there... But this shoe was something I found on my own. And according to wikipedia, there is also no direct connection between polka, the dance, and polka, the dot.

Yayoi Kusama makes art with polka dots. The friend with the online shop works in a museum where Yayoi Kusama's work is on exhibit. There is no direct connection there, either. This entry is beginning to veer toward its own kind of dottiness. Pixilation rather than pixelation. (Instead of reading between the lines this weekend, I encourage you to go out and read between the dots.)


Butternut squash from the farm this week. As a kid, I never liked winter squash or sweet potatoes - now they are among my favorite vegetables. (Especially roasted...)



A bald doll, asleep on the floor. One of her eyes is slightly crossed in real life, and no one is sure where her hairpiece is. (At any given moment it may be under the Barbie trunk, or being worn by a stuffed cheetah, or mixed into the dress-up basket, you never know...)


Empty paper bag - not even a story. Still life after Halloween. (Pen and ink and wash.)

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