Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Prime Time

Force as I might, work flow/ life flow has its own rhythm. I may want something to happen now or to make a project work now.  But forcing only seems to break things making for more laborious work, work, work.  An example is that I go to relax at a coffee house for two hours while my daughter goes to dance. No work needed to be done here.  At the coffee house I sip ice tea and find myself during a little work that some now turns into some of the most productive hours of the week. And I don't even notice that I was working. Odd. When the time is right, the time right and when it is not, it is not.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Notes: ICON 8 PDX

I'm still falling asleep at night with a flood of images flashing in my eyes from the ICON and Oregon experience. These are notes and line drawings made during the presentations.

Monday, July 14, 2014


Attended The Illustration Conference 8 held in Portland, Oregon.  An intense rush of many talents, tastes and sights.  Here is one of the speakers explaining how Disney stole her dogs and how she got them back.

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Different Month, Same Meeting

I just realized  that I have been going to the same meeting four times a year for 14 years.  Same issues, some of the same players, some new, some have disappeared. Hum...always interesting faces there and interesting opinions.

Thursday, June 19, 2014

A Phone Call

Mother’s day, Sunday morning, a call, thank you for the flowers? No.  “I have sad news…a black out….a fire hydrant hit…911…unconsciousness…a small desert hospital…”  A bag is quickly packed; a daughter says remember your sketchbook.   You drive the five hour drive with your grandparents hovering faintly just past the windshield above the hood of the car. You feel a peace, then a horror and tell them that you know that he is theirs, but that he has grandchildren of his own who still need him.  Getting close, only 46 miles of small desert road,with a blinding dust storm, left, cell service lost.  The hospital comes into view.  “I am his son…” Gurney, medical men in flight suits, oxygen bottles.  A salute from the pilot and the helicopter rises into the deep blue sky.  Mom, gas, coffee: a drive to the Paradise Road hospital.  Emergency room, ICU, “…we will run tests.” Breathing tube, sedatives, and no answers as relatives arrive.  Strong emotions and speculative prognosis are expressed by all.  Color and life re-enter his body, but eyes are closed and no words spoken.  He is stable, you wait by his side, and you quickly draw.  Later, three weeks later, still no answers, but Dad is aware with self-determination and checks himself out.  At home he rests and is recovering. 

Friday, May 30, 2014

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Sweet Light of Morning

March left with a roar of wind and rain both metaphorical and physical.  The new month brought a new morning of sweet color and light dancing on the clouds.  I reading this as a blessing of new beginnings and the promises of spring.