works of wanderlust

Category: notes for a sketch

  • of transcending realities.

    While everyone else is lamenting the creep of artificial intelligence into our lives, I took a different tactic and asked ChatGTP for some advice on how to become a time travelling, intergalactic artist.

    She told me the following

    A time-travelling artist would have a unique perspective and the ability to draw inspiration from various eras and cultures throughout history. Their art would likely reflect a fusion of different styles, techniques, and themes from different time periods. Here are a few possibilities:

    Temporal Collages: The artist might create intricate collages that combine images, symbols, and motifs from different historical periods. They could juxtapose Renaissance figures with futuristic elements or mix ancient hieroglyphics with modern typography, creating visually stunning compositions that bridge the gaps between time.

    Anachronistic Portraits: The artist could paint portraits of individuals or characters from different time periods, placing them in unexpected contexts. For example, they might depict a medieval knight wearing futuristic armor or a Victorian lady using a smartphone. These portraits would challenge conventional notions of time and invite viewers to question their assumptions.

    Time-Lapse Sculptures: Using various materials and techniques, the artist could create sculptures that convey the passage of time. They might craft a piece that starts with a primitive form and gradually transforms into a contemporary or futuristic design, showcasing the evolution of artistic styles and cultural influences over time.

    Chronological Installations: A time-travelling artist might construct immersive installations that take viewers on a journey through time. They could recreate iconic historical settings or architectural wonders, incorporating interactive elements that allow visitors to experience different eras firsthand. Through these installations, the artist would blur the boundaries between past, present, and future.

    Time-Based Performance Art: The artist could engage in performances that involve temporal manipulation. They might use multimedia techniques, such as projections or virtual reality, to transport audiences to different time periods or simulate time travel experiences. These performances would be a fusion of theater, visual art, and technological innovation.

    Ultimately, the kind of art a time-traveling artist would create is limited only by their imagination and their ability to explore and assimilate artistic expressions from various points in time.

    Art that transcends multiple dimensions of reality would be highly conceptual and abstract, challenging traditional notions of space, time, and perception. It would explore the boundaries of our understanding and offer glimpses into realms beyond our immediate senses. Here are a few possible manifestations of such art:

    Multidimensional Sculptures: The artist could create sculptures that go beyond the three-dimensional realm, incorporating additional dimensions into their designs. These sculptures might have intricate geometries, impossible shapes, or paradoxical structures that suggest the existence of hidden dimensions.

    Hyperdimensional Paintings: Using a combination of techniques, the artist could create paintings that convey a sense of depth and movement across multiple dimensions. They might incorporate optical illusions, fractal patterns, or distorted perspectives to evoke a feeling of traversing different realities.

    Augmented Reality Installations: The artist could merge physical and digital realities by incorporating augmented reality (AR) technology into their installations. Viewers wearing AR devices or using smartphones could interact with virtual objects and creatures that exist in parallel dimensions, blurring the boundaries between the real and the imagined.

    Quantum-inspired Art: Drawing inspiration from quantum physics and the strange phenomena it describes, the artist could create artworks that explore concepts like superposition, entanglement, and wave-particle duality. These artworks might incorporate elements of randomness, uncertainty, and indeterminacy to challenge our perception of reality.

    Mind-Bending Visual Experiences: Through the use of advanced projection techniques, lighting effects, and immersive environments, the artist could create experiences that manipulate perception and transport viewers to altered states of consciousness. These experiences might involve illusions of infinite space, shifting dimensions, or non-Euclidean geometries.

    The art that transcends multiple dimensions of reality would aim to push the boundaries of human understanding and challenge our preconceived notions of what is possible. It would invite viewers to contemplate the mysteries of existence and open their minds to new possibilities beyond the constraints of our everyday experiences.

    An intergalactic sketch artist would have a vast universe of inspiration at their fingertips. Their art would reflect the diversity and wonders of different galaxies, celestial phenomena, and extraterrestrial life forms. Here are a few possibilities for the kind of art an intergalactic sketch artist might create:

    Alien Portraits: The artist could sketch detailed and imaginative portraits of extraterrestrial beings from various planets and civilizations. These portraits would capture the unique features, anatomy, and characteristics of these alien life forms, showcasing their diversity and otherworldly beauty.

    Cosmic Landscapes: The intergalactic sketch artist might create breathtaking sketches of cosmic landscapes, capturing the grandeur of nebulae, star clusters, and distant galaxies. These sketches could convey the ethereal colors, swirling formations, and celestial phenomena that exist in the vastness of space.

    Intergalactic Travel Scenes: The artist could sketch scenes of spacecraft and interstellar travel, depicting futuristic vessels navigating through wormholes, traversing asteroid belts, or landing on distant planets. These sketches would evoke a sense of adventure, exploration, and the vastness of the cosmos.

    Interactions with Alien Cultures: The artist might depict scenes of intercultural encounters between humans and alien species. These sketches could showcase the exchange of ideas, technologies, and perspectives, bridging the gaps between different civilizations and fostering a sense of intergalactic unity.

    Abstract Cosmic Concepts: The intergalactic sketch artist might explore abstract concepts related to the nature of the universe, such as wormholes, black holes, quantum physics, or multiverse theories. Through their sketches, they could visually represent these complex ideas in a captivating and thought-provoking manner.

    Extraterrestrial Fauna and Flora: The artist could sketch extraordinary and alien plant and animal life forms that inhabit distant planets. These sketches would push the boundaries of imagination, presenting bizarre and fantastical creatures that thrive in unique ecosystems beyond Earth.

    Galactic Mythologies and Symbols: The intergalactic sketch artist might create sketches that depict the mythologies and symbols of different extraterrestrial civilizations. These sketches could showcase the rich narratives, legends, and belief systems that shape the cultural fabric of these alien worlds.

    The art of an intergalactic sketch artist would offer a glimpse into the vastness and diversity of the cosmos, transporting viewers to realms beyond our own. It would spark curiosity, ignite the imagination, and inspire a sense of wonder about the possibilities that exist beyond our home planet.

    ....so, that's something to think about, huh?

  • in a dimly lit space.

    Not only have I been thinking of all the new things I can do with the skills I’ve learned in my watercolour class, but I’ve been thinking such thoughts in the context of our upcoming trip to Europe where (so I’ve heard) there are plenty of neat things to sketch and paint.

    Of course there are.

    I made a trip to the art store last night, and when the “dude” at the counter asked me if he could help me find anything, I lied and said I was “just browsing” but looking to stock up on some stuff for a trip I was taking.

    In fact, I was in the market for a higher quality “smallish” brush, something akin to the blended squirrel brushes I’ve bought for my class but in a 2 or 4 size, versus a 12, so it’s y’know more handy for small format, travel urban sketchies in a moleskine versus big large format watercolours that we’ve been tackling in class.

    I ended up leaving almost empty handed, just one tube of white gouache (which I’ve been eyeing for a few months now) and a mid-grade synthetic brush size 4 that caught my eye and for which I thought I’d give it a try.

    framing devices

    I saw a clever use of taping that has struck me as a great framing method for my upcoming "travel journal" sketches: the faux photo look.  Tape off a roughly 2:3 proportional rectangle, about the size and shape you might see in an old point-and-click photo style from the 90s, setting it slightly askew on the page.  Paint, keeping into but filling completely the bounds of the box you've created with the tape. Remove tape, and then with a ruler and either fineliner or fine-nibbed pen draw a border with a small white margin around the painted area. Add some incidental shading on a couple of the outer edges of your ink box, and voila! A faux photo on the page.

    I was browsing on one of the socials this morning and that white gouache was stuck in my craw, because a neat little astronomy photo as the header for some article about sciencey-stuff quickly found it’s ways a screencap into my photo library and from there as the inspiration to apply some groovy cloud techniques into a solar view technique and…

    Night sky.

    Spatter some white gouache to finish it off and…

    Well, if you showed me this pic a year ago and told me I’d painted it I’d be as surprised as anyone.

  • of west coast wetness.

    The goal of taking a class has always been, obviously, to learn. Incremental self-improvement is fine, and I’m a huge advocate of digging into a problem on your own and trying to wade through the weeds to find the harvestable vegetables in the mess of it all. That said, having one’s hand held a little bit is never a waste.

    The fifth Thursday night of my eight week class happened last night, and after a hulluva shitty day, three hours with no other obligations than putting paint onto paper in an air conditioned classroom with some groovy jazz streaming in the background was perhaps, for the first legitimate time in a long time, earned and deserved.

    Barely a few days ago I posted on an unguided attempt to watercolour in the form of a scene from a run that I’d turned into a rough bit of art. Sure, I’d used some of the lesson that I’d learned to do a piece that was much more complex than almost everything I’d attempted on my own since starting on this painting adventure. And sure, it’s a decent quality “beginner” piece that well-documents progress on this effort.

    But.

    You know there is a but.

    I attempted to tackle some things I’d nary tried previously and the results are telling.

    What I didn’t mention was that upon showing it to my wife and asking if she recognized the scene, she said “sure, it’s a path through the dog park…”

    “No. Well…. um, no. It’s supposed to be a creek through the ravine. But I take your point.”

    wet wooshes on wet

    It's not that clouds are tough to paint, but man... they are sometime tough to paint. Just when I think I've got it almost figured out, along comes some other complexity and my "that accidentally worked" doesn't work the second time or something gets overdone and now they're not clouds anymore or... sigh. Clouds are tough to paint. At some point perhaps I'll start to document all the little clever ways of painting clouds but so far I think my favourite is the one I learned last night in class. All credit to my instructor here, but here's the verdict: a wet-on-wet gradient is set into the sky of the scene, and then, rinsing and 80%-ish drying the brush for each woosh, whispy whorls of clouds are drawn with abandon across the still-wet sky gradient, pulling a bit of the blue (or whatever colour skies are on your world) paint from the gradient and allowing it to slurp and slither and blur into soft tendrils of cloud-like trails across the sky. The proper name for these types of clouds are cirri, but seeing as they are common on a prairie summer day I think I'll be getting more practice with this technique soon.

    Coincidentally then, maybe, in tackling a west coast beach scene in last night’s class I — three days late — came across the solution to my wandering through the wilderness alone attempt at water and wet sandy mud.

    Should I have been able to figure this out on my own? Well, yeah. Eventually. Maybe after another three or four stabs at it, another twenty bucks worth of paper and paint invested on my mediocre doodles, and sure, I would have perhaps, likely, almost certainly stumbled on the correct answer to my it’s-a-creek-not-a-trail problem.

    Or I could just have it demonstrated in a recreation centre multipurpose room with groovy jazz humming in the background. If I’m smart I’ll not just tackle my homework this weekend, taking another stab at the assigned beach scene, but I’ll fish out that picture of the creek once more and see if I’m telling the truth in this post and I actually did learn something after all.

  • of scenes of a run.

    So, I call it a “sketch” sure, but it’s really a proper attempt at a watercolour landscape, tho, isn’t it?

    In the nearly two months since I’ve posted any notes here I’ve drawn and painted so much that I haven’t hardly had a moment to stop and reflect on any of it. And fair enough, I’ve been taking it really productive and engaging class at the local rec centre and from that been spawning at least two solid paintings every week for the last four.

    Two per week!? Well, so it goes that on Thursday evenings we meet for about three hours and step-by-step work through a mix of technique and practice towards building the art of the week. The result is usually an ok, but rushed, edition of the scene featuring some form of Canadian landscape. An east coast beach, a sunlit forest, a rocky mountain scape, and a prairie grain elevator.

    To wit…

    But those images are not really mine. I mean, I painted them, each on my own as the second edition on the Friday or Saturday following the class as part of the weekly “homework” assignment, a polished up, time-taken, second-go at the image or scene from the class-of-the-week.

    But not really mine.

    drafts and seconds

    The obvious reflection on anything is that practice makes perfect, but until I took my watercolour class that obvious reflection hadn't caught my attention around the very specific notion of painting the same scene again, and again, and again, and again. Why paint something I already painted when I already painted it and can paint something new instead. Novelty is not necessarily and enemy of learning, but it does distract from the refinement of technique and better learning. Learning from mistakes means trying a second, third, fourth or more times, and trying not to repeat that mistake on one or more of those repeats. To that end, and as much as I can will myself to spend supplies on second, third, fourth and more editions of my works, I feel like I should be adding more drafts into my learning plans. And you should too.

    On the other hand, the feature image, the scene of the muddy creek flowing through an urban nature scape contrived from a photo I snapped while out on a long Sunday morning run through the local ravine, that one is all mine.

    The class has forced me to buy some good supplies, including proper brushes, paper, paint and other tools of the watercolourist trade, so having these things on hand and not supposing either the gear or the lessons should go to waste, I just started painting last night. Aforementioned reference photo at the ready, I propped it up on my tablet screen and settled into an evening of art.

    And so it goes.

    Maybe not a great work, but technically one of the first of my very own creation.

  • of vegetable matters.

    As much as I have a minor pre-occupation with so-called “urban” sketching, my situation, life, and local environment often steer me towards subject matter that is decidedly more suburban, rural, or parkland.

    In other words, leafing through my growing stack of sketchbooks, the common theme seems to trend towards nature, trees, insects, and outdoors… in the wilderness sense.

    In the winter this has meant snow and brown, leafless trees.

    In the autumn I specifically went to the art store to buy and build an autumn foliage paint collection.

    And as spring approaches once again for what will be my third warm-season of outdoor painting adventures, I’m anticipating not just building a new “spring” foliage paint collection as a seasonal counterpoint, but finding lots of blossoms and insects and fresh growing things to sketch and paint through April and May.

    Leaves Aren’t (Just) Green

    Nature is tricky and like so many objects that we find emerging from the tips of our paintbrushes, has a subtle colour palette that bears explanation through a glimmer of science.  Leaves seem green because leaves tend to be stuffed full of chlorophylls, a family of plant-chemical that absorbs all the blue, yellow, violet and orange light in an effort to make energy.  But biology is tricky and chlorophyll can fill leaves in varying patterns, be missing entirely from one part of a leaf or another, degrade due to plant health or through the season, and more. And all this means is that the reflected green light is often mixed with a variety of other colours, sometimes yellow and sometimes oranges and sometimes reds, pinks, violets or blues, all merging into a green that is rarely just green, but some other collection of hues that define the very nature of the plant we are painting.

    I was longing to be outside painting plants today, partly because it’s been a long winter, partly because the weather has started to warm and people are talking about the near future state of the streets and parks free from snow, and partly because it’s almost exactly one week until the spring equinox and we can run out into the front yard shouting that “spring has arrived!”

    So I painted a houseplant in my window instead, and I used just three colours, payne’s grey, sap green, and indian yellow to blend and blur and mix the various shades and depths of colour that defined that particular spider plant sitting on the ledge looking at the longer, sunnier days outside.

    Soon that window will be full of life, but most of it will be on the other side of the glass. For now, I’ll use what I can to inspire me.