Whipped out the Wacom and gave my B&W lady from earlier today some saturation.
This small coloring job actually prompted a lot of introspection about my feelings on digital vs. traditional painting; feelings that I will share with you later, when I don’t have to run off and cook up some dinner.
When I cut down watercolor paper to make a painting I always save the scrap pieces. After years of this there is a pretty nice stash of tiny watercolor paper pieces built up in my drawer, and while they may only be a couple inches wide, they do come in handy. Sometimes the bits and pieces become splash-sheets for color testing while I paint, and sometimes they become mini-paintings or sketches, like so:
I made this little lady yesterday after deciding to pull out a painting material that I haven’t used for a long time: diluted ink washes! This is a medium that I love, but mysteriously haven’t employed since the early days of art school. I pulled out a little jar with completely dried up ink residue, re-constituted it with some water, then spent a pleasant afternoon experimenting. She is 2.5″ wide by 7″ tall, and I admit it, a bit of influence from the A Song of Ice and Fire series seems to be creeping in here. What can I say, she’s medieval.
Just a quick little picture for the recent Illustration Friday. The prompt was Gesture, and – appropriately – I stumbled upon a quote this week about how a painting is a gesture that has been preserved… or so. Unfortunately I’m misremembering the quote when I write this, but I’ll make a point to find it and post the correct quote and source here in the future.
I come from a family of readers. On any given day at my parent’s house you will probably find all the Benhams on couches, books in hand, glasses perched on our faces, and our minds immersed in the story. I like classical literature, realistic fantasy novels (think Susanna Clarke and Charles de Lint), and re-visiting childhood favorites; my sister likes art history and art theory books, mom likes historical fiction, and dad’s literary tastes are so wide-reaching that they are unclassifiable. Books feature highly in all of our lives, and we Benhams love the sensation of soft dry pages, the deep beauty of a well printed illustration, and the smell of a book (I even have a perfume that is the fragrance of an old library – it is well loved and worn often!).
To celebrate my parents’ birthdays this month I made them both personalized ex libris plates. I’ve always liked the idea of the ex libris, and whenever I happen upon one in an old book I feel a deep and immediate connection to the previous owner, like it’s a taste of their personality. Each of these bookplates is reflective of their interests, though like most bookplates perhaps the images speak more clearly if you know my parents, and I’m happy with it that way. I hope you enjoy them, and that you have many good books in your future!
(Psst: if you want to check out more bookplates online, go visit the blog Confessions of a Bookplate Junkie. It’s like a gold mine in there!)
Maybe I’m just picky, but I’m very particular about what kind of paper I draw/paint/write on, and lately your run of the mill store-bought sketchbook just hasn’t been doing it for me. For the past few years whenever I’ve found myself at the end of a sketchbook I’ve gotten into the practice of buying a new one, ripping out the book block, and re-filling it with my own hand-stitched book block made of a nice, slightly heavier paper.
Is this a lot of work? Yes. But is it worth it? Definitely! I wind up with a lovely sketchbook that I know I will willingly open often, because it’s a pleasure to work with. The paper I use is Strathmore Windpower Drawing paper (sold in large orange spiral-bound pads), and it accepts a vast array of media nicely, from graphite to charcoal to watercolor to acrylics. An important side-effect to crafting my own sketchbook is that the hand-stitched book block lays open and flat, allowing me to work across the pages with ease. And as an extra bonus, I can add my own little flourishes to the construction of it, like a pretty satin bookmark and decorative endpapers.
Recently I also found Louise Stanley’s rules for keeping a sketchbook:
Uni: Never, ever tear out a page unless you sell it, in which case you can replace it with a copy.
Due: Start on the third page to get your courage up.
Tre: Go back to the first page and do a self portrait when you’ve got the nerve.
Quattro: Strap your journal to your body. Don’t leave home without it.
Cinque: A little gold leaf and color peps up a page.
Sei: Always carry a pencil. Many museums won’t let you use ink.
Stanley is a sketchbook artist, and although most of her rules are ones that I have always followed, she is the first one I have seen put them in writing. Rule number three is the only one that I haven’t ever done with regularity, but this time I’m starting my journal out right (and it’s easy to get up the nerve to tackle the first page of a sketchbook when you’ve just ripped apart and re-sewn the whole thing):
Happy sketching!
