I have this cat and he goes by the name of Mr. Quincy. He is a rather fussy gentleman, and not much of a gentleman in the traditional sense of the word, but he is a good friend and therefore I try not to speak ill of him.
...He is very conversational. He often approaches me with a high-riding tail and a comment or two. I will reply with a greeting of my own and I'll ask how he is doing. In response he will growl tiredly, and bump his forehead to my shinbone, or commit a smooth slide along the side of my leg, ending with a gentle tail wrap.
...Our conversations are constant. I will say something about the weather. He won't understand but out of courtesy he will pretend he does, and offer a few words which I won't understand. Perhaps it is advice about the frequency of feeding times, perhaps he is forgiving me for the bath I subjected him to yesterday, perhaps he is suggesting that it would be nice for the two of us to go sit in the ivy on the patio and watch the hummingbirds.
...I'd like to think he approves of me, but I don't have any proof that his concerns go too far beyond the obvious despair he feel when his bowl is empty.
...He is a very prominent fixture in my world and he creeps into my dreams and into my sketchbooks. There he is again, damn cat.
...Pencil sketch, scanned and given a ten-minute color job.
This is an assortment of heads. Nobody in particular. Pen, brush and ink with a little bit of white goache because I got carried away with the ink.
...There was a great temptation to fiddle with the drawing after scanning it. When I over-inked, I shrugged and thought "eh, I'll fix it in photoshop." It's bad enough I'm coloring some of these on the computer.
...Which reminds me; I did apply watercolor to one of my drawings but the paper doesn't take to it to well, and the drawing was pretty weak. It shall not appear.
It's that time of year! I don't follow baseball like I used to, and I haven't been to a game in more than five years, but I listen to the Giants and A's on the radio. Nothing like a day at the ballpark, even if you're just sitting in your car.
I like those Pitt brush pens, they really are a terrific tool. How easy they make it to go out sketching, and it's nice to have a brush you can pull out for a quick scribble and, just like that, put the cap back on and go on your way.
I have this cat and he goes by the name of Mr. Quincy. He is a rather fussy gentleman, and not much of a gentleman in the traditional sense of the word, but he is a good friend and therefore I try not to speak ill of him.
This is an assortment of heads. Nobody in particular. Pen, brush and ink with a little bit of white goache because I got carried away with the ink.
...Presenting a couple more head doodles.
to upload them I have this flinching of the soul that motivates me to stain them in hopes of improving them. I will try to keep that in check but I am very much too human and I will probably keep on fussing anyway.
...I have never been good at keeping a sketchbook. Rotten at it. There's something about all of those blank pages waiting right underneath the one I'm working on. They speak to me and say things like "hurry up!" and, "You'll never be able to draw this many!"
...The other sketchbook has less intimidating paper in it, to be sure, but he is thick and dense. Two hundred pages? Possibly. He does go on. There is one of those little ribbons sticking out of the spine, so that you can mark your place if you should have to put it down in the middle of a drawing and come back to that spot later without a lot of flipping of the pages. He gives this air that he is something fine but he does not fool me.
How this happened, paraphrased:
...This is an illustration for an article on handicapping horses. Just what are people looking at when they give a horse the once-over to decide whether they should put their money on him/her?
