Tag Archives: artwork

Mixed Media

I am once again needing to write an easy post because I am feeling quite ill.  So let me talk about an artist thing that is totally boring for those who already know about this stuff and fascinating to anyone who always wanted to know art secrets from the secret tomes of drawing-wizards and painting-wizards.  So here is some of the arcana gleaned from years of experimentation in the tippy-top of Mickey’s wizard’s tower.

Ariel

Pen and Ink – When I first discovered I could make pencil pictures of naked girls, long about the magical-hormone-age of twelve, I began regretting the fact that pencil pictures easily smear.  So, I had to find a further magical technique to make the pretties stay free of the dark clouds of graphite smudge.  The magic wand I chose first was the ink pen with black ink.  4th Dimension

Of course, I am not using examples of middle-school me drawing naked pen-and-ink girls.  Mothers, girlfriends, and wives make those things go away.  But I am showing examples that have magical little elements in them that reveal my secrets.  One thing that magically works is filling shapes and areas of the drawing in with specific patterns.  The crosshatch work in the mermaid picture is obvious in the mountains and the mermaid’s hair.  Not as obvious is the suggested scale-pattern in the mermaid’s fish tail.  Notice how it only fills in the areas I need to suggest shadow and create 3-D form.  The pattern that makes the floor for the hoola-hooper is a pattern that subtly suggests radioactivity.

Rabbitcastle b&w

This high school art project, the very first in incarnation of Rabbit Castle, shows my utter failure to effectively use pen and ink wash.  I think I did get the wood pattern and the brick pattern right.  But the filling of areas with diluted ink wash was a total mad failure of mud-making proportions.  I decided against further using pen and ink wash in high school.

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Water Color – I also experimented with adding life to drawings by using water color.  Don’t look too closely at this horse-head bookend picture because I accidentally gave the poor pony severe-plaque psoriasis with watercolor, something I wouldn’t wish even on a horse made out of plaster or stoneware.  Water color is difficult for me because I am highly controlled when I draw.  I do not like the many “happy accidents” of the water-color world.  I do not adapt well to runny color.  So, water color also became a NO for me in high school.

Bobby

Colored Pencil – I did however find magic when I first learned to blend colored pencil colors on the page and create full-color drawings.  I especially like the fact that bright colors are easy to manipulate and contrast for me.  I am somewhat color-blind (red-green color-blindness that is worse in my left eye than my right).  I like colors I can actually see.  If you look carefully at this picture of Bobby and Horatio T. Dogg, you will notice that this is solely made up of colored pencil lines and shading and color-blends.  It was with this media that I found my true art mojo.

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Mixed Media – So the style I most often use for the magic of forging Paffoonies is a mixture of my two favorite media… colored pencil and pen and ink.  So here is the magic formula; 1. Draw first in pencil.  2.  Go over the lines in black ink.  3.  Fill in all areas with texture and color made from colored pencil.

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Mickey Mouse Club Music

Today’s essay was inspired by Annette Funicello’s Facebook page.  I was marveling at how a teen idol and Disney child star could have such a large following and leave such large footprints on social media when she is not only all grown out of her child-stardom, but is actually quite dead.   I, however, who am technically still alive, work very very hard at this author-self-promotion-thingy, and I hardly make any headway at all in the ocean of the internet.  So, I did what I always do when faced with the imponderables of this writing life.  I drew a picture.  I drew Annette naked.  Well, that’s not entirely accurate either.  I put clothes on her because, well, young-adult-genre authors don’t always have to think like a teenager.

annette

You see, I am not mad at Annette.  And my hormones no longer control the other things that once made me deeply regret the fact that Disney never let Annette appear in movies in a bikini, even the movies that were not Disney movies.  When you’re twelve, there are different priorities than when you are 58.  Hormones don’t do all of my thinking any more… at least, that’s what I tell my wife.

And part of what I still love most about Annette is the music.  The Mickey Mouse Club was always about talented kids.  They could sing and dance and play the drums, and they were as easily professional quality as many of the adults… and cuter to boot.  Talented children have been a significant portion of my life.  As an English teacher in middle school, I taught kids that were Annette’s MMC age.  I taught them how to write and how to read, and occasionally I had to find other talents to promote and help those kids become winners in the great game of life.  And, it may be cruel to say it bluntly, but some kids are downright ugly.  Not merely ugly in terms of what they looked like, but how they acted and how they thought and how they felt about things.  Racism runs deeply through children who’ve been taught thoroughly by parents before the teacher even meets them.  Sometimes you have to dig around really deeply in the black pits of their personalities to find something bright and shiny enough to put the spotlight on.   But it is always worth it.  ALL CHILDREN HAVE TREASURE BURIED INSIDE THEM.  And it deeply hurts that too many adults in every community can’t be bothered to dig for it.

Annette in DLandnI grafted a background on my picture of Annette to stress the fact that she is not naked in my picture.  She was a very public figure and a good portion of her personal treasure was that screen personality that showed through and sparkled in every role.  My favorite Annette piece is the movie Babes in Toyland which I saw for the first time at Grandma Beyer’s house in Mason City on her color TV.  The songs from that movie still play in my dreams.

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Playing Snakes and Ladders with M.C. Escher

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The problem, as you can basically see, is the complexity of life on Earth and the convoluted way you have to understand the game to win it.  I do not trust the ladders.  They are not sturdy.  They are not strong.   And I fear the snakes.  Will they not bite with poison?  Will they not encircle me and constrict the very marrow out of my old bones?  And when you play the game with M. C.,  he cheats.  He plays in the fourth and fifth dimensions.

It is obvious that I don’t play the game well.  You can tell, for instance, that I am struggling to get a camera to take a picture of a pencil drawing and get all of it in focus enough to bring out the nuances.  It is the tricks of shading and juxtaposition of bizarre elements that got me the “A+” for this assignment in Drawing 303 at Iowa State University.  I couldn’t capture some of the most subtle usage because the paper of the drawing has aged since 1978 and the shading is harder to make stand out against the graying and yellowing paper in the background.  And it is increasingly hard to pick the thematic core of my message out of the hoogah-boog and chizzly-goober mishmash of my prose.

But it boils down to this, with school starting again, and money for bills running out, and arguments with the wife, and kids who sleep all day and play computer games all night, the whole two-steps-forward and one-step-back dance that I must do is making the game too hard to play.  It is too hard to win.  And I must simplify.  No more hopping from double planes of existence into a room where you will fall up to the floor from the ceiling.  And I must take success where I find it.

Heat of up to 105 and drought returning after months of deluge, makes me take pride in simple steps I have taken in the game.  My flower wagon is blossoming only one blossom at a time, but there is bloom… there is success… and flowers seek the sun.

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So what does my post for today mean?  Don’t worry about it.  M.C. Escher cheats when he plays the game.  His physics break the laws of physics, and his genius turns around corners that are not really there.  And maybe I only scored a “1” on my roll today.  But it is a good one.  And I have a piece in the game.  I am a player on the board.  And the next turn will come.

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M.C. Escher's faulty physics.

M.C. Escher’s faulty physics.

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Homely Art – Amos Sewell

Still being under the weather and filled with sinus head-pain, I decided to go back to a subject I love so much that the post will simply write itself.  You know I love Norman Rockwell and his art, and I fervently believe that kind of mass media oil-painting does not put him in a lesser category than Rembrandt or Michelangelo or Raphael or any other painter with a ninja turtle namesake.   He is a genius, and though he is not a realist in so many ways, his work is more truthful than practically any other kind of painting.  If you are taken by surprise and didn’t know I had this passionate obsession, maybe you should go back and look at this post;   Norman Rockwell

Now that I got that out of my system, here is another Saturday Evening Post artist that is often confused with Rockwell.  His name is Amos Sewell.

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Sewell was an amateur tennis player who was talented enough to win tournaments.  He was an employee of Wells Fargo who was headed towards anything but an art career until he decided to make a leap of faith in 1930.  He started as an illustrator for Street and Smith pulp fiction, and soon caught the notice of the big-time magazine markets for his art.  He published art for Saturday Evening Post,   Country Gentlemen Magazine, and Women’s Day.

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Like Rockwell, he was able to find the funny in everyday scenes, like the dance party to the right.  That young man at center stage is trying so hard not to step on the feet of the red-headed girl, that you want to laugh, but can’t because it’s obvious how embarrassed he would be, and the charm of the picture leads you to shun the thought of interrupting.  The scene is so real the boy would hear you laughing as you looked at the Post cover.

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More expert on this kind of art than I am is the Facebook site that I first got turned on to Sewell by.  Children in Art History

They can also be found on WordPress.  Children in Art History (WordPress)

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There is no doubt that Amos Sewell belongs in the same pantheon of artists as Norman Rockwell, Thomas Kinkade, or Paul Detlafsen.  They are all artists who achieve in their work exactly what I have always striven for.  I want to be able to hold the mirror up to our world the way they did.  I want to capture both the fantasy and the reality in the subject of everyday family life.  I also want to share this work with you because I cannot stand the idea that such artistic ambrosia could one day be forgotten in archives where no one ever looks at it and feels the message in their heart.

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R.D.G.

I have discovered treasure on Netflix.

It should come as no surprise to you that I am as enamored of Japanese Anime as any cartoonist nerd-boy has ever been.

I told you already about Astroboy and the old movie The Magic Boy (1959).  Now witness my newest Anime/Manga love.

If you watched the opening in that video, you will see right away the first, best reason I have to fall in love with this moving painting, this gloriously subtle Japanese art print set to motion and music.   If you like that opening sequence, you have to see the first season ending sequence as well.  Izumiko slowly and elegantly walks as spine-tinglingly exquisite melancholy music plays and gallery-quality scenery behind her is interspersed with unfurling fans.  You have to see it to understand what I mean.  I’m sorry I did not find a YouTube version to post.   But you can find it at the end of every episode you watch.  Wait a minute!  What do you mean you didn’t watch that opening YouTube video?   Don’t make such a mistake!  Go back and watch it right now!  Oh, you did watch it?  Okay.  But go back and watch it again.  Believe me, it is that good.

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My sister Mary, the archery coach, may guffaw at the way  Miyuki draws his bow, but, hey!  That’s actually the way the Japanese teach it.  Everything in this cartoon show is stunningly realistic.   And everything is subtly building up to a story that is wholly surreal and unbelievably touching.   Look at how it combines with popular music in this YouTube highlight reel;

It is filled with wizards and warlocks, spirit creatures and Japanese nature goddesses, and a conviction that love and goodness will find a way to win out.

The story is about a young girl, Izumiko Suzuhara, who has been raised in mountainside isolation at Tamakura Shrine, an otherworldly place in a beautiful forested landscape.  She has an unusual problem.  She short-circuits electronic devices, burning out the school computers and breaking every new cell phone her family gives her.

A family friend visits as she is trying to make the decision whether to go to the mountain village high school or go to the Tokyo school her absent father and mysterious mother have recommended to her.  The friend leaves his son, Miyuki Sagara to be her protector, though she doesn’t understand why she needs a protector, or why they have chosen a boy she has always believed hated her.  He has been a bully to her in the past.  But Miyuki has studied to be a yamabushi, a mountain monk, since a very young age.  It turns out that Izumiko is chosen to be the vessel of a Kami, a good spirit who protects and empowers the world.

There is no way to adequately explain why this Japanese cartoon is so good and so necessary to be viewed by anybody and everybody I can put the word in with… It is one of those, “you-know-it-when-you-see-it” things.

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Timeline – Finale

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So how do I end this little trilogy of timeline terror?  I have to fit in the remaining novel projects that are related or at least partially done.  And the unrelated ones too.  I have way more in the Mickian bag of tricks than I will ever have the magic-using years to actually use.  The thing about wizards is that, by the time they have accumulated all the knowledge, wisdom, and arcana that it takes to do the wizardry, they are already old and near to death.  How much time is left for the actual magic?  I have been living this weekend in fear of imminent stroke.   But I believe the random brain pain has actually turned out to be sinus problems.   So here are the projects that finish the timeline and are the projects least likely to get written and published.

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Connected to Catch a Falling Star is its sequel, Stardusters and Space Lizards.  This is a novel I have most recently been trying to finish.  I am in the home stretch at 40,000 words.  It is the story of the failed Earth invaders  continuing their journey to another planet, an even worse place than Earth.  Galtorr Prime is the planet of the humanoid lizard people.  Their world is on the very brink of extinction by global warming, toxic politics, and war.  The remnants of the Telleron aliens who tried to invade Earth and their Earther-human friends not only have to make a colony for themselves here, but have to save the planet itself as well.  It is a cautionary-type science fiction tale in the same comedy-young-adult-novel genre as Catch a Falling Star.  It also happens in the early 1990’s (intended to mean the time on Earth which is not relevant in any case).

The next novel is Monstro, a ghost story in which the Norwall Pirates have to take on the Lonely Ones, the spirit-echoes of the crazy people of the past in a haunted farm house that awakens to feed on the living.  The story is more than half written, but is looking at a near total rewrite to make it conform better with comedy young adult fiction.  It is set in the mid 1990’s, around 1995.

None of my Hometown Novels will go beyond the 20th Century.  Monstro is ostensibly the last of the novels.

I am a science fiction writer as well, though.  The first book I ever published, Aeroquest, is set more than three thousand years in the future, at a time when the Orion Spur of the Sagittarius Spiral Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy (where Earth has its street address) is largely colonized and thoroughly inhabited.  As the novel now stands (a sorry mishmash that no decent publisher would’ve ever printed) it is in need of a total re-write and make-over.  It is a novel that I humorously say is about teachers in space… though I do realize that “humorously” has to be qualified as a big bald-faced lie.

Aeroquest baby ninjas

So this is run-down in time order of all the stuff I want to do as an author.  How much gets done in reality is anyone’s best guess.  Who knows?  I may live another twenty years and finish at least one novel every year.

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Humor Without Insults

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I am not one who can stand to watch Republican debates.  I know the clown car is full to busting, but I can’s stand the idea that one of those narrow-minded, fact-free, duplicitous Bozos could end up being the next president.  (Or fascist dictator, when you consider what “fascist” actually means, and what former President Carter has said about the U.S. not being a democracy any more.)  If one of those clowns wins it, the true power will once again reside with the unseen ring master, like it was with the rodeo-clown George W. Bush and his secret puppet-master, Dick Cheney.  And I pay enough attention to know that Donald Trump was so insulting to women during the debate, that Democrats can pick Beelzebub to run as their candidate and women still won’t vote Republican.

I watched the final Jon Stewart Daily Show instead.  Stewart is more liberal than I am and uses a lot more bad words than I ever could, but his humor and politics are far gentler and kinder than anything coming out of the mouths of name-calling conservatives.  They uniformly say terrible and untrue things about President Obama and Hilary Clinton.  They don’t hold back from calling even their own Senate leader a liar (a la Senator “Slappy Happy” Ted Cruz.and Senator Mitch McConnell).  The Donald is a master of the crude and inappropriate slam.  Look at the unfounded claims he made against Mexicans and the cowardly way he impugned the honor of Senator John McCain.  Jon Stewart mocks them by taking their own actual statements and putting them beside the verifiable facts to show the absurdity of their political beliefs and goals without casting insults.  Yes, I love his turtle voice for aping Mitch McConnell, but there is a gentleness to his wit that shows affection for his subjects rather than laying waste to their psyches with crude insults and unfounded accusations.

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I had to learn the kind of humor I’m extolling here as a classroom teacher.  You cannot believe how fragile the little animals can be when you resort to calling them names.  A growing, developing, vulnerable psyche cannot take the random bash and cruel cut the way an adult can (though even an adult shouldn’t have to).  You have to learn to be funny by the surprising imagery you use, the comparisons with funny things, and the flat out absurd.  And self-deprecating humor is the only kind of insult you can actually get away with.  (I even learned that when a student grows to love and respect you too much, even insulting yourself to make a point is out the window.)

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Humor definitely has its uses in the classroom.  This classroom poster was used both to teach students how to write a quatrain of twin couplets, and also to teach them that classroom discipline was a matter of teaching them how not to be like cockroaches.  I am not directly calling them cockroaches.  Instead I am telling them that if they choose to use the thoughtless and rather dumb behaviors that are against classroom procedure, they are choosing to be like roaches.  Of course, there is always the classroom clown like Steve-O Whoopsadoodle (not his real name, but a name he called himself) who glories in being like cockroaches.  You also have to learn to laugh at them politely and give them their few minutes of fools’ fame.

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So, to sum it all up, humor is a very useful thing in running the world and teaching things to others.  It is why I always go for the joke in my writing.  The place I am at doesn’t always have to be the happiest place on Earth, but it is a lot funnier and happier without the cruel and biting insult.  (Sorry about earlier, George, you old rodeo clown).  And if we can just be a little nicer to each other when we make fun, it might turn out to actually be fun.  (You are welcome to find all the gaffs and mistakes I made in the old drawing above.  I was still learning my craft in 1980.  But please don’t call me names over it.  I have had all the blue I can handle for one week.  I used up the last of it in this last Paffooney.)

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Astroboy and His Better World

Here is the finished Astroboy Paffooney.

Here is the finished Astroboy Paffooney.

When I was a boy in Iowa, growing up in the 1960’s, I remember being seriously infected by the notion that true heroes were like Astroboy.  I watched the show on a black and white Motorola TV every day at four after we got home from school.  Astro could fly.  He was super-strong.  He could battle the evil monsters and machine men from my worst nightmares and always come out the winner.  And though he was a robot, he was a boy like me.  I thought a lot about Astroboy and I played Astroboy games with my friend Lester in our back yard.  The theme song played over and over in my head.

The Astroboy March
Music by Tatsuo Takei; Lyrics by Don Rockwell
Astroboy
There you go, Astroboy, on your flight into space.
Rocket hi—-gh, through the sk—-y
For adventures soon you will face.
Astroboy bombs away,
On your mission today,
Here’s the count—-down,
And the blast—-off,
Everything is go, Astroboy!
Astroboy, as you fly,
Strange new worlds you will spy,
Atom ce—-lled, jet pro—-pel—-led
Fighting monsters high in the sky,
Astroboy, there you go, will you find friend or for,
Cosmic ran—-ger, laugh at dan—-ger, everything is go, Astroboy!
Crowds will cheer you, you’re a he—-ro, as you go, go, go, Astroboy!

What can I say?  I was a stupid child with an imagination easily manipulated by television.  My world consisted of Astroboy every afternoon, Red Skelton on Wednesday nights, and Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday evenings.  I cried for the Astroboy characters who sometimes suffered and died during the adventure.  I cringed when Astrogirl stumbled into danger.  But I knew in my stupid heart that everything would be all right in the end.

When President Kennedy was murdered, or when the Apollo Astronauts burned, I didn’t really feel those events.  I still thought a happy ending would come to save the day.  I believed that I had the power to make things right the way Astroboy did.  I was doomed to learn the hard way.

I had heard from my friends about weird things that a fifteen-year-old neighbor would do sometimes.  I understood that he liked to “do things” to younger boys.  I should have been scared to death of him.  But, the cosmic ranger laughs at danger.  I was ten when he caught me near his yard.  He forced me down into a hidden place behind a pile of old truck tires.  He got my pants and underpants down and forced me to stop fighting.  I remember it as pain and shame and horror.  It was a monster I never dreamed of, and no one came to my rescue.

We used to believe that the future held undiscovered treasures and wonder.  We believed that when a hero was needed, one would always step forward.  I wanted to be that hero.  I would go forward, however, wondering if it all led to an unhappy ending.  “Crowds will cheer you, you’re a hero, as you go, go, go, Mickeyboy!

(I should confess that this is an old post written in 2007.  It was at a time when I was finally ready and able to  talk about what happened to me 40 years before.  My attacker has since died of a heart attack, and though he was never held accountable for his actions, I have forgiven him.  What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right?  Strong like Astroboy.)

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Filed under artwork, autobiography, humor, Paffooney, Uncategorized

How to Be a Farm Boy Without Really Trying (or Wanting To)

Farmgirl is adapted from a picture borrowed from the Belmond Area Arts Council.

Farmgirl is adapted from a picture borrowed from the Belmond Area Arts Council.

I was born in Mason City, Iowa (the original River City of Meredith Wilson’s Broadway musical, the Music Man).  But my parents didn’t hold with no big-city Ioway sort of life, so we eventually moved to my mother’s home town, Rowan, Iowa.  It was roughly about 275 people (if you count the squirrels… which a lot of the townsfolk were… qualified squirrels).  My two maternal uncles and my grand parents were busy maintaining the family farm there, and though I lived in town because Dad was an accountant for a seed corn company instead of the farmer he grew up as… I got more than my fair share of farming-type opportunity.  You know the stuff… shoveling pig poo… cow poo too…   I got to help feed the chickens (and get chased by roosters, and get pecked by hens when we checked their nests for eggs, and watch the rooster rodeos as revenge for all the chasings… because roosters don’t lay eggs and the only thing they are really good for in an egg farming setting is lopping their heads off, and watching them flop around like rodeo bulls with no heads for fifteen minutes until they finally figured out they were dead, then plucking ’em and watching Grandma Aldrich cook ’em).  I got to drive a tractor, although they didn’t trust me to do more than the simplest of tractor-driving jobs like pulling the hay rake.  I got to shovel chicken poo out of the hen house and out of the brooder house.  (Notice how a lot of the world of the lowly farm boy centers somehow on poo?)  It was a rustic rural life reminiscent of Norman Rockwell… although he depicted mostly town life and not as much of the fields and animal pens (and poo) that are central to Iowegian farm culture.

Brent Clarke is a me character in my stories... but also one of my farm boy friends.

Brent Clarke is a me character in my stories… but also one of my farm boy friends.

Growing up a farm boy has a few advantages to go along with the many drawbacks.  First off, you learn young where babies come from.  Piglets and calves and puppies and kittens are not born in secret.  And it doesn’t take much spying out on farm life to learn how those baby animals are made either.  There is ample opportunity to learn what you are not supposed to learn at a young age from farm girls too… but we were gentlemen… and extremely embarrassed by the fact that baby people are made in the same grisly, awful way that baby animals are out in the barn.

You also learn to be somewhat self-sufficient.  I learned how to tend a garden.  I learned how to fix a flat.  I learned how to repair a roof and build a rabbit pen.  Hammer, pliers, screwdriver, saw… I learned to use them all and make stuff.  Crude stuff, sure… smashed-finger-with-hammer-stuff too.  I made a bookshelf in shop class that had a bit of Michael blood built into it.  But I learned things that boys should know, and really don’t any more.

So, I guess I am claiming that because I am an Iowa boy… a farm boy… and despite my many short-comings and short-changings my life has been good and worthwhile… being a farm boy is good.  And one of the greatest shames of the modern world is this… there just aren’t many farm boys any more.

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Coloring Part 3 (Mickey Watches TV and Colors)

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So, here is what it looks like now after watching The West Wing.  I love that show.  They do such a wonderful job of weaving story, theme, and relevant political issues together into a compelling series.  It is like the very best and most poetic of the novel series.  I have read two books of John Galsworthy’s Forsythe Saga, and I think the TV show is better.  Of course, I realize the novels are quite old and fusty in temperment.

I now have all three main characters colored in.  Dr. Elefun on the left in his pinstripe shirt, Astro in the middle, and Mr. Pompous on the right in the back seat.  I have most of the cockpit of the flying car done, and must start pondering how to make it fly in this drawing.  I put a piece of cardboard under the drawing and that gives it a funky ribbed effect with the colored pencil rubbed over large areas.  I am enjoying this homemade coloring-book art project.  I have also added 173 words.

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