MY SOFT WHITE BUNS

This is the second post for these photos (I had to erase the first one because it sort of went off tangent - so typical of me)
That said, I'm going to keep this one short and sweet (or rather savoury).
These are some buns filled with vegetables that I made a couple of nights ago, ones that I grew up eating. I called my mother on a whim and she walked me through the recipe over the phone.
This is my first attempt.
Needless to say there were definitely some issues:
1) I got bored while I was making them (it took 4 hours from start to finish)
2) They weren't as flavourful compared to the ones that my mom, aunt and grandmother made.

Back to the chopping board.

WHY I DRAW

Sometimes when I'm sitting in class and listening to my Fiction Writing Professor talk about the process of writing, my mind begins to drift; not in a way that I fail to hear what he's saying, but I start to align his words alongside my craft of drawing. I have a terrible time with labels, assigning and boxing things neatly (or not -) into some kind of space and then calling it a name. You'll notice that I switch between the words, art, and craft, and illustration, and design, and drawing in many of my posts -- and when I do, I think it's because I'm starting to see them more and more each time as being extremely similar to one another in a sense that they share so many of the same traits. Although there are many people who I'm sure can clinically delineate the difference between each of these disciplines, I'm beginning not to care so much any more.

When I was 13 years old, I clearly remember saying out loud that I wanted to draw for a living. Back then, I had no clue what I was talking about because I didn't know anyone who made money from their drawings. When we moved to Canada, my father worked in a factory and my mother did data entry at her first and only job for decades. Drawing was not practical in their eyes, and as a result I could not foresee that it would take care of me.

There were moments when I thought that I would give up on drawing. In third year art college, I almost dropped out of school even before the semester began. I wanted to, I needed to move out of my parents home, and so I thought that I would stay working full time at a clothing factory in a suburb of Toronto to save up enough money for rent. Had I done so, I have no clue where I would be now, fortunately for my sake I snapped out of this delusion of mine, and with the help of my brother and sister, stayed in art college for the remaining years, and then moved out shortly after. During this time, I probably drew more feircely than ever because I guessed at that moment, that I had no other choice. In a way, I cast all of my hopes and frustrations into this particular discipline wanting so badly for it to lift me out of the place that I was in.

And so I drew.


I sometimes look at my drawings and wonder if are they good or if they are not. I understand that if the drawing has been commissioned by someone else, that there are reasons that make it successful; that in addition to the aesthetic component, that it needs to communicate an idea and have a concept, and satisfy a viewership. I know all of this, I believe it, and I teach this to my students: content is paramount. But when I distance myself from my work and really stare at it, surface and content together, the parts of it that are not so good begin to reveal themselves to me. I have always fantasized about being a great artist, like the ones whose books I keep on my shelf. They are the ones who are able to manage shape and line in such a way that make me feel that they have exclusivity to use them. The ones who employ colour with such beautiful ease, as though they were the ones who gave birth to such colours. But I know that for many of them, or at least, I tell myself, that I believe not all of this came easily for any of them. Not any of this came quickly either.

I recently opened up Charley Harper's book, the one that was put together by Todd Oldham, and it makes me feel good because the pictures in it reminded me - it reminds me of why I draw. The photos of Harper's work span his entire lifetime, showing images of drawing as the content. The way in which he relates colour to one another is magical and the restraint that he holds in his brush when rendering the details of the figures and objects convinces me that there is a reason and place for every mark that he puts down. And even though he is one of these artists who I have come to revere, I am learning to appreciate the work that he has done as just that, work that he has done. I try to remind myself now of the importance of the act of drawing, drawing for drawing sake, not drawing for money sake, nor for the sake of fame, or for the sake of trying to be like someone else. These things grow less important to me.

And so I draw.

I draw because I enjoy simply moving the paint around on the page, and stylus on the tablet. I enjoy mixing colours and arranging them next to each other to create patterns. I enjoy making marks on the pages and allowing them to twist and turn into something figurative or abstract. I draw because I have things that I want to say that I might not be able to express through words, through actions. I draw because when I do, the world around me falls away. 

*This post was inspired by Joan Didion's essay, "Why I Write."

BREATHE AGAIN

James Blagden came to talk to my class on Thursday afternoon, and it was probably one of the most refreshing and genuine talks that I've heard in a while. It was great to hear about his transition from student to professional, and to listen to him speak about his approaches to illustration, or rather art in general.
If you've been keeping up with my posts then you'll understand where I am in reference to my own art, my craft, my design, my illustration. It's so difficult for me to compartmentalize them all, but really -- do I need to?
I just spent about 3 hours playing around with Photoshop and Flash, trying to make a crudely done animation (I just took a look at it on my blog and it's quite dreadful, but it's one of my first few attempts at animating in Flash since 2001 - I've done some other ones which are even crappier). I didn't think about concept or content, rather it was inspired by my getting acupuncture today. Yes, another whim of mine. Actually that's a lie, it's not a trite experience, rather I'm trying to find ways to reduce my allergies without having to go for weekly shots. I love spring, but it comes with some consequences. I must have been incredibly exhausted because at one point I found myself snoring on the floor of my apartment with a bunch of needles in my face, hands, and shins.
In my head, before I drew the person lying down receiving acupuncture, I had a very different kind of visual in mind. But as I continued, I realized that not everything that I do needs to be so precious. Sometimes the work is enough. It's not about hitting every mark, every time; it's not about having to seek out a future usage or application for everything I do, sometimes the simple act of mark making is all that is required to have a successful day at the studio. It's something that I learned from an instructor of mine about 2 years ago, that not everyday needs to be spent constructing a masterpiece; not all of the marks and lines, or colours or shapes on the page have to turn into the final marks that the viewer sees in my final illustration. That work in progress, that temporary work, that rough work, that ephemeral work, that work that is thrown into the trash; the first draft, the mid draft, the under drawing that hasn't yet been resolved after many attempts, all of that work is valid, all of that work is necessary in creating the path that will ultimately lead to the creation the final picture.

TSHIRT GRAPHICS FOR H.O.W. JOURNAL FUNDRAISER, THU MAY 6

H.O.W. (Helping Orphans Worldwide) will be hosting its Spring fundraiser and art auction this Thursday, May 6 at a private loft in Tribeca at 112 Franklin Street, 4th Floor from 7:00 - 10:00pm. Coinciding with the fundraiser is the launch of the first edition of Wearable Literature Tshirts, the proceeds of which will go towards H.O.W.
I was asked to create 4 illustrations which would be translated onto the shirts integrating the text written by various well known authors, Jonathan Ames, Amy Hempel, Rick Moody, and Honor Moore. Dave Eggers also created a exclusive Tshirt to be sold at the event (which is pretty damn cool!).
For more information and to buy tickets link to www.howjournal.com and scroll to the bottom of the page. Props go out to my good friend Fernanda Cohen's whose responsible for the bad-ass cover of the latest issue of H.O.W. Journal. Hope to see you there!

JEUDI, JE T'AIME

THE RATS IN MY BRAIN *

I've been thinking a lot about transition recently.
Now that we're a quarter of the way into 2010 (can someone tell me how the heck that happened?) I'm beginning to take some inventory of the work that I've done to this point, both commercial and self-initiated ones. I've begun to challenge my level of thought, wondering how to weave in new methods of working and thought into my studio practice.
As I grow and change, so does my work. I wonder if part of the reason why I am so aware and active about reshaping my present and growing it forward is because I was a late bloomer. Growing up gay in a suburb of Toronto fucks with your mind and so you create a moniker, a type of persona for your own protection and for the protection of your family. No, it's not living a lie, but it is a lot of pressure to place on any person who is so young, to make them so aware of the fact that there is a profoundly negative component about themselves that they can't change. There is no comfortable place for them in world, and as a result they crawl into a fold within themselves and present a new face, a new mask, full of creases, tucks and pleats. I was still me, but I had to shield myself from the cleft tongues of those attackers who would try to stab me with their sharp words. Moving forward, I know that I carried my awareness forward, and used art and illustration as a means to express parts of myself that otherwise would have remained dormant inside of me.
Fast forward ahead to my twenties.
It was during this time when I probably experienced a considerable amount of change in my life - so much that I needed to mark them down somehow, to have those life episodes manifested in some tangible form; I felt that I needed to concretize them to remind me of where I had been, and how far I had come.
In my late twenties I took 7 weeks off, to travel to Europe alone, and then to New York, it was about 6-7 years ago I think. I'd been working my ass off for about 3 years, post undergrad, trying to plant myself somehow amidst the community of those illustrators for whom I revered. I began in Paris, took a train into Bilbao, purposely to see the Guggenheim twice, there was an exhibit by the sculptor, Alexander Calder. Previous to this moment I felt no affinity towards his large mobiles. They were just a bunch of pieces of metal that were sprayed with shiny or matte paint, stuck together in various ways, and then hung up on the ceiling. But when I walked into the gallery space which housed so many of Calder's work, both massive and tiny, I began to feel incredibly changed and moved. The sculptures swung ever so slightly as if they weren't moving at all; if I were to walk quickly through the room, I bet I would not even have seen any movement within them, but standing beneath these monoliths and staring upwards like that, I could see the subtleties of motion. Maybe cranking my neck back like that, and staring straight towards the sky was another reason that I felt moved by his work. It's no wonder that when people are seeking out answers or relief, whether religious or not, they turn their heads up towards the sky.
As usual, I went off tangent, I didn't mean to get stuck writing about Bilbao. From there I traveled into Spain, then Portugal, back through Spain and final into Italy, where I spent my last few days in Rome before flying back to Toronto. During this time, I was having many thoughts about leaving Toronto. This sounds very cryptic, I know, but things in my life, both career and personal, needed to change. It's strange when you spend so much time alone, it persuades you to consider your life in a different way, in ways that you otherwise may not have, had you been comfortable within a spot with all of your trappings to keep you safe. Traveling to Europe and staying for 4 weeks alone meeting some people along the way, but not really experiencing any deep connection with anyone, forced me to think about things at home. I thought about the kind of work that I was doing, the partnership that I had with my first agent, the relationship that I had with my boyfriend of two years, and the kind of illustrator that I wanted to become.
When I arrived home, the first thing that I did was ride my bike throughout the city. I don't know why I did that. I mean, I had traveled so far and seen so many interesting things, met people from around the world, and yet the first thing that I did was ride my bike through downtown Toronto. Shortly after that, I decided to get a tattoo; a half sleeve and chest panel of a tiger, my lunar symbol. I was in a rush to do so because I felt so inspired and both psychology and creatively beaten down and emancipated by my trip that I needed to mark it somehow. No wonder why so many people turn to astrology for guidance (I'm not one of those people who believe in star signs and houses in the sky, but at that moment, I couldn't think of anything else that I wanted to mark my body with; the only thing that I could think of was a tiger - I wonder though, if I were a rabbit, would I still have gone through it?).
Six months later, I left my agent, broke up with my boyfriend and the started to prepare my papers for my move to New York. Part of me wondered if my doing so was escapist, that my feeling of being overwhelmed by the questions that rose during my travels, about my life, about my career, about my past and my present state of happiness caused me to want to lift myself out of the place that I was in. But all I could remember was that I wanted a new life... I wanted a new future.
* I have to give props for the title of this post - it was inspired by the lyrics from the song "Apparitions" by Matthew Good Band.

I'll FORM THE HEAD

This is something that I just drew with my left hand about a minute ago: It's Voltron (Defender of the Universe) using my Pentel brush pen. Today I saw a woman straight out of the Roseanne show wearing a bleached denim jacket, baseball cap, glasses, who was sitting on her front porch belting out to the world, the "Easter Parade" song. I also almost titled this post, "Chicken bones, playing cards, chinese food and cherry blossoms" because those were the things that I saw on my way to the studio. That's my entry today. Pretty slim, I know. I had more thoughts in my head, but I'm way too exhausted to post them. Oh, and I had a very bad drawing day today. And no, it wasn't because I drew with my left hand either.