Illustrating Life

I can spend hours browsing in a bookstore... Luckily, both my partner and I are like that, so there's no one waiting impatiently. It's a time we both relish.

Last week, I wandered alone into Munro's Bookstore. I'd been looking for something in particular. Of course, I ended up in the art section. This book caught my eye immediately.

“An Illustrated Life: Drawing Inspiration From The Private Sketchbooks Of Artists, Illustrators And Designers.” by Danny Gregory

I picked it up and started looking through it. I was met with a wide variety of sketches upon sketches. Some are very loose, others are little gems of detail. For this compilation, Danny Gregory  interviewed some 40 artists about their process. He includes plenty of examples from their private sketchbooks and illustrated journals.

Playing with textures

How fabulous is that? Very fabulous when you've spent the last few months struggling with creating art, and not finding the joy in it. Then you see how these artists of every stripe just go on filling journals with sketches, good or bad, doesn't matter. It's about doing it. Period. What it comes down to is, it just keeps you limber, like physical exercise. I'd forgotten about that.

Reading in the Cabin

Yes! I thought. I can do that!(I have done that.) No rules? Even better. (I am however, choosing to not rip out pages. I don't want to focus on the product, only the process. There is so much freedom in that.) Just draw what you see, what you're thinking, what you wish you could see, ideas, whatever. It was worth the 20-something dollars I spent on this book, if only to be reminded of what I already knew. And as I sketch, I am grateful for that serendipitous moment, when this book offered itself up to me.

Hm. Pentel brush pen or graphite pencil today... If only making decisions was always this much fun.

Not Just a Blog

I am in love with this blog...

 Missed Connections 

Through the Lens

When my life as a sailor began, I discovered the joys of spontaneous photo-taking. What I mean is, I started shooting anything and everything. My introduction to living on the water opened me up to a whole new visual way of experiencing life, nature, and myself.


I am by no means a "photographer" in the proper sense of the word. But I am an artist. I view the world through my slightly skewed and unique perspective.

Taking photos allows me to play with composition, colour and even abstraction. Happy accidents often inform future paintings or drawing, in ways I hadn't anticipated.

Last night, after an evening with friends, between the rainfall, fog, and lights, I stood in the cockpit of my boat, camera in hand. I continued taking photos once back in the cabin.

This is a glimps of that magical moment.

Words that Inspire

Today's offering... A poem by one of my favourite poets.

Starlings in Winter

Starlings in Winter

Chunky and noisy,
but with stars in their black feathers,
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly

they are acrobats
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,

dipping and rising;
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,

then closes again;
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can’t imagine

how they do it
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,

this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.

Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;

I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard.  I want

to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.

(Mary Oliver)

An Artist's Recovery - Part I

 

So here I am. No official studio. Has there been denial? Yep. Has there been the urge to create? Yessir. Has there been motivation to create? Yes and no. After a long break,it's all a little daunting.

Let's just say, I'm adjusting.

Life on a boat is ideal for me. If only for the sheer pleasure of being able to explore the Pacific Northwest without leaving my home behind. I'm kind of like a turtle. I wake up one morning, and see Victoria's famous Blue Bridge out of my galley portlight. The next morning, I'm looking into the cove a lovely green island, the sounds of wildlife greeting me, as I step into the cockpit.


This lifestyle also reflects my priorities: Finding pleasure in simplicity, reducing comsumerism in my daily life, (there's little room to accumulate material objects on a sailboat).

And of course,  we have a smaller carbon footprint.
(We are still working on that - this winter, among other things, we will finally be able to install solar power.)


The question is: Can a boat be ideal for a studio?
A working studio?
I like to think it can be.

There needs to be a paradigm shift. Think smaller. Use different approaches. I'm lucky. I got a little bit of help. For my birthday, my partner and our friends pooled their money and bought me a small, tabletop easel.

I sorted through my art box. I have lots of supplies, but I'm narrowing them down to two boxes for now. This one contains my dry mediums as well as inks.

I got an odd pleasure from emptying this box, sorting and organizing all the bits and pieces, and then putting them back.

My hands became dirty from handling charcoal bits. I became excited as I considered my supplies. This is familiar. When I was in grade school I would set out all my brand-new school supplies on my bed, handling them gently, even smelling them. (Hey, I've always been a little weird.) I have a strong appreciation for endless possibilities.

Today I also bought a cheap 9"x12" sketchbook at my favourite art store.
Now, I need to remind myself that I love drawing.

I think I'm ready.

Back to the Basics

Yes, it's time for an overhaul. The artist in me hasn't disappeared. It's just a little quiet.

I have given up my lovely studio, it seemed to be the right decision for the time being, but it has left a hole behind. I'm shrinking my practice to the sailboat, as I am a liveaboard. I have a desire to work smaller. To go back to the basics. To sketch. Draw.

This feels like a time of transition that has been a long time coming. So in this introspective time, I'm also taking the opportunity to explore other artists: their work, their process...

Here is an artist I am very fond of... she inspires me and her work is so very rich. Her name is Jylian Gustlin. Go here to see to see more of her creations. I particularly love her sketches,  see them here.

Icarus 11 by Jylian Gustlin

Her images are raw and powerful.

I am in love with the textures and colours.

The figures.

All of it.

Sacred Spaces

I learned in my travels that visual artists will adapt to just about any space to produce art... I once thought I needed the "perfect" studio. I have had a variety of studios over the years and I do believe a lovely space (whatever that means to you,) does enhance the creative process. However, limited space or resources should not stop one from creating art. I hope that sometime in the future, I'll be sailing offshore...   At some point, I will need to "shrink" my studio to fit on the sailboat. In the meantime, I get to enjoy a wonderful little studio.

When we moved to a small town nearly 10 years ago, we rented a high-ceilinged appartment - and with some ingenuity, created a workspace that I used while I attended Art School. If you look carefully, we created the illusion of a wall that still allowed light through to the rest of the living space. It was a small step up from the unused corners  I'd been using until then.

When we moved, I rented a studio.  It had become necessary. I have no pictures of it, it was a moldy-smelling empty storefront. My studio mate and I were too cheap to pay for heat and it was a rather cold space, but it allowed me to work freely when we initially bought a house that didn't have a space ready for me to use.

This picture shows the detached garage on our property that we eventually transformed into my studio. We insulated and re-wired it, and added two large north-facing windows. This was by far my biggest studio. I had lots of room, it was ideal for life drawing and painting.

Here, I am back to working in an apartment corner after relocating to Victoria. I was lucky, my partner was willing to share the living room with my studio. We were refitting our sailboat with the goal to move aboard, so this was a perfectly adequate work space for the time being.

And then there was the hidden gazebo... Once I moved aboard the sailboat, I rented this studio with a friend. A hidden space on an undeveloped property in Oak Bay. It was a little wild, racoons and deer often visited. We worked with gloves and a little space heater in the winter, and it smelled a bit funny - squirrels lived in the ceiling. Ugh.

For about a year, I used another friend's basement as my studio. The ceiling was low but the lighting was rather good - another artist had used the space before. It was a temporary and affordable solution.

And this takes me to my present studio. I took the time to paint the walls, and dig out some of my special "treasures" from storage. I hadn't seen my tin boxes and knick-knacks for the 3 years I've been living on the boat.  I believe I've mentioned this before:  The studio is in a household of artists who are great friends. It's not very big, but it's a very lovely space. And there's a wonderful creative energy in the house. My partner and I spend a fair bit of time there when we're not sailing. Can you blame us? There is a bathtub! (Oh and cool people  are living there too...)

I think of my studio as a vegetable garden, 

where things follow their natural course. They grow, they ripen. 

You have to graft. You have to water. 

(Joan Miro)