Questions. And Answers.

Back in 2004 or so, about the time my marriage was falling apart, I would find myself visiting my folks a lot more often.  A lot of times, after I'd get back home from visiting with my friends, fairly late on a Saturday night, I'd walk through the door to see my dad, still awake, watching one old movie or another.  A lot of times, as I sat on the couch as a prelude to heading to bed, I'd ask my dad what he was watching.  An easy hour or more later, Dad and I would finish up a conversation that covered everything from movies to music to his childhood memories to... anything.  I'd head to bed, admonishing him to go to his room and not fall asleep in the chair again, and that would be that.  Those hours were honestly the best times I ever spent with my Dad. 

Come the morning, after church, Dad and Mom and I would sit around eating breakfast, or watching the news, and they would work the crosswords while I read and occasionally shouted out the answers to the clues they said suspiciously aloud.  But we didn't talk much.  More to the point, Mom and I didn't talk much.  See, growing up, I was much closer to my mom than I was my dad.  She was around a lot more (by this point, as I recall, Dad was working nights at the shop) and so I just knew her better.  It was easy to talk to her, because I knew what to expect when we would talk.  Dad was a little scary.  Don't get me wrong, it's not that I poured my heart out to my mom, it's just that I could talk to her in a way I couldn't talk to my dad.  So cut to all those years later, and I think my mom knew how important it was that I talk to my dad, to try and make that connection we never had when I was young.  All of us were focused on my dad in those last years, and so I think none of us minded putting him, and our relationships with him, ahead of our other relationships.

I know my relationship with my folks was never all that close- there was love a'plenty, to be sure, but not always understanding.  Make no mistake- they supported me in everything I did, or even thought of doing- but they rarely seemed to understand why I walked the paths I did.  They didn't often ask me.  And for my part, I rarely, if ever, told them.  Those years talking with my dad went a long way to correct those mistakes- maybe not covering all the time we'd lost, but making all the time then and going forward so much richer.  But in all those years, I never, or rarely, talked with my mom the way I did with my dad.  I had grown up to know my dad in a way I suppose only comes with time and distance and lessons, and so talked to him with that new knowledge.  But my mom?  She was the rock upon which the family was built, steady and solid and unchanging.  There didn't seem to be anything for me discuss with her, to ask her about or share with her.  She was the solid, steady rock of the family, while most of my time was spent flitting from idea to wish to wondering, head in the clouds and never standing firm.  Then Dad died, and everything seemed to crumble.  

I'm not going to go into how my family changed- not now.  But one thing that I did start realizing was that I didn't know what to talk to my mom about.  I didn't even know exactly how to talk to her either.  It had been so long, I'd forgotten the language.  She had lost her partner; I had lost my hero.  We'd both lost the same man, but it seemed like there was a gap in our lives that we couldn't bridge.  Sure- when it came to the things that 'needed' talked about, I could do that.  Believe it or not, I'm actually pretty good at handling crises, from the mundane to the profound.  But the things that we 'should' talk about, or the things we 'want' to talk about, I was helpless.  I would call and ask her the questions I'd always ask, she'd give me the answers she always gave, we'd talk about what my niece was up to, how good a kid she was, how the cats were, and after exchanging 'I love you's', we'd hang up.  

But every so often, I would find myself surprised by spending a great deal of time on the phone, talking with my mom.  Not always about the most important things, but a lot of times, really important things.  And I would stupidly find myself surprised at how much my mom knew and had to say about a subject.  I don't mean silly things like politics or science or the world- I mean the important things, like love and family and pride and honor and faith and strength- the things that count.  She knew so much, and knew just how to say it so I understood what she meant, and would give me great examples, and she showed me so much I didn't know about both her and my dad, that it often left me crying and smiling at the same time.  I don't know why I was surprised; she's a mom after all.   

Those moments aside, life got in the way and routine, that hobgoblin of the mundane, led us back to the the quiet lands- we spent less time talking, and more time speaking.  We would talk, but we wouldn't talk about things.  It was back to those same old phone calls, except we'd be together.  I loved being around her, but I just didn't have anything to say.  What was there to talk about?  Ask her if she played any different lottery numbers?  Tell her about how well I counted steel?  And so, silence reigned. 

Then fate stepped in.

Over the past ten months, I've been given a new way of looking at my mom, new eyes by which to see her.  Instead of going home and spending quiet time with the woman who'd raised me, I went home and started talking to the woman who had 38 years of life lived before I showed up, and tried getting to know her.  Things I never thought to ask, for all those years, things that made my mom into that woman I mentioned above- the one who knew so much about the important things?  This could be my chance to discover how she learned all those important things. 

It wasn't always easy.  Mom has had a very, very rough few years.  It's not always easy for me to ask her the questions, and I feel that it's probably hard for her to give me the answers.  She always answers, but sometimes, mostly, it's just the answer.  And sometimes, when we talk, it's mostly me telling, and Mom listening.  Those can be really hard.  But those times I ask her those questions?  It's not a conversation, but it's something.  It's okay- I know it's hard, and she doesn't always have the strength to discuss things.  But she always answers, and each answer is another piece in the mosaic. 

But then, there are nights like tonight.  I asked her about her 'dream home'- where would she live? (meaning back when she was young; there is no place like home, now).  What kind of house would she like?  And she answered me, telling me of the place she and my dad first lived in, and describing how she'd like a place that was bigger, but not too big, with some land you could grow things on, and wasn't too crowded by other people.  She told me about the places her family lived in, then the apartments her parents lived in, then moving her mother into the house after my grandfather died.  It was really great to hear her talk about it, because I didn't really know those things, and it was a good answer.  

Then she asked me where I liked living.  Did I prefer the apartments, or the house? She didn't just answer- she asked me a question back.  And then we were talking, conversing, having a discussion about what the apartments were like, what my house was like, the merits of each (pride of homeownership v. not paying for repairs)... we were talking.  My sister came in, and I found out that my grandmother and sister shared a room for years, and that they talked for hours- to the point where my dad would tell my mom to make them 'knock it off'- which surely sounded silly even to him.   It felt so... amazing... being able to talk with them, and talk not with those old worn out scripts, but to share in the conversation of our lives, learning and teaching and just experiencing our family, in a profoundly simple way.  It was just a short talk about housing... and it was a conversation about the most important things. 

I learned so much tonight- not just about my mom, but about my sister, myself, and my family.  I learned that no matter how well you think you know someone, they always have more to teach you.  I learned everyone has something worth hearing, if you are smart enough to listen. 

I learned that sometimes, asking the question is the answer. 

 

On Salvation

Dictionary.com defines 'Salvation' as the following: Preservation or deliverance from destruction, difficulty, or evil; A source, means, or cause of such preservation or deliverance; Deliverance from the power or penalty of sin; redemption; and The agent or means that brings about such deliverance.

Of late, I've been thinking a lot about salvation.  More to the point, the idea of salvation.  Ask anyone, and they'll probably tell you salvation is the idea of saving someone from something bad- just a simplified version of any o fthe above statements.  I think we all have some idea or concept of what salvation means to us; many are familiar with the religious concept of Salvation- 'Deliver us, Lord, from every evil'.  Christ came down to earth with the idea of saving all of humanity.  Maybe not a literal saving of our physical existence, but 'saving our souls'- one would imagine the greatest idea of salvation.  Another way of looking at salvation, the way I've been thinking most about, is the idea of an individual's personal salvation.  Not in a metaphysical, religious sense, but in the sense of 'Someone Saved My Life Today'- a here and now idea, someone figuratively or literally saving someone else's life in the present tense.

When you say 'saving someone's life', pretty much anyone who's watched television or seen a movie will have certain ideas as to what you're speaking about- Let's call it 'The Big Save', for the sake of argument.  We've all seen a dramatic rescue of another person, from terrors both natural and man-made, usually in the nick of time, with either a clever quip or heartfelt declaration of some deeper emotional realization.  The building's burning down, the damsel is in distress, moments from being burned horribly- only to have our hero, ragged but still unbeaten, burst through the flames, sweep her up in his arms, and dive out just as the building collapses all around.  She sees him for the hero she never thought he was, they kiss, and the crowd, both on screen and in the theater, cheer wildly- after all, even fictional characters love a happy ending.  There are real-world examples of this 'Big Save'- every day, men and women around the world spend their days saving lives, many times in ways far more dramatic than anything we see on screen.  It's not just these day-in-day-out heroes; It's the so-called common man or woman, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, who step up and do extraordinary things.  It's amazing, given so much of what we see of the modern world, that such heroes exist, and walk amongst us every day. 

For all that, though, what most concerns me, what I've been thinking on the longest, isn't this 'Big Save'- this epic moment of heroism.  Don't get me wrong- I love a last-minute save in the movies more than most, and I think the world can always use more life-saving heroes in it- but that's not what I'm interested in.  What interests me is the idea of an everyday salvation.  Little acts throughout our lives that add up to making all the difference.

We're surrounded by people, no matter where we go.  Co-workers, family, lovers, strangers on the street, we see people come and go all the time, all around us.  Our lives all run their courses, intersecting, running together, and peeling away, every day, drawn into each other's orbits for however long it lasts, usually for only a moment, sometimes for longer, and occassionally for a lifetime.  The courses we run are never a certain path; our lives are filled with ups and downs, filled with many a triumph, and just as often more tragedy.  We all run our course, and so often we stumble.  Sometimes that fall is sudden, and profound, and disastrous.  Sometimes that fall is so subtle, so sinister, it feels like it's not a fall at all- until the ground is rushing up to meet us, and we look around for something to hold onto, to stop that descent.  So often, by that point, we feel there's nothing to stop us- we'll crash and burn.  When you physcially fall, you instinctively reach out- whether to stop from smacking into the ground face first, or to catch hold of a steadying object- or to take an outstretched hand.  When the stumble is more metaphorical, one of those long slow descents especially, we don't always reach out.  Sometimes we're too stunned to react, sometimes we want to crash and burn.  Sometimes we don't want to reach out.   

Remember this, as you fall-we're still surrounded by those others- strangers, family, friends- and each of them, each of us, has a choice in every moment of our lives- what do you do when you see someone stumble- stand aside, or step up?

Sometimes, we don't have to reach out.  Sometimes, those others reach out to us.  In ways just as subtle, just as innocuous, those reaching hands take us, hold us, comfort us, and help us back up.  It's salvation, just as surely as if they'd pulled us from a car wreck.  And it's such a simple thing, this salvation.  It's a million little actions that can change the world.  Your world, certainly.  It's a word spoken in comfort, instead of anger.  An attentive ear, not an ignorant one.  A smile, not a glare.  It's sometimes keeping one's peace, rather than speaking one's mind.  It's a different perspective, one who sees without judgment, but with compassion.  It's a phone call to see how you're doing when you don't want to talk to anyone, but you really need to talk to someone.  It's a funny e-mail when you've forgotten how to laugh, a home-cooked meal when you've forgotten to eat, a time spent hanging out doing nothing- and doing it together, instead of alone.  When all you ever hear is 'No', It's the sound of someone saying 'Yes'. 

I have fallen, many a time- God knows, I'm no more sure-footed than anyone else.  But each time I've fallen- no matter how far, or how hard- someone has always been there.  No, they didn't 'fix' me- ultimately, standing up is still up to me.  But whether it's been a stranger with a smile, a family member with a hug, or a friend with the right words- someone has always been there to help me stand up on my own again.  And so often, they didn't even realize the difference they made.  To them, their actions were no more difficult than smiling, or making a phone call, or saying 'yes'.  These people are my salvation- they literally saved my life-  and they are people who didn't think twice about reaching out to catch me.  That's amazing.  No- what's amazing is there are people like this everywhere you look.  Look at the people around you- 

You are surrounded by heroes.    

As a fellow traveller, perhaps drifting into your orbit for a moment, or a year, or forever, I walk along, never knowing what our paths will bring- but I do know, if I see you stumble on your path- I will not let you fall.  I will catch you, and help you get back on your feet- because you can do the same for me, and maybe, just maybe, we can save each other. 

Playin' Your Guitar, Sweatin' Out the Hate

I just watched 'Crazy Heart' tonight.  Good lord, what an amazing movie.  I haven't been so moved by a film in... well, a long time.  I'm not sure what it is about the movie that speaks to me so strongly, but it really did.  Maybe it's the idea that, no matter how many mistakes we've made in our lives, no matter how dark the night can seem, there is always another chance to set things right, another chance to find the light.

There is still hope in the world.

Music: 'The Weary Kind' - Ryan Bingham (or watch the movie to hear Jeff Bridges' and Colin Farrell's renditions)

PS- I did this in Photoshop in about 90 minutes, using the cover art directly.  I normally don't like to 'trace' like this, but I really needed to get this drawn and posted- it's not about the 'art' of it, it's about how I feel and how the movie made me feel. 

 

Spring

Because I was given a new perspective, a new way of looking at things... or perhaps just shown the right direction to look.

Music: "Lantern" - Josh Ritter

Connections, of the Subjective Variety

At the atomic level, the electrons in the outermost shells of the atoms that make up our bodies, when brought near the electrons of another object- say, another person- repel each other.  That repelling of like-charged particles is what gives us the illusion of contact.  However, in a very real sense, we never touch. 

Is that why we spend our lives trying so hard to make an emotional connection to each other?

Progress Report; Or, Slow and Steady Gets You Somewhere, Eventually

Greetings, all.

Just wanted to let you know I actually am still working on a project to post.  I'd like to say it's pretty epic, and in a way I suppose it is, but it's a case of me perhaps biting off more than I can chew (surprising, I know).  I've had the idea for this picture for a long time- probably about 4 years or so, ever since I heard this song... or at least the germ of the idea.  But what I didn't realize is, though I had the idea, I didn't know exactly what the idea looked like.  And that's where I'm getting a bit hung up.  I'm also figuring out some new approaches to drawing/PSing that is taking some time, but is an important addition to the toolboxes of both. 

As to what I'm trying to draw, well- imagine Hell.  As a physical location; 'other people' doesn't count, Joey.  This time, at least.  Okay, have an image?  Now draw it.  That's what I'm working with here.  (Joey, no fair- it was a rhetorical statement.  Just cause you can draw backgrounds really well...)  It's a neat idea, and like I said, based on a song.  Probably not a song you're expecting, either.  We'll see, ultimately, how well this comes out.  I'm hoping I can at least get some of the idea across, if not the full effect I'm looking for.

If you've gotten this far in the post, thanks.  I know these all-text posts go over like a pager in a crowd of zombies, but sometimes (all the time) it's good for me to go on a bit about whatever's in my head.  And this is only part of what's in my head; it's been a pretty crazy week or so, kiddies, in all the ways that make life so much better than the alternative. 

So- since I've got you here for this long, I've been thinking (as I've said)- I've been thinking of taking some weekend trips here and there this year.  Mostly just the weekend, but maybe and extra day off here and there.  Going low-profile, as it were; no Ritz-Carlton for me, thanks.  But I'm looking to put some more miles on the car, maybe get into some adventure- or just go somewhere and see something new.  Hell, just to be somewhere other than right here for a day or so.  So- any suggestions?  (no, Hell does not count, thanks peanut gallery).  Responses greatly appreciated.  Feel free to post here (I do appreciate the attention to the blog) or email me at tinkerd711(at)ay oh ell(dot)com. 
Thanks as always, for stopping by and visiting. 

Peace-

S.

PS- for those so inclined, I'm on twitter:@karloffsghost though i don't post to it nearly so often as I do facebook, as 140 characters is barely enough to begin scratching the surface of my wit.  So until it becomes the focused totality of my wit, it'll be fairly random... you know, just like everything else I write.  Wow.  If you've gotten this far, you are just the best.  Thanks for not knowing when to stop. 

Music: For some current favorites of mine, check out Pandora (the other Pandora, not the box, not the planet) over on the right.  Been loving new Snow Patrol, The Avett Brothers, Muse, some older Sarah McL, Rodrigo y Isabella's just awesome classic acoustic guitar married to a latin metal sensibility. 

a lifetime ago

Like a moth to the flame, so i am to the past.  Particularly when the past comes back.

"and like that, she was gone."

And not to worry.  Just externalizing some headspace.  I'll have some more artsy stuff posted before long.  working on an idea or two, it's just slow-going.

Music: "Love Untold" - Paul Westerberg

Sketchbook Am

What the hell- something new(ish). When it comes to drawing, I really don't have a 'style' per se (some might argue I have no style, let alone 'a' style). I find that I tend to draw according to what the idea or drawing dictates. If I have a very firm idea of what the picture or character should look like, I tend to draw in a somewhat cartoony fashion- or at least pretty stylized.  A lot of that comes from me visualizing characters as shapes rather than as people- which is why I can sometimes draw a pretty good rendition of a person, but other times, not so much.  I can see the figure as a whole, as shapes, but not how the anatomy actually works together.  If I don't have a good idea, or I'm trying to find the image I want to draw, I tend to draw very loose, sketchy forms- far too many lines for a cartoon.  A lot of that leads to me 'finding' the drawing in those lines- I will see the finished form somewhere in all those lines. And often, I don't try to bring that out in the final picture; I kind of like the looseness of the figures. 

As an indicator of why I draw like this, two of my favorite artists are Sean Phillips and Mike Wieringo.  Pretty much at opposite ends of the spectrum, Phillips uses a loose, naturalistic style with liberal inks- and no worries if every line matches up just so.  Wieringo, on the other hand, drew in a very cartoony, animated style- lots of clean lines, suggesting rather than actively rendering a lot of detail.  However, I love both their styles.

So I wondered, can I draw in a cartoony, yet sketchy/scratchy/realistic(ish) style?  I've pondered this for quite some time, and in the interim, a number of artists have come along who do just that- chief among them Skottie Young.  To me, he's the very definition of the style I'm trying for.  For a long time, his art was so clean it could've been animated- now he's taken that exaggerated style and bent and stretched it into this loose, scratchy, yet still cartoony style.  It's just amazing to see.  Well here- go look for yourself.

Anyway, one night this popped into my head, pretty much as you see it.  It's more along the lines of what I've been thinking of- a bit cartoony, a bit sketchy.  It'll never be mistaken for Young's or Phillips' art, but I kind of like it.  I like the exaggerated, cartoony faces and heads, but I'll always tend towards drawing a more 'realistic' body- so trying to drag the two together is something I struggle with a lot.  This wasn't much more than an exercise to see how the picture in my head would turn out, and I'm pretty pleased with the result.  Just for kicks, I gave it a bit of color, also in a mostly 'sketchy' fashion.  If I were to take a more serious stab at drawing a picture in this fashion, I would approach the colors in a very different fashion- much more like my holidays post (here) than this. 

So, hope you liked this bit of newness and look into what I'm trying to achieve when I draw.

Music:  "Brick by Boring Brick" - Paramore

Are you SURE you want a new post?

Seriously, I had NO intention of making a Twilight post.  Really.  But, my good buddy Joey has been politely suggesting I post new art instead of the decade old junk I have been posting (my words, not his).  And believe it or not, I actually do have a few new things to post- but they're not really at any stage at which I'd like to present them.  So, I'm left with this.  God help me. 

These actually came first.  As you can see by the dates, they were done on New Year's Eve/Day- so if I were a smart man, I'd chalk it up to the alcohol.  Except I wasn't drinking.  Nope, my usual NYE tradition is to sit down with a bunch of movies and watch them till I fall asleep, then wake up and keep watching.  This year, for a number of reasons, I wasn't really feeling the desire to watch movies- the ones I picked weren't catching my attention, my mind was distracted, I was just pissed at something, take your pick.  But weirdly enough, though I was all over the place and in a not-good mood, I did feel like drawing.  Except for the fact that I had no idea what to draw.  As usual.  What to draw, what to draw...

I borrowed Twilight from my niece because I figured if I was going to keep hating on it, I should at least try to watch it first.  Then go on with hating, but informed hating.  Hating out of ignorance is so gauche.  'Hate out of knowledge', that's my motto (well, that and 'not in the face!' but that's another story).  I didn't watch it then- what are you, crazy? the night was already sucking- but it was lying there in my line of sight.  I saw the cover of the dvd case and thought to myself- 'dude, his face would be SO EASY to caricature.'  So, struck by the urge to draw ANYTHING, I took a stab at it.  And, honestly, I kind of like it.  Silly, not terribly accurate (I'll leave that to many other more talented people), but I thought it worked.  So, drunk on my 'success', I decided to try to draw poor Bella.  That one didn't turn out quite so successful as Edward- her face is just too boring to really sink my artistic teeth into (though she's certainly a pretty girl in real life, just not a very striking face to parody).  She did have those nice gothy eyes, so I tried to give them a little life.  Overall, I did get a kick out of it, and was surprised by how well it worked, even as an exercise in drawing something I had no interest in- except to HATE!

Cut to This past Sunday.  Bored.  Boredboredbored.  What to watch?  No fresh netflix, and not ready to dive in to the last season of The Sandbaggers just yet.  Hmm... LotR?  Too long, too late... Hitchhiker's Guide?  Nah, not feeling the humor.  Well not that kind of humor.  Hmm... Jeez- There's friggin' Twilight.  I should probably get this over with.  So, I sat down and watched it. 

And you know what?  It was actually pretty go----  HAH!  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  LIKE I'D ACTUALLY SAY IT WAS PRETTY GOOD!  Please.

It didn't suck as badly as I thought.  Make no mistake, it wasn't all that great- the acting was... uneven, the effects very low-grade (when I heard ILM worked on this I nearly spit out my beverage), and the story... well, I know it's not written for me, but neither was Harry Potter but I can still get something meaningful out of that.  What meaning I get out of this was, 'I'll never be able to predict what's popular.'  But for all that, it wasn't terrible.  There were some amusing moments in there (like the random synaptic firings of someone remembering they'd once been told a story of a trip to a theater where they showed a really bad copy of a John Hughes teen movie) and I really did get a kick out of VAMPIRE BASEBALL.  I also liked Alice- she strikes me as batsh!t crazy. 

As I've described it, It's a SciFi Saturday movie as produced by the Lifetime Network.

And all things being equal, from what I've heard, I'd rather watch this a dozen times than read the book once. 

And that, my friends, is why you've got this as your new art.

Oh, and one last Twilight observation.  The soundtracks for both of the movies are actually really good.  The music is easily superior to the films, and the lead tracks ('Decode' by Paramore for Twilight and 'Meet Me on the Equinox' by Death Cab for Cutie for New Moon) are both do a fantastic job of conveying the emotions I think the films are trying (and failing) to get across.  If you want a good summary of the movies, watch the videos.  Shorter, and better.

Okay, one more thing.  Sorry for any inadvertent puns in the above- it was how my mind processed this stuff.

Cheers!

Music: 'Meet Me on the Equinox'- Death Cab for Cutie (It's a really good, dark song- honest!)

From the Crypt v.2, Item 13: Daring Devil

9/27/93

Yet another DD picture.  Don't know what to say- he was one of my favorite characters at the time.  This is just him in his 'new' suit (the 90's were all about recostuming heroes- I think every major superhero went through at least one costume change back then), balancing on a building corner.  This was a fun draw- you can tell I wasn't too concerned with every last detail, which is a lot how I sketch nowadays- and I enjoyed putting him in a different pose from normal.  That's all I have to say about that.

And for you long-time readers (all two or three of you), you'll notice no 'year-in-review' this time around.  I was kicking around a couple ideas for something to post, but figured honestly, it doesn't matter.  Suffice to say that this year was better than some, worse than others, and I expect 2010 to be more of the same.  Take that how you will.  Hopefully I'll continue to post art on here throughout the year, maybe even some new stuff.  I accuse myself of living in the past too much as it is; all of this old art probably isn't helping.  I'm feeling pretty directionless with the blog right now, so I'm not terribly motivated to do one thing or another.  Anyway- if there's something you'd like to see on here- more writing, more new art, more retro art, whatever- please let me know.  Feedback is always welcome.

Next: probably more old art ;) 

Thanks as always to you two or three long-time readers for sticking around.  I don't hear from you, but I know you're out there. 

Music: "The First Noel/Mary Mary" - Sarah McLachlan (sure, x-mas is over, but this was SUCH a great song)

Tryptophan Overdose

Sorry folks- due to an unexpected assault of tryptophan over the past few days, I won't be posting anything just yet.

Well, other than this.

Hope everyone had a good holiday weekend with whatever you got into. I have a couple ideas for various projects- like always, we'll see how far any of them get along.

Cheers!

PS- it is now acceptable to listen to Christmas music.

ReVision and Milestone

10/4/09.

This marks my 200th post. Since Joey's been telling me to revisit my old work in order to try and jumpstart my mostly stalled creative inclinations, and since I knew this 'milestone' was coming up, I thought I'd combine those two ideas and went back to my first 'retro' post, which is also the one of the oldest pieces of 'modern' art I can find (I have older stuff, but I won't punish you like that; and I have larger art from high school, but it won't scan). In case you've forgotten, that original post was the start of a design for a banner meant to be presented at the Pittsburgh Arts Festival (or whatever it's called). My idea was to do a banner with an angel and demon, as gargoyles/statues, over the Pittsburgh skyline. Really, that was the plan. If you look back to it , it's kind of hard to see any of that. Ah well, I was young and lazy, not to mention I just didn't have the skill to draw it back then.

Cut to 15 years later. Okay, I'm still lazy, and my skills are sometimes questionable, but I've had 15 years of experience figuring out how to draw things (and finding the reference to allow me to draw things)- not to mention the fact that my imagination works differently now. The biggest difference, strangely enough, is the simplest difference: I bought a drafting table. So, I have a dedicated workspace now- no more drawing on the TV tray (well, until there's something good on). But, by buying that table, it gave me a focus and motivation to actually work on drawing again. Damned if it didn't work. I'm hoping it will continue; but if it doesn't, it won't be for lack of trying.

To those of you who've kept coming back post after post, either quickly cruising through or reading every single rambling, over-punctuated sentence, I thank you. This has been a pleasure, a burden, a pressure, and a reward, and I'm glad to have shared it with you. I plan on posting here for as long as I feel like I've got something to post... and even when I don't feel like it, I'll try to keep on going. It'll be back to the old school with the next post (next week; Chinco is this week!), but I plan on following it up with more new work.

The process is not yet finished
But it is going on;
This is not the end,
But it is the road
-Martin Luther

Cheers!

(oh, by the way, the 'hint' from last week referred to the song 'Double Agent' and the line "my angels and my demons at war"- obscure even for me, but it's my blog so there)

Music: "Doomsday" - Murray Gold

Who Watches?

Just a quick post. Since it's been weeks, I figured the best way to return was by barely posting anything.

Here's a quick sketch I did back at a drawing session at Sean's. I'm not sure what else I drew, if anything. I remember being really frustrated at not having any ideas, but this came to me. It's not much, but vaguely amusing. Even vigilantes need to eat, right? The one red shoe is a (now-intentional) accident of painting. Oh yeah, I'm posting this in honor of the DVD and Blu-Ray release of Watchmen- and if you go to Best Buy, you can pick up special edition packaging in the shape of either Rorschach's or Doctor Manhattan's head. Possibly the most disturbing, yet sure-to-sell, packaging I've yet seen. Oh wait, they did do the Ape head for the complete Planet of the Apes series. Nevermind.

Apologies for the lack of posts, especially to those of you who check the blog on anything approaching a regular basis. Things are... things are fine, but the past few months have not been very kind to my desire to draw. I feel like I don't have the time I once did, and there are so many things to do, sometimes other things have to get put back on a back burner. Right now, drawing is one of them.

I'm hoping the next couple weeks will change that. I'm not going to say more, but we'll see if history is kind enough to repeat itself.

Music: 'Desolation Row' - My Chemical Romance (after Bob Dylan)

Hey Now, Hey Now...

Sometimes, you just don't feel very happy.

Service

Last weekend was, in its way, Memorial Day for me and my family. We spent the weekend remembering Dad, in three different, but appropriate ways.

Saturday-

We got up early Saturday (early for Emily, at least) and packed Mom, my sister Bobbi, and my niece Emily into the van and took a road trip to Maryland. Not normally the kind of thing we'd do (I like sleeping in as much as the next person), but this was a little bit special. We were headed down to the Hilltop Fruit Market. Nothing fancy about it, just a roadside market, but it was a place Dad used to take Mom (and Bobbi and Emily from time to time) as an excuse to take a nice leisurely drive through some wonderful country. It was about the journey, not the destination. I'd known they used to take drives down to this place, but had never gone with them, so I didn't know where it was or how to get there. Mom couldn't remember the name of the place, but gave a really good description of it. I found out through a friend where it was, then found some directions for it. Instead of taking those, I took a look at a map and asked myself, "Which way would Dad go?" Well, knowing him, there were probably at least 3 different ways to go, with another 5 in reserve. I picked the most obvious one, and off we went.

I wasn't sure what the drive would be like, especially for Mom. Would it be sad for her? Bittersweet? As we drove down, I imagine all of our thoughts drifted to thoughts of Dad from time to time- 'what would it have been like to come with them?' 'I remember the last time we came down' 'I remember the first time we saw that place, all those years ago'... but it never felt like those thoughts were oppressing, or taking the enjoyment out of the trip. Instead, it felt like he was there with us, or maybe in the next car over. We talked about things they'd seen on different trips with Dad down there, about the scenery, the towns, or whatever- it was just another family trip. Partway down, they talked about seeing Nemacolin, a fancypants resort, one time. I was pretty sure we wouldn't see it; I felt bad, since I wanted to take them the way Dad would, I wanted it to be like when he drove.

I shouldn't have worried; sure enough we passed Nemacolin about 20 minutes later. The rest of the day was a lot of fun. We passed a horse and wagon train- I don't know what else to call it; it was in celebration of Pike Days or something like that. Plenty of people on horseback and in horse-drawn carts, some of them authentic, some of them looking like giant-sized Radio Flyers. We got to the Hilltop Fruit Market (after asking directions from a nice kid who essentially pointed and said 'look that way') and loaded up on an insane amount of bulk candy (my sweet tooth is genetic, thank you) and some veggies and sundry other stuff. We stopped for lunch at that quintessentially American site, McDonalds. And we took a drive through Nemacolin on the way back (though I drove through kind of fast before they could figure out the Dodge Caravan didn't fit in with the Hummers and BMWs...). It was a great time, fun and relaxing, spent with the family.

Sunday-

Saturday was about our family remembering Dad and what he did for us. Sunday was about remembering and honoring what he did for others, and for his country.

After chuch, we drove over to Harmarville for a memorial service hosted by CORE. CORE is the Center for Organ Recovery & Education- they are a non-profit group dedicated to helping promote organ donation and transplants. They get involved whenever someone needs a transplant- they help find donors for those in need, and help make people aware of the tremendous good that can come from signing up to be a donor.

We first learned about CORE shortly after Dad passed. Someone from their offices contacted us to let us know that they might be able to use some organs or tissue from Dad's body, and would we be willing to make that donation? Mom and Bobbi didn't even hesitate: "If your Dad can still help someone, then he will." We were surprised they even contacted us, actually; Dad was 78 years old, and in very poor shape.

Days passed, and we would occasionally wonder what had come of that phone call. Had they just decided they couldn't do anything, and didn't want to tell us? What had happened? About a week or so later, we received a letter in the mail: CORE had in fact been able to use tissue from Dad's body. It made perfect sense. Why would something like Death stop him from helping someone?

And so, almost a year later, we found ourselves at 'A Special Place' Ceremony. It's not so much a Memorial as a Celebration, for all those donors and their families, whose tragedies were instead turned into triumphs for so many others.

I wasn't sure what to expect; I figured maybe a couple hundred people would be there. Instead, what seemed like thousands were there- I had no idea so many would attend. And I learned that it wasn't just the donor's families who'd showed up; there were many recipients who'd also shown up. There were speeches from CORE members, thanking the families for the donations, for giving that gift to save lives. There was a speech from a man who looked through the grief of losing his only child to help others, and from a man who, thanks to two donors, was able to see again. Finally, two people spoke about the impact donation had on their lives: a woman's sister died in a fall, and her liver was donated to save the life of a man. Some years later, the families decided they wanted to meet because, as the woman put it, "she just wanted to make sure he was okay."

At the end of the ceremony, there was a balloon release, one balloon for each of the donors:

The next picture was a few seconds later. The circle you see towards the top of the picture is a circular rainbow; it was around the sun for almost the entire time of the ceremony:

As we were sitting, waiting for the crowds to thin, a woman walked up to us and said "Thank you for your donation. Because of someone like you, I got a kidney transplant. That was 21 years ago." That simple statement made me so thankful, and so proud.

Our next trip was to the local American Legion, Post 980. They have a Memorial Day service every year, to honor those Legion members lost in the past year. They have it a week before Memorial Day because, as they said "We want people to remember the reason for Memorial Day." It was a great service, as I would expect nothing less from these men- they were there for Dad to pay tribute at the funeral home and at the cemetery. One of the men at the service read the names of those who'd died in the past year- sadly, it took all too long. Near the end of the ceremony, the honor guard fired a salute:

I looked around at these old men, and the young men and women, and listened to what they had to say, about duty, and honor, and America, and comradeship, and love. I was filled with such pride- not just for Dad, and his humble sacrifice- but for all of these people, who gave so much not only for their families and friends, but for their entire country. To know that, even in these cynical and jaded times, there are those who will stand and fight for our country- for the ideals our country represents, for the flaws in our country, for the hope that we can rise above those flaws-

It was an honor to be in the company of such people. It is an honor to know my Father was such a person.

That was Sunday.

This weekend, as you kick back and enjoy the idea of not working, eating hot dogs, and the idea of the Penguins continuing their winning ways, please take a moment or two to think about those who serve- not just in the military, but all those people who serve others, by teaching, by protecting, by healing, by parenting, by supporting, and those who serve, and save, even though they're gone.

America's Artist, and The Habah

This past weekend, Kelly and I took a long weekend and drove up to Massachusetts so I could finally fulfill a wish of mine: to visit the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge, MA. We filled out the trip (going to the NRM was absolutely my only goal for the weekend. I could've turned around and driven back that day and been happy). It was a pretty amazing time all around- there's nothing quite like going on vacation with only a vague idea of what you want to do. Then when you're headed back home, thinking about how fantastic the trip was, the realization that most of those great moments came about through no planning, hits you and makes you see how wonderful spontaneity can be. Yeah, it was a good time.

I've been a fan of Norman Rockwell for a long time, but mostly without realizing it. I'd seen his paintings all over the place for years: old magazines, pictures in doctors' offices, books, and the like. I'd always admired them- there's no denying the... reality of the pictures. But my obsession with comic books and comic book art sort of kept Rockwell out of the spotlight for me throughout most of my 20's, or came in behind the ever-popular fraternal twins of Arts Nouveau and Deco. However, as I left the 20's and crashed into the 30's, my tastes and appreciations broadened considerably, and I began to pay closer attention to those artists I've always known, but never paid close attention to (Maxfield Parrish, Andrew Wyeth, and Edward Hopper also fall into this category). It certainly didn't hurt that Joey and Sean were branching out as well, or at least cluing me in to their own favorites.

I found a few Rockwell books in the used bookstores down around Frederick, and it was through those I began to really understand the power and depth of Rockwell's ability. Norman Rockwell's covers to The Saturday Evening Post told stories; simple stories, stories familiar to anyone, but with such skill and thought and life, it's impossible not to feel something when viewing them. The people populating his pictures nearly seem to live and breathe, and it's impossible not to know exactly what's happening to each person in the painting. You can practically read their thoughts written on their faces. Regardless of the setting of the painting, you can't help but feel understanding for the subjects. You will laugh, or sigh, or nod in agreement to the painting in front of you. You will feel something.

I thought I'd grasped his mastery of understanding both people and paint, but I really had no understanding of his ability until we went to the museum. The first one I saw, Strictly a Sharpshooter, left me a bit dazed. I'd only seen this in one book in the past, and compared to the real thing, the print was a pale, pale imitator. What in print looks nearly like a gray tonal painting, in real life was rich with shades and hints of color- just look at the woman. The red of her flower draws you to her- then you take a closer look, and you think she's more photo than painting. You can see how upset she is, while the ragged boxer is shouting at her, most likely in disbelief. Apparently she's drawn a crowd- look how she's gotten the attention of the other boxing fans?

Then, of course, there are The Four Freedoms. I've seen these before, probably a lot of folks have. Norman Rockwell painted them in response to FDR's 1941 speech outlining the Four Freedoms: Freedom to Worship, Freedom of Speech, Freedom from Want, and Freedom from Fear. Four basic yet fundamental freedoms all people want and should strive towards. The four paintings were printed in the Post, and then again and again by the government. I'd seen them in so many books myself, I'd mostly forgotten what they meant.

Until I saw them with my own eyes.

They're situated in a gallery of their own in the center of the building, across from each other in each corner of the room, rather than on the walls. It was a good time to be there; there was no one in the gallery when I walked in, so I could have a minute to take it in on my own. Without realizing it, I was taking deeper and deeper breaths, nearly gasping. Goosebumps ran along my arms, and I actually felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I was nearly in tears, and I'd only just walked into the room. What was it about those paintings that had such an effect on me? A thought flashed through my mind as I stood there: This must be what they mean by 'religious experience', though it went beyond the idea of religion. I think it was just the idea of these simple ideas, - such amazing ideas pared down to their essence and so exactly and perfectly rendered into these paintings- I think that's what struck me so deeply. That's really the only way I can put it to words.

It was just amazing to see with my own eyes so many of his paintings, which I'd only seen previously in books and magazines. As I told Kelly later, I almost didn't want to bother looking at the prints they had for sale, since having seen the originals, they couldn't hope to compare. But I bought some anyway.

So that was my pilgrimage to the Norman Rockwell Museum.

Boston was wicked good, by the way.

Just Passing Through...

Sorry folks- I really had planned on posting something here tonight for your viewing enjoyment on the morrow, but as life would have it, tonight's not to be that night.

It's been really difficult these past few weeks/months coming up with material to post (I haven't looked back to see just what I've posted, to be honest; perhaps that's for the best). I do know it's been a hell of a lot more writing than drawing. I'm not sure what makes it easier to type- well, that's not true. It's easier to type than draw because it's so much easier to type out what's in my head than try to draw what's up there. So often something gets lost on the path from my imagination to the paper- I think it has something to do with the distortion of the images in my mind. I tried explaining this to my niece when she was working on one of her art projects. To me, it's a lot like looking at something partially submerged in water, like a straw or post- it seems to bend in the water, making it distorted. But, when I go from thinking to drawing, the distortion occurs as the image makes it onto the paper, thus looking little like that which I'd originally imagined. Since it's not a constant, I never quite know how the image will actually come out. Which can be exciting, or very frustration. As of late, frustration has held sway.

Motivation has been awfully hard to come by, as well. I find I have little to interest me to the point of putting pencil to paper; and when I do, I find myself so distracted by life, thoughts, and shiny objects, it's all but impossible to concentrate on any one idea. And when I do find that idea, it's almost impossible to get it to the point where I even want to try to draw it.

Which is not to say I've not been drawing. But I've just been so worn out lately. I have a couple things, none of which are really worth posting, but with some more attention, might not be too terrible to post. I've not yet given up on the art, but we're not really on the best of terms of late.

I do know that I occasionally do better if given some manner of external motivation. So, I'm taking requests. What do YOU want to see? Less words? Polar Bear in Snow? Coal Mine at Night? Please, let me know.

Thanks for stopping by.

Music: "The Sound of Silence" - Simon and Garfunkel

2008: My Year in Review

Or, "And I Thought 2004 Sucked..."

As promised/threatened, let's take a look back at the year that was 2008.

...

Okay, look- the only way I'm going to get through this is to break it up into two sections: the Bad and the Good (for those interested, you can look at 2007's year in review here).

The Bad.

-I said, if not "goodbye", then at least "I'll see you very infrequently" to some of my dearest friends on the planet. My family, really, for the past 8 years. People who were once strangers to me, then casual acquaintances, then such a close part of my life that I can't imagine life without them in it. Some I've known since before I'd moved to Maryland- back when I was just visiting, when I had to prove that I was a real person and not just an imaginary person. Some I'd met after I'd been there for a few years, voices of comfort in my darkest days, unexpected friendships blossoming like roses from a sidewalk. Some were coworkers, folks who'd watched my life fall apart, and helped me build it back up. Some were just people who, instead of just smiling and going on their way, stopped and talked and laughed and made me feel like I was a person again. Some of them, in their quiet ways, have literally kept me alive- and I don't know if they knew it. Leaving these wonderful people, who'd given me such hope and joy and comfort, was far and away the hardest part of leaving Maryland.

-I had to watch one of my oldest and dearest friends, who has, in her short life, suffered more than any human should ever have to bear, stand by and lose her mother, and know there was nothing she could do, except bear this further suffering.

-I stood by my brother (remember, not all brothers need share blood) and watched the man we both call 'Father' slip the surly bonds of earth. I cried with him, hugged him, stood by him, because there was nothing else I could do.

-I lost my Father. I had the man I most admired, the man I looked to for inspiration, for guidance, for my self, taken from me, from all of us-- no, I'm sorry. He wasn't 'taken'. He chose the time to walk off this stage; he just didn't tell us beforehand. Which was his way, so as to not hurt anyone. Regardless, though, he's gone. He left suddenly, unexpectedly, as though in the middle of a sentence. Four days after I returned home, and he was gone. His passing has hurt me so deeply, so profoundly, I don't even realize how badly I'm hurting until I'm already crying, or screaming, or shaking. Now walking down the path walked before,by so many others, I just don't know how you've all do it. I just don't know how I make it through the day, sometimes.

-The three men in my life that I called "Father" (or "Pops" or "Dad" or "The Fascist") are gone. I can no longer ask them for advice, or ideas, or even just a funny story. I can no longer talk to my fathers. But Thank God, I can talk to their sons. My brothers and I, those of the blood and those of the will, all bear scars now- these scars of pain, of loss, of pride. These scars that say "We are our fathers' sons." We stand there, we scarred sons. But we do not stand alone.

The Good.
(an abbreviated list)

-As if I needed any further reminding of how immensely blessed I am, I need look no further than the outpouring of love and concern from my friends and family during those days- How lucky my whole family is, to know such people. My brothers were there, whenever I was feeling lost, to help me find my way. Friends came in from many miles away, which meant so much to me and my family. My Mom said it exactly right when she told me "You have such good friends; you're so fortunate to have them in your life."

-I made the conscious decision to give up everything I knew in my life, my comfortable mire of my own making, and took the biggest gamble of my life, and moved back to Pittsburgh. While at first this doesn't sound like much of a gamble, for those who know me, they know how hard this was for me. To give up the easy life, as it were, to come back to a place I've not really known in almost 10 years, where it would've been just as easy to slip back into those old habits and become that boy I was all those years ago, it was one of the hardest choices I've ever made. But, of course, it turned out to be the exact right thing to do- really, the only choice I could've made. Who knew? Well, I have my suspicions about that, and when I see him next, I'll be sure to ask.

-I started a new job, in a new town, where I only knew one person. And damned if I don't do it pretty well. Not as well as I'd like, of course, but hell, I feel like I do it okay, and if that's not a triumph, I don't know what is.

-I got to welcome yet more of the next generation of my friends into the world, and celebrate the first of many, many birthdays to come for some of the 'older' members of the JE:TNG club.

-I walked up to a woman and gave her my phone number. And we went out.

-I made it to 150 posts on this infernal thing.

-I watched a bunch of movies with family and friends, both old friends and new.

-I met new people, and talked to them!

-I went on a date again- more than one! With the same person! We're still dating!

-I learned sometimes, it's okay to be pushed.

-I drove to Toledo, OH, with my niece to see a concert for a band we both like.

-I started to be a better uncle to my niece.

-I started to teach her how to drive a car (debated if that was 'good' or 'bad')

-I was able to terrorize my cats more by moving.

-I got to spend more time with my brother and nephews, hanging out.

-I had fresh Gino's pizza on a drive back to Maryland.

-I was able to visit the best part of Ledo's.

-I surprised Katie, Courtney, and Doris.

-I went to dinner with the Tooth Fairy.

-I surprised Ashley.

-I read a lot of friggin' books.

-I spent my tenth year at Chincoteague with my friends.

-I got to have some really good talks with my Mom. Not just about this or that, but about things that really matter.

-I was able to see first hand just how strong my mother is.

-I fulfilled a promise I made to my father over twenty years ago. And he remembered.

-I was able to surprise my Mom and Dad, and spend one of the best days of my life with them, sitting in a hospital room, talking and listening and laughing with them.

-I told my Dad how much I loved him.

-My brothers stood by me, and I by them.

-We honored our father.

-I realized just how much my parents love and respect me.

-I learned I can be the man my father knew I could be.

-I kept picking up a pencil.

---

If I haven't said it enough, thank you all for stopping in to visit, whether it's been your first stop or your hundred sixty-whateverth, knowing this doesn't exist in a vacuum helps make it all worthwhile.

I know this past year's hardly been a cornucopia of drawing greatness (or even drawing mediocrity), and I do apologize for that. I've found a good bit of trouble in focusing, as you've noticed, and although I've kept picking up that pencil, it's hardly been an easy go of it.

But I've not given up yet. I have some things in the pipeline, and I'm thinking about posting some of my old, old sketches. It'd be interesting, I think, to show how I've changed as an artist, both in subject and method (though maybe not so much the subject). I do still plan on writing, so don't expect that to go away. Hopefully you'll be back. If you like it, tell them I did it; if you don't, tell them I did it. Go ahead, I can take it.

Love,
s.

Songs are in the sky now
Suns are in my veins
Throw me in the fire now
Love is what remains
-Joan Osborne, "Hallelujah in the City"

One Little Victory

When it comes down to it, I think the little things are what make the strongest impact in our lives. To be sure, there are momentous, life-changing events, those ones that are marked down either on a calendar or in our hearts, those ones we always seem to associate with a date: beginnings, milestones, endings. These events most people recall most readily when discussing a particularly great or terrible time in their lives. For me, this year has been the kind of year punctuated by these dates, events marked in my mind and in my heart, and no doubt, in the years to come, I'll look at a calendar and begin a countdown to the anniversaries of those dates held so close to me, and the days will seem a bit more grey, life a bit more listless, time a bit more wearying. Those times will wear at me. Those times will be reminders (as if my life isn't a constant reminder) of all I've lost, of all we've lost, this past year, these past years. These events are like anchors in a soul, if not dragging one down, then certainly slowing him down, making it so terribly hard to move, to move on.

And then there are those events that will never appear on a calendar, never marked by milestones, nor celebrations, not noted by the date nor by some other sign so obvious. Instead, those events will be remembered and revered at the most inconspicuous times, triggered by the most minor of reminders, bringing out a feeling of light and life and love that just overwhelms that grey, listless and weary dreary existence. It reminds you that you are alive, and life, no matter how bad it can sometimes seem, is ALWAYS worth living. Where there is life, there is always hope. These little things, these ones that ultimately mean so much, can happen every day. It doesn't have to be much: it can be something as simple as having an unexpectedly deep conversation with your mom, spending a few minutes laughing with kids, of any age, or spending a weekend with your friends, just... watching TV, or going shopping, or going to a bake sale. Whatever! These little things will be those things you look back on, days or months or years later, and say to yourself "THAT'S when life got better for me."

I've spent this past year surrounded by death. What should've been a mental and emotional rebirth of sorts for me has instead been hammerblow after hammerblow to me, to my family, and to some of my oldest and dearest friends. I'd been so slowed down, so worn down, by all this death and loss, I hadn't even realized just what kind of toll it had taken on me. All those events marked on those calendars from now on, all those dates I'll dread to see coming up...

But now, finally, I've also seen all those events that get no marks on calendars, those little victories that take so much of the sting out of that loss and bring sweetness and joy back to life. I've finally seen and realized how important those are to me- just as important as all those losses I'm reminded of, I'll be looking back at those little victories and remind myself of all I have, and all I've gained.

Welcome Home, Jagoff

Back, for now.

Here's Pittsburgh, from one of the bridges, in the middle of my first sustained snowfall here since moving back. On one hand, I'm very happy, as I miss proper winters. On the other hand, since I spend most of my time working outside, this is gonna suck. Oh well, that's what health insurance and whisk(e)y is for.

I don't know how often I'll get anything posted up for the forseeable future. Certainly not much by way of actual drawing. I have been picking up the pencil again, but I've been taking it slowly- so as not to scare off my already far too fickle muse. Sad to say, but I'm just not often in the mood to draw recently. I'm hoping that'll all change, but we'll see. I still have plenty I'd like to draw, and much to write about (new music, for one, movies for another, still plenty of books to go around), but until I can get back into the groove, I just can't come around to firing up that creative spark. Or when I do, I'm rarely in a position to act on it. Finding that spark is a lot like being a 15-year-old boy; I never know when I'll get the urge, or how long it will last. As it were.

Anyway, that's what I've got for now. Thanks for sticking with me, I'll try to make the visits worthwhile, as best I can.

Music: "Monster Ballads" - Josh Ritter