A Visit to Fairgos

Have you checked out the book trailer yet? Don't forget to check out the revamped www.warmastersdaughter.com as well!

Under Cover

I just re-read my last post, and I feel that I must wrap up the loose end I left about how I would feel after signing the paperwork to license the cover photograph for Secernere. I signed the contract late last week, paid the fee, and downloaded the final high-resolution TIFF from the lovely and talented photographer (who I believe is also the model in the photograph).

I tell you I did not feel one single twinge of regret. Not one pang. The only thing I felt was a fluttering heart, much akin to the feeling when one receives a note from a new lover. Owning the rights to this perfect image has solidified Secernere in my mind as more than just words on a page, as more than a manuscript. The paperwork, the signature, the out-shelling of money, the filed-away invoice as a statement of business expense: this was my first real move down the independent publishing road.

Over the weekend, I finished the layout to my cover, including the spine and the back, on which I posted draft sales copy and an exorbitantly laudatory (fake) blurb. And I am so happy with it. It's this perfect little decoration that I will wrap around my interesting little story and turn it into this nebulous idea called a "book."

On the Awl yesterday, I read a quote from Mark Jude Poirier that summed it up so well: "The cover of your first book is like your wedding dress if you’re a woman: You want it to represent who you are, but you want it to make you look much better than you normally do."

Now I'm not all that into weddings, and I don't put much time into daydreaming about a wedding dress, but my first book cover is shaping up to be a pretty good goshdarn stand-in. Timeless, classic, simple, muted but memorable. (Too bad it probably won't make my mother quite as happy.)

But oh my gosh, I can't wait to share it! Stay tuned.

On Designing a Book Cover

I think a rite of passage in this self-publishing thing is to do your homework. This has been done before, and most certainly documented before in this, the Age of Documentation. So the new self-publisher’s first task is to educate herself using the lessons learned by those who blazed the trail. Among the advice that is most frequently and loudly repeated is this: Do not to try to design the cover yourself.

This is also the very first piece of advice I threw out the window.

It was a somewhat worrisome choice, I admit. There’s something about the covers of self-published books that scream “No Professionals Here!” What is it about self-published book covers that self-identify them as such? I have yet to put my finger on it. I think there are a few common missteps: designing in a non-design program, such as Word or PowerPoint; using common fonts like Times New Roman and not tweaking anything about them; using cheap, off-the-shelf stock photography or graphics. But those notwithstanding, professional designers do bring a certain je ne se quoi.

But only some of them.

I don’t want to skewer an entire industry, but let’s just say I’ve worked with enough graphic designers to know that they’re just like any other professional: some are really amazing, some are really terrible, and the bulk fall on the continuum in between.

I would be hard-pressed to call myself a professional graphic designer, but I do perform design on at least a weekly basis in the course of my occupation. I also minored in Fine Art at Goucher, and studied art for 17 consecutive years. I draw and paint at home. I have “an eye” as they say, so I don’t feel out of my element in putting together my own book cover. I’ve chosen to do this because I’ve committed to keeping the “self” in self-publisher. (I’ll tell you I considered for more than a long moment printing the books myself and hand-binding them, but that’s another story. I smartly moved on from that choice.) I consider myself an artist, and I feel I would be cheating some part of myself if I were to leave the cover art up to someone else.

But as I’m moving forward with a particular photograph from a particular photographer, I’m realizing the small piece of joy that I’m missing out on by doing it myself: the reveal. In the same way I will never be able to read Secernere for the first time like any other reader can, I will never be able to see my cover for the first time. It is evolving in draft after draft, tweak after tweak. I’m losing my objective eye for it because I’ve seen it through so many iterations. As explored in earlier posts, I have myriad reasons for knowing I’m ready to publish the book. I don’t have quite so much confidence in the cover design.

I’m a little disappointed that I won’t ever take in that gasp of breath and exclaim, “Oh my god! It’s perfect!” when I see the delivered cover from my hired gun. But neither will I ever have to be a PITA control freak client saying to the designer, “Can you try it once more with Garamond instead?”

It was difficult to settle on a photographer. It’s not the photographer; she’s amazing and her work looks like it was taken right out of my book. It’s more that it’s difficult to narrow my choices down. So it was even more difficult to settle on a handful of her photographs, from which I narrowed it down to one. Now that I’ve mentally locked myself into one, I’m beginning to feel a bit trapped, and I worry that feeling may get worse once I sign the paperwork. After that, the photograph has to become part of a design, and eventually I will be able to change nothing, not even the spread on the drop shadow under my name. That’s the thing about being a control freak: you wholly own the decisions you make, and you can never pass the blame onto anything except the passage of time.

But whatever I settle on will be imperfect and perfect in its own way. Perfect because it will be mine.

…And yours.

Become a Patron

There are centuries of history behind patronage of the arts, with the most detailed recorded history of it occurring from the Medieval to the Renaissance periods. Shakespeare, Da Vinci, and Mozart all benefitted from the assistance of sponsors in the creation of their art.

As it was then, however, patronage now is concentrated in small, powerful, elitist centers—mostly corporations, government, and educational institutions. Whenever control over decisions is concentrated, the art output is purposely or inadvertently homogenized, with a bent towards return-on-investment. This does not bode well for the independent artist, from whose mind commercialization is often far away.

Those arts which can be reproduced, packaged, and commoditized—namely, books and music—are extremely susceptible to death by lack of perceived commercial appeal. Large upfront costs for said packaging and reproduction, combined with the paradox of economies of scale, make independence in these media cost prohibitive for the so-called “starving artist.”

But thanks to the power of the internet, social networking, and (dare I use the term) crowdsourcing, the decision-making power can be spread across the masses and the risk/reward model changes. The risk for the patron is diluted to almost nothing. The reward for the artist is that she foregoes being a (financial, intellectual, creative) debtor and remains the artist, with requisite artistic control.

Over the summer, I will be finalizing my first novel, Secernere, preparing it for print. In autumn 2011, I will be opening a Kickstarter campaign to fund the publication of Secernere, and will be soliciting patronage to help defray the costs related to professional proofreading, printing, and shipping & handling costs. In return, my patrons will receive a variety of rewards, including autographed copies of Secernere, original artwork from the book design, handmade bookmarks, and special acknowledgments in the book.

For a nominal cost—what one might pay for two Frappacinos, or a hardcover of Twilight, or a blu-ray disc—the patron can now directly contribute to the creation and distribution of a new work. Once, the publisher would put out tens of thousands of dollars in what was essentially a gamble, expecting, no, hoping for that return on investment. Now, the investment is small, and the expected return is not financial; it is creative, intellectual, soulful. The patron is not commercial consumer, but a part of the creation myth.

Watch here for more information as we move toward the Kickstarter campaign. If you want to contribute early, please feel free. Your name will be recorded for a reward once they have been determined.

Ahh! Bag Monsters!

This has a little of everything I love: random public art, trash recycled as awesomeness, monsters.

I Drew a Bunch of Pictures Last Night

I have this concept. I'm not ready to talk about it yet. But here are some concept drawings. We'll see where it goes...

Mixed Blessing at MoMA

After I heard about the Tim Burton exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art a few weeks back, I planned a trip with Chris to go to NYC this past weekend. I had earned a free hotel night from Choice Hotels after spending so much time in Houston this fall, and I found a hotel in SoHo, Manhattan where I could use my points. Chris suggested we take the Bolt Bus, which turns out to be less expensive than driving when you factor in gas and tolls. We never drive in NYC, so the bus really was the perfect option. And I would get to do a lot of sewing on the way up! The fact that it was Valentine's Day weekend was only incidental (we don't celebrate the commercialization of our relationship), but I completely forgot that it was also President's Day weekend. It didn't occur to me just how crowded the city--and MoMA--would be.

It turned out that Tim Burton was sold out for the weekend. Even after doing light research on the MoMA website, it was not obvious to me that we would need separate tickets to get in. There was no additional charge, so I thought we could just show up and go. Not so much.

I admit to crying for roughly 18 seconds when I saw the sign outside the museum that said, "Tim Burton exhibit is sold out for the day."

We decided to visit the museum anyway, since I had never been, and this turned out to be a mixed blessing. I was sad at missing the work of one of my major influences, but I do not regret getting to spend the time with some of the greatest pieces of modern art the world has to offer.

The greatest moments were seeing the major Rothko and Pollock works. They are simply astounding and breathtaking, especially if you stand close enough to them so that you can't see anything else in your field of vision. Seeing just two of these paintings was worth more than any number of pieces by anyone else--including the whole of the Burton exhibit.

However, the MoMA experience was a harrowing one; the museum is beyond crowded. Moreover, it is crowded with people who would rather have someone take a picture of them with a painting than actually look at it. It is crowded with people who think it is a good idea to snap a photo of Starry Night with their iPhone. It is crowded with people who are updating their Facebook status instead of capturing a sculpture on a sketch pad. The crowd at large made me feel sad for the state of humanity. Seriously, haven't these people heard of the internet? What were they trying to prove? It really is the epitome of narcissism if you think the only thing that can improve a photograph of a great work of art is you.

I admit to purposely walking in front of several people trying to take photographs. I also admit to purposely bumping several people, including the guy who stuck his blackberry in front of my face as I was trying to view The Persistence of Memory.

MoMA may have some of the greatest works available for viewing in the U.S., but I don't think the works on display are the singular experience a museum has to offer. I won't be going back anytime soon. I'll stick to the cavernous, relaxed, beautiful quiet of my neighborhood Walters Art Museum (which, incidentally, is free). I may have seen everything in it multiple times over, but I can walk to it and it is my favorite place in the city to just be.

Nevermore

Today is the 165th anniversary of the publication of "The Raven." That poem has been one of my greatest inspirations. Anyone who knows my writing knows I am a hardcore formalist, and I find the internal mechanics of The Raven to be astounding. The meter is precise. The rhyme scheme, both internal and end, is cyclical and haunting without being repetitive or grating.

I admit I probably heard it read out loud one too many times while I participated in Forensics in high school. But listening to Vincent Price read it brings the magic back.

Art Lessons

I guess you could say the results of the painting experiment are in. Once the painting had been drying for a couple days, I started to notice that the areas heavy with impasto medium were beginning to crack and discolor. So that's a big red flag on using a lot of impasto. That's unfortunate, because I really enjoyed using it to beef up my paint. I guess I'll have to work on my proportion. I don't want to imagine I can't use it at all. I think I'll just have to use less of it.






I went to the Walters for a bit again this weekend. Mostly, I got up close and personal with some fantastic oil paintings. I tried to get into the artists' heads and really try to see the painting as they would have as they were working on it. Even as magnificent as some of them appear from afar, when you get really close, you can see it's just one brush stroke at a time. I think that will be my mantra: One brushstroke at a time. I think if I practice zen-like patience, I should be able to develop higher quality paintings.

I only had an hour, and mostly was looking at painting, but I did get one post-worthy drawing done of Rodin's Death of Apollo. My proportion is still not great - his legs are too long. I think part of the problem is that I was working without an eraser, as usual. I think I need to start seeing the eraser as a tool and not a sign of weakness. :)



The "Woman Alone" painting is still on the back burner. I have plans to work tonight on a Chiaroscuro-style self portrait based on a photograph of my 16-year old self - one brushstroke at a time.

Experimenting in Oil

Wednesdays have become my "art night." I went to one life drawing session, but then the next week I was too fired up about working on my new painting series to go, and I spent the evening working on Woman Alone No. 1. Yesterday, I was completely planning to go back for another life drawing session (I even got a bunch of quarters at the store to plug the parking meter), but the minute I stepped across the threshold of my apartment a deep fatigue fell over me. That happens a lot: I walk in, drop my bag and laptop, hang up my coat, and then all I want to do is to sink into the couch with a DVD and my cats napping by my side. Sometimes, it's really difficult to drag myself back out of the house once I get home. When I have no particular obligation to anyone other than myself (as is the case with going to life drawing in Towson), it's even more difficult.

So the short of it is I didn't go (to my only slight regret). But I figured that if I was going to stay home, I would be at least somewhat productive. I was too tired to give the focus demanded by my Woman project, so I decided I'd just do some experiments with paint.

I recently purchased Oil Painting for the Serious Beginner by Steve Allrich, and have read about half of it. The book is pretty good, but it's restricting, because Allrich only really expounds upon the way HE paints, and really does little to explore other techniques (like glazing, which I was curious about) or other palettes (he doesn't put green on his palette, so there is a chapter about mixing green, but hardly anything about using green paint). Regardless, I did find out a lot of information I was looking for. It definitely wasn't a waste of money.

One of the most interesting things Allrich had to say was to use black paint. I've been taught by both serious painting teachers I've had not to use black, because the black that comes out of a tube rarely, if ever, occurs in life. Instead, I'd always been taught to make a mix of umber and blue to make a deep gray that can be warmed or cooled accordingly. Allrich does not agree with this school of thought, and encourages the use of black, but says to think of it as a color in and of itself, not something you add to other colors to make them darker. I thought that was interesting.

Since my tube of Lamp Black was unused from date of purchase (probably 6 years ago now) I decided that I was going to open it up and use the hell out of it.

I also took this opportunity to explore some other things I wanted to try out - different brushes, using the palette knife, mixing on the canvas, adding subtle color to black, creating texture with impasto medium, etc. One of my main objectives, as well, was to see if I could complete (or "complete") a painting in one session (known as alla prima), since I know how my attention span can wander. I don't want to end up with another half dozen unfinished paintings that I lose the source material for and end up gessoing over (as was the case with the canvases I'm working on right now: they were once other paintings).

It was a fun session. Great to play with the paint without worrying about the results. I learned that I need to figure out the best way to thin my paint (it was either too thick or too runny; rarely did I get a perfect medium). I learned that I bought horrible paint brushes that shed like crazy. I learned that if I'm going to be serious about painting I have to come to terms with the fact that I'm going to go through a LOT of paint and I have to be willing to put in the money to buy supplies (which can be tax deductible in certain cases if I remember to keep receipts). Mostly I learned that I have a lot to learn, and, as Allrich indicates in his book (and much like advice related to writing), the best way to learn how to paint is to paint a lot and look at a lot of paintings.

Here was what I ended up with at the end of the night. I think I may go back and redo her face in finer/better detail when it dries. I might also add some spot colors. Who knows. It's an experiment: I can do whatever I want.

*Snap, snap*

Since my wonderful boyfriend was thoughtful enough to get me a new digital camera for Christmas (I broke my last one falling down in the streets of Montreal), I have been able to start back into my Etsy business.

It's been almost exactly a year since I started on the site, so it's kind of like my second try at doing this. I was very successful the first time, and I think I have two options:

1) Keep doing what I was doing, and do more of it, and thus be even more successful (financially and statistically successful, to be specific)

2) Use past success to "check off the box" (I sold things I made for money - yay), and now spend this "round" being experimental with what I'm selling (less conventional items, less "cutesy" stuff - more "authentic" art).

3) A hybrid of both.

I think I'm going with 3. I can really only make so many stuffed animals before I want to paint a portrait or take provocative photographs. I have never felt, and do not feel now, that they are mutually exclusive. I should be able to, and just plain should, make and try to sell whatever I want to. It all comes from me; there is no need to segregate one from the other. I think... Sometimes I'm not sure provocative photographs and stuffed toys should be sold together in the same store. Sometimes I think, "Fuck it." Who knows.

But now is the time to be experimental. I'm pushing my boundaries in both directions, but still creating some of the old standards that bring in enough income to buy more supplies. You can write off hobby supplies on your taxes - but not if you make more money than you spend. I'd like to fall into the latter category. But I want to maintain my integrity, too.

On that note, I've posted some new items, and plan to spend the rest of the evening on a really cool rabbit doll I started yesterday. Please check them out when you get a chance.

Woman Alone Series Photographs Made Available

I have listed the first four photographs in the Woman Alone series for sale in my Etsy shop. As I stated earlier, I don't really identify myself as a photographer, but I am trying to spread my artistic wings. I'm thinking of this as more of an interesting experiment than anything. Sometimes I don't honestly expect to be able to sell anything other than stuffed animals. :-/

Phthalo Blue Gets Into EVERYTHING

Worked a couple hours this evening, starting in with the oils. I wish I could say it all came back to me, but it didn't. I have a lot of remembering and a lot of learning to do. I'm thinking maybe I should have started with a master copy, just to work on technique before I started on a "real" piece (like I'd planned in the beginning). Oh well.

Painting also takes a lot more patience than I've been willing to give activities for a long time. This will certainly be a test for me.

Under the Painting is the Underpainting

I began the underpainting last night. I admit to not concentrating on it fully (I was tired and distracted, but still wanted to get started), so it's pretty flawed even at this stage. But it's still a start. BOY, did I miss painting. It is such a good feeling to start up again.

I worked this in acrylic, but the overpainting will be in water-mixable oil paint. I am running low on several key colors (white, phthalo blue, and burnt umber, especially, since I use those colors almost exclusively in making grays, blacks, and other neutrals), so I'll have to do some shopping before I start the overpainting.

I'm still trying to decide whether to attend the life drawing session tonight, or to focus my efforts on my painting. I probably won't have another opportunity to work on it till Monday, and I don't know if I want to wait that long. Decisions, decisions...

Ghost, Ghost, I Know You Live Within Me

As so often happens with my plans, they've changed. I was trying to go through the motions of classical study, including doing some master copies and self portraits and other sort of "standard" exercises, but I quickly got bored. I'm not sure when or why it happened, but I had a flash of inspiration over the weekend about a painting project I want to begin. No, actually, I do think I know why it happened. I've been playing the hell out of Neutral Milk Hotel's In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, and I think it has gotten into my brain.

The album, which grows more fantastic with each play, is a concept album about--or greatly influenced by--the life and death of Anne Frank. What has really been haunting me about the record are the images evoked by the lyrics. They are at once beautiful, but also unashamedly sexual and raw, sometimes violent, and always pure in their emotion. And if you put Anne Frank's face on all the "you"s and "she"s in the lyrics (it may not have been the intent, but it's difficult not to do so), there is an added layer of creepiness--the sexualization of a young girl. Even further: the sexualization of a dead girl. One could even take it so far as pedophilia, and almost abstract rape, because the girl cannot defend herself or enjoin herself with any of the images Mangum evokes. But I'm still never offended by the lyrics, perhaps because the passion is unashamed, unassuming, and guiltless. I think "haunting" really is exactly the right adjective to describe this album.

Here are a few of my favorite snippets from the lyrics:

And your mom would stick a fork right into daddy's shoulder
And your dad would throw the garbage all across the floor
As we would lay and learn what each other's bodies were for

...

Now how I remember you
How I would push my fingers through
Your mouth to make those muscles move

...

Made for his lover who's floating and choking with her hands across her face
And in the dark we will take off our clothes
And they'll be placing fingers through the notches in your spine

...

Semen stains the mountain tops

...

Your father made fetuses
With flesh licking ladies

...

The movements were beautiful
All in your ovaries
All of them milking with green fleshy flowers
While powerful pistons were sugary sweet machines
Smelling of semen all under the garden
Was all you were needing when you still believed in me

...

But now we move to feel
For ourselves inside some stranger's stomach
Place your body here
Let your skin begin to blend itself with mine

...

Probably my favorite:

And here's where your mother sleeps
And here is the room where your brothers were born
Indentions in the sheets
Where their bodies once moved but don't move anymore
And it's so sad to see the world agree
That they'd rather see their faces fill with flies
All when I'd want to keep white roses in their eyes

...

So I think I was inspired to create my own images that juxtapose beauty with both overt and covert sexuality, in addition to praising ownership and guiltlessness over own's own sexuality. I'm also interested in the fine line between girlhood and womanhood. Anne Frank is 15 years old in perpetuity--a girl. That, in part, is what makes some of the sexual imagery on Aeroplane uncomfortable. But at 15, a girl is going through puberty (if she has not already finished) and is beginning to explore her own sexuality. Certainly today, many girls have lost their virginity by age 15 or 16. This is true whether or not anyone wants to publicly acknowledge it.

One of the first images that came to me was a pair of bare knees and hands clasping or grabbing at a skirt in some sort of strong emotion--distress, or desire--pushing it upward. I don't know exactly where this image came from, but in my head, it represented a lot of the ideas I wanted to portray. Unable to get this image, or the ideas evoked by the music, out of my head, I took some photographs last night that I plan to use as studies for a series of paintings I want to do. I think some of them work really well as just photographs alone, but I don't identify myself as a photographer so I have difficulty seeing any of them as finished works of art. I'll probably still go on to paint them, and then decide which works better.

I used high contrast and harsh light to achieve a more interesting visual effect, but there are obvious symbolic subtexts as well. In the costuming, I chose ultra-feminine pieces of clothing--lacy, airy pieces in muted neutral colors. Some of the pieces remind me of 1940s clothing, which may be part of the reason I chose them. The interesting thing about some of the pieces were that, though they were dowdy in cut (button to the throat, full sleeve, cut past the knee, etc.) they were made of sheer fabric. If nothing is worn beneath, the nudity of the figure is exposed. I also chose to crop off the face/head/identifying features of the subject. This isn't for the purpose of objectification; rather, I want these pieces to be intensely personal. But I also want to demonstrate the universality of the feminine dilemma.

Live Nude Girls

Well, just one live nude girl. And "girl" is generous.

Anyway, I went to my first ever life drawing session last night at the Towson Arts Collective, which I found out about on Craig's List. Sometimes, it's hard for me that, with all the art study I've done, I've never worked with a live model before. But I guess that's "inappropriate" for high school art programs, and Goucher's art minor is not set up very well to allow in-depth study. I only had cursory level courses in a variety of areas, and did not get to focus on anything, like drawing. In Drawing I, we only ever got as far as still life and one day of portraits (which we did of our classmates). We didn't get to the point of drawing models.

In light of this, I was really excited about the chance to try it out, and also to meet some people in the local arts community. I realized recently that I don't have many friends anymore (at least locally) who are really into producing fine art, so I saw this as an opportunity to expand my social circle to include some more like-minded people.

I was actually very close to talking myself out of going last night, as I'd had an exhausting weekend. Monday was spent preparing my house for guests, and Tuesday was a house full of guests. Wednesday, I really wanted nothing more than to crash out with a couple DVDs and a frozen dinner. But I knew that if I didn't push myself to go that first night, I'd never actually make it at all.

In a sentence: it was not what I expected, and was disappointing in many ways. But it wasn't so awful that I wouldn't give it a second chance.

I had to park far away (parking meters operable till 9?? damn you, Towson!), then I found the to-be-infamous "red door" and navigated through a rather labrynthine art gallery in search of the naked lady. I finally found the session, and it was in a large, white, ugly room lit from overhead with harsh fluorescent lights. About half a dozen people where in there--a girl about my age, two men roughly in their 30s, and several older gentlemen. I'll admit it wasn't who I expected. I expect younger jaded generations as the ones to form "arts collectives." But the crowd was friendly, and there were varying levels of talent.

Besides the ugly, unpleasant room, there was really horrible music playing over the PA system. At first I thought it was just Muzac, but then I heard some vocals and assumed it was light hits or something. But then some really weird dance music came on. It was seriously the grossest music I've ever listened to for any length of time. I was relieved when the mixed CD ran out...

The final negative aspect of the session was the model herself. A consumate professional she was not. She did not have the ability to pose for longer than 15 minutes at a time. And she would take a 5-10 minute break (getting fully clothed and leaving the room) between nearly every pose. Even when we asked her to do a 30-minute pose, she secretly set the timer for 15 minutes, and when it rang, she got up and put her clothes on. She said she would "get back into it" after her break. I feel like I spent almost as much time waiting as I did drawing. I'll bring a book next time. And an iPod. And lots of quarters.

Besides those aspects, however, I generally liked the experience. I craved better atmosphere, better lighting, and a better model, but it was still an opportunity I'd never had. I could see myself learning a lot and improving my skill significantly if I do this on a regular basis. Also, the participants were pretty cool, and maybe next time I'll have the nerve to chat some of them up. One man in particular was doing really amazing watercolor sketches, and I really want to ask him about the paper he was using.

The gallery space itself was really nice, and there was a wide range of pieces on display, from what looked like paint-by-numbers, to really beautiful and technically advanced pieces. I will spend more time looking around next time. Also, if I start to produce more work, I will have the opportunity to join the collective and participate in juried shows--something else I've never done but have always wanted to do.

I couldn't spend enough time on any one drawing to have anything worth posting on here (too bad, really). Hopefully, next week will be better. If it's not, I'm not sure what I'll do. We'll see...

Is the World Entitled to Art?

As you’ll notice from the adoring Lolita posts from the end of last year, I’ve recently become a huge Nabokov fan. I’m not rabid, or well-read, enough to yet call myself a “Nabokovian,” but I could see it happening eventually. And so I’ve been mildly to warmly interested in the recent debate surrounding the late author: an unfinished manuscript of his last work before his death exists in a vault somewhere, but Nabokov’s son, Dmitri was tasked with the death-bed request to burn the manuscript before anyone could read it. Dmitri has not yet made a decision, and is stuck between meeting his dead father’s wishes to burn the manuscript and keep it a secret forever from the world, and some other option—publishing it for mass consumption, bequeathing it to the Ivory Tower for study, even just keeping it in a vault forever and ever.

It’s really a fascinating debate, and I don’t envy Dmitri’s position. At first blush, my reaction was “Set the work free!” As a fan, of course I want to read the manuscript. Despite the fact that Nabokov considered his work unfinished, unpolished, and thus unfit for public consumption, I’ve no doubt that it’s perfect in its genius as it came straight from his pen. I admit I haven’t even read all his works, but I can empathize with any Nabokovian who has read all his work and has been all but drooling for just one more morsel dropped from the table. How easy (or possible) is it to for any literati at all to be objective about this situation?

But, Chris (of course!) brought objectivity and level-headedness to the argument, showing me a side of the story I hadn’t considered: why do we (the world—the readers, the viewers, the experiencers, the fans) think we are entitled to the art created by artists? What right do we inherently have to what they produce?

I recently read an article in Slate about Jeff Mangum of Neutral Milk Hotel in which the headline compared him to J.D. Salinger. Both are artists who have contributed heartbreakingly small collection of brilliant works to the world, and have now all but vanished, having ceased to make their work public or even to make work at all. Writes Taylor Clark about Mangum:

“And if Aeroplane really is Jeff Mangum's final statement to the universe, maybe we should be happy with that—not because of some tired line about going out at your peak (which he likely didn't reach), but because his story is a kind of modern fable. Many fans see his disappearance only in selfish terms: They've been deprived of more great music for no good reason. They can't understand why Mangum would shun success just to shuffle through his days, and, indeed, when musicians abandon this much promise, the culprit is usually drugs or debilitating accidents or people named Yoko. So he must have gone nuts, right? Well, no. After all, what if Mangum is just being honest? What if he poured his life into achieving musical success only to discover that it wasn't going to make him happy, so he elected to make a clean break and move on? We should all be so crazy.”

Is it selfish to desire, even to demand, that artists of genius not withhold themselves from the world? Or is the artist the selfish one?

Like I imagine it is for others, it’s extremely difficult for me to empathize with the artists at all. I live (and participate) in a world where most of us are clambering for attention, recognition, and even fame. I’m a mediocre artist in a world full of mediocre (and lesser) artists screaming in a crowded room of screamers. The internet has made things worse a million-fold. We have the ability to broadcast our thoughts, art, and “art” to billions of people all over the planet—and so we do, largely to our own detriment, contributing to “information overload” and the general watering down of what’s left of our culture.

So when a “real” artist chooses to cease contributing his work to the world, is it because of, or despite, the noise?

Is the world entitled to the art created by the artists it itself created? Or is the artist more entitled to do whatever the hell he wants? Burn the manuscript, or publish it?

Nabokov is dead. His published work will never die. His unpublished work (that we know of, at least) has a death sentence. If it’s pardoned, it will then live in perpetuity, and in possible imperfection, if what Nabokov had to say was true. If the sentence is carried out . . . we’re only left with speculation and disappointment—but some of us will also have the satisfaction that we’d given something back to Nabokov, whose already given so much to us, by granting his final wish.

Sketches From the Walters Art Museum

Not scans, just photographs. Too many to scan (and I'm too lazy).

This is the first one I did. I realized quickly that it makes more sense to do quicker drawings than to spend a lot of time and energy doing detailed rendering. In other words, I got tired and frustrated with this one and that's why I didn't finish it. I can definitely spend more time on a drawing if 1) I am sitting, and 2) I'm using a medium I can erase, so I'm not married to all the mistakes I make.

Three attempts at the same head. Man, she was a tough cookie to capture. I will be trying again. This particular statue really evoked a mood, and I am determined to capture it.

This, too, evoked a very strong mood. I really enjoyed trying to render it. It's probably my favorite 3-d piece in the whole place. I'll definitely be working on her again.

I made this guy too efeminate, I think. :)

Last one I did--I was tired at this point.



Gesture in sharpie (pic is sideways).

This is my favorite so far.

A gesture of the same statue.

Detail of her knee, which is really cool-looking.

Sharpie marker.

Gesture in sharpie:

I've been having trouble with proportion, and often make the heads of these statues way too small. I think that will improve with time and practice. I'll also try using pencil, so I can erase.

Gesture in charcoal. I like this one, too.

Gesture in charcoal. A little 8-year-old girl watched me working on this one and came over to admire my work. She expressed frustration that she wasn't that good at drawing, and I gave her some sage advice. Then she sat down next to me and proceeded to draw the same statue with her crayons. :)

Two attempts at the same face. This is another one I want to try again. It's a great little sculpture, only a few inches high--but SO much emotion in the face and posture.

Drawing Lessons

Just a brief, brief background of my art study: I took at least one art class every year from the time I was in fourth grade until I graduated college in 2003. I wanted to be a fine artist or graphic designer up until I was 17, read Faulkner for the first time, and decided to become a writer. I was an art minor at Goucher College. I did it for the sheer love of creating art, not because I ever thought anything would come of it (and that's why I didn't choose to double-major).

Anyway, I haven't made much art in the past five years since graduating school. Of course, I've had my Etsy endeavors, but that is largely outside the realm of what I consider to be "fine art": drawing, painting, and sculpture - the classical kind of art I was learning in school.

I don't know what exactly prompted it, but I've recently started to make a serious effort to continue my art education through self-teaching. It might have been when Chris gave me a sketchbook and travel watercolor set as a gift before our trip to Montreal. When we visited the Musee des Beaux-Arts, I used that sketchbook to draw sculpture from life - the first time I'd ever done so in a museum. I was hooked. For months, I vowed that I would go back to a museum to spend time doing it again, but I just never got around to it.

Finally, two weeks ago, I spent my Sunday afternoon at the Walters Art Museum drawing statues from life, and I went back again the next Sunday. I plan to go once a week for at least two hours, as my schedule allows. But more on that in another post (I still have to scan in my sketches).

I've also started some exercises at home. Before I dive headfirst into some juvenile attempt to create a "masterpiece," I feel like I need to hone--even remember--my basic skills, since they've been so long out-of-use. I also need to give props to an artist I've come to admire and respect, Jason Sho Green, who, though his talent and brilliance is evident, is still pursuing self-education in traditional technique. I've definitely taken cues from reading his blog about different exercises to pursue.

Outside of working on quick sketches at the Walters, I wanted to have a longer-term piece that I could work on for several hours with a "slower mind." So I set up a simple still life of shoes at home. Shoes are some of the first things I remember drawing when I finally started to feel like I was learning real technique from my art teachers (about seventh grade). They are simultaneously organic, recognizable, and easily accessible, so it is no surprise they are common subject matter for young art students. I put a sheet in the background, because I'll eventually be working on tonal value, and set up a harsh spot light to increase contrast on the objects. Here's kind of a blurry picture from the angle I'm drawing from:



I started out with an old standard: the blind contour drawing. It's an exercise I love and hate at the same time, but the results never fail to be interesting. Unfortunately, I was interrupted by a phone call and unable to complete the exercise. I felt it would be a waste of time to start again, so I moved onto the next phase.

For this phase, I did a pencil contour drawing of the shoes. It was minorly frustrating because I could feel in my mind how out of practice I was. I was trying hard to draw with the "right side of the brain" - a fantastic hand-eye coordination technique taught to me by Glen Grove at North Harford High School - but I felt myself slipping into "symbolizing," the bane of life drawing. I had to work hard to stay on the right side and draw what I was seeing instead of what I thought I was seeing. This difficulty goes back to the fact that the shoes are easily recognizable.

I didn't time myself, but I think I spent a little over an hour getting all the contours in. I used an HB graphite pencil on a Strathmore sketch pad that I've probably had for ten years. I drew very lightly because I do plan on filling in tone next (would have used a 2H if I could have found one laying around). Here's the result (not a great image, because this is a digital camera picture, and not a scan):





I think I did pretty well, but there were definitely some errors that I was feeling too lazy to correct. For one, I was pretty sure the toe of the front shoe was too narrow. That could have stemmed from any number of errors in proportion/distance judgment. But I didn't think the problem was so eggregious that it merited erasing and re-rendering such a large portion of the drawing. I'm also dissatisfied with the composition. I really need to try harder to get the subject more centered on the page, or at least in a more purposeful composition. But I'm not too concerned about this because it's an exercise, and not to be a final piece or anything. Again, not worth starting over to fix this problem.


Out of curiosity, and because I have access to digital tools that I never had in high school or college, I decided to see how "well" I did with rendering the still life. I overlayed the photograph of the still life with my contour drawing to see how they matched up:





I was right: the toe was definitely too narrow. And there are, obviously, other errors, but I'm not a camera - I wasn't expecting perfection. In fact, I did better than I imagined I would, being so out of practice.


The next time I have a free evening (and who knows when that will be), I will spend a few hours working on filling in tone. I'll post pictures of my progress.