Thursday, July 31, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
The little girl is the reason for this picture. I saw her standing by her brother and she looked like a typical four year old with a red juice stain around her mouth and hair that hadn't seen a comb all day. I approached her brother and asked if I could take her photo. He agreed but wanted to be included. It took a while for her to smile but I finally got one shot.
My wife and I lived in an apartment complex before we bought our house here in Arid-zona. I got to know a family of gypsies there who were from some place in the Baltic region. The woman of the house approached me to draw a picture of her mother and gave me the only snapshot she had. The photo showed this woman with very dark circles around her eyes and a breathing cannula under her nose. She was obviously distressesed. I gave her a little better appearance. The family said she passed away shortly after the picture was taken.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
I passed by him as he sat by the side of a fountain with his elbows on his knees smoking a cigarette. What caught my eye was the contrast between his silver white hair and the leather jacket. He looked like he may have been part of a motorcycle group but I saw no bike. He also appeared to me as though he'd been down alot of long hard roads.
Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket - safe, dark, motionless, airless - it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.
To love is to be vunlerable.
Obviously a rose but it's very symbolic to me of how people appear to each other. Not as a rose, but as multi-layered individuals. We all are complex, and are products of our life experiences, especially our early pasts. We present ourselves to each other with our layers of personality, protecting our hearts from rejection. Some not open at all. You can barely see the inside of this rose. It reminds me of someone I once knew long ago but really didn't.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Friday, July 11, 2008
Sometimes it takes a storm
To really see the light.
The scent of rain,
The weight of clouds
Pulling down the sky.
Sometimes it takes a storm
To know how you feel.
To understand indigo,
The varnished sun
Lighting up the fields.
It takes the rain
between the lines
To know what sorrow
By Fernando Ortega, Elaine Rubenstein, John Andrew Schreiner
This old fellow played his accordian on the sidewalk at the Saturday Market in Portland, Oregon. He had a quiet spirit and was very soft spoken. You could barely hear him play. I talked with him one day and I believe he said he was from the Philippines. I liked the way he looked with the tattered top hat. I asked if I could take his picture and he obliged.
This well dressed woman was standing next to the street with her arms folded and looked to be waiting for someone.
This isn't the most flattering image but I wanted to capture her expression. It's true and doesn't have the stiffness of a formal pose. She was obviously irritated. I assume because of having to wait. Or, maybe because I took her picture.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
This is one of the first things I did when I began drawing again. It's of my son. He went through a lot of stormy seas growing up. School was difficult and life sometimes gets him down. But he's got a gentle soul and would give you all he had if he thought you needed it. He's also become a devoted husband and great father. I'm rather proud of him.