A Gust of Mutts

Bill and Charlie, March 2013

My brother's dog Buddy, March 2013

Who doesn't love dogs?

I have drawn a lot of dogs over the years, and continue to do more. 
A dog is a companion in life and a keepsake afterward. Most of these drawings were gifts.
Because I just love 'em.

Madison

Madison II ("Today's News")

The Monkees, that fake TV rock group from the mid-1960s, once dropped a loaf called "I'm Gonna Buy Me a Dog." It was a pretty simple tune, went like this:

"I'm gonna buy me a dog [A dog, a dog! Why?]
'Cause I need a friend now. [Say, you need all the friends you can get]
I'm gonna buy me a dog,
My girl, my girl, don't love me no how."

"Little Friends"

"Five Dogs"

 

Bella (another Bella ... )

Gwen

It was a silly song that appealed to the 6-year-old in me. Plus, it was sung by the drummer (Mickey Dolenz). There was Monkee gibberish at the end including one line that I thought asked the deep question: "Who poops a pot full rambling?" Yeah. I used to belt that out round the house, take it to school and do it in stores. My mother would yell, my dad would agree with her -- and then he'd call my grandpa and they'd crack up.

 

Kate

I could never have a dog when I was a child. Allergies. Allergy shots. Red eyes, wheezy breath, worried adults.
So I had turtles, frogs, rats and other small animals and shelved the dog desire for many years.

Mandy

Maddie and Tobey

Then, one summer vacation, when my daughters were preschoolers, I just went and got a dog from a woman in Newton Falls. His name was Sam, a lab-shepherd mix. And I took Allegra and Benadryl and Claritin and God-knows-what-else for a year until I stopped sneezing.

It was worth every drip.

Emily, Kara and Sam

Copper

Ripleys

Jiggs

Corleone

Hank

Bella and Corly

Chloe

Gracie

I have since had three dogs, and I talked to them all.
That's right.
We talk, as in actual, deep one-on-ones. Usually at night, in the back yard, where no one can hear me and think I'm nuts.
It really makes perfect sense.

Remington

Dogs are great listeners. They are in permanent "Uh-huh, Yep" mode. There's enough space between those big reflective eyes and radar ears to comprehend what you're saying. They don't argue, they don't judge.
Dogs can keep secrets.

Emily and Corleone

And every now and again, they give you an answer. A solution to whatever human mess you've tripped over.
Because dogs are not weighed down by human baggage, their responses are simple and direct, communicated by a wag, a nuzzle, eyebrows, paws on your person or a bark. "Sounds good." "Do that." "Cool." "It'll get better." "Love you, too."

Hank and Bella

Corly and Bella

What were my dogs Bella and Hank, and, later, Corly and Bella,  saying to each other here, in these pictures? Probably something fleeting, insignificant -- saving the big signals for me.

A dog's time with us is short, 8 to 12 years I'd say, because they burn so much life absorbing what we're unloading on them. Dogs are like shock absorbers for people. It takes a toll.

Corly. Balls.

Odie

There's an immeasurably painful, crushing and suffocating weight when they die and that reliable sounding board goes away.
How can we reason through life without our canine confidants?
I don't have the answer for that. That's also why I have two of 'em.

Roxanne

Here are a few more, and there are others out there -- always listening.

Mocha

Bailey

Carly and Bella

A selection of favored canines.

Can I draw your best friend?
hankbonesman@embarqmail.com or willstom01@gmail.com
 

"The Waiting Dog"

No. 188: A War of Wills

Anthony, 3 Months.  By Tom Wills and only Tom Wills, February 2013.

Two artsy-fartsy types under one roof can either create, or create friction.

I pretty much taught myself how to draw, other than getting some great guidance in high school.

My youngest daughter Emily has always been a good artist, but now she’s going pro, studying art at Kent State University.

Every now and then we try to give each other an art lesson.

Here comes the friction.

 

I started drawing my grandson Anthony, 3 months, on a Tuesday.  I did the eyes and went to work, afternoon shift.

By Wednesday the eyes had been joined by a nose and a mouth. Off to work again.

Thursday, a forehead and some hair. More work.

All I wanted to do after work on Friday night was tinker on Anthony’s face. I had picked up a nice frame and was full of anticipation.

Came home, went downstairs to my drawing table, and saw the note:

“Derp! He is NOT Asian!

Stop drawing Kara and her child like they are.

And yes, I f**ked with this.  A LOT. (She underlined ‘A LOT.’)

And don’t be afraid to actually press on the pencil.”

And then, I saw the drawing. Emily had gone over my work, adding her work.

I was speechless. And pissed.

Peoughed.

She and I have different techniques: Mine is light and “suggested,” hers is dark and “defined.”

I use one pencil; she uses an array of leads.

Emily thought Anthony looked more realistic, more detailed.

I thought he now looked like a black alien.

Friction ensued at the kitchen table.

“Don’t you ever do that again. My stuff is mine, and your stuff is yours,” I fairly shrieked.

She reminded me she’s studying, going to do art “for real,” and can “draw circles around” me.

Aaaauuuurrrggghhhhh!!!

Pissed and crushed!!!  And paying tuition!

Now, I will give her this:  She is the far better “sight artist.”  She sees, she draws.  And paints.  Mostly, she paints.

I see, enlarge, measure, draw, erase, repeat. And repeat.   Eyes first, then nose, mouth and head.  Eyes wrong, all wrong.  Eyes right, all right.

In my opinion, Emily had made Anthony’s eyes wrong.  Too many hard and dark lines.

She’ll disagree, but it’s my blog so I win.

Saturday afternoon, I erased all of her work -- in the process also erasing my work.

I started over.  Eyes, then nose, then mouth.  Then nose and mouth again.

Anthony has reddish, blotchy skin, like rosacea.  So his face was difficult to shade. 

My version is dark, though not black alien dark.

His hair is thin, his neck and chin kind of morph into one.  He tilts his head as if to say, “You people are crazy.”

Emily woke up about 4 in the afternoon and I showed her the drawing. She said it “looks like Anthony” and she apologized.  She said it was wrong for her to intrude on my work.

And yes, it was.  It would be like me painting over one of her still lifes.  Trust me, I’m not the greatest painter.

Later, the drawing passed the Mommy Test.  Kara, my oldest daughter, said it “looks like Anthony.”

He’s the best Anthony that I could do.

No. 185: Architecture

Bristolville, February 2013.

I have a healthy respect for those artists who produce architectural renderings -- recreating shapes and angles rather than eyebrows and hands.
It is a tricky thing, it turns out, to capture the light and shade of something that never moves: a building, a house, a town.

My buildings and landscapes are imperfect. There is no math involved. The lines are not perfectly straight, there's no protractor used to get the angles just right.

Click on photos to enlarge.

But think about it: Do you see perfect lines when you look at a building? Probably not. Odds are that you are moving, there may be some reflection, glare or heat haze, blurred by distance.

I haven't done many buildings.  My first attempt was about 10 years ago, when I drew my then-new home.  I thought, perhaps, I could persuade other new neighbors to have drawings done of their new digs.  But the only one done was mine.  I did use a ruler to get the lines right, and quickly realized that method was a pain.

I will still draw YOUR house!

Fast forward eight years, and I tried it again on a drawing of Barrea, Italy, for a long-time friend. This one was more cliffs and shoreline than architecture. But I loved it, and she loved it, and I adorned it with one of my late mother's classic frames.

Beauty within beauty.

Last year I painted the lighthouse at Ashtabula harbor, and a country road in Michigan traveled by my brother. My cousin Pam bought the lighthouse; I hung the road in my foyer. It has a primitive look to it but is very colorful.

Thank you, Pammy Jo.

Cousin Pam called me a few weeks ago and wondered if I could draw the town square in Bristol Township, Ohio. She's involved in a community group there, and the group is working on some sort of identity and logo.  She went out and photographed the buildings, and emailed them to me that afternoon.  How could I say no?

My brother's road trip.

According to Bristol Township's web site: The village settlement at the center of the township is dominated by a town square reminiscent of New England village greens. The oldest meeting house in the township was the Congregational Church. 

Built in 1845, the church still stands on the northeast corner of the Town Park. Pioneer families organized this church in 1817. Since the demise of the congregation, the building has served various functions, including the housing of special school events, meeting rooms for the Women's Relief Corps and most recently as a township storage area.

Other buildings on the town square include the historic century-old Town Hall and the Methodist Church, which was rebuilt after the original church was destroyed by fire in 1951.

It was decided to add trees.

This one has a lot of "feel" to it.  I fleshed out the bare winter trees but chose to eliminate large trees in the foreground, which would obscure the buildings. Some of the things are suggested more than perfected:  The sign announcing church services, the Town Hall sign, the lamps, siding and shingles.
The overall effect, in my opinion, is like an old-timey black and white postcard. I toyed briefly with washing watercolors over it but held back.  Now I know that would have been a mistake.

Who you gonna call?

A little imperfection is to be expected and even accepted. Otherwise you're just looking at a copy, not an original.