February 11, 2021
Pterodaustro guinzui is done. I’m not happy with it. My head has not been in the right place the whole time, and I had to make myself do this, just to bring a sense of closure to it. It’s probably best I just say I’m not happy with my work. I feel bad for a situation I can’t repair. I shall burn incense tonight, and journal in the morning. Maybe I’ll have a dream.
The thing I learned most about this drawing is planning is really important, and I probably under planned, and didn’t fill in as much as I should. It needed more depth and detail. It seems to sterile: there should be bugs and fish and probably a crocodile or two. The paper felt good. It seemed to bite well, and wanted to take light and dark well, and responded to eraser well too. It was me.
Not for nothing, I have the hardware, but didn’t actually do the LAMPS setup yet. I suspect it’s the same situation.
January 31, 2021
I have hit some kind of wall again. Maybe a night of sleep will change this, but I fully plan to take Monday and just pick up lunch and eat out. I am making a cup of coffee, and plan to work on Pterodaustro tonight, and listen to some music. Perhaps tomorrow afternoon, I will start work on a LAMPS server on a thumb drive, for the fun of it. I mean, I feel creative, I just feel… trapped. There is something wrong with ‘me’ and ‘other people’. I think it comes down to, I will never fit in, anywhere. Friendship is a dance, and I just don’t get it. At times I feel like an seemingly adequate building, but, alas, empty, and barren and ultimately, undesirable. Art is my only refuge. I think maybe it’s time to read some Buddhist wisdom and journal before bed.
January 28, 2021
Got some work in. There are several things about this I’m not happy with, and I’m working through it. The reflection is a stand in at the moment. I plan to put more tadpoles in, and finish fleshing out the trees, and I have a ton of work to do on the feet and tail. The wings are more work than at first imagined. I don’t like that the white is not sharp in places I want it to be. I don’t want to resort to white ink or anything, but we’ll see what comes up, I guess.
January 24, 2021
Our Doves are mourning. A Hawk poached one two days ago, and there seems to be an especially sad one cooing this morning. I’m supposed to feed them today – we feed on Sundays – but I’m concerned my yard may be to open to predation. I was intending to feed the birds I see every day, Quail and Doves mostly, not set up a buffet for Hawks. My yard is small, not much bigger than room enough to have a coffee and watch airliners fly overhead. My fence is high enough to prevent eye contact with neighbors, most of whom are red-state Republicans anyway and there is an (over) abundance of “blue lives matter” and obligatory US flags on my street. I do art, and not the bloody sport of politics here. I have an outline for Pterodaustro going, and a proportion issue,and will have to adjust leg length I fear, but the drawing is otherwise sound. I have settled on a darker background and my Pterodaustro might resemble a Goose pattern, as, dark on top, light on bottom, and light/dark markings on the head, and dark legs. These are amazing animals, with a strange grace, rather like a flying Giraffe. I don’t mean proportionally, or size, but the quadruped stance on the ground. The skull was only known to be about 11 inches long and wingspan around 6 feet or so. What ever it ate, it couldnt have been much bigger than Crayfish. It’s worth remembering Ptero’s all had feathers (as far as I know), even on their wings, but not like birds, so they look like fur, and end up looking very modern, to my eye. All for now – Love.
January 20, 2021
Got back to work on the Pterodaustro, and after thinking, and quite a bit of searching, I concluded it’s probably not pink, at least the way I’m thinking about it now. Let’s just say for Flamingo’s, sure pink as a result of the pink food it eats is reasonable, and real. I don’t think Pterodaustro eats krill. I’m thinking shallow water, things like hatchling crocodiles et al, crayfish, frogs, tadpoles and similar creatures. If the skull is less than a foot long, nothing it ate would be huge. After that, I scrounged up a different thought about the colors, and landed on subdued colors for a wading, marshland existence. I’ve done 7 sketches and nothing I’m in love with. I rounded up the reference I wanted, and ended up making a cut-out to help think about it’s wings, particularly how it folds, and flaps. This is the one I like:
So, now it’s down to pencil on paper, the fun part.
BTW, welcome President Joe Biden.
January 13, 2021
I woke up from a dream about 3:28 AM. This was the substance of that dream:
I dreamed someone put before me a pile of old books.
They said they had something they wanted to show me, and opened a book
I think the third one down, which they pulled out and opened up.
They thumbed through and opened the book.
I tried to read this story.
They left the room, for me to read.
There were other people in the house to attend.
I looked at the pile, the bindings were old and formerly brilliant in colors and gold
now were worn and colored with touch.
The pages closed, and I lost my place.
Now, it was me and the book.
I gazed with a sense of dread, for I recognized it was a book about vice.
Should I open this book, or bolt the room, now seemingly filled with dread?
I was fascinated.
I felt doom.
I opened the book, done proud, reminding me of Bierce, but, lo, more.
My hand opened it cover first, seeing not title upon the cover, but inside
a penned scrawl of the faded greeting of a gift from a giver I could not determine.
The pages seemed grimey with age, or touch, or a lack of care, and worn.
I thought to turn to a title page, but the pages went by.
I stopped on a story
of a man with a name
lost to me in the dream, but latin in nature, something like
There was an illustration above the story, it showed a man learing at another man
who had a large pimple upon his forehead.
Averum Hominem leared at the man, and the pimple throbbed to the beat of a heart.
The illustration took on a life of it’s own
Suddenly I saw a piece of skin and a papule, and a toothpick.
The toothpick brushed the blemish
and out snaked
a string of gore.
Thinking no more of it than fascination, I read more.
Mr Hominem was well dressed for the 1800s.
The other man was a pleasing brown of a Hindu persuasion, with tattoos upon his face
up to the red base of his blemish, crowned in white, the size of a pea.
Presently my host returned to the room.
“How does the story go?” he inquired.
As if from a dream, I said, “I have lost my place…”
“Oh, it was page 72.”
His voice was low, not quite scolding but somehow
Then he was gone.
It was me and the old book.
I opened it up, and thumbed, counting through the pages.
Did I dare to look?
Whose name would I find on page 72?
The pile of books was perhaps seven tall, a grimoire of vice
with illustrations the color of blood, and ham, of satin and tea,
and black and dirty brown.
I saw a glance
I did not want to see, and turned another page.
Page 62, and another something new.
Page 68, the summary ending of a story I knew not.
January 9, 2021
So, a little insight into how I do art. Generally, I get some kind of inspiration. Typically it just happens some how, like I talk with someone, and they say something inspiring, or I think something about what they say, or I see something, or hear something (music maybe), or I have a dream. My current muse is Pterodaustro guinazui. The short version is they are a kind of Pterodactyl. The hook to me is it’s teeth on it’s lower jaw: It looks like a filter, and it seems the top jaw squeezes out a volume of a bite, trapping food for eating. I thought it looked like some kind of baleen whale mouth, albeit upside down. I started to think, maybe it it eats krill? But no. I was thinking maybe it could be an unusaul color, like pink. As I think about it, I’m thinking it might have dredged tadpoles, or small baby crocodiles out of shallow water, like ponds or reed areas. I was taking up information about flamingos, which I still kind of see this flying like: it has a long, relatively straight neck, and modestly long legs for a Pterodactyl, and explosive energy coming off the ground, and a fair amount of flapping. Flamingos have a habit of turning their head upside down as they eat, because of their mouth shape. Looking at Pteradaustro guinazui, the gentle curve of the beak suggests to me an upright head when dipping for food, even though the beak is fairly long.
What comes next is more reading, examination of related bones of the type, and some thought about what type of media I want to use. This would be a great ink project, I think, like ink to paper, no pencil base. It’s worth noting they are not smooth – so a texture is required; not quite fluffy, but nearly furry. If it’s a wader, I’m thinking the legs and wings are pretty clean.
I will do preliminary sketches, and look for a pose I like. The face and beak are what strike me the most, but I’m also interested in a flight pose, so I think a wading scene is best, with some others flying over. Composition has never been my long suit, so wish me well.
January 8, 2021
Today I’m posting a picture of an uncertain date, but the collection it comes from goes back to 2011. I recall when I saw it, but not the circumstances, and I knew I wanted the shot. It’s trees, with a background of obscure clouds and sun.
January 7, 2021
This morning is the day after our capitol was invaded by self-righteous zealots incited to rebellion by the infamous unhinged ex-president Donald J. Trump. They committed crimes against property, were the cause of (at least) one death, and hindered the lawful execution of the duties of the Sentate and House, which is a criminal act.