Here's some animation from last year that i didn't really show anyone. It's a bit on the creepy, experimental side & inspired by Audrey Kawasaki's art. i kept meaning to tell her about it via e-mail, but i'm scared she'll hate it or sue me... or something of the sort.
Some of October's drawings from the underground. When i was doing the blue one in pencil, a guy sitting next to me watched for a while, until he decided to let the woman across from me know that i was sketchin' her. It was kind of a weird encounter considering the woman didn't care to see the picture at all, & i can't say i did either, but the guy was so hyped about it. We all looked at each other for a minute with awkward smiles, until the train stopped at Union Square, where we all got off & proceeded to remain strangers.
Summer's gone, although today in New York city the high will be 88 degrees, & October is less than a week away. i'm living in Brooklyn for the time being, so sketches from the subway rides to the city are building up. For now, i'll put up some old drawings from this past spring, to compare to my recent ones i'll post later on.
Like whoaaaa, haven't been here in forever. i just skimmed through the few drawings i have, & am so embarrassed i even put them up that i almost deleted this whole thing. i've decided to keep it because progress is fun to see. Yeesh. Hopefully, i can get better this summer, even though i'm taking philosophy, sociology, & psych classes 'till July. To add to that, this past Thursday night i became a mommy.
MEET SPATZ! It's a boy. He's kinda too much.
The old man (who is currenty in the hospital & is unable to take care of it) found him... so now i've got to muster up all maternal instincts in me to help it survive, but i'm afraid i might have to keep him as a pet considering they imprint as babies terribly, especially when raised alone. What have i learned from spending all weekend taking care of Spatz? i'm never ever having kids, & being the owner of functional ovaries is a highly unfortunate state of affairs.
i haven't had a lot of time to draw in my spare time due to copious amounts of reading for humanities classes, & After FX'ing, & unnecessary Flash work i gave myself. Urgahheeh. Also, the short film is due in a month or two & that's gonna take up a lot of time, so this blog might be neglected for the time being.
Lately, i've been on this kick drawing straight ahead with sharpies & brush pens, & i'm positive it's making me draw worse, but i'm addicted & won't stop 'coz it's so fun.
For the sake of a few lines [wrote Rilke] one must see many cities men and things. One must know the animals, one must feel how the birds fly and know the gesture with which the small flowers open in the morning. One must be able to think back to roads in unknown regions to unexpected meetings, and to partings which one had long seen coming; to days of childhood that are still unexplained, to parents that one had to hurt when they brought one some joy and one did not grasp it (it was a joy for someone else); to childhood illness that so strangely began with a number of profound and grave transformations to days in rooms withdrawn and quiet and to mornings by the sea, to the sea itself, to seas to nights of travel that rushed along on high and flew with all the stars- and it is not yet enough if one may think of all this. One must have memories of many nights of love, none of which was like the others, of the screams of woman in labor, and of light, white, sleeping women in childbed, closing again. But one must also have been beside the dying, one must have sat beside the dead in the room with the open window and the fitful noises. And still it is not enough to have memories. One must be able to forget them when they are many, and one must have the great patience to wait until they come again. For it is not yet the memories themselves. Not until they have turned to blood within us, to glance, to gesture, nameless and no longer to be distinguished from ourselves- not until then can it happen that in a most rare hour the first word of a verse arises in their midst and goes forth from them.
[The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge, New York, W. W. Norton and Co., Inc., 1949]