No. 224: Build-a-Buddy

No. 224 is "Max" and he's a Texan. Shipping to Dallas.

I came across one of those inane e-cards that pretty much sums up why I have two dogs and a cat:

 

Max the German Shepherd is, I suspect, much like my Corly the German Shepherd: A wing man, a sounding board, a space heater, a confidante. The No. 1 request I get for gift drawings is dogs, followed by cats.  People run third -- go figure.

A drawing such as Max runs $160, unframed, and takes about a week to produce (depending on the shift I am working). 
Everything starts with the eyes, be it animal or human.

Being familiar with the breed, Max breezed along.  I have drawn my own Corly 15 times, and I used him as a reference for Max, because the ear tips were missing from the original photo.

I generally email or text the customer as the work progresses, and if I'm really happy with the progress, I will post updates to Facebook.  

Max here shipped unframed, in a mailing tube, but I advised the customer on measurements, and frame and mat size options.  He will need a 12" x 18" space inside a frame (enough for a thin mat), or larger for a thicker mat.  The drawing shipped on paper measuring 22" x 28" -- poster-sized.

If you are thinking of a gift for Christmas, orders really should be in by Thanksgiving or shortly afterward.   I won't ship a framed picture because the glass always breaks (UPS, USPS or FedEx, all the same result).   If you are local to the Warren/Youngstown area, framing is no problem.

Contact me at willstom01@gmail.com or hankbonesman@embarqmail.com -- or find me on Facebook.

Jalapeño

All I can teach him is this: Life is not a cakewalk. It's not a waltz. The only important steps are the ones that take us forward. Even if we do not know what's ahead, we still need to get there.

 So, step out.

http://storytellerphotographyimagesbyrebecca.com/

 

No. 219, "Jalapeño," drawn 10/9/13

Happy birthday, Jalapeño.
I call you that, in case you wonder, because the sound makes you giggle.
"Halla-PEEN-yo!"
Such a quick, squeaky laugh, it squeezes your whole little face. It makes me chuckle, too.

Birthday wagon, Halloween night 2013

We're going to talk about memories here.
Your mommy and more have been planning your first birthday party for weeks. A lot of people will be there, you'll get toys and will play with a cake.
And you won't remember a thing. You're too young.

Drawn in a day, to celebrate a year.

We will remember it for you, don't worry, because the party is our celebration, too.
It's been so neat to watch you grow from a spud to an adorable boy: Puffy cheeks, toothy grin, my green eyes and your mother's big forehead.

This first year was difficult, mostly for you.
You were premature, fragile, sick.
And loud. You wailed -- screamed, mostly -- for six months.
And moist. Everything that went in popped back out the top, and had trouble getting to the bottom.
You checked in at a couple hospitals.  There is nothing sadder than little feet poking out from under a hospital tunic.
We were all told to wait it out, and cried from worry and exhaustion.
You won't remember.

Mommy and daddy had their uncertainties too. There were a few long nights apart, each of them with your grandmas and grandpas. There were also a few times when the grandpas and grandmas got together to see if we could figure them out.
Sometimes we all don't know what to do with each other.
You won't recall.
Just as well.

That's a tiny baby.

It seems to me that your lights all came on at eight months. Your gravity system started working, you started crawling and being inquisitive. Everything went into your mouth.
We watched cars from the woods, you played with the dogs, you ate with your fingers.

Corleone and Anthony. One of my favorites.

I read your first book to you, on our front porch. Big pictures of silly dinosaurs, and few words.
You tore at the pages.
I held your arms and you jumped up and down on my chair for 10 minutes, singing along to music. Then you hurled on mommy.
I'll never forget it.

Masterpiece!

That one night I watched you on my own, at your parents' place, we had a pizza delivered.  You ate crust and then had a bath, and I showed you how to make waves in the tub.  We were untethered from our minders.

Mommy came a little unwound for this bash. Hair was done. Nails were manufactured. Emotions ran high.
Everyone will try to be on their best behavior.
Because we're having pictures taken, to preserve moments for you. But mostly for us.
I take a lot of pictures, too. You are changing so fast, blink and I might miss it.

Maybe that's why drawings of you seem to pop out every three months or so. Most of them are making their way up mommy and daddy's stairway.
The first was done just days after you were born.
There's even one of you before arrival, with your very pregnant mommy with daddy on the family room couch.
You can't remember.

Brave new world.

Part of the difficulty of being a grandparent is that I am not your parent, and I have to hold back and see how your parents figure things out.
You need them both -- together.
It would be nice if they got married. That depends on whether they both need each other, I suppose.
That shiny diamond ring mommy wears means they're still thinking about it.

"Why are you forbidden from calling me 'Tony'?"

Sometimes I don't sleep so well, from worry.

But you, finally, are able to sleep -- and I think it's made you a much happier boy. You're tuning in to your surroundings now because you are no longer preoccupied with pain and exhaustion.
We can all see it in your smile, and hear it in that giggle.
I bet you'll be walking by Christmas. You'll love the tree.
I am used to mayhem here.
.

Man cave.

For now, have fun at your party.
You'll see all of those new faces that you won't remember, but we'll leave you a vapor trail of words and pictures.
That's what these words are all about, as well.
I hope that some day you will read them on your own.
Happy birthday, Anthony Thomas Armistead.
Jalapeño.
I will always love you, and be so proud of you.

Still from the short film, "A-Trade Baby," a Tom Wills Production. Rated G (grandpa).

No. 223: Shades of Gray (Lou Reed)

Lou Reed, November 2013, 2.5' x 3.5' (approx.), adapted from two photographs by Jean Baptiste Mondino

This drawing of Lou Reed  (March 2, 1942 – October 27, 2013) was done for myself as a lesson in facial detail, hands and eyes. Friends close to my art know that I struggle with hands.  They are my weak point.

The decision to tackle such a detailed face and hand came about after acquiring hundreds of pencils and drawing leads, gifted to me by my draftsman uncle, brother of my late artist mother. These tools offer me hundreds of shades and textures, and Reed gave me an opportunity to test and learn.
It is a much slower process than doing it all with one or two pencils, but the results are encouraging, and I picked up speed as I caught on.

Some of my tools.

A few people had asked me, following Reed's death, if I planned to draw him -- and I said no.
I do like Reed's music, and I have one of his poetry books.  I admire his experiments in sound recording (binaural sound), his New York toughness, his abuse and resurgence and survival.  Lou Reed took no prisoners, as one of his album titles suggests.
But he is not a repeat player here. A little Lou goes a long way.

I am happy with this hand.

A few weeks before Reed died, photographer Jean Baptiste Mondino took photos for a French audio company's print ad.  In some he wore dark shades, in others he did not. He looked worn but tough.  This drawing is based on two of those photos, because I wanted to see Reed's eyes behind those shades.  The eyes here were drawn first, and then drawn over with the glasses frames and dark lenses.
The effect is exactly what I sought: You can see those worn eyes behind the dark lenses, which appear on paper as transparent.

Leather.

I am especially happy with the skin here.  It's leather-like, fissured, contrasted and detailed. All of this was made possible by the new pencils (which, ironically, are probably 40 years old). Lou's dark jacket also has a lot of texture, though it is all dark.  In an accidental twist, I found that drawing with the grain of my old drawing table created the perfect wood grain for the guitar.

"Live In Italy" is an album by Lou Reed recorded live in Verona and Rome on September 7 and 10, 1983 by the Rolling Stones Mobile Unit. It was issued on vinyl only in Germany, UK and Japan. Somehow I acquired a copy. RCA-PL 89156 (2).  This is my favorite Reed record.

 

I knew when Lou Reed, No. 223, was completed -- so I stopped.  I did not go over the drawing with additional shading, highlighting or detailing.  I just quit it cold and framed him.
It's a beautiful frame, fitting for this piece, although this was not its intended use.  It was available, the drawing fit, and I sealed it up.
It's solid oak, very heavy, and a little knotty and gnarled.

It's a perfect match.