Tag Archives: artwork

Return of the Train Man

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I was an aficionado of HO model trains as a kid.  I continued that horrendous fixation with 1/78th scale worlds long into my extended juvenile immaturity (I was an unmarried teacher of middle school students until 1995.)    Even after I was married, my wife allowed me, to a very limited degree, to continue to be a train man.

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I spent a good deal of time over the years building building plastic model kits of buildings, painting and repainting plaster model buildings, and collecting engines, rolling stock, and trackside details.  Painting little 1/78th scale people is definitely an exercise for steady hands and a zen-like, highly focused mind.

But that all reached an impasse when we moved to the Dallas area.  I had to tear down my train layout, box up my trains, and put everything on hold until I had another place to build and create my HO model-train world.  So, while it was all boxed up and transported to first, a house that we rented from my brother-in-law, and then a house that we bought, it got shifted around and stacked inappropriately, and grandma put some really heavy items on top to crush and mangle my treasures.  It also spent a night outside in the rain when my brother-in-law’s water heater had to be replaced in the garage where everything was stored.  I was not a happy camper for a while.

Now, a decade later, I am still taking the tiny items and trying to glue the pieces back together.  I have basically given up trying to get the trains to run again.  But I can use the bits and pieces of Toonerville to make pictures like these.  It makes the art-parts of my psyche and soul a little happier.

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Old number 99 had to have the front part where the headlamp is located reattached and restored.  It gave me something to do this weekend while I was down with a bad back and breathing difficulties.  It would be neat to put the train table back together and get things set up once again, but there is no space, and no unlimited funds, and less and less time.  So for now, the train man comes back to me to rebuild in photographs and in my imagination.

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Filed under artwork, autobiography, humor, photo paffoonies, Trains

Whoo I Are?

One way to define myself is through the pictures I draw.  So today… less words… more draw.

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I am certainly not the greatest artist who ever lived.  But when you draw a lot… and do it for 60 years… man, you have a lot of drawings stuffed away in drawers and closets!

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Filed under artwork, cartoons, colored pencil, goofiness, humor, Paffooney, self portrait, strange and wonderful ideas about life

Art Projects That Mickey Doo

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Mickey is suffering from too much politixity and angriefied argumentery to sleep well and eat well .   He has been eating , sleeping , and breathing polytix to the point that he can’t even spell properly any more .  Besides , pollertix doesn’t taste so good when you have to eat it after an election that went wrong . c360_2016-11-13-14-44-44-313

So Mickey started doing what Mickey always doo .   He started to draw.  First with pencil , then with black ink .   And then he started to color it in with colored pencil.  The spelling started to get better .  And not just because Mickey stopped having fist fights with the spell check . 20161113_202548

Other art projects helped too.  Like photographing Trolls in the Cardboard Castle . 20161113_202051

So, if the things that Mickey do help to save the brain , then he better doo before it all becomes doo doo.

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Filed under artwork, feeling sorry for myself, humor

Making Portraits

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My biggest regret as a cartoonist and waster of art supplies is the fact that I am not the world’s best portrait artist.  I can only rarely make a work of art look like a real person.  Usually the subject has to to be a person I love or care deeply about.  This 1983 picture of Ruben looks very like him to me, though he probably wouldn’t recognize himself here as the 8th grader who told me in the fall of 1981 that I was his favorite teacher.  That admission on his part kept me from quitting and failing as a first year teacher overwhelmed by the challenges of a poor school district in deep South Texas.

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My Great Grandma Hinckley was really great.

My great grandmother on my mother’s side passed away as the 1970’s came to an end.  I tried to immortalize her with a work of art.  I drew the sketch above to make a painting of her.  All my relatives were amazed at the picture.  They loved it immensely.  I gave the painting to my Grandma Aldrich, her second eldest daughter.  And it got put away in a closet at the farmhouse.  It made my grandma too sad to look at every day.  So the actual painting is still in a closet in Iowa.

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There were, of course, numerous students that made my life a living heck, especially during my early years as a teacher.  But I was one of those unusual teachers (possibly insane teachers) who learned to love the bad kids.  Love/hate relationships tend to endure in your memory almost as long as the loving ones.  I was always able to pull the good out of certain kids… at least in portraits of them.

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When kids pose for pictures, they are not usually patient enough to sit for a portrait artist.  I learned early on to work from photographs, though it has the disadvantage of being only two-dimensional.  Sometimes you have to cartoonify the subject to get the real essence of the person you are capturing in artiness.

But I can’t get to the point of this essay without acknowledging the fact that any artist who tries to make a portrait, is not a camera.  The artist has to put down on paper or canvas what he sees in his own head.  That means the work of art is filtered through the artist’s goofy brain and is transformed by all his quirks and abnormalities.  Therefore any work of art, including a portrait that looks like its subject, is really a picture of the artist himself.  So, I guess I owe you some self portraits to compare.

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Yeah, that’s me at 10… so what?

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Filed under art criticism, artwork, autobiography, humor, kids, Paffooney, self portrait, strange and wonderful ideas about life

Toonerville Trickshots

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Today, in view of ill health and brain pain, I will share with you some of the more picture-intensive thinking going on in my sick old artsy-fartsy brain.  Less words equals less headache.

The subject today is Toonerville, the little town that once existed on my HO model train layout, and now lives on my bookshelves and even more-so in my imagination.  I have a file of photos I made of it intending to composite them into backgrounds and details in photo-shopped cartoons.

Notice how one building from different angles can look like many different places.

And details can be cropped out so that a building can be placed over a background in a composite image.

Thus a lighted model becomes Bill Freen’s house in Toonerville.

And I have many of these buildings to experiment with.

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Sometimes this blithering nonsense can actually be quite fun and productive.

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Honestly, I built these things from kits or painted and repainted them decades ago… but they are a part of a place that I still live in.

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Filed under art editing, artwork, collage, feeling sorry for myself, happiness, healing, photo paffoonies, playing with toys

Sick and Sad…

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Ant bites can cause an allergic reaction.  So can the ragweed pollen that floats in massive quantities through the Texas air right now.  So can reports that Donald Trump won the recent debate, despite the evidence presented before my very eyes that he was destroyed like a movie monster in the 1960’s at the end of the late night horror flick.  Whatever the cause, I am feeling poorly.  Another day of inaction and illness and sore throats and headaches.  My daughter, the Princess, is also home from school today ill.  She’s in slightly better shape than I am.  But we will recover.  The country, if it is truly as filled with ignorant racist people as the Trump presidential campaign has made it seem, will not.  Soon we will be forced to shout, “Seig heil!” at the cinnamon Hitler we have apparently chosen to put in charge.  How is he not polling negative percentages after that debate?  He should have to give back three quarters of those votes he got in the Republican primaries.

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Filed under angry rant, humor, illness, Paffooney

Stardusters… Canto 14

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Canto Fourteen – Aboard the Orbital Station

In Gracie’s opinion, Tanith was a natural leader.  Gracie was the older, wiser head, even though she inhabited a little girl’s body now.  But she had no trouble with letting Tanith give the orders, and being herself the resource they could call upon when needed.

“Tanith, dear, how do these weapons work?” Gracie asked.  She held the ray gun in her two hands and studied the Buck-Rodgers-looking thing.  The end of the pistol-looking part had a silver ball thingy on it surrounded by a concave reflecting mirror.

“You point the end you are looking at towards your target and pull the trigger,” Tanith answered.  “It’s simple, really.  But I want all three of you to let me have the first shot if we have to defend ourselves.  Like Dav said, the consequences of missing the target could be fatal.”

“What do you mean?” asked Brekka while pointing the silver ball end at her own face.  Tanith grabbed the gun before Brekka could accidentally pull a trigger.

“Just think what would happen if a stray shot hits a station wall and disintegrates it.  First the space station goes pop with catastrophic depressurization, and then each one of us does.  It would be a horrible way to die.  And we would be killing the boys too.”

Menolly began holding her skortch pistol by the tail end using only two fingers.  She wouldn’t be much help in a shootout.  Neither would Brekka, it seemed.  But Gracie had gone squirrel hunting and pheasant hunting in the winter with her dad back in Iowa.  She knew how to hit a moving target with a regular gun, even a pistol.  She would definitely be the back-up Tanith would need in case the poop hit the fan blades.

“Follow me,” said Tanith, heading deeper into the mysteriously dark and quiet space station.

“Oh!  Tanith!” cried Menolly.  “There are bodies over here!  Dead bodies!”

Menolly was right.  There were lizard-people piled in one corner like they had been trying to claw their way out through a space station bulkhead.  They were scale-covered, possessing a tail, and they were definitely in a state of being deceased.  Deader than a door nail as Gracie’s father would’ve said thirty years ago.

“What killed them?” asked Brekka.

“I don’t know,” said Tanith, a little bit shakily.

“They haven’t been bitten or chewed on by an animal,” said Gracie, “though they appear to have been trying to get away from something.  There are no bullet holes in them, either.”

“What do you think it was, Gracie?” asked Tanith.

“Well, look at the way their eyes are filmy and cloudy-looking.  And the crust under their nostrils.  They may have been sick with some disease.  People with fever can sometimes imagine things, even things they are afraid of.”

“How do you know so much without ever being programmed in the egg?” asked Brekka.

“I’ve seen a lot of farm animals in my day,” said Gracie, nodding, “and cows, pigs, and especially sheep often get sick.  Don’t they program you with knowledge like that in your eggs?”

“We are specialized by our programming,” said Tanith.  “The computers try to match our training to the genetic markers we exhibit that indicate what natural skills we probably possess.”

“My, my…” clucked Gracie, “Earth children would never be able to say a sentence like that at your age, much less perform some of the skills you are gifted with by your egg programming.”

Tanith smiled in answer to that.  Gracie was truly impressed by these wonderful alien children, and she was coming to love them more and more as she got to know them.

“Do you think we will find anybody alive here?” asked Menolly.  Menolly was the child more easily moved to happiness and glee than either Tanith or Brekka, but she was also the one more quickly terrified of things, especially unknown things.

“There’s a special room over here,” said Brekka.  “It looks like it has a lot of plants in it.”

The other three girls followed Brekka into the room.

“It’s a hydroponic greenhouse,” said Gracie.

“How do you know that?” asked Brekka.

“Look at all the plants growing in hanging baskets.  And there is no dirt under any of them.  They are growing out of some wet, spongy material.  I was a farm girl, born and bred.  And a farm wife after that.  It is only natural that I would know about plants and growing them.”

Suddenly a voice came on over the intercom.  “What are you doing in my space station?” said an angry female voice.  “Especially Tellerons?  Don’t you know we Galtorrians eat Tellerons for breakfast?”

All three Telleron girls suddenly wet their pants.

*****

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Filed under aliens, humor, novel, NOVEL WRITING, satire, science fiction

Because Bankers Are Evil

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Yes, Bankers are evil, so I need pie.

My post today is just a bunch of old artwork because I had to spend the morning fixing a bank problem.  My mortgage payment got lost.  Yes, I had an Uncle Billy moment that turned out not to be my fault at all.  All the other payments went through the automatic bill pay system normally.  But the mortgage payment did not.  Even though it went through normally every month for the last three years.  The mortgage bankers apparently misplaced the electronic payment.  So I tracked down the proof of payment at my bank and printed it out.  The mortgage bankers, of course, will not accept it until I can get my wife’s signature on it.  And what will you bet that they are going to charge a late-payment fee?

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Unfinished Stag n snow

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Filed under angry rant, battling depression, feeling sorry for myself, humor, Paffooney

Making Hay

I call this post “Making Hay” as a goofy farmer reference.  I spent an hour this morning weed-whacking the yard that hasn’t had any attention for the month of August.  I know… lazy me… lazy arthritic, diabetic, lung-diseased me.  At the end of the hour I had a quarter of the yard weed-whacked and a great pile of hay lying in the middle of the sidewalk where it has no right to be according to the city.  And, of course, I did not have any energy left to rake it up.

So I came inside to re-learn how to breathe, to stop losing fifty percent of my body weight in sweat, and to rest my aching bones.  And while I was recovering, or possibly re-animating myself, I decided to try re-photographing an old work of art.  My portrait of Prinz Flute, the wizard-prince of Tellosia, is difficult to photograph because the colored pencil has a developed a sheen to it over time that reflects glare every time I try to photograph it.  The result isn’t that great.  But hey, I’m tired from making hay.

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Filed under artwork, humor, Paffooney, Uncategorized

Sculpture Anatomy

Here is a collage that represents one of my hoarding-disorder collecting diseases enabled by the internet.  The rules for this collection are basically;

  1. Only photographs.
  2. Only human bodies, or people parts.
  3. Only artistically created people parts made of non-people stuff.
  4. Naked is not only allowed, but preferred.

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    1. This is a porcelain doll, not a real girl… just so you know I didn’t break any rules.
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    The point is, art is a depiction of us.  No matter how you create it, what it visually portrays is a reflection, like the one in the bathroom mirror every morning.  Beautiful, grotesque, sexy, repulsive, adorable, or disturbing… it is who we are.  The point is also, it allows me to point, click, and save and create a collection that I don’t have to hide from my wife.  Because, well, you know… it’s art.

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Filed under artists I admire, artwork, collage, humor, nudes, old art