A little hunger diversion going on here. It worked.
Inktober 13b: Tarmac
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Inktober 13: Coexistence
This morning I took some 4×6 index cards, a mechanical pencil, and two pens to work with me. I clock in in 15 minutes. Let’s have a simple day, please . . .
Inktober 12 (T.L.-O.P.o.J.)
Months ago I told my then-co-worker Jarron, “You’re next.” I was referring to my portrait project.
Things happened. Jarron left the circus of Matt’s Big Breakfast. Rumors flew. Something about the Light Rail.
More recently, Gwen of Mid-City Kitchen has asked to be portraitized–and Jarron (jaf131 on Instagram) “Liked” one of my Instagram photos. So I can’t do Gwen till I’ve done Jarron. Here he is.
Inktober 11: Jam Session
Inktober is a drawing event wherein a participant does a minimum of one drawing per day using ink. To help folks get their inking engines started, the forces behind Inktober have provided these prompts: 1) Fast 2) Noisy 3) Collect 4) Hungry 5) Sad 6) Hidden 7) Lost 8) Rock 9) Broken 10) Jump 11) Transport 12) Worried 13) Scared 14) Tree 15) Relax 16) Wet 17) Battle 18) Escape 19) Flight 20) Squeeze 21) Big 22) Little 23) Slow 24) One Dozen 25) Tired 26) Box 27) Creepy 28) Burn 29) Surprise 30) Wreck 31) Friend. Since I got a late start, and was raring to go, I ignored these prompts; but they started nagging at me a couple of days ago, telling me I was cheating by doing whatever the hell I wanted to. Last night matters in my head came to a head and I said OK then–I’ll do prompts. A lot of them. All on one page. When I did the 16th one, Wet, the page groaned Enough, so I stopped. When I saw what I’d done, I was transported in time to 1970, junior year in high school, Mrs. Long’s English class. She thought I was taking notes, but I was filling page after page with stuff just like this.
Inktober the 10th: Cutouts
Since it’s Inktober, this image was made using all ink. Next time this subject matter comes up after Inktober, watercolor or acrylic wash will be used.
Inktober the Ninth: Debris
“Oh, do not ask, ‘What is it?’/Let us go and make our visit.” T. S. Eliot, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”
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Inktober the Eighth: Bearing the Brunt
“I fear for this country,” I told Isabelle, the French-Canadian lady who sat two chairs down from me while we watched the Los Angeles Dodgers shut out the Chicago Cubs on a TV screen at an English-style pub called The George & Dragon, where we had just met. “I fear for the world,” she replied.
We are fearful in large part because one of the candidates in this year’s Presidential election is Donald J. Trump, real estate mogul, demagogue, hate-monger, and misogynist. He attained prime candidacy through a take-no-prisoners campaign riddled with lies and extravagant, baseless promises. He has promised to forbid all Muslims from entering the United States. He wishes to build a wall between the United States and Mexico. He promises to “bomb the shit” out of ISIS, “collateral damage” or not. He viciously attacks his opponent Hillary Clinton, often by attacking her husband, former president Bill Clinton.
How can he get away with all of his lies and meanspiritedness? He exploits the sad fact that many of us have come to distrust the corruption at the core of Washington politics in general, and Ms. Clinton in particular. Many of us think Hillary Clinton is an even more despicable character than Trump. Many of us look at her erased e-mails; her lack of support for those left to die at Benghazi; her six-figure speaking fees tendered by Goldman Sachs; her war-hawk tendency that led her as a senator to vote in favor of the Iraq invasion; her championing of the rights-infringing Patriot Act; and then many of us then say anyone but her. Consequently this election may be viewed as a no-win situation.
As for me, I have voted for Clinton, though I did not want to. My choice would have been Bernie Sanders, but Sanders has no chance to win. My vote is against Trump. He has proven to be a misogynistic, hate-mongering megalomaniac. His hypocrisy extends to the exploitation of Bill Clinton’s sex scandal, while his own checkered past has left plenty of circumstantial evidence of misconduct. But the main reason I am voting for Clinton is when I imagine the possible futures with President Trump, and then the possible futures with President Clinton, the latter seems to offer some hope of unity and healing, while the former seems much more dangerous, even apocalyptic.
The above political image is a vote against what Trump stands for. He is isolationist and at the same time hypocritical. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! is his campaign slogan, yet he has no interest in those actions and ideals that DO make America great. His America does not want “your tired, your poor/Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” His is not a helping hand, but a grasping one.
Inktober the Seventh: Racers
When I posted this image in Facebook this morning, a Spanish-speaking person Shared it and captioned it “Glaciar.” Facebook invited me to “See Translation.” I clicked. It is Glacier. I have GOT to learn Spanish!!
I have named this “racers” because the freeform entities look like they are both built for speed and on a hyperdimensional track.
But–Glacier? Must be the blue. My co-worker Tymn Sappenfield said he liked the blue. Out of the blue, I confessed that I like it so much I sometimes photoedit to give my image bluishness. As coincidence has it, that often cures my blues.
Inktober First through Sixth
For the last three days, panel by panel, this ink drawing took form. As I finished a panel I would scan and post it on Facebook. That is why this megapanel is multi-signed. It created a nifty compositional challenge that was its own solution: the signatures became a motif.
the perception of failure
For this to be a comprehensive record of an expressive journey it is sometimes necessary to include items that don’t exactly work. In this case, though, the not-exactly-working aspect contributes to the theme.
One with Clay, Image and Text 