Five of you won a custom-painted watercolor!

Hey, remember this Charity: water fundraiser, and how I said I'd paint watercolors for my top five donors? I meant it, too.

Only: I don't have contact info for four of my top five donors. (The fifth is my mom, so we're cool.)

So, if you are:

Elise Gorseth

Sheila Sandford

Scott McGraw

Mary Burk

Contact me! I want nothing more than to paint for you!

Speaking of which, here are a couple of my recent paintings.

This is from a photograph of my grandmother. She was awful pretty.

This is from a photograph from our honeymoon. That's me and Scott. We were awful make-outy.

Warning: bag will contain body parts

I signed up for a figure drawing class, which begins this weekend. I like drawing the peoples but sometimes I put together their parts wrongish and render 'em all weird. And so: learning.

In taking this class I hope to overcome the trauma of my first and only other figure drawing class, which I took in seventh grade. I won an art prize, and the award was an afternoon workshop at the local college. They didn't call it "figure drawing," they called it "life drawing," so I, a twelve-year-old, naturally assumed they were going to put out a vase of lilies or a plate of fruit. Fruit! Flowers! Life!

There were no flowers, but they put out a fruit plate, all right. Fruit basket? What's the euphemism for man parts? Anyway. Twelve-year-old me walked into a class filled with sophisticated college kids and was confronted with her first naked guy. It was not how she dreamed it would happen, if ever she dreamed such things.

I soldiered through the class, but I don't remember a second of it. I only know I stayed because I would have been too scared to leave, knocking over my easel in the process, somehow colliding with the model in front of everyone, etc. I'm sure I behaved in a polite and professional and terrified manner as I tried to make sense of the shadows and contours I was recreating on my newsprint pad.

Fortunately I am now fully grown, and willing to draw any and all private parts that might be on display, as far as a class setting is concerned. (The teacher will no doubt wonder why I disregarded the rest of the body, but never mind.) As naked people fail to worry me, I've been preoccupied with how I was going to tote the materials required for the class-- materials that include include the largest sketch pad ever in the universe. The class is an hour commute and a couple of subway lines from my home. A plastic bag wouldn't cut it for this monster. I like to worry about things, apparently. But it turns out that of course there are tote bags you can buy for even the largest of sketch pads. At any price point. Of course.

I ordered the low-to-mid-range one, and this is the box it came in today. I got worried again.

Henry asked, "What's in that?" and I said, "My new purse!" He didn't seem surprised.

Compared to the giant box, however, the bag is not horrifyingly large. Above the bag sits my annoyed cat. Whenever a box arrives, she expects to sit in it. Why can't she SIT IN THIS GODDAMN THING.

(As you can see, her diet is going well, coughcough throatclearing.)

More soon, possibly with artistic nudes, but I can't promise they'll be tasteful.

Even more painting for you

I've been writing all day for delicious cash money, and I am all worded out. After I was done working, I spent hours trying to figure out the best way to scan watercolors. Turns out there's an art to it. Then you have to fix the levels in Photoshop, and that, my friends, almost made my brain go kablooey. But I did it, sort of! I even put a watermark in there--like a boss, I dare say. Someone high five me!  

Here's a view of the lake at Henry's camp.



And this is the Jizo statue I referred to in this piece. I like him a lot more now than I did then. I can't hold a grudge against that face. Henry is partial to this little guy, so now it lives in his room.

Sunset on the High Line

My friend Karen was in town last week (you know Karen, right? right) so I took her to the High Line. For you non-New Yorkers: the High Line is a public park built on an elevated freight rail, and it's beautiful. And if you go, it must be at sunset, or I don't know what to say about you.

Karen took photos, as is her way. I painted (afterward). AS IS MINE. (Why the all-caps? I don't know either.)