No. 415: Hartford Cycles

"Hartford Cycles" by Tom Wills, July 2018, pencil.

I am fortunate to have friends who enjoy both motorcycles and art. They’ve kept me busy in recent years drawing various big bikes — and their riders. But when they’re off the road and the wheels need some love, they favor a mechanic in Hartford, Ohio, named John Whitman. He was the first sergeant of a reserve unit that deployed to Afghanistan, I am told. It's a fair bet that if he could keep vehicles running in that heat and environment, he knows what he's doing.

Hartford Cycles isn’t a big place. It’s about six minutes up state Route 305 from my house, and I’ve surely driven past several times and never known it’s there. I’m told John works magic with both bikes and cars, and the word is getting out. He built a new garage to handle the work.
I will be visiting soon with my biker brother, who relocated from Michigan and could use a friendly wrench.

My friends got in cahoots with John’s girlfriend, Tara, on this picture. (That’s one of their big Indians on a rack for a new tire.) The idea was for me to do the job and then they’d hang it inside Hartford Cycles and see how long it took John to notice.

There is a lot of chrome on these bikes, and shiny spots on the metal, and I tried to make the drawing reflect all of that. Also interesting are the details on the tires and engine. These things are complicated!

The frame is handmade by an Amish man, I was told. It's beautiful and solid, a tribute to the craftsmanship of Ralph Arment, who engraved his name and the date on the back. I found the frame 28 years later at an estate sale.

Well, long story short,  it didn't take long for John to see the picture and figure out what went on.
You can find it over the coffee machine!

No. 412: "Bright Day"

No. 412, "Bright Day," watercolor by Tom Wills, May 2018

Photo by Emily Wills

While working on No. 412, "Bright Day," I eavesdropped on a conversation at work between two women about the importance of preserving what I’d term “generational memories.” The topic was the necessity of taking so-called “bloodline” photos of dads, brothers, sons and the like.

I chimed in and said that’s kind of why I was painting my grandson Anthony, resting atop his great-grandfather Dave.  The painting is from an older photo taken by my youngest daughter Emily. But it was requested by and for the oldest daughter, Kara. All are dots along the bloodline on my wife’s side.

The goal was creation of something warm, meaningful and lasting -- a piece to move from Kara's wall to Anthony's to his own child, I hope.
 

I’ve been working on my self-taught watercolor technique, learning as I go, and using more and more paint (and less pencil) and working toward greater realism (though purposefully not perfect). I’ve devised a few tricks along the way to make the highlights stand out — such as along the pants and shirt sleeve, and even the faces.

My father-in-law and I once had a very salty relationship but I have learned a few tricks from him, too. And I think he understands me better now.  One of those life lessons is keeping my mouth shut and not horning into every conversation around me.

That is, unless I can write about it.