Tortoise shells.

A chilly wind has been blowing all day. People are actually wearing jackets but they won't die of hypothermia even if they are wearing shorts because the sun is bright in the sky and temperatures not low.

I spent most of the day making table top photos. Working with light and depth of field. I light the subject with two lamps and use a white backboard. Like I say, it keeps me off the streets.

The tortoise shells in the picture are medicine containers that I purchased at different Pow Wows in the Southwest.

Crazy dog.

A gift from my brother. Yes, the same one who sent me the card with little girl and very large dog.

Not very many people here will remark on this little sign at my front entry to the house. "Chien lunatique" as you will probably have gathered means, "Crazy dog" in French and my brother and I got a good laugh out of it.

When Athena was a puppy my brother bought a sign that read, "ATTACK PUPPY", which I had on my gate for a long time.  I don't need it anymore. Everyone in the neighborhood knows Athena and her exuberance.

Athena herself would be the first to say, "What do you mean by exuberant?" "I am always perfectly composed". "Well, almost always".

Sis and Dog.

I have never really been known for my attachment to animals. We always had them when I was growing up, but we lived in the same house in toleration. The dogs and cats were never overly fond of me and neither was I of them. I will not even go into the menagerie we had except that it included rabbits, chickens, a goose and many more different animals over time.

Even if there was a moment of interest from my side, I always ended up being slobbered on or worse, as in the case of Mimi, the marmot, peed on. That was usually the end of a very brief love affair.

Both my brothers are animal people and when I told them that I had taken a dog they raised their eyebrows. When I told them the dog was a Weimaraner, it was the cause of some hilarity.

My brother sent me the above card "Sis and Dog" and he was right. Athena and I, at first sight are perhaps not the perfect match. She is a sleek runner, all muscle and energy, and I, well, let's just say that I am none of that.

I can't think of a decision I made, that was so out of character than taking home that little puppy and yet being so very glad I made it.

Athena is my constant companion, who accompanies me almost everywhere and who give me quick, little lick when she passes me somewhere in the house. She let's me know when I have worked enough and should be walking. She puts up with me, and I with her when she decides to dig her way to Australia or is so giddy with happiness that she forgets she is now too big to jump up and try kiss your face.

It turned out to be a match made in heaven, after all.

p.s. Athena has her own blog. Click on her name to go there.

Wipe-out.

A friend of mine sent me these pictures taken by a surfer. Amazing results. Makes you want to take up surfing. I couldn't find out who the photographer is as there are several surfing photographers out there doing similar things.

Pen and Ink Still Life.

I have a tendency towards broad strokes and avoiding detailed work but you can't do that with pen and ink because it just becomes messy. So this is a study in self-discipline too really.

Pen and Indian ink.

In spite of having a boatload of new inks and paints what did I use? Indian ink and a nib pen.

Bocas del Torro

When you travel there is always a story to tell.

Sitting in a steamy, rather overfull bus somewhere on a road in Panama (I usually travel by public transport in Latin America), I speculated if I would make it to my final destination on time that day. There had been a little rockslide and it had taken some time to clear the road before we had been able to move on.

I was headed for a small island between Bocas del Torro and Bastimentos, and still had to make my way from Almirante, through the Chiquita plantations to the island of Colon by way of water-taxi and then on to the island. The prospect of staying in an eight room Caribbean guest house on a remote island with white sandy beaches was exciting to me and I was also ready to stay in one place for a week.

Only one of the rooms was to be mine of course, and there were no glass panes in the windows but hurricane shutters. The island had no electricity but there was more than adequate compensation: the sound of waves running up the beach, fresh fish for dinner, a mosquito net to sleep under and a lantern to read my book by in the evening.

When I finally reached the jetty from which I was to take a boat for the island, darkness had already fallen and I was told that no one would be willing to take me there now because of the risk hitting the coral reef.

When in despair, show it! The man in the tatty grass hat who approached me said he would take me for $50.00 (the usual going price is $5.00) and I accepted without thinking twice because the sirens of the island were calling me...rather loudly.

The moment I nodded, things started happening. The little crowd of onlookers suddenly became part of a flurry of activity and I realized I had just bought dinner for them all. My bags were lowered over the flimsy wooden quay into a well of darkness and an animated discussion in Creole flared up.

For the time being, it seemed no one was in the least interested in me so I peered over the edge of the planks to see where my belongings had gone. My eyes widened as I saw the really small vessel swaying to-and-fro in the  iridescent, oil slicked water. It was definitely a considerable way down from where I was standing which made it look even smaller.

The realization that I would have to lower myself that far down to get to the  boat, which was also in perpetual motion, was so daunting that I think fear dulled my brain, and the next thing I knew was, I had dropped myself from a standing position, with a great big thud, to sitting flat on my rear. I looked up at the astounded faces above me while the rickety jetty shuddered. Without giving a thought to any splinters that might end up in my behind, I scooted forward and before I knew it, had plopped myself into the boat.  I can't say how I plopped into that boat, but no other word covers the action that got me there. It was a totally brainless maneuver. No one was more amazed than I, that I had, granted very unelegantly and in a very unconventional way, ended up in the boat.

I rewarded the round whites of the eyes gazing down at me in puzzlement from the dark above with a broad encouraging grin and precariously settled myself down in the middle of the boat. I was ready to go. I did hear a soft "She be a strange one" in that delicious english they speak in the Caribbean.

As we left the harbor of Bocas, under the dark sky without a moon, I relaxed a little but chugging out to sea it slowly dawned on me that I was soon going to be in an enormous expanse of water bound for a practically unhibited island with broad shouldered men who would have no trouble tipping me overboard or worse. I brooded about this as one of men lay flat on his stomach at the front of the boat with a torch and yelled instructions to the other at the engine where to steer, so that we wouldn't hit the coral reef. They seemed busy enough though, to forget about me being in the boat.

Still, I could hear my mother's voice ringing in my ears: always be careful Elza. Well, I hadn't listened to her this time, had I?

Our progress was slow. Very slow. Not a light to be seen, even as we neared an even darker mass than the surrouding blackness, which was indicated to me that this might just be the island. Not a light anywhere. Inside my head it was even darker as I scolded myself for having being so impetous and impatient.

We went back and forth along the shoreline of the island to find where I should be dropped off and finally, we saw a faint glow and then a long jetty loomed up. It was too soon for me to be relieved though. Had I just faced a downward drop from a jetty, I was now looking at having to climb my way up to a jetty that towered above me as the boat rolled beneath my feet. Despair was becoming a familiar little companion on this trip.

From above there came a hand, a rather small hand which belonged to a very small man from my perspective as I stood in the rolling boat, and looked up at the dreaded height of the jetty. The swell of the waves raised and lowered me while I knew I was never going to get up there and contemplated my alternatives, when the hand from above grabbed mine, and strong hands were placed on my behind and before I knew it I was unceremoniously heaved onto the wooden jetty above me. Delivered like a sack of beans.

As I mustered all my dignity, I put on my hat, picked up my little rucksack and strode, on very wobbly legs, over the jetty towards the faint light under a tree.

As I emerged from the dark, I passed the other guests as they sat at their evening meal and I managed a calm and friendly, "Good evening", pretending I was returning from an evening stroll on the beach, while being very aware of their amazed faces as their eyes followed me, their mouths agape. "She be a strange one", each must have thought in their own way, as I disappeared into the darkness again.

Vermicelli.

I am working in a sketch book made in India and I wouldn't be surprised if it's the famous Elephant Dung paper. However I think that it may be produced in Sri Lanka. More elephants there, you see. If it were made in India, it would possibly be made from cow dung. Got to make do with what you've got, I say. Still, my pencil occasionally collides with rather sizable pieces of straw no matter what chewed it.

Whether or not there is poop involved, it works fine for what I am doing: making rough sketches for designs that I am going to stencil on fabric (very excited). While drawing these, I became suspiciously aware of their familiarity until I realized that I grew up with this design. My family had a company that made gorgeous (now there's a word I seldom use) embroideries on evening gowns, bridal gowns and all kind of gowns. I call them gowns and not just dresses because they belonged to another world, where people dressed up and went to the opera, wore gloves and stolas, and, for heaven's sake, used cigarette holders. Those people did not wear a dress, they wore a gown and an especially gorgeous one if it had been through the hands at Holland Artistic Embroidery Works.

We all look forward to.....

 

I think that most ladies living here look forward to having lunch at the Garden Cafe. They close in the Summer you see, and that makes life here a lot harder. It's not the scorching temperatures that we mind or the lack of a gift store that isn't part of a discount chain store. (Prickly Pear, where are you?). The hardest part of getting through the Summer is that, other than good oriental and Mexican food, there are no restaurants where you can while away an hour of your busy day with a friend, and eat a Strawberry Turkey Salad, a piece of excellent Torture or Killer cake, a Tri-tip salad or a bowl of home made Tortilla soup sitting under a canopy of trees and umbrellas. I mean, having lunch at Applebee's just is not the same experience, and life is really about experiences, isn't it?  So from Mother's Day, when they close, until when the heat dips under 100 again, we live like desert creatures with few niceties in our lives. Dressed in shorts and tank-top, we make a dive for our car where we will burn our buns on the hot seat, dive into the supermarket, where we stand a very good chance of freezing to death in the first 3 minutes that we are there, before we head on home again in our car that has managed to heat up in that short time to oven-like temperatures.

The Garden Cafe is open!

Photoshop meets the 50's.

I have something in mind that requires a bright, yet simple design and suddenly I found I had made this very 50's looking sketch of seedpods. I drew and colored it only once, but with the help of Photoshop I was able to see it in different color combinations and make my choice. Personally, I like them all.

Sweet pears.

When we left my brother-in-law's house (Jasper's dad and the one with the trendy fireplace) he filled our hands with bags of pears, walnuts and flowers, all from his garden and my mother made one of my favorite Autumn desserts. It really doesn't involve a recipe. As boiling potatoes does not involve a recipe either. Peel and cut the pears into quarters. Cook very slowly with some water (it doesn't take much water - perhaps half a cup, a stick of cannella (cinnamon for non-desert dwellers) and some Port wine. Again doesn't need to be much wine either. No sugar and just simmer on low until the Port and water start to form a sauce. I like it with yogurt, ice cream or custard (the last two are just wishful thinking).

Mini make-over.

 

Before I left for Holland I had already decided that my little studio corner of the house needed some attention. It is after all right by the front door and has been a workspace ever since I decided that the dining room table was almost larger than the dining room itself and that made no sense. Also, living here decidedly ended my entertaining days. Living in France you always have guests, especially if you live near Paris.

I am an Ikea shopper, in case you hadn't noticed and after landing in Phoenix I made my way to Ikea for a couple of Fira (and ABBA crab pate, which does so well with boiled eggs on toast). You can see by the roses, that I didn't waste any time fixing up those little cabinets. I even made tiny, polymer clay drawer pulls. I used a piece of the purple and gold sari I have as curtains on the adjacent window, to cover the drawers. The accents are the same green as the walls.

The two pictures below the drawers that now hold my ink, paint and other craftsy materials, are of the frieze my brother Chris made for me when the house had just been built. I love them. I will probably have to break out the walls if I ever leave here because I would hate to part with them.

P.S. Before you think that all my paint and stuff fits in those few tiny drawers....I have a large workspace in the garage and I use the guest room closet space for storage too. 

Enkhuizen harbour.

Reluctantly I move on to new things with one last look over the harbour (US English harbor) of Enkhuizen. I was fortunate to live in the center (centre: as I learned it) of town in a fine house with a bell gable (klokgevel in Dutch) built somewhere in the 18th century. I miss going around the corner to buy fresh bread, cheese and vegetables from the people you were on first name terms with. Some are still there, some have closed. Delft Blue Pottery is making a revival in Holland. Who would have thought it? It was okay for your grandmother to have but it really was for visitors. Now of course, I wish I had not given away all I bought for friends in other countries, but had kept some for myself too. All I could find in my house was a tiny pair of clogs, a little tile I recently received and a very old little dish.

These are not mushrooms.

 

The falling leaves, the warm light and the evening breeze all indicated that Autumn had arrived in Holland but all the days of my stay were sunny and mild. One could not wish for more in the country of my birth. Fleur and I made up a super tale when we found these mushrooms all about fairies and dragonflies and the sparkles on the water of the pond, which you see, is not really reflecting light but are really water fairies catching the light on their capes made of spiders' web and silver fish scales. (I am turning off the light now, so go to sleep).

Life at the edge of the pond.

Feeding ducks is fun, but imagine when one morning the swans no longer keep to the agreement: we will let them be, if they stay somewhere in the middle of the large pond. 

Hissing and being just generally pretentious as only swans can be, two of them sauntered up to our cottage and were demanding something. I pretended that I was too busy with my camera to hear them, because you can't respond to every little hiss you hear and Fleur was laughing at me from behind a window. It didn't take too long before I had to grab a chair and become a fearless lion tamer swan tamer, and hiss right back at them. Ultimately they won, I retreated brandishing the chair and taking baby steps, backwards through the door Fleur had opened for me. 

Purple Duck.

 I do love that little country but I find the streets very narrow and last time I visited, my mother and I were driving through villages and down country lanes as happy as can be, when at a point we entered a pretty little town (they are all pretty and picturesque) and I realized that I was driving on the 'fietspad' (bike lane) where only bikes are supposed to go. I mumbled something like 'well, it all looks like Madurodam to me', but I don't think my mother heard me because she was laughing so much.

Daar bij die molen reden we in een paarse eend.

Of course I didn't mean to post "aqua' it just happened. Jet lag probably and trying to upload a lot of photos to my Picasa albums online, in the midst of unpacking and doing my laundry. With this picture it's no secret where I have been. Blue skies, green pastures with friendly black and white cows, and in the background the soft whooshing of the windmill. Actually, that is my wild imagination because there was no whooshing going on. I did have blue skies though all the time I was there, and when I returned the inferno I call home had simmered down to a lovely temperature, and I could open all the windows to let in some cool night air. Sometimes life is so good. 

I am going to add a bit of a description to "Aqua" so that it makes sense.

Aqua.

This is a detail of my brother-in-law's super trendy fireplace.

I came back from Holland inspired by so many things, people and places that I have enough plans for a least 3 months....and then I will have to go travel again.

 

One can only dream and picjoke.com helps.

Seriously, it is not what I dream of. I really like drawing and puttering about with fabric, paper, paint and metal for the pleasure it gives me. It not only keeps my hands occupied but also my mind. Thinking up new projects, new pictures, and new assignments that I give myself so that I can learn a little more. There are so many marvelous artists that inspire me that I am never without ideas. My problem is really not to want to do too many things at the same time. I slow myself down and make myself finish what has been started. You see, the yupo paper arrived in Mr Blick's last shipment so I can hardly wait to start but there is packing to do. Yupo is synthetic watercolor paper, that, from what I have seen, allows for beautiful, brilliant acrylic ink paintings. I think I will take it on my trip and discover what it does together with my mother, who does watercolors but recently hasn't done much work. Perhaps it will bring back her interest in painting.

Swazi son gouache.

I

I think one of the aspects, of doing this kind of work, that I like is that you can go into flow, forget about everything and just let your mind wander all over the spectrum. But now I have a dilemma, my mind wandered to a totally unimportant place: do I prefer early morning to late at night? Normally I wouldn't think twice about this, but there you are. When I say 'late at night' it really just means between 9 and 11 p.m. and the last few nights have been so beautiful with a silvery full moon casting a light that you can read a book by. Well almost. 

Mr Blick sent me a second box last week. The box was sizable, so imagine the look on my face when I plucked out a well-wrapped pencil and then peered into an empty box. In my mind, I tut-tutted Mr Blick for his wastefulness. 

Yesterday another box from Mr Blick was waiting for me at my doorstep. I was relieved to see this box filled to the brim with brushes, Bombay Inks and all the other absolute necessities I had ordered. I started out with a pencil stub and some printer paper and now I have......well, a lot of stuff. So much for wanting to simplify life and get rid of things I don't need. I do need brushes , paints and all the rest, but did I need so much? 

I am going to play now. Well, I will as soon as I can fight my way through plastic, shrink-wrap and more tough plastic.

Swazi daughter gouache.

At first I thought I would have to paint the illustrations directly into the album, and that these that I have made were trials but then I read more about digital transfers and discovered that there are many ways you can do this. The end-result will be different, but it will avoid having to paint directly in the album allowing for corrections of mistakes (I can be a little sloppy at times). It can have quite a nice effect and avoid the album from becoming too thick.
I am using Fabriano, coldpress 300 gsm watercolor paper, which is quite heavy. I also find this paper a little too textured for my kind of work. I used FW Acrylic Artists Ink (Flame Orange) for the shawl and I liked working with it. Nice vibrant color. I immediately ordered Dr Ph. Martins Bombay Ink in several colors for a next project. Just the name, "Bombay Ink", would want me to buy it.
Hearing names like Bombay, Zanzibar, Damascus, Srinagar, Gaborone and so on, make me want to embark on a walkabout.

Swazi mother in gouache.

This sudden desire to paint and draw did not just fall out of the sky. It all has to do with Fleur or as we sometimes call her Fleuro. The wonder of having a little girl like her in the family just dazzles me. I decided I would make her a photo-album to record her first years but just an album with photos did not seem enough. I am not into making scrapbooks which is all the rage right now. Are you joking? I can't just go out an buy ready made decorations to stick into a book. I would make my own paints, grinding pigments and all given half the chance. I do things from scratch which reminds me of my father's time painting with his oil paints that he made with egg-whites. I suppose that's where it comes from. Well, thinking that I wanted the book to be original, I came up with illustrating Fleur's book with drawings and paper-cuts, in addition to writing her letters and making pretty envelopes that can be added to the pages. I also want her to know her family so I am diligently going through boxes of memories that in some cases are not mine but the memories of generations before me.

Swazi father in gouache.

Yesterday I decided it would be a painting day and what a painting day it was. Dark clouds rolled over in the afternoon and soon rain clattered against the windows and the ensuing crisp coolness made it an ideal painting day. With some lamps on and Athena at my feet, I painted away. It wasn't easy. I hadn't done it for a long time but the brushes and new tubes of paint were so enticing I couldn't wait. Forget about the laundry and ironing. It was painting day.

I painted the family in sequence from father to youngest son and that is how I will post them. Pencil sketch painted with gouache (opaque watercolor, the medium I have used most since I can remember). Tools: homemade stamps of pins in cork and also a tiny stamp made with Staedtler Mastercarve which they say is "como mantequilla" and so it is. Very small stamps are better made from erasers because Mastercarve crumbles. I do think it will be great for larger stamps. I also used a 0.5 Micronpen for the outlines, giving the drawings a more cartoonlike quality.

Guinea Fowl Sketch.

The week before last I started thinking about Guinea Fowl. I know, strange thing to think about but lately I have been thinking about subjects to work with in different media. I am really enjoying getting back into drawing. I have placed a sizable order with Mr Blick and am waiting for it to arrive so that I can also do some painting. So many animals in Africa and yet the Guinea Fowl has its distinct place. In my eyes it does, just like the Quail in the Sonoran desert. See the legs at the top? I just start drawing and perhaps, but maybe not, I was going to draw a resting bird and then decided it needed legs, and I had to draw the legs at the top. It will get its legs eventually. Maybe I was distracted because my Nuvi GPS wouldn't turn on and I live with that thing. Not so much to find my way as to be able to listen to my books from Audible. Didn't think I could fix it, but with a little help from Google I discovered that all I had to do was press on the screen and on/off button at the same time.

Mola from Panama

I had bought these mola's in Panama and framed them when I got home but I have recently had my sofas reupholstered in a dark, deep purple and I kept thinking they needed some color. The stitching on the molas is amazingly fine. Just look how small they are compared to the pin. I could never work so finely. Ik ben meer van grote steken en snel thuis. The last picture shows 4 different fabrics that I bought for several projects, one being making cushions with the molas.