Tag Archives: artwork

Creepy Times, the Third Chapter

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The picture is called “My Galatea” after the myth of Pygmalion.  I drew it at a time when I was working on the Snow Babies character of Valerie Clarke.  She was my creation, made up of my daughter the Princess, a girl I had a crush on in 6th grade, and a very strange part of my own psyche that is essentially female.  Sometimes things come together in such a fashion that the creation becomes more real than what I know as reality.  Have you ever created something that was so perfect that you fell in love with it?  It is a very strange feeling.  It doesn’t create happiness.  It makes you feel regret that what should be real is only fantasy.  It makes you feel longing for something that you know you simply cannot have.  It makes you feel creepy, like you’ve done something wrong.  You have stolen bits of other people’s lives and put them together, made them live in a new form, the whole Frankenstein’s monster sort of thing.  The evil abides in those things that you could never foresee as problems.  The torches are lit, the pitchforks come out, and chaos ensues.

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Falconet’s sculpture of Pygmalion (1763) 

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Future Art

DSCN5026 DSCN5025These are a couple of unfinished Acrylic paintings awaiting the opportunity to complete them. One is a pair of Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. No mystery about that. I live in the Dallas area, and I’m a male creature with eyes. The other is about a Native American story-teller and the tale he is telling his grandson. It will be mostly about pattern and design when I am finished. I am not fond of the opaque nature of Acrylic paint, so I need to use it differently than I do oil.

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June 21, 2014 · 4:29 pm

KidZart

Here’s a piece of pottery created by the Princess.  Ceramic cuteness fired and glazed.DSCN5022

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June 19, 2014 · 5:40 pm

Colored Pencil Magic

I left high school determined to become a wizard.  I know how foolish that sounds.  The beginning of wisdom is learning how big a fool I naturally am.  So, having learned that I am a little fool (after years of humbling experience I know better than to call myself big), I had to pursue arcane knowledge and magic spells to become a wizard.  I began to experiment with all kinds of ideas and all sorts of media.  But it was the humble colored pencil where I discovered the most arcane power.

Let me tell you about how I cast a recent magic spell.

As with any wizard work, it begins with a book, a tome of significance discovered in the course of a book-finding quest.  It was a book that I found in a Goodwill store, an antique book that describes in children’s book form how an archeologist uncovered the life and ultimate demise of a place in the distant past called Pueblo Bonito.

I learned about the place and the people, especially the children because, after all, that’s who the book was written for.  So, the next step was to pull together the puzzle pieces I needed for a little bit of Paffooney magic.  Paffooney, you may recall, is a magical made-up nonsense word useful for artistic incantations.  I consulted a book that I myself created, a scrapbook of poems, snippets, and visual ideas.  I call it Rage after the Dylan Thomas poem about raging against the dying of the light.  It is full of scraps and pictures that I can use as models.

I sketched out the plan in light pencil, too light to really pick up in the photo.  When I begin the detail work, I take it area by area, starting with the most important piece, the primary figure’s face.

As I moved along, I had to color in the primary figure first trying to carefully create a light-source pattern mostly consistent with my model.  It is coming from near-noonday sun shining down into the Pueblo from the top right of the frame.

I discovered when it was too late that I missed the proper proportion on the right arm.  I gave the poor girl a Popeye arm.  But she will just have to live with the deformity.  At least I didn’t goof as badly as Victor Frankenstein did on his creation.

The figure needed to be completed first since the the light patterns in the background would have to be keyed to it in a way that keeps those elements pushed back into the depths of the picture.

The background will contain three more figures, the two child figures will be more obscured than the main figure and far less detailed.  The adult figure will be a mere shadow in the darkness of the Pueblo walls.  A touch of blue sky will finish it all and give it primary completeness (red, yellow, and blue in a picture make it feel complete because these are the primary colors of paint).

I am left with the completed spell, a Paffooney I call “Pueblo Bonito”.  I signed my name backwards, dated it, and now it is time to look at the finished spell and let its gentle magic work on my soul.

Pueblo Bonitoalmost donePrimary doneprogressDSCN4990inspirationstart

 

 

 

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The Centaur

I will post more words another day.  Today, let this picture be worth a thousand words.

Centaur1

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June 16, 2014 · 9:50 pm

My Children’s Art

My own three kids have taken up the artist’s pScan0011encil tracks.  It is probably true that no one ever had a bad habit that didn’t get passed on to their children.  Drawing too much is my back-clinging monkey.  I ignore other things I am supposed to do, have to do, even will die if I don’t do in order to keep on drawing.  My two arthritic claw hands have been worked into pretzel knots by the incessant urge to draw.  But not everything they got from me in the drawing habit is totally bad.

The Princess actually uses colored pencil to do her art.

Oldest son Dorin (his name in my fiction) has caught the dungeon and dragony bug from me and likes to conjure imaginary monsters.

I was not able to secure a Henry picture for this post, but he does it too.  He has won school art class awards for his work and one of his pieces still hangs in his former middle school.

So, there you have it.  I have passed on the gene that causes this craziness.  And there is no cure but to draw endlessly.

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June 15, 2014 · 3:59 pm

Being A Teacher

I now only have four days left in my teaching career.  I am swiftly reaching the end.  I need to savor just a little bit.  I will soon be retired and a classroom will never be the place where I do my best work again.  I can reach and teach still, but my health holds me back.  I can barely present for ten minutes any more.  I end up gasping for breath and needing to sit.  I have never been a teacher who sits behind the desk.  I am always stalking the entire classroom and working over the shoulder of the kid with the question.  Okay, I can’t do the work any more… so it is the right thing to retire and let others in better shape take over.  I’m dreading the end, but soon I will have to embrace it whole.Mythos

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June 3, 2014 · 12:54 am

Post No Ads Here! No, really! This is NOT an Advertisement… this is ART.

googlepaffooney 2I’m trying to self promote without really appearing to self promote. Honestly, they tell me that blogging to promote my books is something you should just do and have fun doing. So that’s what I’m doing. Just to be funny I am making fun of myself for advertising my self. Isn’t that a gas? Isn’t it?

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May 31, 2014 · 10:46 pm

Yes, I Throw a Moose or Two

I thought that this silly poem needed to be re-posted because school is ending.  The need for silliness is absolutely imperative.  I also need to throw a few mooses… er… moosei… er… meese?  How do you pluralize the word moose?

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Life is as Hard as Bowling with a Moose (A Poem)

Life is like Moose Bowling,
Because…
In order to knock over all the pins,
And win…
You have to learn HOW TO THROW A MOOSE!

 

As the days count down, I have had to exercise my moose-throwing muscles more and more.  Today I have five days left in my teaching career.  So many precious kids I have to give up and never see again…  So many teachers will tell you that every year the kids are getting worse and worse, and their attitudes are turning more sour, disrespectful, and violent.  But those teachers don’t know the secret.  You have to throw a moose or two at the problem.  Real discipline is hard work.  Harder than demanding that kids sit in rows and be silent… heads down and pens scratching away.  You have to actually talk to kids and learn who they are… what they feel is important… what their problems are, and what they want you to do about them.   You have to be honest, give them a hook or two to draw them into the whole learning thing.  You have to actually care. 

 

So, I do.  I care.  And I let them talk.  It’s a moose that has to be tossed.

 

The comment was made this morning that you have to keep them working right up until the end of the year.  Doing no formal lessons in class is actually a lot harder and more risky than continuing to plod through the textbook.  But in five more days there are no more classes, no more books, no more teachers’ dirty looks… school’s out forever.   I haven’t done any lessons since two weeks ago.  Grades are in the gradebook.  I have been showing kids my favorite movies.  Especially movies from the eighties.  (Truthfully, I have not been well enough to actually teach.  My body aches and I can’t breathe very well)  I have been talking to kids about those movies… what they think about them, and what they think about life in general.  Kids are telling me they are worried about my poor health.  They say they are interested in my books and my writing, even though they don’t actually read just for pleasure and will never buy what I write… or even look at this blog.  They tell me about their troubles, their hopes and dreams, their most significant relationships, and they tell me that they will miss me next year.  Five days… will I make it through without breaking into tears?  No, I won’t.  I may not even try.  That’s one moose too heavy to throw.

 

But I have no regrets.  I have touched more than two thousand five hundred lives (a pretty close estimate… I don’t have a good enough memory to actually count.)  They have touched my life in return.  No other thing I could have done with my life would ever mean as much.  Doctors save lives, but teachers shape real people.  So what does it all mean?  I mean, really?  It means I have thrown a lot of mooses… er… moosei… er… well, you know what I mean.  And if my arms are growing weary, then it is for a very good reason.

 

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Snow Babies Explained

Snow Babies Explained

I hope to soon be able to publish my newest novel, Snow Babies, with PDMI Publishing,
In that book, I tell the story of a blizzard descending on a small town with the intent to kill. Within the storm are a group of snow spirits who come to collect the frozen dead. They take the form of naked children, completely white. They collect the souls of people who die in the blizzard, and those frozen casualties become snow babies themselves. They operate somewhat like banshees in that, when someone sees one, it means that someone is going to die, or at least have a near-death experience. Snow Babies are not malevolent… not evil… but they don’t spare the good either. So the key question in the story… Who will die? And more importantly… who will live?

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May 30, 2014 · 1:42 am