image by Andy Beecroft via Wikimedia Commons

Earlier this week a friend and I were talking about disruptions to our normal routines. She’s going to be traveling a lot next month, with nearly each week spent in a different city. And I’ve just moved, so I’m finding myself having to reinvent nearly all my daily routines, from washing the dishes to exercising.

It’s occurred to me more than once lately that disruption isn’t always a bad thing. I work extremely well on airplanes, for example, because of the forced focus (and because I’m desperate to occupy my time!); the same can be said of doctors’ waiting rooms. With our move, even though I’m in the city I grew up in, I’ve never lived here as an adult, and that gives me fresh eyes. I was telling my friend that I find that disruptions can decrease the time we have for creative work, but sometimes they make up for it with clarity.

Has this been the case for you too? What kind of disruptions have the worst impact on your work? Are there compensations?

See you in the comments!

This time, instead of doing daily prompts, I will send them out MWF, and I’ll incorporate longer prompts as well as the short, single-word/phrase ones. There will still be photo prompts, and I plan to try audio or video prompts this time too.

If you’re interested in signing up, visit this page. The first prompt will go out on Friday, March 2, but you may join at any time during the project.

Ocean poem

o o ocean
ocean sun
ocean shine

o o ocean
ocean roar
ocean whisper

o o ocean
ocean mist
ocean cold

o o ocean
ocean fresh
ocean stink

o o ocean
ocean salt
ocean deep

o o ocean
ocean sky
ocean earth

o o ocean

I’d love sometime to read/sing this poem the way it sings in my mind, but I’m feeling a bit self-conscious about trying it publicly. Maybe another day!

I’m really behind on emails and replying to blog posts and comments (here and on everyone else’s), but I’ll catch up soon.

This morning we took our first exercise in about two weeks, walking the 1.9 miles from Ayi’s to my parents’ house. That felt good. We’ve basically been dividing our time between these two houses: sleeping here, eating most meals there. There is a little illusion of normal life because we’ve been cooking (black beans, chicken soup, collards), but actually the activities of moving continue. I’ve been organizing my possessions at my parents’ house, and we’ve brought things to Erik’s parents too; later, I’ll be driving around with donations and special recycling (batteries, old meds, that kind of thing).

However… I think it’s safe to say now that the bulk of the moving obligations are done (almost done with the second 90%?)… and I’m eager to get back to work. I’ve been writing a lot in my journal, and reading some wonderful books which will surely inspire future posts (just finished Peggy Orenstein’s SchoolGirls, and am 70 pages into Sister Wendy’s nearly-400-page The Story of Painting). I’m looking forward to reestablishing my regular creative habits!

Wednesday was moving day for us. We left the East Bay house we’ve rented for three years, and moved down to San Jose for two months before our world travels. It felt like the right time to leave, so I wasn’t too sad. But I wanted to do something to document our experience there… and I thought some of you regular readers (or house voyeurs like me!) would like to see where we’ve been living for the entire duration of this blog.

I was inspired by the opening scene of Pride & Prejudice to do a video tour of the house as it was on Wednesday morning, just hours before we packed our remaining belongings into a U-Haul. I held my digital camera in front of me and just walked through from room to room, and into the beautiful day outside. Then I loaded the result onto my computer for my first-ever attempt at video editing.

Here are a few photos of the house as it was (furnished):

Office/studio: My writing and painting desk

Living room

Dining room/kitchen

Happy weekend to you all!

… or continue to read about my process in making this year’s card.

Every year I start brainstorming casually around mid-January; I begin to turn over how I want to sum up the past year, and how I want to lead into the coming year. At some point — usually in early February — I sit down with my sketchbook to transform my ideas into something visual. Very often, a concept that seemed great in my head doesn’t translate to drawings at all; in past years I’ve sometimes had to start over completely after days or weeks of building on one particular idea. This year, though, I didn’t have to do a whole lot of tweaking. I knew I wanted to draw a map that I could use as the new cover photo for my Facebook Timeline, and I knew I wanted to lead into it with an image of myself (as is my tradition).

I started with the map. I went online and found a printable outline world map that suited my purposes (it’s a Mercator projection, which is not the most accurate, but I chose it because I think it’s pretty). At first I wanted one with the US states and Canadian provinces as well as other countries, but I couldn’t find one I liked. Good thing, too; it was painful enough to draw, without having to worry about states!

I printed the map, laid a sheet of drawing paper over it, and used a pencil to trace only the general outline and position of the continents — nothing more. I had a feeling that if I traced the entire thing my map would look soulless and, well, traced. I then took a pen and, using the printout as well as several more detailed online maps for reference, drew the rest freehand. It was very tedious, though doubtless educational! Of course I fudged badly on many of the countries — particularly the landlocked ones — but so be it. I like the overall effect quite a lot; what it lacks in accuracy it definitely makes up for in character. I was very glad I didn’t trace the whole thing.

World map drawing

After I was done with the map, I scanned it in and digitally made the lines thicker and smoother. I printed out that new version and photocopied it onto a sheet of that thin Japanese watercolor paper I like so much. Then I began the also tedious, but much more satisfying, process of painting in the map (again looking at online reference maps, to fix up any glaring errors I’d made in the line map). After I’d finished all the land, I was exhausted, so I went to bed.

Painted map without oceans. That radiant pattern in the background is the wrinkling of the paper.

The next day, I painted in the oceans, using a mixture of blues and two different brushes. I did the details around the coastlines with the same small round #4 brush I’d used for the countries, and the larger areas with a #14 round. Inevitably, though I tried to work fast, some of the paint dried before I could blend it into the next area, so I ended up with obvious lines of demarcation. I made a diluted blend of all my blues and swirled that over the entire thing with a hake brush, and it smoothed everything over nicely. The map was done. I scanned it in and then considered what I wanted on the first page of the card.

Completed map

At first I planned to draw myself and Erik carrying our traveling gear, but then that seemed too staid. I thought of something more whimsical, like Mary Poppins-style flying umbrellas, but in the end I decided I didn’t want us both on the front page of the card. This whole Valentine tradition began in an effort to foster all kinds of love on V-Day, not just romantic love; ever since the beginning, you’ll notice, I’ve deliberately avoided depicting us as a couple. But it didn’t seem right to neglect Erik in a card about our world travels. I decided he’d make an appearance on the map, but not the front page. I returned to my original idea and recruited Erik to photograph me with my wheeled duffel, backpack, and sketchbook (all of which will, indeed, go with us on the road). I can’t say I really think a tank top, skirt, and ballet flats are suitable traveling garb, but one must make some concessions to aesthetics.

Three choices

We took a number of poses, and after I’d imported the photos and looked at them on my computer, I narrowed it down to three. Rather than nitpick among the photos, however, I simply took up my sketchbook again and tried all three as drawings. That made the decision easy; the center pose clearly stood out as the most lively and the strongest statement.

Sketched poses

I turned to a blank page and made a more careful sketch of myself in that pose, focusing especially on proportions, shapes, and outlines — I wanted it to look recognizably like me, even without fine details.

Sketch

Once I was satisfied, I covered the drawing with a sheet of tracing paper and used a pen to render a cartoony, outline version of the sketch. This was the version I would work from in the final painting.

Tracing-paper sketch

I laid another piece of the Japanese watercolor paper on top of the tracing, but then found the outline didn’t show through, and wished — not for the first time — that I had a lightbox. Then I remembered a trick I’d used once before, and taped the tracing and watercolor paper together onto my west-facing glass sliding doors. Voilà! Instant giant lightbox! My pencil tracing was done in a trice, and I was ready to paint.

A cheaper, more eco-friendly lightbox... if you live in a sunny area!

Regular readers might remember that the last time I did a self-portrait I was very displeased with how it came out, and several of you suggested I work from a photo. It appears you were right (also, this one is much smaller — the finished figure is a mere 6½ inches tall). I’m very, very pleased with the finished painting. I think it’s one of my best yet. I scanned it in.

Finished painting of myself

After the paintings, the rest was easy. Using Picasa, I made a “polaroid” of a recent photo of Erik and me. I used Gimp (an open-source version of Photoshop) to place the “polaroid” on top of the map, and then did the text and the mini-airplane in Picnik. I created the webpages and uploaded them to my site, and that was it.

In case you didn't click at the top of the page!

Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear loves! May the day bring you many reminders of love in all its forms.

In grad school I went to hear Chris O’Riley in concert (he hosts “From the Top” on NPR, and transcribes/performs indie rock songs for piano, notably Radiohead and Elliot Smith). Afterward I wrote:

When he first started playing and I began watching his hands, I felt wistful, remembering a time when my hands, too, could move so quickly and with such strength and facility. At one time Erik praised me for my octaves. After I first noticed Chris O’Riley’s hands reflected in the piano, I wanted to weep from all the memories. How many evenings of my life have I spent seated in a darkened room, playing, lit only by a single light?… I always used to imagine myself under the spotlight in a concert hall, whenever I practiced at night. These memories are not just in my mind but also in my eyes, my hands and fingers. And tonight here I was, seated in a concert hall, watching someone else’s two pairs of hands, my own two tendinitis-stricken hands tired and sore in my lap.

The other night I already had piano on the brain when O’Riley’s wistful version of Radiohead’s “Let Down” came on shuffle, bringing to mind that concert. I miss making music on a regular basis, I miss choosing new pieces to learn, but most of all I miss the mastery.

I guess at this point I’m probably about as good at writing as I used to be at piano, but writing isn’t like music-making, in that it’s not entertainment while it’s happening. In both cases there are a lot of exercises and slog work and all. But when it comes to piano, once that’s done, you can sit down at a moment’s notice and play a passable “Appassionata” or what have you. And if you want to learn something else (and are a good sightreader, like I am), you know it’s just a matter of finding something that’s within your ability.

Writing is not like that. It’s not fun to watch, and it’s not very physical. Yes, there is a ritual thrill to moving a particular special pen across a luxurious paper, but it doesn’t begin to compare to the feeling of partnership with a musical instrument. Painting, on the other hand, is a lot more like playing the piano (and has the added bonus that I get to listen to music at the same time!) — but I don’t have that level of mastery over painting yet, and likely won’t for many more years. Sigh. Siiiiiiiigh.