Sedum and snails, in Sagres

This picture was taken on a windswept, rock-strewn peninsula on the most western point of Europe.

Two fishermen on the cliffs in Sagres, Portugal

These guys go fishing here. That's a long line.

More ink sketches

Ink on cotton paper
36 by 26 cm

These were less successful, but I like how the two figures merge together on the page.

I saved the best drawing for the Work of the Week blog.

More ink sketches

Ink on cotton paper
36 by 26 cm

These were five minute poses. I love the immediacy of ink, the range of shading from darkest dark to subtle tones is great.

Ink drawings

Ink on cotton paper, 26 by 36 cm.

These ink drawings are short poses (5 to 30 minutes) done at the International Art Club of the Hague.

Diesel...

is my new nickname. Touring around the Bordeaux with Tamara and her Mom, I like to think of myself as the worldly man of travel, the successful artist transplant so expertly navigating the European milieu.

Re the nickname. Tamara and her mom actually prefer, "Gassy," but I prefer the slightly more masculine ring of "Diesel." So goes it when you fill a diesel car with gasoline... I used to be a highly competent engineer type, proud of my technical prowess and not a probably not a little bit arrogant. But then I moved to Europe, and every single little thing conspired against that belief. Anyway, that arrogance is long gone now. Try doing art for a year and half for a living, and you'll understand too.

Anyway, first, the facts. 10 liters of gasoline were pumped into a tank that is supposed to take diesel. In my defense, I can only say... well, not much actually.

After the fact, sick to our collective stomachs, we pulled into a Renault dealership. Tamara's been that mad before, once or maybe twice. The slick salesman said the shop was closed, but we walked around to the back where a couple of the mechanics were having a cig. The question was posed, what happens if you have 10 liters of gasoline in a tank that is supposed to be filled with diesel, in a tank that has a capacity of 50 liters? The first reaction, after a certain puzzlement, were these wonderful, little smug smiles. You know what I mean.

We were lucky to have Tamara's mom, Jacqueline, there to pose the question in French. We stumped the two mechanics, and after the little smug smiles we stumped the the third and the fourth. Plus smiles. Time to summon the top mechanic. He joined the group, deep grease lines staining the wrinkles in his face and uniform. He was a master, and completely without ego. His word was gold, and every mechanic there treated him with the reverence that was his due. There was no smug smile from him. I loved him for the master he was, and for a brief second thought briefly about giving up art forever, becoming a mechanic and apprenticing at the Renault garage. He thought for a minute, asked a few clarifying questions, and finally made his pronouncement, which had the added weight of being made in French. All seven of us hung on his every word, every syllable uttered with seriousness and gravity.

Namely, we were to drive the car around, ignore any coughing sounds of complaint, and dilute the tank with diesel as we went. The car was good to go. If only my reputation and ego were as easily repaired. Please, just call me "Diesel." Not, "Gassy." I'm just not ready for that.

Tamara's mom just cooked a lovely dinner for us all. I thanked her before she went to bed, and she let me know that she after all, was "just cooking with gas."

An old self portrait, college days

I stumbled across this in the files today. Its true, I used to have hair.

Me playing cribbage - February, the midwest

This is what I look like when I travel back to the midwest in the wintertime... shell-shocked. Below, Dad contemplates the double-skunk. A great portrait.

Minnesota winter - playing cribbage with Dad

I stumbled across this photo, and had to share it. Somehow it captures the essence of the cold, dark Minnesota winter that I remember from my youth. My Norwegian ancestors spent a lot of time playing cribbage in the wintertime, since you can't farm in Norway in the winter. Here, my dad and I are using ball point pens instead of cribbage pegs. (The pegs were lost.) This game was close, but if I remember correctly Dad was a couple points away from being double-skunked in the prior game.

An evening drawing at the International art club of the hague

Tuesday night's drawings...I gave away two of the drawings to the model, but I like these too. These are done with ink, a brush, and a pen. This is a great way to practice drawing what you see, not what you think you see.

Sidewalk chalk art by an anonymous five year old

I encountered this sidewalk artwork in the neighborhood. Each square on the sidewalk was its own unique "canvas." This is amazing art. A passerby told me that the artist was a five year old boy. He should be teaching a course in abstract expressionism in graduate school. He has something to teach us adult artists. Were my art so fresh...

My apologies to the artist, if I have reproduced any of the images upside down.

Work in progress - title suggestions?

This painting started out as "Pink Abstractions," a prior work of the week (pictured below), and before that as "Blue Bit," (pictured bottom) and is still in progress. It is a big painting, about four feet wide.

When I started the latest iteration, I had no idea that it would turn into a structure, or that it would be populated with little people. Now, any suggestions for a title?

Art and Fear

Art and Fear, Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking" by David Bayles and Ted Orland is absolutely required reading for any artist and all of my future art students. (I will be teaching a drawing class in the spring.) I re-read this book about once a year. It was given to me by a dear friend and fellow artist, Michele M., and I am so grateful to her for the gift. For any artist who has ever been plagued by questions of self-doubt (that is, all artists), stopped in your tracks, or quit art for whatever reason, this book is for you. ISBN 0-9614547-3-3.