Much as I love the excitement of sketching in an unfamiliar place, I also love exploring my own corner of the world. The best part, for me, is returning to the same place over and over again, and seeing it from a new angle—
—or in a whole different light.
Today is one of those rare sunny fall days in my town—as sunny as it was the day I was in Albuquerque a couple of years ago. But in the Northwest, bright weather at this time of year means a wicked cold front—which has me missing the warmth of sun-baked adobe today.
Whenever I travel closer to home, where the flora and fauna are familiar to me, my birdwatching sketches look a lot like any other in my sketchbooks: full scenes, with plenty of time taken to get the details right. (And if my subject should happen to wander away—well, if it’s something I’ve seen before, memory can usually fill in the rest.)
When I was at Big Bend, however, the combination of excitingly “exotic” wildlife and an insane amount of it made my drawings just a jumble of frantic chicken scratches and field notes.
I felt like a student in art school again, concentrating hard to commit my subjects to paper in just a few seconds, drawing and redrawing everything again and again to try to nail down anatomy and details in real time.
As you can probably guess, I like having more time to “finish” a sketch… but I also love that life drawing in a place where I don’t know bupkis keeps me on my toes.
If I’m traveling by car, you can put me in any landscape—even the most barren, treeless, flat places that most sane people would label “dull”—and I’ll be fascinated. No matter how long the trip and unvarying the scenery, there’s always something for me to sketch, some vista to marvel over.
Put me in an airplane over cloudy skys, and I’ll go out of my gourd with deadly boredom. I know I’ve mentioned this before, but on this day a couple of years ago, it was especially torturous. The flight time was doubled in length thanks to bad weather—and I had run out of things to draw, and pages in my sketchbook in which to draw them. And I can’t sleep on planes. So in desperation, I grabbed the in-flight magazine, and when the flight attendant asked me my drink preference, I picked the beverage with the most complex can design.
(I still finished with an hour left to go on the flight.)
I’m guessing you won’t be shocked when I tell you I’m not exactly the type of person who likes shopping malls. But a vintage midcentury shopping mall with fantastic neon signage…well, now that’s downright ideal.
Last week I was invited to come and sketch the view from one of Seattle’s famous houseboats (best perk of what I do: being invited to sketch interesting, hidden things!). Unlike the biannual houseboat tour, where there’s barely time to jot down a few chicken scratches on the spot before it’s time to move on (I have to finish those sketches after the fact), this time I had all the time in the world to spread out, choose my vantage point, and luxuriate in finishing the drawing then and there.
Since the houseboat was the kind of place that made me want to just plop down and stay forever, the gift of time was even more wonderful than being presented with that stellar view.
Halloween in the Northwest is often a soggy affair. But while the autumn chill here is damp rather than crisp, there’s something deliciously spooky about a nighttime fog and towering evergreens.
Wherever you are tonight, have a happy Halloween!
I can never seem to get enough of this season—I love being surrounded by my favorite color, my favorite weather, my favorite flavors. I’m glad there are places like this this little bakery in Nova Scotia, where you can go have a cup of tea surrounded by reminders of autumn in every direction. Otherwise, I’d probably end up going nuts with the fall decorating at home, and ending up buried alive in decorative gourds.
I probably should have done with it and just go live in a pumpkin patch.
The Tailor and I haven’t done a whole lot of traveling this year, because we’ve spent most of our time since January searching for and finally buying our first home. After what has seemed like an eternity (though it has actually been a lightning-fast whirlwind!), we finally moved in a week ago. Now we’re surrounded by boxes to unpack, historic tidbits to tend and restore, and a million little things to fix. But it doesn’t matter, because being able to sketch this scene out my windows anytime I wish makes me happier than I can say.
Well, I can’t feature the Winlock Egg without giving you something to cook it in, can I? Just over the coast range from Winlock is the town of Long Beach, home of the perfect roadside companion to the World’s Largest Egg.
Since it’s not exactly as flamboyant as, say, a giant orange, people often blow right by this one without even noticing it. But this giant frying pan is much more than just a monument. It’s a replica of a real, no-kidding, fourteen-foot pan that was actually used to cook food. For many years this frying pan was a permanent fixture of Long Beach’s annual Razor Clam Festival—where chefs actually used it for the clam fritter cook-off. I don’t know about you, but that fact alone raises this humble giant right to the top of my personal list of favorite roadside attractions.
Speaking of which, my roadside attractions gallery exhibit is closing tomorrow (Washington folks, hurry!), so today is the last post about roadside giants—for a little while, at least. Next week I’ll be back with a different topic and a broader range of sketches. But I hope you’ve had as much fun as I have these past few weeks—because as you can probably guess, there’s a lot more where this came from.
Happy weekend—see you on Monday.