Inktober2018day14. Clock. I love time. I hate time. It goes too fast and there’s never enough of it. If I had more of it, I would be able to post every day for inktober. I wasn't going to participate this year, but after 4 or 5 days in, I figured if I did a very simple line drawing, like I started doing with the little box chicken character I could make every remaining day, but I just couldn't stop myself from going all out on some pieces. It's like I always want to add more. So maybe it’s going to be quality not quantity for me this year. Please enjoy.
Which pair would you wear?
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This fun doodle is in response to the latest weekly drawing prompt to draw a pattern, in red, with a pen. If you want to play along, sign-up on the site and a new quirky prompt will be delivered to your inbox every Monday.
It's ok to not make sense. It's ok to not follow a pattern. It's ok to be the odd one out.
Life is too beautiful, too amazing, to eccentric, too weird to fit inside someone else's tiny little box of an opinion about you. Break free out of that and live your life on your terms.
URASHIMA THE FISHERMAN
From Favorite Folktales from Around the World by Jane Yolen.
Then a last song burst from him as he struggled with his loss: “My love, when after a night of longing day dawns and I stand at my open door, I hear far off waves breaking on the shores of your Paradise!”
If only he hadn’t opened that jeweled box, people have said since, he could have been with her again. But the clouds hid her Paradise from him and left him nothing but his grief.
#dailydrawing #folktales #kidlitart #watercolor #janeyolen #sofreakingsad #tonighticanwritethesaddestlines
The clutter on my drawing table.. I tend to use pencils the most, with pens a close second and sometimes brushes. This is the neat look---when everything is put away in its box. More often than not, they are a bit more scattered on the surface. Micron pen drawing.
"If MF DOOM was a fox, he’d pro’ly steal a kid and lock it up in a box. But not to do it harm... More to save it from a life of working on a farm.
He’d do that kid a favor. He would save her. Just what you would expect from a friendly rapping neighbor."
Joseph Cornell (1903–1972)
Cornell worked nights at the kitchen table, sorting and assembling materials for his boxes. It was not easy going. Some nights he felt too fatigued from his day job to concentrate on his art and would sit up reading instead, switching on the oven for warmth. In the mornings, his quarrelsome mother would scold him about the mess he’d left at the kitchen table; without a proper workroom, Cornell was forced to store his growing collection of magazine clippings and dime-store baubles out in the garage.
In 1940 Cornell finally mustered the courage to quit his job and pursue his art full-time—and even then his habits changed little. He still worked nights at the kitchen table, while his mother and brother slept upstairs. In the late morning he would head downtown for breakfast at his local Bickford’s restaurant, often satisfying his sweet tooth with a Danish or a slice of pie (and lovingly cataloging these indulgences in his diary).
- From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey
#dailyrituals #inktober #JosephCornell @masoncurrey
Unfortunately, I broke up and separated with my girlfriend prior to Christmas. If there is an upside, it is that moving by myself has led me going through old work I’d packed up in various boxes - not opened for years. This is just an abstract biro doodle (+ markers for colour) I doodled, while working in a stupid telephone interview job in my early 20s.
This was done for my first Scrawlr Box challenge. Which I was super excited to finally get to try, and I loved the supplies that were in the box. I am really happy with how this has turned out, it brings the two things I really like together; deer antlers and flowers.
A cartographic representation of the experience of moving to a new city in a foreign land. This work, dubbed as 'Introspectionism', provides the viewer with a snapshot over time of the inner workings of the process of the strange becoming slowly more familiar and the foreign becoming Home.
