old

Marginalias' character are starting to flesh out, even if I still don't have a story. These two are the princess (Who still doesn't have a name. Diana maybe?) a peryton and Ancelade, an atlas lion. They met when they were kid ( 9-10 for Ancelade, about fifteen for the princess). Ancelade was brought back from a war campaign by an old veteran knight who more or less adopted him and the Princess, when meeting a dirty, shivering lion cub, took him under her wing right away (quite literally, he used to fit under her wing, not anymore). (The joke, every time this episode is mentioned, is that Ancelade's adoptive father, while already having fathered children, had no idea how to care for a child and probably thought they were self cleaning). Once Ancelade properly cleaned up, the Princess discovered he was blond AND fluffy. Ten years later, she is still the only one allowed to touch his mane. Each think of the other as the brother or sister they don't have anymore. Even if everyone always ask them the same old question to which they answer in a mature and articulated way: Are you lovers?

Posca, fineliners and page from an old book.

Shark time again.

"Beauty of Hope" as one of the original painting I donated to charity and it was auction in exhibit. It was one of my favorite painting so far. I used koi watercolor and a fabriano 200 gsm paper. Most of the color I used are blue, green, light green and yellow and a bit of orange. The metallic gold paint was one of the color that added flavor to the painting.

14x17" ink, watercolor and spraypaint on paper

The black woman of the Wittelsbach family is a ghost haunting the Schleißheimer Castle. She was a widow who killed her own children because of an misunderstanding. The man she loved told her they cannot be together because of 2 pairs of eyes. He meant his parents wouldn't agree the relationship. Horrified by her cruel act she was thrown in the dungeon and died there. To this day she still said to be roaming the castle.

Where do I begin with this one? This is a drawing of my dad and I; the picture was taken back in 2006, a happier time, I suppose. I don't commonly think about my dad, I don't necessarily think about how much I miss him or how I wish I could see him again, so it was odd for me to sit and look through old photos. I don't really know my dad; I do, but I don't. My dad was physically part of my life for 10 years, the second half of those were not the best. Mental illness, self medicating for years, debt, heroin, arguments, threats, uncertainty. I feel like I remember the negative more because I was older, my parents couldn't hide it from me like they used to. At the same time, when he was sober and stable, life was good. Life was great, things felt complete. So here I am, 6 years since he died. I don't want to say his image is fading, but I know less of who he was than I did before. I see the good from some (the ones who praise him, who act like he was a saint), and I see the bad from others (the one who felt the pain). I suppose I no longer see my view, my memories aren't there anymore. I don't necessarily feel sad, the anger has faded, and I can't say I'm happy. Maybe I'll figure it out one day, but, for now, it is what it is.

New year, similar kind of tricks. Hope it’s treating you all well so far!

Painted with watercolor and the gold brush pen.

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

Okay, like I said, I am cruddy at drawing hands so I decided to practice, here you go!

This piece consist of 2 sheets, the bottom sheet is painted by my four year old daughter, on top of that is a orange paper which I cut the kitchenware out of.

When goldilocks visits.

Inktober day 3. a Banshee. I found it interesting that they are more often old women. Since pop culture usually shows them as young ones.

brown and blue floral pattern

This is my old roommate's dog, while she had an upset stomach. Don't worry! She was fine that night (after making a little mess for me to clean up). But for a couple of hours, poor thing lay on the couch looking like she'd just lost her job.

Just for fun!

bright, warm colored floral pattern

Don't you love those old school neon type of stickers, as well as slushies/slurpees?

Old family farm with Cinnamon.

Herman Melville (1819–1891) "I rise at eight—thereabouts—& go to my barn—say good-morning to the horse, & give him his breakfast. (It goes to my heart to give him a cold one, but it can’t be helped.) Then, pay a visit to my cow—cut up a pumpkin or two for her, & stand by to see her eat it—for it’s a pleasant sight to see a cow move her jaws—she does it so mildly & with such a sanctity." - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey “I would prefer not to.” ― Herman Melville, Bartleby the Scrivener “A smile is the chosen vehicle of all ambiguities.” ― Herman Melville, Pierre; or, The Ambiguities #dailyrituals #inktober #HermanMelville @masoncurrey

Old smokey monster from Lost

Planet Clowns

“By all means grow old, but don’t mature. Remain childlike, retain wonder, the ability to be flabbergasted by something.” - Billy Connolly. Happy new year Doodle addicts!

Louise Bourgeois (1911–2010) “My life has been regulated by insomnia,” Bourgeois told an interviewer in 1993. “It’s something that I have never been able to understand, but I accept it.” Bourgeois learned to use these sleepless hours productively, propped up in bed with her “drawing diary,” listening to music or the hum of traffic on the streets. “Each day is new, so each drawing—with words written on the back—lets me know how I’m doing,” she said. “I now have 110 drawing-diary pages, but I’ll probably destroy some. - From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey “I am not what I am, I am what I do with my hands...” ― Louise Bourgeois “Every day you have to abandon your past or accept it, and then, if you cannot accept it, you become a sculptor.” ― Louise Bourgeois #dailyrituals #inktober #LouiseBourgeois @masoncurrey