September 2007 Archives
A link round-up. So many people joined the drawing party, in one way or another. Where a blog or site was linked or mentioned, I've tried to share it below. If I missed anyone, or if you've only just posted your picture, please add a link to the comments on this post, and I will try to update it in a few days. I've added a comment to the comments on the drawing one thousand post, too.
In no particular order, then:
Drawing on Nature
Jen Lemen on BlogHer
Keep on Keepin' on
Brian's Art Blog
Rachel Perry Welty
Neither Pink Nor Pale
My Brilliant Mistakes
Moving Right Along
My Life is but a Tapestry
Have a Good Sandwich
The Proper Prophet
yum yum cafe
Best of Mother Earth
Please explore and enjoy these sites, and thanks for making it such a great party!
And it is 29.
I numbered the comments and put each number on a piece of paper, put the folded papers into a hat, and shook it. Paused to be thankful for everyone's participation, and pulled one paper out.
And then it only seemed appropriate to draw the drawn number for the drawing drawing.
The promised round up of links will come tomorrow, as I closed the laptop and read aloud to the children tonight, instead.
Spinning along, tracing an almost accidental pattern as it goes. Reminds me of those ideas which seem just beyond the reach of words and then suddenly clarify. "Ah, that's what I meant to say, all along."
And what I want to say, is "Thank you all." What an outpouring of creative responses! What a party!
Tomorrow I'd like to post a round up of links, so if you have a picture online and haven't mentioned it yet, please do! I'll also write down the names of those who participated and draw one of them out of the cap. And keep on drawing, if you can - no reason to end the party, just as we're having so much fun.
People have been asking me what I planned to draw for my one thousandth drawing, and I've said that I wasn't sure, wouldn't be sure until I sat down to draw, because that's the way it works most days.
And that turned out to be true. I kept thinking that something important or significant would occur to me - something that would let me reflect on what I've been doing and what it has meant to me. But in the end, everyday life won. The sun was shining on the front porch, and I felt like sitting on the swing and looking at the sky and the house across the way.
An important part of this project has been the slowing down, the sitting down, the noticing. The individual drawings matter less to me now than the feeling of moments accumulated, the excuse to pause and daydream, to woolgather. I'm grateful for all these moments, for what I've been learning along the way, and for the community I've found online. Thank you all so much for your visits, your comments and your silences, your links, your questions, and your suggestions. Please know how much your presence means to me.
And I hope you can join me for the next 1000!
If you are joining the distributed drawing party, please add a comment to this post and let everyone know what you drew. (If the picture is somewhere where you can link to it, that's a wonderful extra treat for all of us. If that isn't possible, don't let it worry you!) Comments on this post will be open through midnight (Eastern daylight time, U.S.) tomorrow, September 25th. Welcome to the party. Cheers!
To celebrate my 1000th day of drawing on Monday, I've invited everyone to a virtual event, a distributed drawing party. I've asked everyone to draw something on that day, and then to leave a comment about it on that day's blog post.
And what's a distributed drawing party without a drawing to distribute? I've made the sketch above, and I'll draw a name of one of the commenter/participants, and send the picture to that person. It could be you.
Here's how it will work. Sometime during Monday, September 24, draw a picture. When the "drawing one thousand" post appears on this site, post a comment to let me know that you drew. To allow for people in different time zones, I'll keep comments on that post open until midnight (EDT) Tuesday, September 25. On Wednesday, I'll put all the names in a cap and draw one out. Then I'll email that person and find out where to send the picture.
Thank you all for your continuing visits and support and encouragement - let's have fun tomorrow!
Bought from a street vendor while running errands today. One of three, but the other two are long gone - shared en route.
Here's what I have in mind for the virtual celebration of one thousand drawings on Monday. I am inviting you to a distributed drawing party: sometime during the day Monday, please find a comfortable place, get a piece of paper and a pen and make a small drawing of something you see. Nobody needs to see it - the important thing is to have fun! O.k.? Maybe you can think of it as a party game, and then leave a comment on my 1000th drawing post to let me know you did that.
Perhaps you went to see "WILL 100 ARTISTS PLEASE DRAW A 1950 FORD FROM MEMORY," a show curated by Anthony Easton after the 1977 drawing by Ed Ruscha, at the Art Gallery of Alberta. In it are 100 drawings of a 1950 Ford, one of them mine. (The show runs through January 6, 2008 - please drop me a line if you get to see it.)
The text running up the side of the picture reads, 1950: Ford truck on the horizon nine years before I was born.
A long row of bayberry bushes is planted at the sidewalk edge of a supermarket parking lot. Walking past, I picked first a leaf, which I crushed and breathed in, and then this twig to bring home for a drawing. Bayberry is a scent that reminds me from childhood of hot July days and the smells of walking to the beach. Bayberry is also the scent of remembered Christmases, of tiny bayberry candles with faded tissue paper frills on them. So it seems right that I should have found this today, almost midway between the seasons.
Drawn this afternoon while we drank coffee and our daughter ate ice cream.
(For those of you who follow Twitter, you can now catch my tweets at elizabethperry. In the past couple of days, I've begun posting a description of the sounds in my environment from my iPhone, to see if I can use the device to help me be more connected to my immediate surroundings. Received wisdom says that mobile phones and music players insulate us from what's around us - I wonder if it's possible to notice more, instead.)
Resting after a long day. The air is charged with crispness, the day and night cooler. The season is beginning to turn. A holiday tomorrow - happy new year to all who will celebrate it. Tonight we marked our anniversary, another kind of new year, a time to remember beginnings, consider the present moment, and play with possible futures. (I liked everything about the restaurant except for the staff saying, "Enjoy!" at the conclusion of every conversational exchange. I am becoming a curmudgeon. Bah. It was wonderful, really. And we sat on the terrace.)
Tonight I'm looking at the careful-accidental way the potter let the glazes run together on this bowl. Once upon a time, I didn't much like the colors, but over the years my eyes have gotten used to them and I see subtleties and elegance I missed before. Perhaps the bowl was waiting for my taste to grow into it.
A rainy afternoon in a suburban strip mall coffeeshop. I read a few sections of the paper and then drew the view from the window. The rain made it all look rather bleak, but the coffee was good, and we talked and laughed until it was time to pick up the youngest member of the family from a friend's birthday party.
Color added by rubbing on the juice with my fingers. It starts out red, but gets bluer as it dries. I imagine there's an explanation online somewhere, but the Wikipedia article on anthocyanins gets me lost pretty quickly. Any chemists care to help?
Outside an open window at night. I think Amelanchier laevis is the proper name, but locally it's called Juneberry or serviceberry. A woodland shrub or small tree, with white flowers on the branches in spring, then purple berries (good in muffins, if you can beat the birds to them) in early summer, and the leaves are golden yellow in the fall. Two of them thrive on the north side of our house. When it rains, I hear the water falling on these leaves as I am waking up.
This red leather case holds pens, pencils, brush pen, water brushes, my tiny paint set, and more. From time to time I pack it too full of things and think about getting something bigger - but after trying to carry more, I've always returned to this case again. Less is better. A larger case makes it too hard to find what I want. A larger case is something I'm less apt to tuck into my bag when I'm headed out the door.