tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65819461508465059182024-03-04T20:17:10.357-08:00Art to HeartWriting and drawing everyday life.evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-36989902379506215802017-01-28T20:59:00.000-08:002017-01-28T20:59:11.452-08:00The Wellness Adventure Continues!Here we are: the next 10 pages of the wellness quest. These are days of highs and lows, stopping and starting, on track and off. Over the Christmas period it was difficult to stay focused, easy to let things slide. These ups and downs, stops and starts are a normal part of a process of change. Strength comes and goes. Attention wanders. Sometimes it seems easier to live with less than good health than to push the river enough to make it better. But by the end of the first month, I feel that new patterns are emerging and changes are gradually being implemented.<br />
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Day 11<br />
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These are homemade shortbread biscuits given to me by a friend. So many words and phrases of self talk go with eating. As they came up, I stamped them in.<br />
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One of those inexplicably heavy, melancholy days. Even though they are low and gloomy, they are not without interest. I like to get to know these feelings, give them names, differentiate one from another. Befriend them, even.<br />
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It wasn't my intention to sit out in the backyard in the dark drawing my washing. But when I saw the clothes and the Jacaranda in the cool light of the moon - it was just irresistible.<br />
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There were a bunch of days when I did no recording or drawing at all. They seemed to pass very quickly and I was shocked that I had almost forgotten that I was doing this. How easy it is to be side-tracked, distracted, turned astray? But here I am, back again. Not as regularly as before, but still going on, keeping going.<br />
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Yeah, this was a really hot day.<br />
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More stopping and starting, on track, off track, on track again. Wandering off track - how much harder it is to get back on track than to stay on track in the first place. Why am I making this harder than it needs to be?<br />
So here I am, taking myself to task, setting the ground rules again clearly.<br />
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Simple food, coffee and water - a picnic by the river on Christmas afternoon. What you see here is mostly leftovers. Eat first, draw later.<br />
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I can't believe some of the conversations I have with myself. I have such a talent for persuading myself that what I feel like doing is better than what I know I ought to do. What's laughable is that I'm the one who decided what I ought to do and fully support it - or at least one of me does....The others are kicking and screaming and weaselling around trying to convince me that I agree with them and giving me such excellent reasons! No wonder my head hurts. It's full of my very own personal demons.<br />
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Knitting is very therapeutic for me. Especially knitting small things that can be finished quickly. I get bored knitting only one colour, so most of the things I make have stripes. My favourite part is going through all my yarn and patterns and then casting on. And changing colours. I like that too. Also chatting and knitting with friends is really nice. So yes, knitting is good for me.<br />
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One of the things that is contributing to my growing sense of wellbeing is having a vision of wonderful accomplishments in the not too distant future and mapping out the steps to accomplishing them. I've been doing a lot of planning. Then implementing and adapting the planning in the light of the implementing. I've filled up most of a bullet journal just this year. Next post, or maybe the one after, I'll show you my colour-based planning and review system. It's the colours that keep me going back to it. If I forget, remind me!<br />
Till next time.<br />
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Evelynevelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-17777363481127504872016-12-28T21:52:00.002-08:002016-12-28T21:52:57.283-08:00My Wellness Project: the first ten daysThe idea came to me, as ideas so often do, when I was outside my usual routine, far from my usual sphere, with nothing particularly pressing to do. It was a flight from Perth to Melbourne - a few hours when expansiveness of mind seemed a natural offset to the cramped confines of the physical environment. I had been thinking about getting well, how lousy I am at following the good advice of health professionals, how longstanding and insidious my chronic condition, how much I wanted to have the energy to do the things I need and want to do.<br />
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A friend had recently told me she was going back to Weight Watchers to lose 5 kilos. The good thing about WW, she said, was it made you feel accountable. I thought about accountability. Could I create my own accountability platform? Could I commit to a wellness endeavour by making it a drawing project?<br />
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I decided to start on the first of December. As with any new venture, it was important to begin by assessing the situation. Taking stock, setting intentions, making a plan. I already had a brand new sketchbook - a lovely smooth-paged Hahnemuhle Nostalgie. Here's the first day's entry, all the bits of me that aren't working as they should and all my resolutions:<br />
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The next day, I began following the trail I had set out for myself:<br />
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Writing in Chinese is an acknowledgement of the value learning another language has for my mental wellbeing. This was the day my laptop crashed. A test of my willingness to stay calm, not give in to rantings and dramatisations. An opportunity to practise not stressing out.<br />
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Walking in fresh air, swimming in the sea - so good for me! And before I even got to eat those healthy vegetables, the beauty of their colours and shapes was already making me feel good.<br />
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Day three addresses my supplement conundrum. These are all good for me. They will help to detoxify my overloaded liver, plug the holes in my leaky gut and send in some good guy gut flora. They will feed me the things I'm lacking. They will keep me going. They sit in full view on my bench so I can't miss them, and I still forget to take them or choose to avoid taking them. They sit there getting closer to their use-by date. They aren't cheap. I should take them, but I mostly don't.<br />
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Home made popcorn - an acceptable snack food.<br />
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Here I have made a note that I felt lighter. It was not a physical lightness; there was no weight loss. But there was a lightness of mood that I was feeling, as though a weight was slowly lifting and the air was clearing and some of the grime was disappearing from my window on the world.<br />
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Reading for inspiration, to let the fine awareness and wisdom of others open my own mind and heart to other ways of understanding life, the universe and everything. I'm making a reading list. Starting with Lao Zi.<br />
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It is good that there are a few cafes and restaurants where it's easy to get food I can eat. It's getting easier all the time. Almond milk latte - what a wonderful thing! Gluten free toast and avocado is a great standby. Potato, zucchini and avocado chips at Grill'd. Tom Yum soup...<br />
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A review of the first week - all in all, I was getting used to the food plan, still not up to doing exercise or at least persuading myself I wasn't up to it, and feeling generally good in terms of mood and outlook.<br />
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On Day 8 I considered swapping coffee for green tea - it didn't happen, or hasn't happened yet. I note the difficulty of owning up publicly to doing things I've said I wouldn't do.<br />
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And here we are at Day Ten, the day I overcame all my reluctance, dislike of crowds, despising of fireworks and went to Symphony in the City with a couple of ex-students and had a glorious time. I contemplated the paucity of music in my life and though about doing something about it...<br />
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So these were the first ten days.<br />
It feels really good to be doing this.<br />
The thing that I'm finding more and more is that my wellness is served as much and maybe more by doing the drawings and loving the beauty of everyday things and the people in my life and all the amazingness that there is than by the rigorous adherence to schedules of medications and weight tables and exercise programmes. Sure, those are useful and I may start paying attention to them pretty soon, but for now, it's going ok.evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-19151673463599068662016-08-23T18:47:00.001-07:002016-08-23T18:56:03.951-07:00Getting Pastelliferous<span style="font-size: large;">I like oil pastels. I like the richness of their colour and the way you can blend them. I particularly like the way they look on brown paper.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The first ones I did were on paper bags. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then I started carrying a roll of wrapping paper around with me. The outlines are done with either a brush pen or a good sized chunky marker. I like the thick dark lines you can get with them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The latest oil pastel drawing is quite big. It's the little kumquat tree outside my living room window.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It's drawn on the opened out surface of a sturdy brown carry bag. (you can tell by the handles). It covered my coffee table, and I used a big brush and indian ink to draw the outlines.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My box of pastels is getting quite well used up now and filling in a large area with small pieces of oil pastel takes some time, especially when putting down more than one layer of colour. Also, I have yet to find a way to buy replacement pastels individually. I can just imagine a house full of all the colours I hardly ever use, because each time I use up my white, blues and yellows, I have to buy a whole new box!</span><br />
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evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-48885811380706084072016-08-14T18:15:00.003-07:002016-08-16T08:44:31.288-07:00Tasmania: the East CoastThis almost qualifies as a throwback, since a couple of months have gone by since I took a slow drive from Launceston, through the Fingal Valley, to St. Helens, then to Hobart, with two nights at Swansea on the way.<br />
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The things I love most about holidays like this:<br />
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1. They are full of unstructured time. No schedule. Anything can happen! Having a few days of unstructured time is what, for me, best promotes creative thinking and new perspectives. Minimal routine, maximum productivity. Strange, perhaps, but true.<br />
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2. I'm alone. Bliss.<br />
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3. There is no plan. If the beach where I eat breakfast just begs to be walked along, I can spend the rest of the morning walking. If I meet someone on the beach, I can stay and talk as long as I like. No "sorry, gotta go, gotta be in blah place by blah o'clock". And without a fixed plan, it's as though my vision expands from something narrow and driven, to something wide and open, ready to involve and be involved in all the world: newly flowering wattles, the mutter of fishermen on the rocks, the changing colours of the sea from shore to horizon, thinking about how aboriginal people would have lived in a place like this, the unusual number of motorbikes on the road, erosion, cloud formations, unemployment, rural lifestyles, family history, coffee, languages, shoreline geology.... .<br />
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4. Beauty. It is good, now and then, to be in a place where, at every turn there is gut-punching, heart-stopping, soul-soaring beauty. To participate in it, to resonate with it. To exercise that heart muscle that recognises and identifies with it. To be overwhelmed and swept away.<br />
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5. Remembering, These are places that are familiar to me from long ago. They are rich with memory and experience. I love travelling through unfamiliar places too, but this is a different kind of love.<br />
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6. Time to reflect, time to imagine, time to draw and write.<br />
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Here are some of the drawings from that drive:<br />
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The Ben Lomond Massif seen from the Fingal Valley. There were so many stunning views on this clear, cold day, but very few places where the road had sufficient shoulder space to pull over. </div>
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Binalong Bay, just north of St. Helens. </div>
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Granite rocks at Binalong Bay.<br />
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Swansea: the view from my window on a quiet, misty morning.<br />
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Some broken shells I picked up, walking along Beer Barrel Beach, a little south of St. Helens.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv1Je8d5mDCVpNOfRrwjxUPl2zXSg2Jnm6Vn1y5UE6ZhVeeiVHmguofPVnGthFdlf_fyRW1I5sef6fAp15iEyA4L8J8TEqAppx_XyppNm_ZPkUsIEz1v81HsW5HvTyTz22lQx7QkdXq9I/s1600/IMG_5321.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv1Je8d5mDCVpNOfRrwjxUPl2zXSg2Jnm6Vn1y5UE6ZhVeeiVHmguofPVnGthFdlf_fyRW1I5sef6fAp15iEyA4L8J8TEqAppx_XyppNm_ZPkUsIEz1v81HsW5HvTyTz22lQx7QkdXq9I/s640/IMG_5321.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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More broken shells, these I collected above the high tide mark in Swansea, some drawn there, others finished when I got to Hobart.<br />
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A short stop on the way south, for some breakfast and a bit of conversation.<br />
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At my sister's house, looking out of the window from my bed, first thing in the morning.</div>
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These are the drawings in my sketchbook from those few days. I'm glad you could join me!</div>
evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-40163296143056973602016-05-15T15:27:00.001-07:002016-05-15T15:27:20.622-07:00The Point Walter ProjectI have always loved scientific drawings. Botanical, zoological, mechanical, astronomical. Especially those drawings in which the passion to see, to understand, to compare and unravel exceeds the desire to produce a pretty product. Drawings where curiosity rules, where awe is evident and where the majesty of the seemingly mundane shines forth.<br />
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I also have a strange urge to document things. Travels, dreams, everyday life, the progress of gardens, sightings of birds, lizards, flowering eucalypts, shells, feathers, artefacts. Mostly, though, my efforts at documentation have been unsustained and/or unsystematic. More like random jottings in search of a notebook, first pages of journals abandoned in the fluster of life or great ideas that were never executed.<br />
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My most recent documentary project is to draw the sandbar at Point Walter.<br />
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The brief I have given myself is quite simple. Whenever I go to Point Walter and walk out along the sandbar, I draw something that catches my eye. If it's a small thing, I bring it home with me. If it is big, I draw it in situ. I try to record the things I notice: what birds are here today? What's the weather like? A lot more jellyfish than usual...</div>
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So here are a few pages:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguO7RfnAlSmBmhd0mLtOEDCWyE95fwSBlvGmeo-ZWN8S3FZGgWsfyK85UPDBEeUQ-Kv6VCif3EzIf03EqJQoHPqGekoYr1TWwVSXrT1iNxCATeDjF8fvckvl4GzwupwGzddt9rsX1zRGc/s1600/IMG_4735.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguO7RfnAlSmBmhd0mLtOEDCWyE95fwSBlvGmeo-ZWN8S3FZGgWsfyK85UPDBEeUQ-Kv6VCif3EzIf03EqJQoHPqGekoYr1TWwVSXrT1iNxCATeDjF8fvckvl4GzwupwGzddt9rsX1zRGc/s640/IMG_4735.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Fragments of shells and pottery washed up on the sandbar.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHiphU9cBs-SFeFwJg9ccCdR1YKxP8g7Og6wkQkv69JRmEvgC2knIv4hyphenhyphenxRIfgqaajD5ui7vFTBDnjM6e-ax_9Ydv24tmGXAl5uaex7Vd31Md2KAIikn9F8m6308Sa0RqieMtLLkQcP0w/s1600/IMG_3680.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHiphU9cBs-SFeFwJg9ccCdR1YKxP8g7Og6wkQkv69JRmEvgC2knIv4hyphenhyphenxRIfgqaajD5ui7vFTBDnjM6e-ax_9Ydv24tmGXAl5uaex7Vd31Md2KAIikn9F8m6308Sa0RqieMtLLkQcP0w/s640/IMG_3680.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Looking south from the sandbar.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5hTo4xYfQriL2me1JVuZPrOZRNJdbyDFqBpI76d0Zdfrl-sYnKip4vzJl5fiynvRQWGWcewu5bOa_V_hKnGnAHj-dHIbnXQchidPOVRx8XklJtM6GcGssHPEj1aM53Fe2pryOqsHvCnA/s1600/IMG_4775.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5hTo4xYfQriL2me1JVuZPrOZRNJdbyDFqBpI76d0Zdfrl-sYnKip4vzJl5fiynvRQWGWcewu5bOa_V_hKnGnAHj-dHIbnXQchidPOVRx8XklJtM6GcGssHPEj1aM53Fe2pryOqsHvCnA/s640/IMG_4775.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Swans out on the sandbar, in the shallow water. They are not at all afraid, turning themselves into all kinds of pretzel as they sleep or preen.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx9TpaMs-CJH5YDn_BofVda2cCRylNDyZbWNSAdMCvGinVGHYZLfodE0uEPgkumV4sX_ZGlLUlqYT8BWUQGIGLFAdmqT_zlVHWnxTy_rOYu3wmoPiwe8EBcyHefler2cBH00-QTuvSO3U/s1600/IMG_4748.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx9TpaMs-CJH5YDn_BofVda2cCRylNDyZbWNSAdMCvGinVGHYZLfodE0uEPgkumV4sX_ZGlLUlqYT8BWUQGIGLFAdmqT_zlVHWnxTy_rOYu3wmoPiwe8EBcyHefler2cBH00-QTuvSO3U/s640/IMG_4748.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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One day, I found numerous crab body parts washed up. When I tried to find an online field guide to make an identification, 99% of the information listed under the heading 'Crabs of the Swan River Estuary' was about how to cook them. What has happened to natural history?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRNBAtEsvSJXoMJJhUsd6kL4g1VBpQxJiizNl3sjmr48VHXiEZW1DE0dltZiOCLideQS89V-oDfXSMn6ybhz-MrJPNA6DRgCXss1rnjRQB0t4ZAMwwlqaeQqH0WRuGTOYo-3TgiU2EEcI/s1600/IMG_4915.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRNBAtEsvSJXoMJJhUsd6kL4g1VBpQxJiizNl3sjmr48VHXiEZW1DE0dltZiOCLideQS89V-oDfXSMn6ybhz-MrJPNA6DRgCXss1rnjRQB0t4ZAMwwlqaeQqH0WRuGTOYo-3TgiU2EEcI/s640/IMG_4915.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Another day I found this fan folded up and stuck vertically into the mud in shallow water. </div>
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The Uchiha Sasuke figurine was 100 metres further on.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpaiXRuhppmg73bQKzryV3vrRcxIfqmwwG03ZZanfr34DerJlfTj4MHhu8caxnEV_qmvpMrX5BASRZ4yvMnrqTuHeFIgKqJd7N80hpJmolvAefpBiZv9cZiQctPuCrzDjc59HsInmj8So/s1600/IMG_4782.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpaiXRuhppmg73bQKzryV3vrRcxIfqmwwG03ZZanfr34DerJlfTj4MHhu8caxnEV_qmvpMrX5BASRZ4yvMnrqTuHeFIgKqJd7N80hpJmolvAefpBiZv9cZiQctPuCrzDjc59HsInmj8So/s640/IMG_4782.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Jellyfish. I had to draw them on the run as they floated in the water. On the surface, leaves of one of the common river plants are also floating along.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrsQLrxkEIexz3V1Vo9SPKG9YZEpgSwrf1AQrHW6wa1AyKrGSgnD2L6tlbg9AzarNUKJ_Rl_A_NOD6-6ILQiVRnMk0TgVPtnuHjGhZDUczQkajJ5CzuVJlJ91Py-ZS4b0sz2HCopShX8Y/s1600/IMG_4787.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrsQLrxkEIexz3V1Vo9SPKG9YZEpgSwrf1AQrHW6wa1AyKrGSgnD2L6tlbg9AzarNUKJ_Rl_A_NOD6-6ILQiVRnMk0TgVPtnuHjGhZDUczQkajJ5CzuVJlJ91Py-ZS4b0sz2HCopShX8Y/s640/IMG_4787.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Crested terns, with rainclouds. Some raindrops on the page, too.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-iM_ul-rx-SNdDf95lHDZI-imGWGbXbQ1wtBC45siMGDupv_TeDzVCvsVR8D6B5iLhkAExOABQV1n76Uss3KZzPsXckz0_YDq3wcOumsgU5qz7GzL_vZsHPxoGF5CDj74NaTQTj5luig/s1600/IMG_4895.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-iM_ul-rx-SNdDf95lHDZI-imGWGbXbQ1wtBC45siMGDupv_TeDzVCvsVR8D6B5iLhkAExOABQV1n76Uss3KZzPsXckz0_YDq3wcOumsgU5qz7GzL_vZsHPxoGF5CDj74NaTQTj5luig/s640/IMG_4895.JPG" width="462" /></a></div>
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The view north on a cloudy day, and some pied oyster catchers.<br />
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The project continues. Lately the tides have been too high to walk out far. There is also a sign up, and a fence, barring entry to the little tufted island at the end of the sandbar so that birds can safely do their nesting. I want to go there. I want to draw every species of plant on that little bump at the end of the spit.evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-83623305214995587002016-01-26T06:34:00.000-08:002016-01-26T06:41:24.639-08:00Rubbish: Renaissance<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Picking up discarded things</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhASXC1Db5OJxyaFYUqJ44G8PgKfQqwnZtmH83IvMfdYDXt_4-Qku3A9ze8O-EkWX5uPI__MreHR1UtnhiuSdbTwElKYVTei5pZcNO8FBkZ9hU1Y-sjrP3bdmZnGIJMtB1b__E-HBW-mTU/s1600/pipe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhASXC1Db5OJxyaFYUqJ44G8PgKfQqwnZtmH83IvMfdYDXt_4-Qku3A9ze8O-EkWX5uPI__MreHR1UtnhiuSdbTwElKYVTei5pZcNO8FBkZ9hU1Y-sjrP3bdmZnGIJMtB1b__E-HBW-mTU/s640/pipe.jpg" width="475" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;">and looking at them,</span></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;">tracing them with my eyes and pen,</span></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj16TpT-nIHz0dk-kwYWrxK0To7DmXLRFh1nR-RduGr5k35WiMyhwcilB_975ZNWzsPxbNv2Sf9WZlVlccxup7KBsC4HfWWQz6K1jTq1mx6uW0TF1BSaqTPbobwX4Hx8CWoQYkLl50PUjo/s1600/IMG_4701.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj16TpT-nIHz0dk-kwYWrxK0To7DmXLRFh1nR-RduGr5k35WiMyhwcilB_975ZNWzsPxbNv2Sf9WZlVlccxup7KBsC4HfWWQz6K1jTq1mx6uW0TF1BSaqTPbobwX4Hx8CWoQYkLl50PUjo/s640/IMG_4701.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">is a kind of renaissance,</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgndeU0wa_BXrBwNens4k0TlgvFFJ6bnwnqCj8J42ZNWFeoeAqpOJBIBuztPBBI-Z0FaC_3aa2eXeOpE6CBprAiZyzStfebyTPzQ88ehb2QufOdiK55MYMCqwxfMdSFCsqAU2LoRu443ng/s1600/IMG_4705.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgndeU0wa_BXrBwNens4k0TlgvFFJ6bnwnqCj8J42ZNWFeoeAqpOJBIBuztPBBI-Z0FaC_3aa2eXeOpE6CBprAiZyzStfebyTPzQ88ehb2QufOdiK55MYMCqwxfMdSFCsqAU2LoRu443ng/s640/IMG_4705.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">in which a piece of pipe becomes monumental, bottle tops are reborn as a gem collection or a troupe of dancers holding out their skirts, and a flattened can lies on my page like a classical reclining nude. </span></span></div>
evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-76513728414545409252015-12-02T02:19:00.000-08:002015-12-02T02:23:53.341-08:00Three Bags FullWhat an unadulterated pleasure it is to put white colour on a brown bag. I can't explain it, it is illogical that this should be such a thorough thrill when any colour on any surface involves the same actions and similar outcomes. But white - pencil, pastel, crayon, paint - on brown paper - paper bag, wrapping paper - it's the ultimate. Of course, there's art supply shop kraft paper which is admirably sturdy and hardworking ( the corduroy of papers) and any number of sweetly tinted sketch pads. Trust me, nothing comes close to the humble bag.<br />
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Potato bags are quite tough and a little glossy on the outside. Here are a couple of potato bag pictures:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRPYful3b5uJWgATY1qpr_TSZxw9RsPy7XQfl0zFlT6yJEZY0i7vO7q1A9lF-GqFj8C49eZlG5-SppGTt2efkq5_Y3nqsfYAM-RnowcB-1yovZloQith6xqKRgXu2gDYaU_TdHYITNBgU/s1600/IMG_4403.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRPYful3b5uJWgATY1qpr_TSZxw9RsPy7XQfl0zFlT6yJEZY0i7vO7q1A9lF-GqFj8C49eZlG5-SppGTt2efkq5_Y3nqsfYAM-RnowcB-1yovZloQith6xqKRgXu2gDYaU_TdHYITNBgU/s640/IMG_4403.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyRTt-DJIzFFhyU2eipmYXxNCdboNrG9oOj57WEob9pnrcak2TiBbI6zr2wRUhnOqf86k4e6JM1HP0aUSRPB633mAV3EiwdXAwxDHv6QMV3qsfj-URPlIrGQV2UUW3nmmdQ8Ii3NUINiU/s1600/IMG_4428.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyRTt-DJIzFFhyU2eipmYXxNCdboNrG9oOj57WEob9pnrcak2TiBbI6zr2wRUhnOqf86k4e6JM1HP0aUSRPB633mAV3EiwdXAwxDHv6QMV3qsfj-URPlIrGQV2UUW3nmmdQ8Ii3NUINiU/s640/IMG_4428.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Both of these are drawn with oil pastels. I love the rich colour and the luscious way they stroke the paper as though the two of them were just made for each other!<br />
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The last one is drawn on a mushroom bag; much less sturdy than its potato cousin, altogether frailer and more delicate; wistful, even. Oil pastels just felt much too robust for this tender stuff, so I worked with watercolour pencils, gently and tenderly as if I were ministering to an aged aunt. Indeed, there is a similarity in the matter of wrinkliness....Even so, adding water almost resulted in a total collapse. Happily, however, structural integrity was restored after a good long rest in a warm spot.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivCqoYb3Vg1ockGokyLEA4naN_mMkGiZ484JLYTxwt684kJXsAqh5BpGLD0Hidr0UQ953qnrfUywtW9KosMkzLy1V_LfwU0EGMIfxF1jMO0ILuFor8z6E4p7zZ6Dkzo2HM9krHixbP7yA/s1600/IMG_4477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivCqoYb3Vg1ockGokyLEA4naN_mMkGiZ484JLYTxwt684kJXsAqh5BpGLD0Hidr0UQ953qnrfUywtW9KosMkzLy1V_LfwU0EGMIfxF1jMO0ILuFor8z6E4p7zZ6Dkzo2HM9krHixbP7yA/s640/IMG_4477.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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This is the pot of Earl Grey tea I had at Point Walter this afternoon, looking out over the Swan River.</div>
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A wonderful slice of time, pleasantly interrupted at one point when a very cheery, blustery man came over to have a look and told me stories about his mother's plans to take painting classes after her retirement, his exploits with a new border collie pup named Kip, and his own disinclination to draw.</div>
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I'm thinking of making a collection of bag drawings. I get all tingley now when I buy potatoes....</div>
evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-34793597994438598442015-10-04T08:38:00.000-07:002015-10-04T08:38:01.690-07:00Using Up and Re-Using<span style="font-size: large;">Fun and more fun this week, finding different surfaces to draw on now that my sketchbook is full and I have my self-imposed rule of no new art stuff till all other available materials are used up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="text-align: center;">So, lets have a look:</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL3vdMsPDzWJ3XreBfmcER7eZugK6rJZMZ9qMFkN2xXvSEvmcLmVDbvNUyDKDLWpLpnkFogNrlHJUpyinsIYbOrV3bbZvLqwaCp_C02UPS593PL6vo-xN-zDETx3LLCE9XvtCDthGT16A/s1600/IMG_4231.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL3vdMsPDzWJ3XreBfmcER7eZugK6rJZMZ9qMFkN2xXvSEvmcLmVDbvNUyDKDLWpLpnkFogNrlHJUpyinsIYbOrV3bbZvLqwaCp_C02UPS593PL6vo-xN-zDETx3LLCE9XvtCDthGT16A/s640/IMG_4231.JPG" width="558" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">That same morning I stopped at Hyde Park to sut for a while under a tree. There were clumps of Strelitzias there, so I drew them on the back of a cardboard box that had contained ginger sweets. This is a detail:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmaCvUamvhNTnaAq1WyJZ8Dd6G76R-fiKFM0aer6fJHWZrswsoLF0L0KE4PCmFDELIZNabOp16k_MPSSHN0AjL8f84Edf05SVH-Hz7GXDVjwnbIdz9tP0roLu6SwMyA1pG7-HA5bqZW6I/s1600/IMG_4227.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmaCvUamvhNTnaAq1WyJZ8Dd6G76R-fiKFM0aer6fJHWZrswsoLF0L0KE4PCmFDELIZNabOp16k_MPSSHN0AjL8f84Edf05SVH-Hz7GXDVjwnbIdz9tP0roLu6SwMyA1pG7-HA5bqZW6I/s640/IMG_4227.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">At South Beach, having breakfast on Friday I had my Moleskine blank exercise book with me. I'm getting used to the semi-bleed-through, and don't mind it any more. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEithukq0G-FJG6ac6lsuLDPWeJ7e0yrGGLEUVxKxmxZpTaHUMk9RHY4KjcdwS8AO-rozOZBWLbExDYLQJEyxxEuVRz41Xg87e5YRxByCeYGVUfYbhe5ZiMPaxBUHmMwVKRIfBIqixjnb_E/s1600/IMG_4238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEithukq0G-FJG6ac6lsuLDPWeJ7e0yrGGLEUVxKxmxZpTaHUMk9RHY4KjcdwS8AO-rozOZBWLbExDYLQJEyxxEuVRz41Xg87e5YRxByCeYGVUfYbhe5ZiMPaxBUHmMwVKRIfBIqixjnb_E/s640/IMG_4238.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then yesterday I went with Colleen and Ingrid to a spot along the river at North Fremantle. So quiet and secluded, only a couple of friendly dog-walkers came by. The sun shone, boats bobbed gently on the water, altogether a glorious afternoon. The white boat is drawn on a system card with pen and watercolour. The red one is on a piece of card from some packaging. It is drawn in pen and watercolour pencils.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDeSUBthIk8CBnGSwKNBhmDp3i47I69MShS5_bLUuDhhDKK6X9VTojvekntStErUcLdH9t1QaXZ6O2rwwqrFryCkBYfF7SbwqQ7wRB_zKKFDRJWkotsETz9hogcCCrdI-BCY4ZqEi1x0k/s1600/IMG_4255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDeSUBthIk8CBnGSwKNBhmDp3i47I69MShS5_bLUuDhhDKK6X9VTojvekntStErUcLdH9t1QaXZ6O2rwwqrFryCkBYfF7SbwqQ7wRB_zKKFDRJWkotsETz9hogcCCrdI-BCY4ZqEi1x0k/s640/IMG_4255.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-rQn3GGuHgnLmiGuGNi5Pvv1NFSnASqiXmp1E26ZfElz1RRHDGd8hAwaRY_zrUbYvsg84OB9kI8JLAJRO6tks4EgrADK8L1qFPNUbJzyqcB0WBJhwvHNNMpg3ixVw6S5ZPYA7SkDheAs/s1600/IMG_4258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-rQn3GGuHgnLmiGuGNi5Pvv1NFSnASqiXmp1E26ZfElz1RRHDGd8hAwaRY_zrUbYvsg84OB9kI8JLAJRO6tks4EgrADK8L1qFPNUbJzyqcB0WBJhwvHNNMpg3ixVw6S5ZPYA7SkDheAs/s640/IMG_4258.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Finally, this evening, after a day of sorting out and reorganising and filing things away, I sat down with an opened out mushroom bag and a brush pen and oil pastels and drew a fast selfie. I look quite manic - which is not usual for me!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdGCtg_cYCs0KoggJ1HD-KfsFihC_K4HNcm0snP4z0GWm7YQnWhCqg3ge8iYYXAIAdAaiXnyxFZ9wJDJfQv4oM30obgy8HfZ4JpwUPnA6bGAKzNX2zWm83TseWbkDL-vEf5yNqRZcXK5E/s1600/IMG_4264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdGCtg_cYCs0KoggJ1HD-KfsFihC_K4HNcm0snP4z0GWm7YQnWhCqg3ge8iYYXAIAdAaiXnyxFZ9wJDJfQv4oM30obgy8HfZ4JpwUPnA6bGAKzNX2zWm83TseWbkDL-vEf5yNqRZcXK5E/s640/IMG_4264.JPG" width="516" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So that's it for my week of drawing on different surfaces. I hope your week was also exciting and filled with delight! Till next time,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Evelyn</span></div>
<br />evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-25464211135999279472015-09-30T17:36:00.001-07:002015-09-30T17:36:57.381-07:00Madness?Maybe<span style="font-size: large;">I can't take credit for this idea. I read it somewhere. Someone suggested it and for some reason it stuck. Partly, perhaps, because I'm keen to declutter and simplify my life. Also because it is full of potential excitement, innovation and craziness. It's this:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Before I buy any new art materials, I'm going to use up all the stuff I have.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A few days ago I filled the last page of my sketchbook. Here it is: three water containers all made of glass. I was house sitting for a friend and these were on her kitchen bench. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaT1RJ6_Dz9SVDhmdmu13BUOuxjzS1CWY2_6IjH-9XEGqo_x9IjD2E8RZLJBVXGklyw6B92jikvSmvLSOihoyflarY9OFDAvRFP3RU8R9FNzR9aaFicHeBIX59ypWviITqI0rRfhq9D8k/s1600/IMG_4207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaT1RJ6_Dz9SVDhmdmu13BUOuxjzS1CWY2_6IjH-9XEGqo_x9IjD2E8RZLJBVXGklyw6B92jikvSmvLSOihoyflarY9OFDAvRFP3RU8R9FNzR9aaFicHeBIX59ypWviITqI0rRfhq9D8k/s400/IMG_4207.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But I digress.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, end of sketchbook. I don't keep a stash of sketchbooks. I like the choosing part - the 'what kind of book will I get this time?' thrill. So at the end of this book, I looked around at my options. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Aha! A nice little blank Moleskine cahier. Creamy paper, but thin, designed more for writing than drawing Still, it works ok and it is thin enough to live unobtrusively in my everyday bag. It even quite graciously, accepts some watercolour, </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzyrnrxIdAiBWsSjBu9t9OZynPlB_02EjrOXhWTfACOjHmmhgJm49-xshHqVp02erRKaSxfce44c70NpCPIBp6ZrlNVre5Hq7FNY8vNnRfI0FQoxyRv63f8V4RT4-SrD_xwmilkiLa1yg/s1600/IMG_4212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzyrnrxIdAiBWsSjBu9t9OZynPlB_02EjrOXhWTfACOjHmmhgJm49-xshHqVp02erRKaSxfce44c70NpCPIBp6ZrlNVre5Hq7FNY8vNnRfI0FQoxyRv63f8V4RT4-SrD_xwmilkiLa1yg/s400/IMG_4212.JPG" width="255" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Something else I found was a box of system cards. Large ones. Mostly blank. I don't have a system that they can be useful in - indeed I really only bought them because they were such tidy and inviting white surfaces... so I've started drawing on them. My plan is to get a box that they can all be put in.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnenUDKWIm6NosLNgwX3bHYjGIMGfyBl1qYlkE6SyA1dH5MJcBEG4uD3PNwsA30yaOFwsiEgzutjBjC9jAA-s1BGSiCGR3UNkmy_rbiXVHtx3Rl087cRLkZdLsz_fRjYihQrBvvEbNFs/s1600/IMG_4219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnenUDKWIm6NosLNgwX3bHYjGIMGfyBl1qYlkE6SyA1dH5MJcBEG4uD3PNwsA30yaOFwsiEgzutjBjC9jAA-s1BGSiCGR3UNkmy_rbiXVHtx3Rl087cRLkZdLsz_fRjYihQrBvvEbNFs/s640/IMG_4219.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have some other ideas for sketchbook alternatives - I'll keep you posted. So far I still have watercolours, though I'm running out of Naples Yellow and my lovely orange is all used up. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm weirdly excited to see what will come of this. Will I end up drawing in my least favourite colours until they have all been used? Or will I mix media - watercolour plus crayons?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Stay tuned!!!</span>evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-5940135554932447642015-09-12T03:37:00.000-07:002015-09-12T03:37:21.010-07:00Communing with Everyday Objects<span style="font-size: large;">Cup, mug, teapot, milk jug.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm here. It is there.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It has a history of existence before we met in this place.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Me too.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And now here we are, together for a short time.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXEM7ugKHYk_Rq3fUt9uyb1Xu-zIdCJZKnzkzNDqn4zA8UY-E3uuXH_BTPkBx8p_Jsn-t-_R9xK8psQ4yfPU6mwk8-k3rbSoT7g_kIotih6Q7NQq6nJEq5N_wHSRrz3CPYiUrilfrYkbI/s1600/IMG_3972.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXEM7ugKHYk_Rq3fUt9uyb1Xu-zIdCJZKnzkzNDqn4zA8UY-E3uuXH_BTPkBx8p_Jsn-t-_R9xK8psQ4yfPU6mwk8-k3rbSoT7g_kIotih6Q7NQq6nJEq5N_wHSRrz3CPYiUrilfrYkbI/s640/IMG_3972.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Never before</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">in all my life</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">have I sat before this cup, this mug, this teapot, this milk jug in just this way. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">With this scent of spring in the air, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">this boy asking me if I'd prefer to sit outside, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">this feeling of not wanting to go to work today...</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8izP7Lb2QUJGAdRlITN1TUJgUcRSFjf1s11O6yhSjuWinKoapUgtFQUDtjCJ2K5wANQ885W3mzlL6Us4f7T6uu_cncgcsZ6YKigNwBgcdeT_lLsoE2XmoygKXO_6dcYmwttw534yniI/s1600/IMG_3597.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8izP7Lb2QUJGAdRlITN1TUJgUcRSFjf1s11O6yhSjuWinKoapUgtFQUDtjCJ2K5wANQ885W3mzlL6Us4f7T6uu_cncgcsZ6YKigNwBgcdeT_lLsoE2XmoygKXO_6dcYmwttw534yniI/s640/IMG_3597.JPG" width="484" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here we are, together as never before.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I turn to a new page, pick up - mmm - a brush pen. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I want the responsiveness of it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And begin.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ia6uKp7OdbrI86Uj_OhfG6BT2gjPn8Wlu9d8QqRkFOFqGldNsTmq1r_P04SFt1U_7DZSN1E_2sP6U75kcoW6dBHTT23aohxHK0JA8QJwTB5vz9aR7u9rsnjgW3eaIsxq9dRYbRoguEk/s1600/IMG_4020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ia6uKp7OdbrI86Uj_OhfG6BT2gjPn8Wlu9d8QqRkFOFqGldNsTmq1r_P04SFt1U_7DZSN1E_2sP6U75kcoW6dBHTT23aohxHK0JA8QJwTB5vz9aR7u9rsnjgW3eaIsxq9dRYbRoguEk/s640/IMG_4020.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Look.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The lovely shape of the hole in the spout, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">the belly of the jug, how full it is; </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">the line of the handle, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">the shape of the shadows, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">the changes in colour. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6my666jRCyp9p8riRxExRj9b7LcfVz_j0gxzKCCUhGM4DQnibDtjGvxrWwwS6NvSFtDFn936J4o5ZduMqcxwK_FosmhA64PL8b7cLLat1RZsZL8n3ezELpdV5uxTfG_Tc0BbJit_MBLw/s1600/IMG_4058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6my666jRCyp9p8riRxExRj9b7LcfVz_j0gxzKCCUhGM4DQnibDtjGvxrWwwS6NvSFtDFn936J4o5ZduMqcxwK_FosmhA64PL8b7cLLat1RZsZL8n3ezELpdV5uxTfG_Tc0BbJit_MBLw/s640/IMG_4058.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There is the architecture. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The delight in sensing design,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">feeling the weight of the curves in my mind, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">sensing them as if I'm holding them, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">As if we are holding each other.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAWLj9ikd3lZOezqEnhtb4ImtSmji4XLHH7GWwhPcDVfGrCVOeYa6Y9Qd0ridZAqqyLzpWNRXLOnJtR1KFBE59KFNRZi6WbUt21mLy7WVQP8KrL4ECVvNvjgJZKRV1HBBaYUlCtBsq3k/s1600/IMG_4132.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAWLj9ikd3lZOezqEnhtb4ImtSmji4XLHH7GWwhPcDVfGrCVOeYa6Y9Qd0ridZAqqyLzpWNRXLOnJtR1KFBE59KFNRZi6WbUt21mLy7WVQP8KrL4ECVvNvjgJZKRV1HBBaYUlCtBsq3k/s640/IMG_4132.JPG" width="476" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Drawing is not a one-sided thing,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It is a communion,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">where we - milk jug, teapot, cup or mug and I,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">become greater</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">than the sum of all our parts.</span><br />
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<br />evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-34124952660853638512015-08-29T23:48:00.000-07:002015-08-30T07:22:23.135-07:00not a sketch, not a drawing....<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjosBIn0KVdXVoNSQ76zJKS0jqvhlRZOuMTjipEiiPjBqMqYsIHYoVuTD_dhZgvAZZSn_AX4SOBDUYIGi0QIcFzc2phOuBHdQd9dW7Lr7-JIi0T_Toj9qgjZ8KE4PKawwq84ehdczbt6b4/s1600/IMG_4046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjosBIn0KVdXVoNSQ76zJKS0jqvhlRZOuMTjipEiiPjBqMqYsIHYoVuTD_dhZgvAZZSn_AX4SOBDUYIGi0QIcFzc2phOuBHdQd9dW7Lr7-JIi0T_Toj9qgjZ8KE4PKawwq84ehdczbt6b4/s640/IMG_4046.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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The sky is a deep blue today. The wind blows cool and steady from the south. There are spring sounds: a duck somewhere over near the lake, the chirp and giddy twitter of birds, kids squealing and yelling in the park.<br />
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When I sat by the river earlier in the day, the waves were dark blue, a deep cold dark blue and the boats tied to yellow buoys did not stay still.<br />
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Why am I suddenly inspired to write something here after an absence so long that these posts look like the work of a stranger? Because with some delight and exultation, I have rediscovered the phenomenon of 'the study'. Not the room full of books, but the drawing whose purpose is to look, observe, notice, explore, study a thing to understand it better, to become familiar with the way it is put together, its different angles, the way it occupies space. To learn it, not in the way of 'now I can draw faces' but in the spirit of recognising how jawlines change with age and how an eye sits in its socket and brows can perch like hedges on the outcrops of the brows.<br />
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A study. Not a sketch. Here's the difference: a sketch is a (relatively) quick capture of the thing. A study is an exploration. Sometimes a dissection.<br />
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Because the boats moved around so much I worked fast, looking at how they changed shape as they moved. The result is not really a result. It is just the record of a learning process.<br />
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This is exciting to me because, for a long time, I have been uneasy with the way I feel about my sketchbooks. I don't want them to be nice, well composed, filled with 'great pages'. I don't want to think about my drawings in terms of how good they are or how satisfied I am that they capture something. Really what I want is for my sketchbooks to be full of activity, unselfconscious, dynamic, lively things in which beauty emerges in the way you see the beauty of a windswept face with wild and tangled hair, a song escaping from its lips, its eyes bright with adventure.<br />
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<br />evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-87353612379186634862014-12-24T23:49:00.001-08:002014-12-25T00:02:18.898-08:00Christmas afternoon: down by the riverWe put our folding chairs in a dense patch of tree shade and looked out across the river.<br />
There was hot water in a thermos for tea or coffee, spectacular home made nut and cacao and coconut confections, leftover homemade ravioli, a bag of chips and some cherry tomatoes. In other bags we had sketching supplies.<br />
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At first one of those delicious afternoon-shady-spot-hot-day-well-fed lethargies settled around us and I thought a nap might be a better choice than dragging out the sketching gear. But, pleasant as it was to sit there in a dreamy daze, the itch to make marks was strong.<br />
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I am between sketchbooks at the moment, still waiting for my new one to arrive. I had a small watercolour pad with me and decided to play with watercolours. No pen today.<br />
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At first I used the watercolours as I usually do - just as a way to add colour, mixing the colours I want and slopping them down.<br />
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Then I tried working very wet, letting the colours run around and visit each other:<br />
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Finally, in the third sketch, I put down washes, let them dry and layered other colours over them:<br />
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All in all, a lovely Christmas afternoon!<br />
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<br />evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-80987663971405136142014-12-10T07:33:00.001-08:002014-12-10T17:43:43.652-08:00Chancing it Again: micro travel #2Sunshine, a pleasant breeze, blue skies - a perfect day for micro-travelling.The plan for today involved dice (again) and cards ( white cards the size of business cards). I could have used bits of paper, but fanning out a hand of cards has a je ne sais quoi that wrinkly bits of paper absolutely lack.<br />
So what do you do with the cards apart from fanning them out in a je ne sais quoi kind of way?<br />
Take a look.<br />
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Each card has, written on it, precise instructions of something to observe, notice, and draw. Here is the whole spread:<br />
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With dice, cards, sketchbook, the usual drawing kit and my $2 K-Mart folding stool, I left my car in South Fremantle and walked to the nearest bus stop to wait for the CAT bus. This is a free bus that does a loop around Fremantle. There's a bus every 10 minutes. While I waited I rolled a die. Five dots looked up at me. According to my plan...<br />
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that meant I had to get off the bus after five stops then pick a card at random and follow the instructions.<br />
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What I hadn't counted on was zoning out on the bus and losing track of how many stops we passed. I think I may have gone one stop too many. Never mind. Micro travel is not an exacting discipline, but a cheerful embrace of the unexpected as well as the ordinary.<br />
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There were a lot of Spanish and Italian passengers on the bus. When they got off they left clouds of Ciao's and Hasta la vistas and Muchas Graciases in their wake, the way some people leave a fragrance or little bubbles of happiness. At my stop, once I had added my own farewells and thanks to the atmosphere, I stepped onto a sun drenched pavement and took out my pack of cards. Fanning them out ( with that certain je ne sais quoi ) I selected one and turned it over. It said:<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Notice Foliage</span></div>
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There was a big Plane tree just around the corner casting deep shade onto the footpath. I unfolded my stool, parked it against an old limestone wall and looked across the street at a group of small trees. Different coloured foliage, different shaped leaves, different textures. Two of the trees had red flowers. Behind them another large Plane tree and in the distance a Norfolk Island Pine. As I drew, a group of children inched their way towards me. When I looked down at my sketchbook they took tiny steps closer. When I looked up, they stopped. They didn't speak to me at all until I asked where they were from. Then in a chorus they all said 'KL'. They watched me silently until a parent hustled them away. I drew and coloured the foliage </div>
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and by the time I'd finished I was ready for a coffee. </div>
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Blink Cafe is a tiny hole in the wall. I sat on a wooden cube at a table on the pavement sipping a long black out of a glass. Justin, the barista, brought me a flourless sweet thing on a really pretty plate. As I drew it a young woman glided in wearing an academic gown. She'd escaped from her graduation ceremony with her brother and wanted him to take photos of her in the cafe, since that's where she'd spent so much of her time as a student. </div>
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Back to the bus stop, back on the bus, a quick stop at the station for the loo and a roll of the die that told me to get off after six stops. La la la... bus ride through Freo. The card I picked said:</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Draw your fellow humans</span>.</div>
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but when we reached the sixth stop there were no humans to be found. Just blank walled buildings and blue blue sky. Not even a bit of foliage!! So I cheated and went one more stop to a place where there are cafes and shops and plethoras of people. There, at Ootong and Lincoln, I occupied a large table, ate a salad of sweet potato, green beans and a whole glorious gallimaufry of salady things and drew some of the humans around me. </div>
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How quickly the time passed, but how utterly delightful to explore in this way. Here's the complete page from today's micro-travels:</div>
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If you are in the area and feel like joining me next week, let me know. If you are far away you might like to try something like this in your own neck of the woods. Keep me posted, I'd love to hear about your adventures!</div>
evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-30539974325623668092014-12-01T18:51:00.003-08:002014-12-01T18:51:58.458-08:00Marking Time: 3 CalendarsAround this time each year I gather together drawings or photos and make them into calendars on Redbubble to give out as Christmas gifts.<br />
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This year, I have made three calendars. Here are the links to Redbubble and the cover images to give you an idea of what's inside!!<br />
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1. A collection of <a href="http://www.redbubble.com/people/immanent/calendars/13135876-cafe-times">drawings made in cafes</a>, mostly featuring cups of tea or coffee, sometimes with cake.<br />
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2. Drawings of landscapes, ocean views and scenes along the rivers in Perth.<br />
It's called <a href="http://www.redbubble.com/people/immanent/calendars/13136201-land-river-sea">Land, River, Sea</a><br />
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3. Assorted sketches - some cafe drawings, some land and riverscapes, some random objects.<br />
It's simply called <a href="http://www.redbubble.com/people/immanent/calendars/13088597-sketchbook-drawings">Sketchbook Drawings</a><br />
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evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-61807648096513421892014-11-25T23:02:00.001-08:002014-11-25T23:02:35.291-08:00Take a Chance: The Art of Micro TravelI had my sketchbook under my arm and my pen and watercolours in my bag. There was a folding stool slung over one shoulder and, smallest but most important, in a pocket of my bag there rested the two items that would determine my fate for the morning: a die and a key card.<br />
The die is a normal die but the key card is not like a normal hotel-style key card. It is a piece of card with the key on it. It looks like this:<br />
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I drove to South Fremantle, parked my car and got out on South Street. This was my chosen theatre of travel. South Street from King William Street to just past Jenkins St. Only a couple of blocks.<br />
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At the corner of South and King William I held my sketchbook flat and rolled the die. 6.<br />
Reading my key, I saw that a 6 means I have to draw what's at the back of me. So I put down the stool facing the way I'd come. And drew a couple of containers of plants that were in my line of sight - a Jade plant (I think) and something with pink flowers.<br />
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When that was done, I walked on. The Roasting Warehouse is on the next corner and I felt that a second breakfast would be a good idea. The Roasting Warehouse has terrific tables - large enough to spread out drawing stuff and not get in anyone's way. I rolled the die - 2. Draw what you see when you look down. Aha! That was my plate of poached eggs on toast and a juice of various red and orange vegetables. So I drew them.<br />
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Stop number three was at the end of that block. I rolled a 4: Look right and draw what you see. I oriented my stool to face the right hand side of the street where a clump of sunflowers half hid a parked bicycle.<br />
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At the fourth stop I rolled a 2 again: look down. This time when I lowered my eyes I saw dead leaves and Bougainvillea bracts littering the footpath.<br />
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At the fifth and final stop I rolled another 4: Look right. To my right this time there were three conjoined shops. What struck me about them was their doors - same style but different colours.<br />
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By then I'd filled a double page spread and the heavy humid air had erupted into thunder and lightning. Time to call it a day.<br />
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Adding elements of chance to a sketch walk, randomising the experience, is a way of forcing myself to look at things I might otherwise ignore. It adds excitement and transforms an outing into a real adventure. No fancy gear needed - no expense - no responsibility to make choices about what to draw.<br />
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I highly recommend taking a chance with micro travel. I'd love to see where it takes you and what you create along the way!!evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-65298406884929522242014-11-23T05:55:00.002-08:002014-11-23T05:55:43.331-08:00Of Bulls and BluebirdsT<u>he vision</u>:<br />
Sitting on a grassy verge breathing in fresh country air scented with eucalyptus and wildflowers, sketching.<br />
Then driving on to the next inspiring scene or object and repeating the above, possibly substituting a convenient rock or ant free log for the grassy verge. <br />
Returning home with a sketchbook full of drawings telling the story of the day.<br />
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<u>The plan</u>:<br />
To drive to Dwellingup, sketching as described in the vision.<br />
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<u>The unexpected</u>:<br />
Flies in enormous sticky clouds.<br />
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<u>The way it all turned out</u>:<br />
I began in true documentary mode, writing down things that we said, things that I thought.<br />
'Roe Highway exit 11kms. Really?'<br />
'A burnt out car - Wow!'<br />
'Dwellingup used to be such a sweet little place.'<br />
'The sky is like a blue bowl upended over the world with little bits of beaten egg-whites still stuck to the insides.'<br />
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We drew. We stopped on the side of the road and drew what was in front of us. I drew a paddock leading up to a hill full of trees and the deeply fissured bark of a Jarrah tree. A butterfly landed beside me - I drew it too. Cicadas whirred, dogs barked somewhere in the distance and trucks rolled on down the highway. There were flies, but not in vast numbers. The day was young.<br />
Ingrid sat further down along a side road sketching a windmill. That led to a discussion - should they be called wind mills when there is no mill attached. Should it not be a wind-water-pump, since pumping water is what it does?<br />
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We kept notes of the more quirky and interesting place names: Cardup, Dwellingup, Nanjedal, Uungula, Medulla Creek, Coogly Road.<br />
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The second stop was at a place in Serpentine, called Stockman's Rest, a cafe/ restaurant run by a Dutch couple called Mr and Mrs Stokman. The menu had lots of Dutch specialties, including rollmops, which I have not eaten for many many years.<br />
I drew my glass of tea perched on a white paper doily. Ingrid drew one of the clay things that you build fires in. A chimera stove. There was a tractor museum in Serpentine and we thought of going in and drawing tractors but, although all the signs said it was open, there was a hefty chain across the door which said otherwise.<br />
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Ingrid was keen to draw cows, but for a long time there were none to be seen. Then at last we spotted a herd in a paddock fairly close to the road. We piled out of the car all eager to sketch them, but seriously, you would not believe the flies! Impossible to stand there with no free hands to wave them away. They were little bush flies that aimed straight for the moist surfaces of eyes and mouths and nostrils. So goodbye cows<br />
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At last we arrived in Dwellingup and found our way to the Bluebird Cafe, a most delightful spot with big tables for spreading out sketching gear and interesting things to look at. There was good tea too.<br />
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Ingrid drew the signposts on the road outside and I focused on a curly little shelf that had an odd array of things on it - tomato sauce, a shopping bag, a roll of kitchen paper.<br />
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On the way home there were bulls in a paddock. Of course we stopped. It was a bit cooler and breezier and the files weren't so bad (though still very noticeable). The bulls cavorted and danced, swung their heads and their hips, swooshing long strands of spit as they did so. Happy bulls! Sweet, frolicking bulls. Bulls with mellow bellows. We drew them with our sketchbooks propped on fence posts. Mine don't look like bulls very much, their faces are more doggy that bully! But such a delight to be in their company and to spend that time getting to know them.<br />
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So, that was our drawing expedition to Dwellingup.<br />
<u>Next vision</u>:<br />
A game of chance with pen and watercolours (and possibly other gear). Stay tuned!<br />
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<br />evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-13446975028782637912014-10-20T05:54:00.001-07:002014-10-20T05:54:39.808-07:00Road TripOne of my absolutely blissiest things is setting off on a solo road trip and on Friday I did it. I hired a car so I wouldn't be anxious about bits falling off mine. I packed drawing stuff, audio books and all the usual sleeping, eating, sartorial and abluttionary supplies. I drove north, allowing seven hours for a five hour drive - not as much as I'd like but there was a hiccup at the hire car place and I got away late. The plan: drive, stopping whenever I saw things I'd like to sketch. Sketch, get in the car and keep driving. You'd think it would be easy, but it wasn't.<br />
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It seemed that whenever the scenery looked great, there would be a car right on my tail and that, combined with the highway's narrow and often steeply graded shoulders makes it tricky to stop where you want.<br />
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Still, there were plenty of opportunities. I made my first sketch from the lookout at Guilderton where the Moore River almost reaches the Indian Ocean. Only a narrow sand bar separates them.<br />
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I stopped again for coffee at a cafe in Jurien Bay. It seemed silly, somehow, to draw my coffee when I could do that anywhere, so I sketched the people as they huddled in groups, sat at tables or waited for take aways.<br />
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Further along, I stopped to draw a field of wheat:<br />
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And a little further, one of the many white sand dunes dotted with green vegetation:<br />
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On the drive home I discovered a narrow sandy road that took me to the edge of some low, sandstone cliffs with a fantastic view of rocks and ocean. I sketched it in pen and did the colouring from memory at home. On the same page there is a little drawing of the view from the jetty at Jurien Bay.<br />
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I'd love to get a group of friends together some time and do a road trip sketch crawl, each of us documenting the journey in our own way. A few days...a week....longer.....evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-62141374068800746852014-10-06T07:04:00.001-07:002014-10-06T07:16:28.705-07:00The Same River TwiceI live just a hop skip and a jump from the Canning River. It flows on under the Canning Bridge, meets the Swan River and the two of them, having become inseparable, continue as one all the way to Fremantle and the Indian Ocean.<br />
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It is a fine thing to sit by a river, watching it flow; to be firmly planted on one shore, daydreaming about the other. The river flows. Time passes. Thoughts sparkle and play in the dancing light, then, as if inexorably drawn by the currents, flow, drift, float on by.<br />
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The Greek philosopher, Heraclitus, saw the world as ever-changing, always in a state of flux. It was he who said you can't step into the same river twice - or, more correctly:<br />
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'Everything changes and nothing remains still...and...you cannot step twice into the same stream.'<br />
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Each time I sit beside it - in a riverside cafe, on the end of a jetty, on a grassy or rocky bank - the river is new. It is a different river, always changing, never still. Strange, then, that here, making the coloured marks that paint a picture on my page, a kind of stillness settles and in it, there is an echo, a memory, a reflection of eternity.<br />
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I am reminded of William Blake's poem, 'Auguries of Innocence':<br />
<br />
'To see a World in a Grain of Sand<br />
And Heaven in a Wild Flower,<br />
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand<br />
And Eternity in an hour.'<br />
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<pre style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 17.6000003814697px;"></pre>
<pre style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 17.6000003814697px;"></pre>
<pre style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 17.6000003814697px;"><span style="line-height: 17.6000003814697px; white-space: normal;">Some river sketches, a small collection - same river, different river.</span></pre>
<pre style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 17.6000003814697px;"><span style="line-height: 17.6000003814697px; white-space: normal;">Same difference.</span></pre>
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evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-8151432760295440762014-09-13T17:52:00.002-07:002014-09-13T17:54:12.511-07:00After DarkIt was like the start of a movie.<br />
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<b>Establishing shot</b>: Night. An almost-empty car park, the river behind it; a huge pale ship docked not far away. On the other side, a small cafe placed incongruously half under a bridge. It is open, even at this hour. Through the door you can see bright light and the silhouette of a big man hunched over a small cup. Outside, three skinny kids grind, jump and flip their skate boards along the kerb.<br />
<b>Sound</b>: Their occasional yells and laughter; a passing car; the distant honk of a ship,<br />
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<b>Scene 1</b>: A small, dark car pulls in to the car park. The driver's door opens and a short woman steps out. She carries a red bag slung across her body. Locking the car behind her she walks towards the river and stands, looking. Turns and walks towards the ship, stopping, looking, moving from one vantage point to the another. She is uncertain. She walks towards the street, looking inland at three tiny houses that are lit up like shop fronts. Near them are two tall buildings that stand out from the indistinct scene around them. Seeming to have reached a decision, the woman goes back to her car, takes out a folding stool and a wide black book, parks the stool, unslings her bag, takes out a pen, opens the book and begins to draw.<br />
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I have long had an itch to draw at night. I love the way darkness transforms and simplifies, the way lights glow on water, the lit reflections of bridges and boats. I put it off mainly because of the inconvenience of sitting in the cold and the ridiculousness of trying to draw when it's too dark to see what I'm doing.<br />
There, in that car park, under street lights, I first experienced the sheer delight of night drawing.<br />
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For a start, it is like being in a different country. Things look completely different. Added to that - there is so much I can't see (duh - obviously) - and this forces me to make a choice. Do I draw what is in front of my eyes - which sometimes makes no logical sense? Pieces of buildings don't fit together logically. I can't see where this bit joins that bit...<br />
Or, for the sake of a drawing that looks like it knows what's what, do I make assumptions about the way things are. If I can't see it, there's a huge temptation to make it up. It's fascinating to go with the scarier option of drawing what does not make sense.<br />
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As so often happens when drawing in public, I had visitors. A couple of young guys stopped and said hi. One of them had a little white dog on his arm. We chatted for a while and then they went on and it was quiet again.<br />
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I worked with a big chunky sharpie. By the time I'd done all the lines it was getting cold and uncomfortable. I took a mental snapshot of the colours and packed up my things. At home I used gouache to paint the colours in. I wanted something solid, and gouache was it.<br />
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<br />evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-60854731558023740722014-08-30T22:27:00.002-07:002014-08-30T22:29:30.055-07:00Ocean Time<span style="font-size: large;">August days have been as warm as Spring. The grass in my yard is long enough to wave in the breeze, pink blossoms are bursting out of their buds and swan couples cruise the wetland lakes with lines of fuzzy toddlers between them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have been walking on the beach, breathing deeply of the salt negative-iony air. Walk, sit, sketch, walk back. A couple of days ago the pattern expanded: Walk, swim, sit and sketch while drying in the air because I forgot to bring a towel, walk back wearing a crust of sand.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'd like to make it regular, this new thing, this walking on the beach. The swimming too. New beginnings, new enterprises, blossoming, burgeoning, bursting out of old moulds ( the shape kind, not the fungal) - it's a spring thing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Looking north from Port Beach towards Cottesloe and Scarborough.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Looking south from the same place, to Rous Head where all the containers are stored for shipping.</span>evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-8222877415280710592014-08-18T18:49:00.000-07:002014-08-18T18:49:02.315-07:00Playing Fast and LooseI have had no patience lately for intricate detailed work or careful renderings. Perhaps it is the influence of our recent anachronistic spring weather that has my blood rushing and my branches stretching to wave at the sky. Perhaps it is my love affair with the Pentel Pocket Brush Pen which responds effortlessly to every nuance of rhythm and stress.<br />
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Whatever the reason, my recent drawings have been more gestural than usual. I look more at my subjects than at the paper. I dive in without preamble. I seem to be skipping the part of the process where thinking happens as I abandon myself to the feel of the thing.<br />
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It's true that I sat for a couple of hours in front of a Fremantle facade, exploring its details and architectural patterns, but I was restless throughout, half loving the lines of arches and columns, half rushing to be done with them.<br />
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Here are some recent sketches:<br />
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These first two were done at the Indianna Tea Rooms at Cottesloe. A group of us gathered there for a Sketchbook Skool inspired outing and drew our morning tea and each other. Some white oil pastel found its way into the bottom drawing - I was simply too impatient to think about leaving the white or highlights of the hair and carefully painting the greys or navigating the pattern on the left hand blouse. A quick scribble of pastel, instant wax resist!<br />
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Above: This is ot brush pen but a fairly chunky sharpie. It doesn't have the melodious flow of the brush pen, but I also love the uncompromising, sturdy line of this pen.<br />
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This one (above) was wild indeed. I asked my students if they'd mind if I sketched them as they worked on their projects ( relief teaching, when not fraught with bedlam, can be boring for a supervising teacher). They assented, no doubt comforted by my assurance that they would be in no way recognisable. This is a more scribbly pen - possibly a Uniball. About 80% looking at the subjects, not the paper. NB some of these guys were sitting on couches reading - hence the laid back, half asleep look.<br />
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Fast lines coloured with a big brush.<br />
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Brush pen again.<br />
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How about you? Do you have these urges to dive in and let the lines run where they may?evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-2278034132588303692014-08-06T04:49:00.003-07:002014-08-06T04:49:34.929-07:00The Face in the Mirror<span style="font-size: large;">I do not like having my photo taken. The thought of being captured on video is right up there with the idea of taking a dive off a bridge with a bungee cord attached to my ankles. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Drawing self portraits is different.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">At first there is this face in the mirror. It is fatter than I'd like. I see the coarseness of my skin and the way folds of it sag in places. My chin is no longer as well defined as it used to be and my eyebrows have no sense of decorum at all.. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then I pick up my pen and take a closer look. I start with a nostril. Why a nostril? I don't know - it's a place to start. I look at the shape of the dark opening of the tunnel that runs up the inside of my nose. It isn't round. The darkness isn't all the same density. I draw the outside line of my nose around my nostrils, feeling the shape and texture in my mind and somehow relaying that feeling to the hand that holds the pen. I observe. I sense. I am present with every line. I am subject, verb and object. There are no more eyes, nose, wrinkles, ears. There is only shape and curve and light and dark, delicate lines, heavy lines. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then colour. I see green and blue where I thought there were only skin tones. Crimson and ochre. Warm and cool. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When it is done and I look at the drawing I have made, it is not good or bad. It is a faithful record of my seeing in that time and place. Even if it doesn't look like me, it has something of myself in it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">These five selfies were all drawn looking into the same mirror. I used different materials each time. In some I used one continuous line. In others I tried to capture light and shade.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Drawing these self portraits there was no room for judgement; only seeing. Looking in the mirror can be the same. Looking with judgement limits what we can see. Seeing without judgement opens up a whole new world.</span>evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-47119704729106283202014-08-03T19:25:00.003-07:002014-08-03T19:35:01.299-07:00North and South: Days in Lonnie and Hobes<span style="font-size: large;">I didn't have a lot of drawing time in Launceston. It was time to spend doing family things: going to see Alec's assembly, getting educated by Grace in the art of playing with Barbies, collaborating with the kids to make a book for Pop's birthday (<i>The Adventures of Lily and Bert</i>) and hanging out with the adults in the evenings. But there were a few hours when I'd returned from visiting Dad in George Town before my bus left for Hobart. I set off for a stroll, wound my way past the TAFE college and Launceston College, the buildings heavy with memories; down past the corner shop, now revamped and nothing like the place that sold pies and greasy chips that I remembered. I stopped at Richies Mill and sat in the late afternoon sun drinking tea as the shadows lengthened.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8DTwXArcX70_nfQR9lusUFhYeyA7JdUviDS_TlitTxZYsgr8zAyli0V6k-XX4u3akirnzQ6VSqDUAS0oIqoSZ5nIHicxeqwCg3eZpEHVGZ_2lw9qK4IjZ5Bv61LspMsruZhSqe-h8rRg/s1600/tea+at+ritchies+mill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8DTwXArcX70_nfQR9lusUFhYeyA7JdUviDS_TlitTxZYsgr8zAyli0V6k-XX4u3akirnzQ6VSqDUAS0oIqoSZ5nIHicxeqwCg3eZpEHVGZ_2lw9qK4IjZ5Bv61LspMsruZhSqe-h8rRg/s1600/tea+at+ritchies+mill.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There was still plenty of time, so in spite of the growing cold and fading light, I walked over the bridge to the Cataract Gorge. So many years had passed since I walked along that path in the damp shade smelling of earth and leaves and age.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I stopped at a wooden seat and drew the rocks till my fingers were too numb with cold. Then walked back to the transit centre to catch my bus.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRF3AbSwwoscjfz5CWIP4dkUOxnGVI-PaqtMm3vXngL9amYSUCShUJwmTErv7_8HWuLDr4Fbiy9rCYapU0nBtDCHyCPO-UI-jVdFtToS6DpQNCoQ_X7eA6g-pBV_hIFJMYETjjECZ3Twk/s1600/gorge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRF3AbSwwoscjfz5CWIP4dkUOxnGVI-PaqtMm3vXngL9amYSUCShUJwmTErv7_8HWuLDr4Fbiy9rCYapU0nBtDCHyCPO-UI-jVdFtToS6DpQNCoQ_X7eA6g-pBV_hIFJMYETjjECZ3Twk/s1600/gorge.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The weather in Hobart was comparatively mild, but not so mild that sitting outside drawing seemed like a great idea. I did brave the elements one morning to the extent of sitting on Jo's patio long enough to sketch the view across the valley to the hill on the other side of it - but mostly I drew interior things.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSgY4t-eWjJE_prR0zO-m2ivcXTMVwmp1lsF3hOb2qkO0uEsOa38ugd7hhQqf_7JlRqNvwbCYHF5YlbBt4e9YAKkw2TLGRnUi8diyq1o8SSv0fUdQYPcB2726GTrfJe2ti4i8FxPtRCNM/s1600/ironing+board.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSgY4t-eWjJE_prR0zO-m2ivcXTMVwmp1lsF3hOb2qkO0uEsOa38ugd7hhQqf_7JlRqNvwbCYHF5YlbBt4e9YAKkw2TLGRnUi8diyq1o8SSv0fUdQYPcB2726GTrfJe2ti4i8FxPtRCNM/s1600/ironing+board.jpg" height="466" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">While Jo was at work I mostly read, drew, and wrote things down. Lennie, her elderly border collie, slept or occasionally shuffled, blind and arthritic, from one sleeping location to another. He's bigger than he looks here and very heavy. Jo has to help him up stairs and into the car. His back legs collapse under him sometimes and he just falls down. He is not as spiky as I drew him below:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I didn't stay inside at Jo's house all the time. I went to the movies at the State and had a tour of the building - the first time I'd seen the new additions - amazing architecture! I wandered around North Hobart, the city and the docks but only in short bursts interspersed with long periods of having coffee, browsing in bookshops and other warm pursuits. There was one terrific afternoon when I rocked up to a Japanese restaurant in North Hobart way past lunch time and had the place to myself, except for the staff, of course, and a boy who sat at a table near the kitchen and slept with his head propped up on his hands. He kindly woke up for long enough to re-fill my water brush for me. Here is the sushi drawing from that day:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjreivUA5oP36NAbv9VyR6gsKf5QLE2wofCjMFwJFnKQKXNzccxmhwoEWeJHZotzSZweiDsWhoGBThrTICwKFxPoXGmFwUxqbfbOMK-YJDBbfM7uaI7lk_cVLZIHnAj6rYvYZl7aPpChwM/s1600/sushi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjreivUA5oP36NAbv9VyR6gsKf5QLE2wofCjMFwJFnKQKXNzccxmhwoEWeJHZotzSZweiDsWhoGBThrTICwKFxPoXGmFwUxqbfbOMK-YJDBbfM7uaI7lk_cVLZIHnAj6rYvYZl7aPpChwM/s1600/sushi.jpg" height="452" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now I'm back in Perth, back at work, back in the present. I've been working on self portraits - I'll post some soon.</span>evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-71491744002782702732014-07-25T06:44:00.000-07:002014-07-25T06:54:33.289-07:00Home Town<span style="font-size: large;">Tasmania was my home for thirty years. Going back, spending time with family, I felt as though I was going back in time as well as travelling across space. I kept expecting to bump into people I used to know, and in my mind they were no different from when I last saw them, over twenty years ago. I couldn't quite grasp that they must have aged too, that places have changed and things I remember may no longer be there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Drawing my dad's shell collection. He has gathered shells from the beaches around Low Head and made little cardboard trays to keep them according to their classifications. I looked them up in his field guide to get the correct names.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The view from the Low Head lighthouse is spectacular - this is the expanse of ocean (Bass Strait) looking east. Why east? Because the wind was wild and westerly and sitting on the eastern side of the headland was sheltered. I sat on a lichen covered rock - the ground was much too boggy. A young man with a dog stopped to chat for a while.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A cuppa and a wooden bowl of nibbles - dried apricots and cashews - on the green tablecloth on Dad's dining table. This is in the tiny Moleskine sketchbook.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Looking west across the Tamar to the Asbestos Ranges. The light was so clear, the hills the deepest blue. Lapwings called to each other and the fog horn sounded, though there was no fog to be seen. I sat on the edge of the water on the black basalt rocks and saw no-one. I breathed the cold, clean air and remembered other times I had looked at this view.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">As I sat by the water, in the cafe at the Pilot Station, in my Dad's home, I saw these places - so familiar once - with new eyes. It seems strange to me now that I never drew them before.</span>evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6581946150846505918.post-35133411191216973862014-05-31T22:03:00.001-07:002014-06-22T19:01:59.753-07:00Drawing Makes Me Love Things More<span style="font-size: large;">For the next two Saturdays I'll be doing workshops for the City of Perth as part of their Winter Arts programme of activities. To prepare, I've been wandering around the CBD looking at suitable sketching spots and possible plan B's if the weather is too much of a challenge.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The city centre does not feel warm and friendly. The architecture does not inspire cosiness, human warmth, humour or delight. Attempts at quirky and funky are overburdened with transparent tryharditude, poorly masking the real intent of persuading people in to spend money. The city's dead, what can we do, oh lets make some urban arty alleyways and do what Melbourne does.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Whatever its mood and its failings, this is where we will for the next two Saturdays be and this is where I sat down to sketch yesterday afternoon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'd come from a sketching class at The Meeting Place, where I managed to compose a picture that was mostly asphalt and draw some oddly proportioned cars that looked like they were all parked on different slopes - not the fault of the terrain, please note, but of my failure to see the wheel and body placements properly - I sat on a bench in Forrest Place and drew other people doing the same. As I studied the slope of someone's shoulders, the way they put their hands to their face, the hair that fell over their eye - as I drew their jaws and ears and hoodies and chins, the bleak, cold city became a much nicer place.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Drawing makes my eyes kinder, makes me love things more and makes me feel closer to the life around me. It makes me give the things I draw a quality of attention that changes the way we respond to each other and the atmosphere around us. That goes for rocks and trees as much as humans and other creatures.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was good to remember that yesterday, that the world changes when I change.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXW3sPYETBWQRCn-PiQWkE7XXtb5ePQYLVj5yMj8lEUV49S5IqIQZLTv7M37b9eCGti5-axIy3qEUWQ-56didRP9OBmwHb6Lm37x4rhMgXWPyERr6AbEyJaw7ebeVrR_sWosxJ9fE03Hs/s1600/IMG_0477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXW3sPYETBWQRCn-PiQWkE7XXtb5ePQYLVj5yMj8lEUV49S5IqIQZLTv7M37b9eCGti5-axIy3qEUWQ-56didRP9OBmwHb6Lm37x4rhMgXWPyERr6AbEyJaw7ebeVrR_sWosxJ9fE03Hs/s1600/IMG_0477.JPG" height="436" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">nb: the building isn't in the city centre, its a remnant sketch from South Freo.</span>evelynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16884133941548921692noreply@blogger.com0