Yesterday afternoon Alicia Padrón and I had a twitter conversation about our mutual wish for an assistant in the form of a robot. Alicia wanted hers to make her coffee and bring cake; I'd love mine to bring endless cups of rooibos tea.
She drew the cutest coffee robot ever invented. (See here) And I promised to draw my version of a tea robot. This is a super-duper quick sketch because I'm panicking to finish a huge job before tomorrow.
Where's that soothing cup of rooibos tea when you need it?
With the beginning of the holiday season (and deadline season) looming, I've decided I need to focus on the things that make me happy. I need to slow down the pace for a moment and really notice what's going on around me.
This morning, after receiving some disappointing news regarding a long-hoped-for job, my Mom and I went for a coffee in the Bo Kaap neighbourhood. My mind was a fog of sad thoughts, but then I lifted my head and looked around. It's impossible to be melancholy for long in the Bo Kaap, where candy coloured houses tumble down the cobbled streets from Signal Hill to the city centre. Who can be sad when someone is growing pink petunias on the pink wall? It made my heart sing.
Another thing that makes me really happy is my messy desk. Every so often I try to clear it up, but in less than a day it always looks like a whirlwind again. But, I know where everything is, and the mess feels cozy!
What makes you happy this December?
Being a prairie girl, I've never had a close acquaintance with the sea. I've admired it on summer trips; I've stuck my toes in it and shivered; I've dreamed of living in a beach house; but, it never seemed like a "real" place. The seaside was a dream and a vacation, not a home.
Now I find myself living within a short distance from two seas: the Indian Ocean and the Atlantic ocean. Each has its own distinct personality and moods, and each are inspiring in their own way. And I love them both!
This new friendship with the sea led me to contemplate children and mermaids. How much fun would it be to have a secret mermaid friend?
The Cape Town Aquarium
Riding Horses in the Atlantic.
Here's the sketch for today.
I've been staring at a blank piece of paper all week, trying to figure out what to do next. I have two large projects that need starting (need finishing actually, but starting comes first). Do you ever get that crippling feeling of artistic insecurity before you start something big?
It got so frustrating this morning that I just had to draw SOMETHING. So... I did an illustration friday painting. The theme was "stripes." I didn't want to over-think the challenge, as I've been over-thinking my projects all week, so I just did a simple stripey portrait.
And, you know what? Suddenly I think I have more creative chutzpah to tackle those overwhelming projects. :-)
I promise, I have been drawing every day. I just can't prove it. Really. Every day I sit down with my sketchbook and watch my pencil skim across the paper. Sometimes I'm happy with the result; sometimes I'm not; and, sometimes, the sketch turns into something I don't want to share. What I mean is, they turn into something more substantial, a full painting that I will share at a later date (you know, to keep the suspense going).
These daily drawings have forced me to really think about my style. What is my visual language? How do I make marks on paper? The trick with drawing is to be able to anticipate what might unfold. You need to draw as though the sketch could turn into a full painting. That means different things for different people, as everyone works differently. For me, it means working with clear lines and tones (three shades: light, middle, dark).
The exercise has forced me to draw with greater clarity. I have to see clearly in order to be able to draw clearly.
Above you see a little pencil sketch of Llandudno, a lovely bay in Cape Town. To the left is the Klein Leewkoppie, the smaller lion's head mountain. This tiny sketch was done quickly, in my evolving visual short-hand. I couldn't draw them, but the waves in the bay were teaming with seals frolicking in the waves.
This weekend I attended the SCBWI Cape Town Spring conference (2011). It was such a treat! The roster of speakers dazzled the attendees: Steve Mooser (SCBWI president and founder), Erzsi Deàk (founder of Hen and Ink agency), Nicol Faasen, and Stephan Spies (publisher).
The afternoon consisted of crit groups moderated by prominent South African publishers: Michelle Cooper (Tafelberg), Sally Howes (Watermark), Carol Broomhall (Jacana), Aldré Lategan (Human and Rousseau), and Miemie du Plessis (Lapa).
The consistent theme throughout all the talks and critiques was how we all need persistence. It can be hard to trust the process of creating, but this conference definitely affirmed the need for bravery and persistence when facing blank paper. There is a story within you; cajole it out of hiding with songs and soft words, otherwise it may remain in the shadows forever. Don't give up!
There is something cathartic about organizing the studio. These long lost friends of mine, sequestered in suitcases and plastic bags, have finally found their way back into the daylight. My brushes, pens, pencils, and paints have travelled with me across two hemispheres. From Cape Town to Winnipeg and back, with many stop-overs in between. They've served their wandering master well, with no complaints (except from the paint tubes... some exploded inflight and left my art-bag full of pigment) and now they've come to rest on a my studio table again.
One thing I've learned through all this travel and upheaval is that here is no 'magic' place to make art. I used to think that I needed a perfect studio, and all my art supplies arranged 'just so,' before I could create something worth-while. On this trip I haven't had that luxury; In fact, I've had to create illustrations for silly deadlines in all manner of inconvenient places. All that really matters is that I have the time to stop and draw, no matter where I happen to be sitting.
We're back in Cape Town for the next couple of months, and I'm back in my studio with the view of the grapevine and Table Mountain. I'm definitely going to have lots of work to do in the next few months, so perhaps this next statement is foolhardy... but... I want to start a drawing challenge.
I resolve to draw something every weekday and post it on this blog.
[There, I said it. Now you can keep me accountable!]
One of the best things about being a Courtauld Institute of Art alumna is that I get to rub shoulders with fantastically creative people on a regular basis.
This week was the first (annual, I hope) Courtauld Alumni Authors event. All Courtauld Institute alumni were encouraged to submit books they'd authored in the past few years, and a select few were chosen for the reading night.
On display were hundreds of great, authoritative, art historical tomes, worthy of the best ivy league libraries. But, amongst all those scholarly books were a few exceptions, and those were chosen for the reading: two novels, two memoirs, and poetry.
I wasn't selected to read, as the audience was too erudite for children's books, but at the post-reading soirée Magic at the Museum was prominently displayed with all the other 'fiction' books. (See above)
And now that my Friday work is done, I'll brew a cup of coffee and hibernate with my copy of Lunch in Paris by Elizabeth Bard. I'm giddy with anticipation: a New York Times bestseller, set in Paris, and written by a Courtauld alumna. It just couldn't get any better than that!
A whole week in New York... and I spent practically the whole time staring at the skyline. The variety of roofline shapes, colours and heights sent my head into a dizzy spin. Or perhaps it was the vertigo of staring up all the time while trying to walk in a straight line and not crash into a harried New Yorker.
I wanted to record the crowds, and the activities, that I saw around me in that great city. Instead, I found myself drawing all the fire escapes and water towers. Did you know that practically every New York building of a certain age has a small water tower on its roof to increase water pressure? They seemed so old fashioned and quaint, like a nod to the past in the ultra-modern, ultra-fast-paced city.
I imagined that Yakko, Wakko and Dot from the Animaniacs would burst out of a random water tower and break into wild song and dance. Perhaps to interrupt the UN General Assembly with their antics. Do you remember that old Warner Brothers show?
The last water-tower sketch is from the old Pillsbury Flour mill in Minneapolis. And here's another old children's TV trivia question: Do you remember the Pillsbury Doughboy? I loved the way he always said, "Hoo Hoo!" with a giggle whenever the industrious Mom tickled his stomach. He was so helpful in the kitchen; and the cookies, buns and rolls always turned out perfectly.
Hoo Hoo!
Today we leave Chicago. This is my second time in the windy city, and I love it more with every visit. It has the perfect mix of cosmopolitan hustle and bustle combined with small-town friendliness.
I've been sketching as much as I can. The pace of travelling doesn't automatically lend itself to leisurely sketching time. I admire those who seem to make travel sketchbooks so effortlessly. How do they do it?
I tried to photograph my sketchbook pages, in the hopes of posting them as I go along. But the pictures were fuzzy and poorly exposed, so I'll rather post a selection of my best sketches at the end of this epic journey.
Today we leave for New York! It will be my first time in the 'capitol of the world' and I can't wait!
I don't think anything quite compares to a prairie sky. I've admired many a sky, in many a lovely foreign place, but there's something awe-inspiring about the vastness and power of the sky in the Great Plains. It stretches from horizon to horizon, making everything else seem insignificant.
I haven't been taking that many pictures, except these ones that I took on a 'scenic drive'. It always seems redundant in my home town. I've seen everything so many times that it doesn't seem special. Except now that Mark is here with me, and I'm seeing it all with fresh eyes.
And time to fess up. I also haven't been doing that much sketching either (for the same reasons). I start to draw something and then think, "is this even interesting?" And besides, drawing a landscape means drawing a straight line across the page... where's the challenge in that?
However, we've started to do more sight seeing and I'm gradually filling the pages of my sketchbook. I'm not sure if I'll post them as I go along, or all at once at the end of the trip...
what do you think?
We've still got Minneapolis, Chicago, New York and Toronto to cover.
Or perhaps, after each city I should do a summary of our time with sketches?
Summer Sunday sketches in Steinbach.
Ok, try to say that five times fast.
Yesterday I spent a lazy afternoon wandering around my home town with my sketchbook and a new Faber-Castell brush pen. The clock tower in my drawing is at the corner of Reimer and Main, the epicentre of town, where everything happens.
At least, where everything happens on a weekday. On a Sunday it is perfectly quiet, and the only thing bustling down the street is a lazy, hot prairie wind.
I haven't used brush pens much, and I've discovered that I really love the long undulating line. I wonder: how long does a brush pen last before it can't achieve those delicate thin lines, and only drags thick, scratchy strokes across the page? I guess I'll find out as I learn.
Take a seat!
Make yourself comfortable.
I'll pour some coffee and we can chat; it's been so long.
Now that you've toured the kitchen, I thought perhaps we could curl up in the living room for a chat. I really love all my blog readers, and I wish I could get to know each of you a bit better. Wouldn't this little room be the perfect place for a tête-à-tête?
Again, the majority of what you see is hand-made by a young yours-truly. Since I've taken a bit of a hiatus from posting drawings, I thought I could share a different artwork: the dollhouse!
Pull up a chair. I'll cut the cake.
And, please don't mind the mess.
I haven't been doing much these past few days. I'm relaxing and enjoying the absence of deadlines (what a luxury!).
I can't really show many pictures of my actual home, because it's being renovated as we speak. It seems that I move from building-site to building-site around the world, leaving unfinished houses in my wake.
But, I can show you on of my 'spiritual' homes: my dollhouse. It's not just any dollhouse, of course. I worked on it for over a decade, starting when I was about 9 or 10. I sewed the dolls, and made practically everything you see by hand (except the dishes, the lamp and the cake).
It was my dream home in miniature. I still sometimes wish I could shrink, and spend a few days with my dolls in their cozy house.
I thought I'd give you a tour, starting with the kitchen...
It's my last day in London for a few months. I'll really miss it!
Here are a few pictures of my favourite places. Above you see the fountains in Somerset House. A free 'beach' for all the city children.
Standing in the middle of Waterloo Bridge and looking east. They say if you can walk to the middle of Waterloo Bridge from one end while holding your breath your dreams will come true. I've never managed.
Tower Bridge [not London Bridge, don't be confused]
And Somerset House again, at dusk. The most beautiful place in the whole city, as far as I'm concerned.
There's something about being in London that makes you feel like you own the city. It's all spread out there, on both sides of the Thames, just for your enjoyment. The city is so polite, and considerate, and accommodating: for any request, it says, "It would be my pleasure."
It's comforting that no matter how long I'm gone from London, it always welcomes me back with open arms and a cup of tea. Like a prodigal daughter.
And I don't mean to say this in a self-absorbed kind of way. I think most Londoners feel this sense of ownership and welcome.
I just love this book cover from 1953. It sums up everything I'm feeling right now. Aren't vintage book covers just the best things for inspiration?
It just occurred to me that I should have draw rabbits. After all, "Haas" means rabbit in Afrikaans. Instead I drew all the rats, mice, birds and turtles populating the coffee shop named Haas.
Be not afraid, however, the animals weren't real: most were sculptures and some were stuffed. Jesse and I escaped our respective studios for another sketch outing. We've devoted the next few weeks to exploring the coffee shops of Cape Town with pencil and paper in hand.
It makes a welcome retreat from reminders of endless deadlines and to-do lists in our studios. The best thing about being a freelance illustrator is the luxury to sit leisurely in a sidewalk cafe and say, "I'm working; this is research."
Happy sketching!
Mark and I spent the weekend visiting his sister and her family in Johannesburg (affectionately known as Jo'burg). The weekend was filled with socializing, seeing a bit of the city, and making new friends. I didn't really have time to spend sketching, but my eyes and my mind were still full of artistic inspiration.
We went on a game drive in a reserve called The Cradle. It isn't far from the city, in fact you can see it sprawling in the valley below the reserve. Everything I saw inspired me: the colours, the fresh scent in the air, the animals... but there was no way I could draw everything. It happened too quickly, and it was too cold to hold a pencil. So... I sketched with my camera.
It is completely possible to 'sketch' with a camera. Not everything has to be done with a pencil or pen. A quick photograph can record an idea, a composition, a gesture, and lots and lots of colour. I often see something, and challenge myself to name the tubes of watercolour paint I'd use to capture the scene.
The world is bursting with colour, and I can't wait to explore it more with my camera.
I can't really show you what I'm working on at the moment, but I can share an aspect of it with you...
Probably one of my favourite art supplies has to be salt: just plain old sea salt.
I use it to create texture in my watercolours. When you sprinkle salt onto a wet watercolour wash, and then let it dry, you get the most amazing mottled textures. The salt crystals absorb the surrounding water, and push away the pigment, creating differently shaped white patches on the paper. When done in layers, it can create the most amazing depth of texture. I usually apply the salt in at least 3 or 4 layers.
It is very important to let the paper dry after each layer. Above you see the wet wash drying, with the salt on the paper. I seems to me that salt also makes the water dry slower. It's a great excuse for surfing the net while working in my studio. [I'm watching paint dry... honest!]
Once the wash is dry, use a large, soft brush to brush the used salt away. Sometimes it actually gets stuck to the paper, and you have to pull a few crystals off with your fingernails.
I've just discovered that the salt you have to crush by hand in a mill creates the largest crystal patterns on the paper, as the salt crystals are so much larger.
It is really, really fun to experiment with different ways of making marks on paper. Below you see a comic I did for a newspaper utilizing the salt technique.
And, here's a quote for you to think about while you're working in your studios:
The cure for anything is salt water -- sweat, tears, or the sea.
Isak Dinesen