Five Eyes Wide

You Gotta Keep Dancin

2012-01-09T14:33:00.000-08:00

I saw him in Picadilly Circus with a group that was coincidentally being videoed at the same time. Check them out here.

Pain

2011-12-10T11:35:00.000-08:00

What if God's blessings come through raindrops

And His healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know He's near
What if trials of this life

Are mercies in disguise

Laura Story

Life

2011-11-23T08:26:00.000-08:00

A person's life purpose

Is nothing more than to rediscover,

Through the detours of art,

Or love,

Or passionate work,

Those one or two images

In the presence of which

His heart first opened.

Albert Camus

Al Dente

2011-11-20T14:57:00.000-08:00

One of the personality traits of someone raised in a family where alcoholism ruled is the tendency not to finish projects. My dad often said I had a grasshopper mind. True. My brain is on scan most of the time and I my interests vary greatly. Lately, art has been low on the list and is perhaps the reason why I haven't posted much over the last months. The drawing has been on my board for quite a while. I've added a line here and there when the mood grabbed but now am done with it. If you want, I could say that it's state is to represent the reality of relationship. We communicate with someone's face. What we feel is expressed by our visage. We generally remember a person's face before any other characteristic about them. So I have drawn with detail all that is important about the people.

Artistic intellectualism. Bleah. It's just unfinished.
.

On Love

2011-09-20T19:37:00.000-07:00

.
Love is not affectionate feeling,

But a steady wish for

The loved person's ultimate good,

As far as it can be obtained.

C S Lewis

Another Drawing

2011-09-03T12:09:00.000-07:00

I couldn't think of a title for this, hence it's name. This needs a little more work, but I'm tired of it and need to move on. It was really an exercise to get more familliar with colored pencils.

The fellow sitting was in a wheel chair and visiting the older gentleman. They looked as though they were going on an outing. Once again, it's better in the real.

The Doors

2011-07-07T12:01:00.000-07:00

Regrets

2011-06-16T18:36:00.000-07:00

Another stranger. He looks like he might have just been dumped by a girl friend.

Mandy

2011-06-12T15:31:00.000-07:00

Susan and I met her in a London pub near the Globe theater while she was waiting for the next performance to start. I took her photo thinking she didn't notice but obviously did. I asked if I could get her to pose with a stare out the window but all were stiff and unnatural looking. I based my "Improvisational" drawing on one of those poses. We conversed a while and found out she worked as an engineer in the US and designed parts for atomic bombs. Smart gal.

Skeletons

2011-06-03T18:12:00.000-07:00

If you can't get rid of the family skeleton

You might as well make it dance.

George Bernard Shaw

Cactus Flower

2011-04-17T14:52:00.000-07:00

These bloom once a year for a couple of days and are gone.

A Mom

2011-04-16T16:59:00.000-07:00

Lime Lady again in color. I saw her on a bench and asked if I could take her photo. What you see is what I got. The interchange only lasted a few seconds. I should have stayed a while and chatted. The baby must be a toddler by now. This was two years ago. The prior sketch took about five minutes. This is closer to how she looked.

Woman in Lime

2011-04-13T16:03:00.000-07:00

Mood

2011-04-08T10:30:00.000-07:00

Moi

2011-04-07T10:22:00.000-07:00

The assignment was a self portrait using a mirror. So a 10 minute sketch is what resulted. This isn't the best look but my vanity isn't what it once was. It's also a reversed image. I really do look better, at least Susan says so.

C'est La Vie

2011-04-07T08:48:00.000-07:00

I've never figured out why one of those wagon trains traveling to Shangrila out West stopped here in good 'ol Phoenix. "Yo, circle the wagons folks. There's a little water here, it's hotter 'n Hell and they aint much ta eat. Keep them hankies on yer faces sos the dust don't choke ya. This is it!" Probably too much loco weed.

Phoenix was recently voted the most miserable place to live. The criteria was based on gas prices and unemployment. Am I miserable? Not today. I'm retired and my cars get good mileage. The weather is perfect. The Sun is shining, there's a breeze from the South, the trees and flowers are in bloom, and there's a taste of pollen in the air with a hint of air pollution. Not too bad.

Suffering and discomfort await though. In a short few months the Sun will blast with photon torpedoes, what little green we have will fade and brows will bead. Air conditioners will burn dollars to cool and filter dust and all will long for an oasis. So if you're alone and miserable in some other location in the world, come to Phoenix this Summer, you'll have lots of company.

Stick for Quacks

2011-04-07T07:38:00.000-07:00

Bogged Blog

2011-02-03T08:25:00.001-08:00

I've been putting in a new floor in my home and taking an art class. I'm not too excited about bloging for now. Back later.

Thinker

2010-12-27T14:43:00.000-08:00

A sketch of an old fellow I will eventually do in colored pencil. He's sitting on a bench with his dog on a leash at his feet. I like the far away look he has. It makes me wonder where his mind is.

Oh Pear

2010-12-18T07:10:00.000-08:00

Tripod

2010-12-17T15:55:00.000-08:00

Designed with CAD. Made in my shop. Colored in Photo Shop.

Just because.

Rwanda

2010-11-18T07:19:00.000-08:00

My daughter went to Rwanda recently and visited a school. Shown is a teacher and his classroom.

Jimmy Crack Corn

2010-11-12T14:54:00.000-08:00

There is something to be said for perfectionism. It gives the ability to pay close attention to detail. You see things that others don't. If they do, they don't care. The good, the bad and the ugly are relative. I notice alot of bad and ugly in my stuff, be it art or life. I've been told I shouldn't. I still do. It comes from trying to be what others want. It's all perceived. It's not real.

So, in an effort to be more in reality, I've stepped out of my obsession and created some imperfection. A quick sketch in oil pastels on basic printer paper. And, well, I don't care. Mostly.

Pensive

2010-10-29T13:00:00.000-07:00

Another Englander as seen in Lewes. I caught her in a thoughtful moment. It's my attempt at colored pencils with need for improvement. Just playing around.

Old Friends

2010-10-25T14:01:00.000-07:00

This didn't copy well into digital but here it is anyway. I've grown tired of it. There's more to do to it but I'm done, at least for now. I know it looks like they're floating on a hover bench. Maybe I'll fix it later. Click on it to get a better view. Size: 18" X 23.5"

I was wandering around Trafalgar Square about this time last year when I saw them. I had to take their photo but wasn't sneaky enough to not be noticed by one of them. I kept thinking of Paul Simon's "Old Friends" as I worked on it. You can hear it here.

Winter Tears

2010-10-01T09:42:00.000-07:00

Maryon

2010-09-16T12:50:00.000-07:00

From a class done back in ought seven.

On Portobello Road

2010-09-07T11:11:00.000-07:00

You can get anything you want at Alice's.

Arlo's restaurant info here.

Me and God

2010-09-02T13:45:00.000-07:00

I grew up in a family that required I be a survivor. It was rough and I came out of the nest confused about love and who I really was. Trusting others was next to impossible and the few I did eventually rejected me. I decided along the way I needed no one. Asking for help wasn't necessary. I could do life by myself, thank you very much.

I was also raised in a religious denomination based on the debit and credit system. If you were indebted to God you did good stuff to break even or add a little to your account. I never felt I had any credit. I thought I wasn't good enough to get on the plus side. I was always afraid the Big Man would send some of His boys to rough me up for payment. Even though I've been a church goer most of my life, I didn't think God was in love with me.

It's getting better though. It's taken alot to know I'm loved not only by others, but also by Him. I'm starting to get hold of that. Trust is yet a big deal. It's tough but I'm starting to take His hand more often. I'm still fiercely independant and will try to solve life's problems on my own. I'm finding though that things seem to go better when I get Him involved.

Honfleur Blues

2010-08-27T11:08:00.000-07:00

Snow Scribbles

2010-08-27T10:59:00.001-07:00

Feed Store

2010-08-26T13:24:00.000-07:00

Rhodies

2010-08-26T13:10:00.000-07:00

I have quite a few more hours left on my next drawing, so 've decided to post some various photos that appeal to me. The drawing might be up in two to three weeks.

Memories

2010-08-24T11:05:00.000-07:00

I wonder how many words I've said in my lifetime. I wonder if any had impact. Gibberish first came out, the equivalent of Wingdings. I'm sure I was expounding on great truths but no one seemed to care. If waa is a word, I had a lot to say. Crying was a big part of my first vocabulary which greatly affected my listeners.

I've always been a quiet sort. Never had much to say in conversations with groups of people. I like to listen in that situation. Depending on the person, I can keep it going but I'd just as soon not have to talk. I usually take on the role of an interviewer. The greater part of the exchange is done by the other party. I guess that would put me below average in total verbal output as compared to the rest of society. There were, however, too many times when I should have kept my mouth shut.

I did quite of bit of corporate writing. It was meant for that small world only. It was technically oriented and, for all of humanity, could be read to help one fall asleep. However, the stuff I wrote touched many in that small society and the effects are still evident. Many people are using the things I documented, but things don't last nor will my writings.

It's very interesting to me that for all the communication done throughout history by innumerable billions, most all of it has been forgotten. Life comes along and scribbles over it. Perhaps I should cry really loud all the time. I'd definitely have a long lasting influence.

Brownie Lust

2010-08-17T17:33:00.000-07:00

A park bench group I saw in London. Still looks better in the real.

Restoration

2010-08-17T14:15:00.000-07:00

The healing of the wound

Is much more painful

Than the wounding

The Spitfire Grill

On Drinking

2010-08-04T12:43:00.000-07:00

I remember going to a college kegger once and arriving a bit late. As I surveyed the crowd, a friend came up and called someone over for an introduction. I noticed as the guy walked toward us that he'd been at the pump a number of times. We shook hands, he smiled and immediately puked on me. Shy and self conscious as I was, I thought I might have been the cause. However, since no one had ever blown chips on me after meeting, I figured it was him, not me.

I don't like drunks throwing up on me or throwing up as I watch. Something comes over me and I want to actively join them. Maybe pubs and bars should have those little bags they use on airplanes. They could hand them out to those who've had too much just in case. I think I could handle seeing somebody fill one up. I would think it a courteous thing to do. I'd look away after though. They might spill.

I went to alot of keggers and parties during my stint at the institution of learning and did my share of imbibing. I have a strong stomach and rarely empty it the wrong way, but when I did in those days, it was always private. Puking in public is embarrassing.

I didn't do alot of drinking after I was married and now hardly at all. I can feel a bit foggy the day after and at my age, I don't need some of my brain cells misfiring. However, I really like wine, and if ever I meet a bullfrog named Jeremiah, I'd split a bottle with him. I'm certain I wouldn't puke.

Blocked

2010-07-13T11:51:00.000-07:00

I took my last post down because I couldn't get the drawing to photograph or scan right and it wouldn't fix in Photo Shop. It's way better in the real. I was also going to post a bunch of pictures from my England trip but had nothing pertinent to say. I've started another drawing that I'll stick up here in a week or two. In the mean time, the brain fog needs to clear.

Yikes!

2010-06-13T16:40:00.000-07:00

I remember playing in a hay field when I was a wee lad of 5 or 6 or so. It had been mowed but wasn't bailed yet. I had a great time running and jumping in the piles and rolling around in them. I picked up a load of grass to stack on another to make a softer landing pad when all joy suddenly drained out of me. A snake jumped and slithered out of the arm full I had. Not having ever seen one in my short existence, it scared the holy livin' stuff out of me. My legs must have been a blur as I ran home to mom and breathlessly told her what happened. She laughed and said it was just a harmless garter snake and was nothing to be afraid of. Yeah, well, she wasn't there to see it and I strongly felt I shouldn't have gone through the experience. Snakes, I decided were something to stay away from.

A few years later in adolescence, courage had entered my veins and garter snakes were game to hunt down and scare girls with. Us neighborhood boys would compare sizes and types and decided that Red Racers were the fastest and scariest as opposed to Yellow Racers or ones that had no stripe at all. Although I don't remember, I think I tortured a few and ran over some with my bike. As I grew older, snakes became uninteresting.

Now that I'm well into adulthood, they have gone back on my list of things to avoid, especially in the desert. We've lived here in Phoenix for a couple of years and I've felt comfortable in not having seen one, that is until a week or so ago. I was minding my own business, doing something in my studio when my wife started yelling "Snake! Snake!". I didn't think it was going to be a big deal and calmly went to check to out. There, just below our patio door was Diamondback rattler, about eighteen inches long, in the shade trying to get out of the 110 degree sun. Ya know that sensation that comes over you that's called the creeps? Eeeeew. Chills!

Teddy Roosevelt had a deathly fear of rats. I read somewhere he couldn't stand the thought of them. To conquer his phobia, he caught one, cooked and ate it and was never troubled by them again. I thought I might barbecue a rattler and have it on a baguette but I'm not that freaked by them. Besides, my mouth has never watered over rattlesnake meat.

Anyway, even though it gave me a few tingles, I did the manly thing and killed, beheaded and threw it in the garbage. I'm fairly certain our snake is now in Hell. But now, I've decided to chant, "Scorpions, Spiders, and Snakes, Oh my!", on walks just to keep myself aware.

Integrity

2010-06-02T18:03:00.000-07:00

Integrity is doing the right thing when no one is looking

Still Here

2010-04-20T11:34:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I posted. I think I may be losing interest in doing a blog. Frankly, I've lost interest in alot of stuff. Maybe I need my meds changed or to evict a demon or two. Enthusiam has taken a holiday and so will I. I've much to blog about but not now. I'll be back later. Probably.

Patience

2010-03-05T16:35:00.000-08:00

The virtuous stuff that makes you patient, the stuff that sloshes around some place in our brains, waiting fluid, or whatever it's called, has been all but neutralized by adrenaline within me. I hate to wait. I've been that way since I was a kid and life for me has been a series of speeding from one event to the next and having to anxiously wait at each stop anticipating when I could move on. I don't know why I'm wired that way. It really isn't much fun. I'm sure that life would be better if I'd take the time to slow and smell something. I don't want to. I'd rather move along and take the smells with me. I've grown better though as I've aged but my wife must continually tell me that we're not in a hurry.

I've been fortunate that I haven't been ticketed much for speeding. I usually drive over the limit wherever I go. However, I'm invariably slowed by something in the way. More often than I like, I get behind a school bus, truck or someone who doesn't care about my self-imposed life schedule. Traveling down the highway, staring at a semi's rear wall of sheet metal is such a joy and, if traffic is slow in my lane, I'll switch to find the new lane slowing and watching cars I was behind pass me. I must wait, until life lets me by.

The supermarket is no exception. I'll get in the shortest line and someone ahead will cause a delay as other lines move on efficiently. I remember once I thought I was lucky and found a lady in the express lane with no one behind her. I stepped up to her just as the cashier anounced the purchase sum. I'd be on my way in just a few minutes. The woman pulled out a coin purse and proceeded to pay in change. As she counted, each click of a coin against the counter pierced my ears and seconds slowed to match her pace. I was watching grass grow. It took forever. I've decided that whatever line I get in, no matter where, my presence will slow it. Fast food is for others. I must be cursed and I'm certain Providence is behind it all. Too bad I'm a slow learner.

We met the lady I've drawn in a small gallery in Hailsham, England. She was chatting with the proprietor and having tea. I was immediately struck by her bright blue eyes. Her blue tweed coat and beret seemed to make them glow. I asked if I could take her photo. She obliged and posed as you see her. Her name was Anne.

A delightful gal who we learned, bicycled all over France in her youth. I'm sure she turned some heads and got a few jealous looks. She talked and talked, and talked some more until time started to warp. I had to get on to the next unknown event. We finally pulled away as her words clung to us and continued our meandering through the town. We saw her later, crossing a mall court to a shop. I'd have hated to stand in line behind her. She probably carried alot of coins.

Ups and Downs

2010-02-03T14:54:00.000-08:00

.
All that I've found through the ups and the downs
Is that I'd have it no other way
Life in the raw is both fragile and strong
It's both lovely and ugly the same
Who can attest that when they're at their best
Oh their worst is still crouching close behind
It's coming to peace with the darkness in me
That allows the true light to shine

So let it go for we are still far from home
Though you try and try to escape
To live and to love will always be dangerous
But it's better than playing it safe

We are composed of a symphony of notes
Every life is music to His ears
I'll play my melody be it haunting be it sweet
Unashamed of what anyone might fear

So when the load breaks your back and your will
You must still keep your heart in the game
So let it go when it don't feel like home
When inside is your only escape
To live and to love will always be dangerous
But would you want it any other way?

Kendall Payne

People

2010-02-01T08:39:00.000-08:00

There are only two kinds

of people in the world,

those who put people

in two categories

and those who don't.

_

Waves

2010-01-31T16:56:00.000-08:00

the first wave buries you
maybe it was a word
or someone ignoring your cry for help
so you tumble on the sand
rolling in a watery grave
but you don't die
the second wave is lost love
broken promises 10 feet high and cresting
your heart pressed against the ocean floor
by blue/green hands
liquid fingers named pain and suffering
your skin turns to porcelain
your heart becomes a stone
you die inside
but your heart keeps beating
a drummer to remind you
of the loneliness
and cruel rhythm of this world
there is another sound
that awakens you
a voice still and calm
like the beating of dove's wings
in turquoise sky
the words are love
the message is hope
the Son of God
gathers the shattered pieces
of your world
and makes a new creation

but only if you ask.

Steve Malkowski
outcastpress.org

Smokin!

2010-01-15T10:43:00.001-08:00

When I was in the eighth grade, my best friend invited me over for a private rendezvous in his tree fort. He had pilfered some cigarettes from his mom's purse and we had our first smoke fest. Our noses ran, our eyes watered and we coughed a lot, but we were cool. I deciced shortly thereafter that I didn't like smoking. Even though my folks did and I'd inhaled thier stuff since my birth, I still couldn't get used to it. I figured then I didn't need cigarettes as part of my persona. They weren't for me.

I've often wondered what prompted the individual who initially discovered tobacco, to decide that the smell and discomfort caused by the smoke was somehow beneficial. What was the attraction? Maybe they had bad BO and the nicotine fumes smelled better. Perhaps a more suitable fly and evil spirit repellant? Who knows.

And now, what is it about someone with one of those little white things poking out their face that convinces them they're visually in style? It really looks silly. Somehow, the masses have concluded that a cigarette, on fire, in your mouth, can improve your appearance. It's decidedly better than a finger up the nose. But really, what's the draw here? Freud would have much to say on the matter. I don't get it though. Why would someone who doesn't smoke, ask someone who does, for a teaching on using a substance that burns the eyes, makes them cough and smell bad? It's a peer pressure mystery.

Another puzzlement that has me thinking. Why do women smoke? Guys scratch and spit, squirt snot and fart, so it's not too much of a stretch to add a ciggy to the behavior. The image doesn't suffer. A gal however, that's got a nice do and duds, the right makeup with danglies and beads, who lights one up, just doesn't do it for me. As a matter of fact, any woman, gussied up or not with a cigarette isn't too attractive. There's an ample amount of unappealing that's been added. So ladies, if you smoke it ain't pretty. Besides, you stink.

Improvisational

2009-12-23T11:59:00.000-08:00

I've not liked improvisational jazz much. I like a little, but if it gets too random, I stop listening. I want a bit of a melody line. It needs to resolve or it becomes musical chaos on key.

Ironically, I appreciate alot of abstract paintings that can look very chaotic. What appeals to me are the colors and how balanced the work is in design. If there is some emotion it also illicits, that's good too. But, some things just grab me and I can't explain why.

The impressionists had perhaps my favorite artistic style. They veered from the realistic, ad libbed the scenes and came up with great compositions. But they didn't go too far from the tune.

Minimalists, however are not on my like list. Their work looks to me like visual intellectualism. I find it dull, flat and boring. All head and no heart, like playing an uncomplicted melody over and over.

I was working on a drawing from a photo the other day and could not get a feel for it. The pose was just that, a pose. It looked stiff. I got frustrated and ended up with what I've drawn. It's a departure from what I usually do but I like it for some reason. I guess it's because it's improvisational. A bit of a jazz face.

A Realization

2009-12-21T12:55:00.000-08:00

In the depth of Winter

I finally learned

That there was within me

An invincible Summer

Albert Camus

Boredom

2009-12-20T16:01:00.000-08:00

I would often go to the Saturday Market in Portland. It was a great place to find arts and crafts of all kinds but I'd frequent it just to watch people. One day I bought a snack at the food court and settled in to observe. A hot dog stand was across the way and I noticed these two gals waiting for a customer. None came. They busied themselves with cleaning and straightening until there was nothing left to do. They finally nestled into the pose I've drawn.

Depression

2009-12-17T10:23:00.001-08:00

My parents lived through the 1930's economic upheaval. It seemed to affect my dad the most. He talked about it quite alot and was always frugal in his spending. His father lost a grocery store and the large family of ten or so children lived at the poverty level for some years until the war. He was a hoarder of all things assumed to be of future usefulness. His garage was packed with cans of rusty fasteners, old spark plugs, wine corks, and a variety of rescued items from junk stores. His philosophy was, "Ya never know".

I've never experienced any kind of lack as my dad. He was, like most of that generation, an excellent provider and wanted to be certain that our family had what he didn't. I grew up with everything I needed. Most of my wants, as far as toys or whatever, were satisfied. Others in my neighborhood were like me.

I'm currently comfortable. The economic chaos hasn't affected me, and it's difficult to relate to those who are struggling. People can't understand another's pain unless they experience it themselves. I do have a concern though. I wonder about those who've lost everything. There is probably some young person, like my father, who will be permanently changed. I hope not.

However, it now appears that the financial situation is slowly improving. At least the number crunchers and economists say so. It looks as though we can look forward to another era of prosperity. But, "Ya never know".

Chance

2009-11-26T09:02:00.000-08:00

I've never been much of a gambler. I decided early on that my winning streak wouldn't be one at all, more like a stumble. I would enter contests as a kid but was always dissappointed. Bikes, BB guns and other toys to drool over, went to those that Chance smiled upon. I gave up trying in my adolecent years.

When the state lottery became official, temptation coaxed me out of my wariness and I got the itch to scratch. I don't remember how many tickets I bought, but I can assure you that there weren't many and all my money stayed in the treasury. I now think of money spent on lottery tickets as taxes which keeps me from buying them.

My wife and I stayed a night in Reno once while on a road trip. We did the cheap buffet in one of the joints and sauntered over to the slots. She played the nickel machines. I think all the bells, flashing lights and noise must have numbed me into thinking I could leave with more than I came with. I was overcome with naievity and invested in a quarter bandit. I looked at my small handful of coins and hoped that one would nausiate the box enough for it to puke out a pot. It just burped a beep and had no indigestion for any of them. Susan the Lucky though, won a bucket full of nickles and we left pretty happy. However, a speeding ticket on the way home consumed her winnings along with a bit more. Did I mention she was driving? We've since sworn off casinos.

I have never even once entertained the thought of betting on horses. The odds against winning to me seem astronomical. My relationship with Chance along with the inconceivable variables of horse and rider, guarantee a loss for me. You've got this guy on a horse who has to keep his weight down and may be faint from hunger. Or maybe had a fight with his trainer, girl friend or wife or maybe all three and is not in the mood to ride. Or perhaps nature calls in the middle of the ride. Cramps, pulled muscle, brain anurysm. Is he going to race at his full capacity? No. Then there's the horse who may have had a bad oat for breakfast or a fight with rider. Maybe it's thinking it will just stop running because it's tired of getting whipped and wants to retire. Cramps, pulled muscle, brain anurysm. No bob-tail nag for me. Gambling on horses is like feeding them dollars.

We were standing on the platform in Polgate, England waiting for the train to London when I noticed small gaggles of ladies starting to gather. They were dressed in their finery and all had hats of various sizes perched on their heads. We boarded the train and I sat across from the woman pictured above. Her's was much less ostentatious than most, but I wanted to ask if the crow put up much of a fight. I thought better of it. Someone popped open a champagne bottle and passed around the bubbly in paper cups. Curiosity won and I finally asked her what the occasion was. It was ladies day at the horse races and those of the feminine variety with a hat would get in free.

Oh. I immediately explained to her that the laws of probability were dead set against her and suggested she give me her betting money since she was going to lose it anyway. No, she wanted the chance to lose it herself. Too bad. I would have spent it wisely on overcrowded tourist attractions and taken a chance on bland fish n chips.

Hair

2009-11-09T11:40:00.000-08:00

My face is taller now. It was much shorter earlier in my life but has grown alot over the last few years. I don't like it. As a matter of fact I never really liked it. It never looked good enough for me. I had someone once tell me I had bedroom eyes but that's a different item. If I could go back to those days of yesteryear, I'd tell myself I looked pretty ok. My face wasn't movie star material but I look acceptable in photos from then. I should have accepted what I had and not worried about my handsomness factor. I would have been less shy.

Andre Aggasi was concerned about his looks. His face grew taller than mine at an early age. So much so that he had fake hair in his twenties. It looked good probably because it was long and flowing when he played tennis. He doesn't have much hair now but he looks good. Real good. I'd like to look like him but I've decided that what I have is enough. When I'm seventy and my face lengthens to the upper back half of my head, I won't look as great as I do now. I'll see pictures of myself taken in my more hansome years and realize even though women didn't chase me down I need to like my face now. I'm starting to.

It's been said that God knows the number of hairs on an individual's head. I think people lose their hair so He doesn't have to keep track of so many. I'd be more comfortable now though if I still had my younger number.

Sign of the Times

2009-10-15T07:33:00.000-07:00

I returned recently from a three and a half week visit to England where I did all the tourist stuff. We spent most of our time in London. I marveled at the art, monuments and architecture and took way too many pictures. After a while I became visually saturated and everything began to look like one giant antique. I was ready to come back to the bland modern of Phoenix.

We visited the city of Rye in Sussex, a port on the Channel and wandered down its cobbled streets. It could have easily been a set for filming a medieval movie. We came across a house with a four foot tall entry door. People were supposedly shorter then because of diet or maybe genetics. Evidently the home owners were a bit more diminutive than their neighbors whose doors were taller. Maybe they wanted to keep the average sized swat team of the era from easily storming the building.

The plaque shown above was a few doors down. I wonder if it could been mounted on every building in the city.

Good Love

2009-09-19T01:59:00.000-07:00

It knocked me down, it dragged me out, it left me there for dead. It took all the freedom I wanted and gave me something else instead. It blew my mind, it bled me dry, it hit me like a long goodbye, and nobody here knows better than I that it’s a good thing.
Love is a good thing. It’ll fall like rain on your parade, laugh at the plans that you tried to make, it’ll wear you down till your heart just breaks and it’s a good thing. Love is a good thing.
It’ll wake you up in the middle of the night, it’ll take just a little too much. It’ll burn you like a cinder till you’re tender to the touch. It’ll chase you down, swallow you whole, it’ll make your blood run hot and cold. Like a thief in the night it’ll steal your soul, and that’s a good thing. Love is a good thing. It’ll follow you down to the ruin of your great divide, and open the wounds that you tried to hide. And there in the rubble of the heart that died you’ll find a good thing. Love is a good thing.
Take cover, the end is near. Take cover, but do not fear. It’ll break your will, it’ll change your mind, it’ll loose all the chains of the ties that bind. If you’re lucky you’ll never make it out alive, and that’s a good thing. Love is a good thing. It can hurt like a blast from a hand grenade when all that used to matter is blown away. There in the middle of the mess it made you’ll find a good thing.Yes, it’s worth every penny of the price you paid. It’s a good thing.
Love is a good thing.
Do not fear.

Andrew Peterson

Looking Good

2009-08-27T15:47:00.000-07:00

If good looks are so important,
Why do beautiful people
Get divorced?

Aged People

2009-08-21T14:35:00.001-07:00

I took my camera to the mall the other day to find a new subject. I saw this gentleman just outside sitting on a bench smoking a cigarette. He appeared to be well into his seventies and was wearing slippers. I seem to see alot of elderly wearing slippers in public. Perhaps it's their standard footwear around the house and it takes too much effort to change into street shoes.

I'm kind of intrigued by older folks when I see them. I wonder about their histories. Where were they born. What kind of family life did they have. Were there siblings and what gender. How many loves and were they ever broken hearted. Would their lives make interesting biographies. I didn't want to bother this fellow with all my questions. He seemed deep in thought.

There have been some intersting experiences in my life I could write about. There's been lots of emotion. Perhaps when I'm in my seventies and truly aged I'll write about it.

Pigs

2009-08-19T07:23:00.000-07:00

I like pigs.

Dogs look up to us.

Cats look down on us.

Pigs treat us as equals.

Winston Churchill

Sometimes Life

2009-08-12T11:31:00.000-07:00

Susan and I were house parents for a time and looked after a group of young women who were hormonally pregnant, had OCD, PTSD and all the other personality traits associated with dysfunctional families. It was hard, very hard at times. The work was rewarding though, when we saw girls get their lives together and return to school or obtain work. The stress however, needed relieving and I would often get away. The photo shows a scene taken then, along the river in Portland's Waterfront Park, a calming place I would frequent. Another winter shot, it probably reflects the feelings and frame of mind I was in.

On Living

2009-07-27T10:52:00.000-07:00

I would rather live my life as if there is a God

and die to find out there isn't,

than live my life as if there isn't

and die to find out there is.

Albert Camus

Jane Sophia

2009-07-24T07:57:00.001-07:00

My five year old grand daughter was over for a visit and asked if she could play with my iPod. She found an old Stetson Fedora in our play clothes, punched the top to make it round, and nestled into an over-stuffed chair. I caught her in deep concentration.

Heart's Desires

2009-07-17T09:16:00.000-07:00

Once you get what you want,

You won't want it.

Salvador Dali

Accordions

2009-06-29T18:46:00.000-07:00

A drawing by Gary Larson comes to mind when I think of accordions. In the upper half of his single panel, there are people entering heaven and each is given a harp. The lower half has people going into hell. They all recieve, you guessed it, an accordion.

I'm not sure what antagonism Mr. Larson had against them, but I don't think accordions fit in with Lucifer. Millions of banjos, all simultaneously strummed, blaring out "Oh Suzanna" seems more fitting. Bagpipes! Now there's an instrument that could get you all fired up.

Accordions were supposedly invented in 1822 by Christian Fredrich Ludwig Buschmann in Berlin. If I had a name like that, I definitely would feel motivated to invent something. They were originally used for folk music but have found their place in classical, popular and even heavy metal.

I have to say that accordions are not high on my list of listened to instruments. I think Lawrence Welk tainted my tastes. I do however like a simple tune squeezed out with a clear melody line and not too much chording. "La Vie En Rose" played like that would stir my French passion. Susan and I were in Reims a few years ago, wandering down a street blocked off to keep cars out and tourists in. The fellow I've drawn was playing as we went by him. We didn't stop to listen. I'd like to go back now and hear him. Accordions are kind of on my mind.

Unquiet Mind

2009-06-22T10:27:00.000-07:00

.I have been a painter's pallet,
Full of laughter
And of song and love.
Within my soul wildflowers grew
Like multicolored quilts.
I have been every hue.

All of this is now forgotten.
Evidence of it will not be found.
The greys of sunless skies for weeks
Have filled my thoughts.
I float in endless misty seas.
I long for some sensation,
Some desire, to drop
A bit of light upon my being.

Yet, my mind I know
Will have its spectrum,
And fill again with joy and life.
For time shall be my saviour.

It must.

based on AN UNQUIET MIND

by Kay Redfield Jamison PhD

Life Changes

2009-06-16T17:25:00.000-07:00

It was 1969 and the winter of my discontent. The girl I wrote of in Legs had dumped me a month or so earlier and I was completely broken-hearted and depressed. On this particular day I was wandering around Portland State University with my camera taking photos of whatever caught my eye. I saw the fountain pouring its life out on the pavement and took the shot. I was making no artistic statement when I captured the image. However, thinking back on it now, it looks much like how I felt. Life was mighty grey and all joy had drained out of me. Perhaps my subconscience was really trying to say something.

I met my tootsie the next year in a drawing class. When she walked into the room, something within me knew we'd connect. We did, after I finally had the courage to ask her for a date. We've been together ever since. She is a quiet and soft spoken gal with great, deep wells of mercy and compassion for the poor and orphan. An excellent mom, she stayed home in lieu of a career and poured her life into our children. She gave them love, nurturing and security. She's my wife, lover and mistress and has stayed by my side even with all my faults and is definitely my best friend.

Susan is an artist and is always looking for subjects to paint. For some reason, why, I don't know, she's always liked the fountain picture. A few years ago she did a water color of it and it hangs in our living room. The contrast is striking. Considering my gloomy mood when I took the photo and what she has brought into my life, Susan has very much colored my world.

2500

2009-05-25T11:19:00.000-07:00

The Yuma State Teritorial Prison was opened July 1, 1876 and housed inmates for 33 years until it became overcrowded. It was closed and used briefly as a high school from 1910 to 1914 and is why Yuma High's football team's name became the Criminals. Later abandoned, it was used in the 1930's by itinerants as housing. There is graffiti scratched on the walls of some cells. Names of complete family members are found in in one. The prison is now a state park and museum. I visited there a while back and took a photo of number 2500's picture to draw. The original shows him holding a specially designed mirror that fits on his shoulder to give a side view. A clever idea because the negatives were probably glass plates and expensive. I'm not sure what type of miscreant he was. I assume he was a robber since most of the 3069 inmates that stayed there over the years were. I also don't know why they displayed his photo. There wasn't any caption about him. Maybe the warden gave out prizes when they hit 2500.

Aged Buildings

2009-05-21T11:51:00.000-07:00

The Portland Benson Hotel is one of those old buildings I love so well. It was built by Simon Benson, a lumber barron, at a cost of one million dollars. Then, a tidy sum and indicates it's grand opulence for the time. It was opened in 1913. Done in the Arts and Crafts style, it has marble and wood paneling all throughout the lobby; a very stately old gentlemanly building.

The photo shows the stairwell also done in marble with polished bannisters. It was taken on the ninth floor and shows the type of things I look for in old places. Stairwells are where I like to go just to experience the spaces and angles the steps and rails create. Every turn gives another graphic view.

My wife and I stayed in the Benson for two nights over a couple of Christmas holiday seasons. We chose from the least expensive suites. They are nicely furnished and upgraded to current standards except for the windows. A single paned glass is held in with putty, standard building practice for the era when they were put in place. We had a cold breeze from one once where the putty had pulled away from the window. It wasn't a problem. The individuality of the old place made it fun. We enjoyed ourselves.

We also lived in an old house built about the same time, 1910 to be exact. We were there for three years. It was originally the home of Malcom MacDonald, co-owner of the Oregon Nursery Company, ORENCO. Another Arts and Crafts style home or perhaps I should say mansion. It has eight thousand square feet of floor space. It was to be demolished but was converted to a home for unsuported young pregnant women and is leased from the Elks who are the landlords. The organization we worked for is still using it.

Built when heating was done with fireplaces, the walls had no insulation and windows were once again single paned. Winters there reminded me of Shackleton's antarctic expedition. It felt like a wooden ship stuck in the ice. I would often think of the person who invented the electric blanket. I had very warm feelings for him.

It was a great experience to be there, but I'm done living in old buildings. I now just like to visit.

Desparate

2009-05-09T20:25:00.000-07:00

LOVE SO NEEDS TO LOVE

THAT IT WILL ENDURE

ALMOST ANYTHING

EVEN ABUSE

JUST TO FLICKER

FOR A MOMENT

Rumi

Progress

2009-04-24T11:21:00.000-07:00

I took this somewhat dismal photo in 1969 while exploring with a friend a soon to be demolished apartment house. It was to make way for the expansion of PSU in Portland, Oregon. Old buildings have always fascinated me both from the outside and in, either abandoned or occupied. They can be ornate or simple, renovated or left alone. I don't care. They have so much character. They all have a certain personality that overshadows the new, pristine and computer designed architecture.

It's been said we are a consumer society. We crave the new and throw away the old, especially buildings. Too bad. It's true we keep a few around, some even as museums because a notable historic event took place there. However, the elderly that no longer have any apparent use we discard. Developers would do well to make an effort to keep our architectural heritage even if we're only 200 years old. Europe does a much better job.

Lover

2009-03-23T15:58:00.000-07:00

See how He holds the

Stars in His hands.

See how He holds my heart.

God is a lover

Looking for a lover

So He fashioned me.

from "See The Way"

by Misty Edwards

Joy of Youth

2009-03-23T15:45:00.000-07:00

My grandson, Mordecai, was in between diaper changes and wandering around "au natural" the other day. I couldn't help but take his photo. It'll probably be used to embarass him when he's older.

Bonny and Son

2009-03-04T07:07:00.000-08:00

I haven't done any portraits of my family except of my son. His was the first drawing posted on this blog. I was looking for someone to draw and I chose this latest on a whim. It's probably the right choice since Bonny is my son's wife. I don't know if number one son or number two is shown. I couldn't tell from the photo. Hence the anonymity.

Gioacchino

2009-02-10T09:19:00.000-08:00

Tonnaroti are Italian tuna fishermen. They get together in the spring to catch and slaughter the fish in a gathering called a matanza and are led by a shaman-like figure known as a rais. Gioacchino was a former one. I read about this in an article from a magazine and his picture captured my attention. He is a very large bull of a man with bicepts as big as his neck. As Bertie Wooster once said "It's as though Nature decided to make a gorilla, but at the last minute changed it's mind." I found his face extremely interesting and full of expression. I needed to draw it.

Barney

2009-01-27T22:58:00.001-08:00

There are definitely beautiful movie stars in the US but I've grown rather tired of all the pretty faces the entertainment industry promotes. That seems to be mostly all there is. Films and television are full of images of people without spot or wrinkle. Blemishes or lack of facial symmetry cannot be tolerated. Noses, eyes, ears, and lips must all harmoniously relate on one's visage or you cannot be a star. A body must have perfect flesh. Once in a while there will be a "character" face that will come along. But they will normally be some foppish protagonist or an evil one, rarely the main character. I like Boston Legal. I have to sometimes turn it off because the plot gets too crass but the main folks on there are of the non-beautiful variety. They've aged. They're wrinkled. Some are fat. It's nice. I also like to take in a foreign film once in a while. It's a refreshing break from the "norm". Their stars usually look as though they're not from the Hollywood Barbi and Ken factory.

Barney is the security guard at the church I attend. I was immediately drawn to his looks when I first saw him and wanted to do his portrait. His face facinates me. It has been sculpted and chisled by genetics, weather and life experiences. It has much to say if you care to take the time to look. There must be many stories beneath. If I were a film magnate, I'd make him a star.

Fear

2009-01-08T13:19:00.000-08:00

Fear is like a hologram.

It appears so real.

And then when you go behind it

you realize there is nothing there.

It's all an illusion.

Jane Stern

"Ambulance Girl"

Lunch

2009-01-02T21:55:00.000-08:00

I was wandering around downtown Portland in Winter 2006 and noticed the bag perched on a window sill of a large building. I checked out its contents and found a hamburger inside. A homeless man, all bundled up for the cold, came along and did as I did just after I took the photo. He was obviously hungry because the bag went with him.

I think life is kind of like the picture at times for me. I tend to see things in black and white. I'm rather opinionated. There are also many times that I view my existence in drab greys. I then come across something that really catches my interest, I get totally focused and run with it.

Sue

2008-12-05T11:03:00.001-08:00

Good friend and wife of Mike. She's an excellent cook, Artist, and is opinionated as I am.

Mike

2008-12-05T10:57:00.001-08:00

A very intelligent fellow and good friend. He understands and speaks fluent Electron and can also make a mighty fine bottle of wine.

Backwards

2008-12-05T10:28:00.000-08:00

You can't go backwards

You must go forward

You have not been what you could be

When you are the only one who enslaves you

Then you're the only one who can set yourself free

Don't run away

Question the Answers

Live your life like it's on fire

Your one mistake is to think

That you've made one

Don't run away

You can't have mountains without the valleys

You can't grow high if you won't go deep

You can't do over what you've done already

Expecting something new to see

I will not be bought

I won't be caged

Won't stay behind these walls where it's safe

I'm tired of trying to compensate for you

Kendall Payne

The Fam

2008-12-01T08:47:00.000-08:00

Who am I O Sovereign Lord

And what is my family

That your have

brought me this far?

David

Melancholy

2008-11-30T17:22:00.001-08:00

I must confess I did this rough sketch from a painted portrait I found in a magazine. What attracted me was the look in the model's eyes and how the artist had captured them. I wanted to do the same so I gave them the greatest detail.

Winter

2008-11-20T18:39:00.000-08:00

I took this in Oregon last winter around the house where I lived. There was a field of weeds and this one caught my eye. I like it because of the delicate and graceful shapes. There are a whole lot of metaphors to go along with this photo. I'll let you imagine your own.

Legs

2008-08-12T17:53:00.000-07:00

I tend to be lean. I have been all my life. I never wanted it that way. I wanted to be big enough to play football and not be concerned about the jocks giving me a bad time. My bones are light. I grew up wirey and I could run. I should have gone out for track but I was too shy. Whenever all of us neighborhood boys got together to play football, the opposite team never wanted me to get the ball. No one could touch me. I was fast.

My physique has always been a concern for me. Everyone told me I'd fill out when I got in my twenties. It didn't happen. So then the family said my thirties would make the difference. Not so. Your forties is the magic age. Yes, when all humans start to be concerned about their image in the mirror. The belt size grows, the dress size notches up, the dreaded middle age buldge becomes another drain on your finances to look twenty again. I still weigh about the same as I did in college.

I wore shorts around as a kid until I reached the age of self consciousness. They became the missing part to my wardrobe. However, I decided it was ok in college and exposed my legs only once in a while and not without uneasyness. Shorts have gone missing again and I'd never wear them in public. I don't like people asking me where the rest of the chicken suit is.

I had a cute girlfriend I dated for a while back then. One warm sunny summer day, I suggested we go swimming. It was something we had done before. She agreed. No Problem. We drove out the Columbia River Gorge and ended up at Rooster Rock State Park about an hour and half from Portland. The beaches were sandy, the water was warm and the weather nice. Not too many people. Perfect. We had a great time. I remember we came out of the water and stood facing each other. She simled at me and then took a look at those things I use to stand with. I can still hear the words she said with a somewhat serious look. "You've got skinny legs!" If she had a 45 and shot me it would have felt better. I was stunned. How could she say that about her guy? Ouch!

"Uh, yeah", was all that would come out. We walked a ways down the beach as I stewed over her comment. Unfortunately, I decided then, that I should make a verbal obsevation about her legs as being fat. Which I did. Women are a bit sensitive over negative remarks about their anatomy. I came to a better understanding of the fact on that day. This gal was pretty normal and sensitive and suddenly joined me in being in a bad mood. I wanted to go right then because the afternoon sun didn't seem as bright and cheery as it was when we arrived. She said she did not want to leave in a rather vehement tone and walked off in a huff. I ended up sitting in the car for about ten minutes until it finally hit me. She was in control of when we were to depart. It was all on her terms. I had to wait. For her! Since my level of maturity was about the same as hers, I did the only thing I could do. I left.

After about a half hour down the road, reality set in and it donned on me what I had done. I turned around and went back to look for her. She was no where to be found. Some kind soul had given her a ride not realizing the type of stubborn headed girl she was. I thought she should have waited. We made up on the phone that evening which kind of surprized me. I would have broken it off with someone who left me stranded seventy or so miles from home. She dumped me later that year though. She fell for another guy and rode off into the sunset on the back of his motorcycle. But it's all turned out ok. Even if my legs aren't as fat as they were then, I'm certain her's aren't as skinny.

The Dog

2008-08-12T12:38:00.001-07:00

We named him Thomas Jefferson, which seemed like the patriotic thing to do. He was born on the Forth of July. Thomas Jefferson had too many syllables so we called him TJ, and it fit. He was a Sheltie Schnauser mix, his head came up to my knee and as dogs go, he was pretty sharp. He understood what you said to him. He could pick out of his half dozen or so toys the one you asked for and be right every time. We lived in a split-level and the stairs were such that you could throw the preferred toy of the day down the steps from the living room and it would end up in the basement. He would go rumbling down after it and do it over and over as long as you wanted to throw for him. He'd get winded and pant alot. You could tell him to stop and get a drink, he would, and come back for more fetching. Smart dog.

There were however, times when his bulb would become severely dim. We had a large walnut tree in the front yard and TJ liked to relax in it's shade and take in the smells and sights. I was doing something one day in the front with him behind me under the tree when I heard the neighbor's screen door open and close. I immediately noticed their cat, and so did TJ.

I have to say that TJ was not just your basic dog when it came to cats. There were dark things within him regarding felines. He had some baggage. When we brought him home from the pet store, there were already two cats in residence. Adult cats. Adult type cats that don't like to be messed with without permission. Even though you may be a small puppy with innocent motives, you will be rejected by adult cats. Such was the case with TJ. It's been said that rejection will make you either bitter or better. The dog got along with the two ugly step sisters but he was not better. So he grew up and lived in a dysfunctional household for dogs. Strange cats or neighbor cats were however there for him to vent upon. He would bark obscenities at any who came into view, especially those who put a paw on his property. It would take a bit for him to settle down after they went their way. His hair would stand up and he'd growel a while. You could tell there was quite a burnin' urn of funk inside.

When the cat appeard I heard a bark and then a growel behind me and I turned to see him take off. I think he saw this as an opportunity for him to unload all of his supressed resentment and frustration. I could tell that his throttle was at full adrenalin and his weapons were set to kill and rip to shreds. He was flying and it was a beautiful sight.

I think he reached terminal velocity at about twenty feet. That also happend to be the length of slack that was in his twenty-five foot rope, the end of which was tied to the walnut tree. I do mean terminal because when he reached rope limit, his head neck and shoulders came to an instant halt. His rear end went flying past, he flipped in the air about a foot and landed on his back with a thump. It took three days for him to get his bark back. I loved that dog. I miss him.

A Joke for God

2008-08-12T11:35:00.000-07:00

If you want to make God laugh,

tell Him your plans.

from: "bella"

GiGi

2008-08-08T11:42:00.001-07:00

GiGi is what all the kids call her. She is my son-in-law's grandmother, in her mid eighites, four foot eleven, full of spunk, with a great wit. We we're all at a little league game but she wasn't watching the players. I caught her looking at my one and a half year old grandson playing in the grass in front of her. She was obviously distracted.

Dude

2008-08-08T11:34:00.000-07:00

I was listening to some music on the street in downtown Portland when this gentleman came and sat down. I couldn't help but notice him. He was very well dressed and had quite an air about him. He slowly scanned the crowd and as he looked my way, I took his photo. It didn't seem to bother him at all that a camera lens was pointed straight at him. He looked right through me and continued surveying the crowd. He definitely was a dude with an attitude. I think I captured his cool.

Satisfaction

2008-08-06T12:58:00.000-07:00

I took this photo in 1970 or 71 somewhere around Portland State University. It was not a peaceful time for me. Lots of turmoil within. Many were advocating Peace and Love then and making great efforts to instill them within our hearts. It didn't work too well for me. The peace so longed for in society seemed to fade and love just turned to lust. I went on with my life and looked for satisfaction I guess where everyone else seems to.

There was a fellow named Blaise Pascal who lived in the 1600's; a french philosopher and mathematition. I've never read any of his writings. Perhaps I should. I only remember the name from algebra and because of a particular quote attributed to him. He is supposed to have said that all men are born with a God shaped hole in them. He didn't say it in those words. It was much more lengthy and verbose. Here is my parahprase: Man was once truly happy but all traces of that are gone. He tries to fill himself up with things, status and relationships but to no avail. We have an infinitely insatiable abyss within. Only the infinite one, God, can fill it.

It took me a long time to figure that out. I realized that going after things, status and relationship is not necessarily wrong but it doesn't ever satisfy. There is never enough and I've had pretty much everything I ever wanted. I even tried God as a filler but I was only pretending and really wasn't content. It's been only in the last few years that I've allowed Him full access. I finally let God into the endlessness of my soul with great difficulty. There were places within me I didn't want touched. It took time to trust and allow Him in but now I know what true Peace and Love are. I understand that my fulfillment in life is through intimicy with God and allowing Him to be my Lover. By that I mean Lover in every sense of the word. So, for you who have visited here, may you know Love. May Love know you. May you also find the Prince of Peace, Jesus

Age

2008-07-31T20:01:00.000-07:00

Remember, you're only young once,

But you can always be immature.

Dave Barry

Little Sister

2008-07-29T10:10:00.000-07:00

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.

Someone's Mama

2008-07-29T09:44:00.001-07:00

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.

Old Gang Guy

2008-07-16T13:46:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-16T12:57:00.000-07:00

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.

C.S. Lewis

Mysterious Heart

2008-07-16T11:18:00.001-07:00

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.

Daydreamer

2008-07-12T08:44:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure why, but I like this drawing. Perhaps it's because it's kind of free and informal. This was from a class and the model had ridden her bike. She was tired and her hair was a mess. She was staring out the window for this pose.

Storms

2008-07-11T15:00:00.000-07:00

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

finds.

From "Storm"

By Fernando Ortega, Elaine Rubenstein, John Andrew Schreiner

The Man In The Hat

2008-07-11T14:43:00.002-07:00

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.

Stood Up

2008-07-11T14:16:00.001-07:00

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.

David

2008-07-06T09:05:00.001-07:00

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.