Let your hands do the talking

Sometimes a gesture says more than a thousand words… 

Sketches done in dip pen and ink(colour island coffee), with a wash, in moleskine.

 

Figure drawings

1. We started again with our figure classes last night. We had only one long pose and the goal was to make a “nice” drawing, with only pencil and hatching.

I used pencil 2B and 6B on large format paper, 42×59,4 cm (16,5×23,4″).

2. A previous class: This second drawing was extremely difficult, but it sure openend up the mind. The model would move forward into another position, while one “axe” remained in the previous position. It was sort of like motion drawing. Hard, hard, hard! I consumed a whole baguette when I got home after this class…

Graphite and sanguine on paper, large format

3. A previous class: The slim model with the dog that we’ve had on previous occasions and he lost even more weight, making it very hard to see something to draw.

Graphite on paper, large format

4. A portrait of the model and his dog. I did this when we had 5 minutes left of class. Graphite on paper, large format

5. This is the same model as the first pencil drawing, but on a different occasion where we did a draining million(well almost) quick sketches for two hours. And again I consumed a whole baguette afterwards..

Charcoal on paper, large format.

Something that needs fixing

The ironing is always behind.

I have to iron. I have to see sharp folds and straight flat edges on shirts and linen and skirts and yes, T-shirts. Except of course jeans. No straight folds there. That makes them look nerdy. I learnt that from my daughters.

Sketches done with rotring artist pen and water wash in moleskine.

Like with a desperate diet, I start off every Monday with the determination to iron immediately when something comes off the line. Just to see my diligence fade into submission by Wednesday. The result is a growing mountain of washing and a leaking cup of courage. So I let the mountain run its course… after all, it is already there….and wait for the magical day when my cupeth runneth over again.

I’ll probably always have this habit that needs fixing.

Old doors in Tours

While waiting for the car to be serviced, I wandered around in a chilly Tours early on Saturday morning. Architectural features aways catch my eye and I tried to pen down some old doors of which there are plenty in the old town.

All sketches done with rotring pen, and given some watercolour back at home. Fabriano watercolour CP sketchbook, 18×26cm.

I had a conversation with some early joggers who stopped to have a look over my shoulder… going something like this:

“Ah, vous faites les portes?” (I see you’re drawing doors)

“Oui.”

“A pity that door isn’t too well cared for.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter, it actually gives it a lot of charm and character.”

“Yes, much like us. We also get more charming with age.”

Sketching in the vineyards

I love the vinyeards. They have all been recently snipped and pruned and trimmed, looking neat and well coiffed. Their stark woody trunks, attractively darkened by the rain, are given center stage in settings of gay springflowers.

I did several sketches. The first ones are still waiting for the art fairy to make them presentable, like Casey always says… These are of the last ones, after I started realizing I cannot fit a whole vinyeard onto my page! I always find nature intimidating, thinking I can create the whole universe on a single page. …”It’s elementary my dear Ronell, simplify, simplify”….

All sketches done in pen and watercolour on Fabrano Artistico watercolour paper.

 

The red tulip

Like last year, this single red tulip once again made its appearance in my all white and blue  garden. And like last year, I accept it and welcome it. It has become quite a game and I’m amused by the tulip’s proudness and dedication to defeat me. It reminds me of a guy I once knew at university who wouldn’t give up either.

 

He was madly in love with me, completely, head over heels..and yes, he was sort of cute too, I thought at that stage. I was staying in a hostel for girls on campus, fourth floor out of six, overlooking beautifully tended campus gardens. And he was staying in a hostel for boys, way off, on the other side of the campus. That’s how it was those days. No men allowed in the girls’ hostels and vice versa, which made for very exciting experiences! Except of course, for visiting hours in the lounge downstairs.

Very regularly, he would show up at my hostel, long after visiting hours, on nights when the moon was showing off in the sky and the stars were sparkling impatiently with anticipation. With his guitar and a red rose and his best friend, I would be charmed with unashamedly beautiful love songs from the garden under my window. Their strong, deep melodious voices, trained from years of singing, had every girl hanging out their windows along with me, losing ourselves in the charm and romance of “old world courting” from down below.  Beautiful beautiful brown eyes, would always be on the list of songs and their voices would fade away in the distance with Goodnight ladies. My red rose, always stolen from an overflowing garden somewhere, would be left on the windowsill downstairs at the front door, for the hostel had already firmly been locked up for the night.

And so it happened that he got caught one night while stealing my red rose. He unfortunately chose the garden of the Professor of engineering, with whom he was very well acquainted…! He was allowed the rose, but had to work the Professor’s compost heap for two weekends. For a while, it was slow on the rose-serenading-scene and we all missed it..all the ladies, that is. Then one night there he was again, with a stolen red rose and guitar and his best friend. The cute guy I once knew. And who I still know. He is my husband.