Tag Archives: sketchbook

I stop somewhere

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Reference from mjranum-stock for page on the left

Excerpt from “Song of Myself” by Walt Whitman

52
The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yaws over the roofs of the world.

The last scud of day holds back for me,
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.

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a return to figure drawing.

After many weeks of busy Saturdays, I finally had an open one. So, I went to the university’s figure drawing session again. This man was in his 40s, perhaps. In the room, there is a huge portrait of him, about 5′-6′ tall. He seems to be a pretty regular model. He was the first model that I’ve seen at these nude figure drawing sessions who didn’t have a tattoo. nude04.jpg

The foreshortening made two of the poses extremely hard.

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some more figure drawing and the beginnings of something else.

nude03.jpg Went to the university again. But this time, it’s actually all on one sheet of paper. I didn’t cut and paste via the computer.

The birdcage picture is sketched out. I actually drilled holes last night. But I am not making any progress. Hopefully winter break will get me motivated.

On another vein, when I was little I never understood why people stood outside in the cold and rang bells or sang carols to encourage people to donate, during Christmastime. It seems like a needless waste of time. If four people carol outside a store for 2 hours and make $200 dollars (which, I’m informed, is really good for 2 hours), then as long as each person makes $25 per hour, they can donate what money they make without standing out in the cold. (Of course, we have to factor in taxes, which I haven’t done.)

I understand that it is “the spirit of the holidays,” whatever that means. I guess people are willing to sacrifice warmth for spare change. I still don’t get ringing bells/caroling for the Salvation Army, or the other organizations that volunteers willingly endure freezing temperatures for.

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more figure drawings and a new project.

Last Saturday I went back to the university and did this:

Nude figure drawings 12/01/07 Beforehand, I was at the university to audition for the All State Orchestra. Happily, I made it in. I was extremely nervous, but I didn’t make any major mistakes (just rushed a little in half a measure).

I started a new project today. I’ve been stewing over the ideas for a couple weeks and have drawn several sketches. Today, I went to Home Depot and got some wood. Continue reading

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nude figure drawings.

I went to to the university’s art dept today for some nude figure drawing.

Nude Sketches

A little more that 2 hrs spent on the 5 figures.

I will be back next week. This is good practice for me.

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sketchbook.

From a couple weeks ago:

Sketchbook 11/12

I took the photo of the leaf and the tree, also.

W.B. Yeats (1865–1939). The Wild Swans at Coole. 1919.

The Wild Swans at Coole

THE TREES are in their autumn beauty,

The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones 5
Are nine and fifty swans.
 
The nineteenth Autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount 10
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.
 
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight, 15
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
 
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold, 20
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
 
But now they drift on the still water 25
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes, when I awake some day
To find they have flown away

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