works of wanderlust

Category: learning & study

  • study’s end

    Twenty four hours from when I started penning these words will mark the start of the final module in a bit of professional upgrading I’ve been working on. That’s to say, class starts this time tomorrow and then after this final weekend of lectures—and one more big assignment to submit—I’ll be complete.

    On a weird side note, one of the reasons I decided to take the course was to spend a small bit of inheritance left to me by my grandmother, and to spend it on something both experiential and useful: education. The last class of the last modules is on Sunday, two days from now, which would have been her one hundred and fourth birthday. Unplanned. Coincidence.

    I spent over a decade working for the local municipal government, and that was after a previous decade spent hopping around between project and program coordination and management roles.

    I was trained for none of it.

    I had done a pair of degrees, one in science and one in education, and both pursued out of some vapid obligation to a sense that I was “supposed” to do something both useful and that would pay well. I hated lab work. And then I emerged from my education degree in a hiring freeze.  Instead I landed at a sweet job in the not-for-profit sector out on the west coast. 

    Long story short, I never went back to any job that used either of those degrees directly, but instead I bopped around using all those critical analysis sciency and stand up and educate others skills to become an ad hoc project manager, systems designer, and eventually a straight up middle manager guy.

    …with a science degree.

    After nearly a year and a half of a career transition, having done some personal projects, part time work, and personal reflection, I figured my next obvious step was to put some credentials behind all that experience I had gathered on my meandering journey through the work world. Sure, I could do it. Sure, I had a seventeen page resume giving examples. But there is just something about those educational bonafides that throws a brick through the glass walls of future employment prospects. So I’ve been working on a business certification: a piece of paper from a high class university that says, hey, Brad studied this stuff formally, listened to experts, wrote words about it, handed in assignments, and got adjudicated on his effectiveness in these things.

    And in a week or two, when that final grade appears on my transcript and they tell me I’ve completed all the pieces, I will be able to add to my resume an extra line that says “Business Analysis Certified, University of Alberta, 2025.”

    Thanks Grandma.

  • hiragana

    We have loosely settled on a trip across the Pacific.

    Unable to confidently travel southbound across the border for our semi-annual pilgrimage to the house of the mouse in California, my wife has set her sights on the sister park near Tokyo for sometime, hopefully, next year. And of course a couple weeks checking out more than just Disney, too.

    I love the idea of visiting Japan. The art and culture and food and architecture and everything that I feel would be familiar from the exports of media and such in which I partake locally.

    And as is my oft-usual approach to these things, I’ve started to prepare for this still-hypothetical trip by taking language lessons. In other words, I’ve been studying Japanese…for about a month now.

    And while the actual need to speak the language as a European-toned North American tourist has been repeatedly called into question by many friends, many Asian-descended themselves, I can’t help but feel having a basic grasp of how to (at the very, very least) read some of it might come in all too handy.

    I mean, let’s just forget for a moment the academically-rewarding aspect of learning any language, and take that as a given: Learning new languages is simply, well, human.

    But instead picture Brad stumbling through the Tokyo subway system or down a bustling alley and having some basic ability to read the signs for a shop or a washroom or even an exit. In that aforementioned Euro-centric approach I’ve taken to travel, the languages are almost always close enough and use the familiar latin-descended alphabet system. I get by. But arriving in Tokyo I would assume that recognition and some general familiarity with hiragana and katakana script will give me some advantage. And increase my enjoyment and comfort on such a trip, too.

    Thus, I have been learning. Learn slowly, of course, using apps and flashcards and online resources. But learning.

    And that hypothetical concept of a maybe trip to Asia next year seems a little bit more real in the process.

  • about all the little details.

    As Ferris Beuller wisely reminded us, life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

    I spend a lot of time rushing. And this shortcoming often applies to my painting, as well.

    Of course, one of the so-called rules of watercolour painting that I picked up on early on in my artistic efforts was that in watercolour timing is gosh darn nearly everything. Almost every technique and method somehow relates to the timing of the application of the paint mixture onto the surface during a window of time while there is a certain moisture level on the paper or a particular dryness of the last application or at a very specific moment of diffusion of pigments. Timing can change the final look of a piece dramatically. Vibrancy comes from precision.

    Another of course, because of course, I mistook timing for speed.

    That is to say, I have had this knot in my brain as I reach for my brush to put paint onto the page that precision timing was all about being fast and efficient. I got tangled up in the notion that one wet the page and then zip-zap-zooey one flung the paint around in a glorious way, without hesitation, to create the perfect piece of art. I foolishly thought it was about racing the evaporation of the water.

    And sometimes it is.

    But usually it is not.

    I have learned, slowly, that in fact is goes a lot more like this: some artists are not so much good because they are fast, some artists are fast because they are good.

    short backwards strokes

    Last fall I realized that there was a certain beauty to be found in boundless intracacy. In the details. I dug into the art of sketching backwards from where I usually started. Usually, I would draw the shape of the whole then work inwards to elaborate on the details. A building would materialize as a box on the horizon and then the doors, windows, eaves, ledges, bricks and more would fill in the inside as if I was colouring inside the lines. A tree would begin as a silhouette and then I would scribble in the leaves and the branches and the shadows and all the internal shapes to make it more tree-like.  But taking that backwards, a building might start as  a valance light fixture on a brick wall that extended outward to fill outwards. A tree might start as a collection of inner branch-like shapes with some details leaves and shadows and then maybe only imply that the tree went beyond that. I think our natural inclination is to show the whole, but the edges of objects are only artificial boundaries we impose on them and in telling their stories through art sometimes its the details that are the most interesting.

    I finished the last week of the latest watercolour course just the other night and the instructor mentioned offhand that sometimes he will work on a painting for months, for a couple hours each session a few times per week. He didn’t outright say it, but it pretty much told us that his best work is slow and methodical.

    My goal for this summer is, I think, to narrow in on the details and slow down.

    When I gifted away a bunch of my painting last chrishmus I got asked repeatedly: how long did it take you to paint this?

    I dunno. I’d reply. Like, an hour.

    The paintings were nice. Simply, but nice. A work of efficiency and speed and, yes, even a bit of proficiency in a small handful of watercolour technique that allowed me to work fast—maybe even forced me to work fast.

    But those paintings were only detailed in as much as the randomness of the techniques I used implied detail. There was beauty in randomness. But the detail did not come from precision or intention, rather it fell out of accident and organic chaos, and was good because I had lightly harnessed that randomness.

    Just like when I had to re-teach myself to draw outwards from detail, I think I need to rethink my painting hangups too. What does it mean to paint the details slowly: to start with the heart of what you want to paint and then wrk outwards, rather that trying to affect the whole of the subject to the page and then fill in the bits and pieces with speed and precision?

    I dunno. But it seems like it’s gonna take a lot longer than an hour.

  • of birches in autumn.

    Summer has flitted by in a whirlwind of action, but not without a lot of paint staining the various papers and notebooks in my house. That’s to say, while I don’t really have an excuse for not posting for two months, it has not been because I have abandoned my art efforts, nor fallen to idleness.

    Autumn has left me inspired, however, and I’ve been out in the trails taking photos, sketching, and generally enjoying the orange-hued palette that nature has provided.

    I will reserve the specifics for future articles here, but I have found a few vibes sitting in the grass on multiple occasions, sketchbook in hand or watercolour paints at the ready, and enjoying some cool-air, low-bug plein air art time.

    I took a long walk through the local dog park and then sat on the ground to paint a low-sun scene of the turning trees.

    I pen-sketched some detailed work of various close-up fall foliage.

    I used tall grasses as a mask to try out a watercolour technique for painting birch trees.

    People always come by. People always look at what some guy is doing sitting on the ground with a notebook. People sometimes ask, sometimes sneak a peek, sometimes are obviously not sure.

    It’s been a blast.

    technique reps

    In my minds-eye I have a picture of bold and tall birch trees with their pale hued bark with scratches of deep brown and black making distinctive styles set against a pattern of fall foliage. My idea was to mask off the trees, paint the foliage, unmask and then paint the tree detail. Simple, right? On my sixth iteration I got closest to that minds-eye picture, but in each of the six repetitions of basically the same painting I did a little something right and a little something not-quite-right. If I was being methodical about my art study I'd do this more often: paint something. Then paint it again. And again. And as many times as it took to get what I thought it should be.  Because I've done some pretty respectable work this week and it's largely down to persistence and reps.

    Over the past weekend I got hung up on the idea of birch trees in the autumn. If I was attempting realism then the complexity of stark white trees set against a spectrum of fall foliage would be a considerable challenge. But there is a bit of the scene of birch trees, bare as they are in their mid-sections, where they stand out stark and crisp against a backdrop of colours, and after six repetitions of the same subject I’d started to get a feel for what the colours, layers and shadows should look like.

    So after a summer of painting and practice, it all came down to birch trees.

    Over and over and over again.

    Winter is coming and idleness will fill the cold spaces and I’ll be looking back to my summer of painting adventures with envy at the opportunities I had and a little bitterness at the opportunities I missed.

    But I am sure glad it’s still autumn for a few more days.

  • 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?