Well, I’ve done it again. I wasted another day painting patterns on tiny pieces of paper. At first glance you will notice that these are not very precise. I free-handed and “free-styled” most of it, but they are still based off of images from the tiles in the Alhambra. I hope they amuse. (Anything but perfect pattern.)(A new pattern with a courtyard view.)
(More abstract with a portal to France.)
I had a succession of dreams this week set in the ocean and frankly I have been feeling like I am living at the bottom of it. This painting was based off of this photo and makes me want to go to the Atlanta Aquarium for my birthday next month.
Last year, I went to the Oregon Coast Aquarium and got to encounter an octopus so maybe aquarium birthdays can be my thing. I’ve also been dreaming about whale sharks and I hear the Atlanta Aquarium has some of those, so I feel I need to go and bring my sketchbook.
P.S. Thanks to all the random bloggers who liked my posts about France. It was so cool to see people I don’t even know coming back and enjoying the blog.
Earlier I mentioned that I did not want to paint the piles of bones in the Paris Catacombs, but my friend requested some paintings … so here are some more abstract images of the catacombs.
I cut my thumb the day before drawing these, so I was holding the pencils, pens and paintbrushes in a way that stopped anything from being very precise.
To be honest, once you got over the fact that you were surrounded by a bunch of very old bones the catacombs were pretty cool. It was like an underground journey into the depths of Paris. Kind of like exploring the sewers in a safe and supervised way.
In French instead of saying “it’s raining cats and dogs,” they say “Il pleut des cordes,” which directly translates to “it’s raining ropes.” I find it slightly more appealing than imagining animals splattering on the earth.
(I recommend clicking on the images.)
A week after Paris, we went on a day-trip to Aix-En-Provence. I bought a very fine tip pen and some sweat pants (artist essentials).
Pretending to be one of the boys at Les Duex Garçons, a café where Albert Camus would hang.
A sketch of Cezanne’s studio. Not my favorite artist, but I can admire the man’s windows.