Tag Archives: east

I see dead people

Okay, you’re going to think I’m a total weirdo for getting so excited over bunch of headstones (and I have many, many more sketches than these…), but since it’s Halloween this week, I figured I could get away with it. I have to tell you, I have a serious, major thing for colonial graveyards. My grandfather loved them, too. As a lifelong, dyed-in-the-wool New England Yankee, he knew where all the good ones were. I used to take the train up from Providence and then drive him around three states (uh, about a thirty mile radius, ’round those parts…) in his car, while he showed me all the best, oldest, and weirdest headstones he could remember, in every little town and village. If you want a whole colony’s worth of specimens in one place, though, you can’t beat Boston. My two favorite burial grounds there are like little cities, in and of themselves.

But I’m not into 300-year-old headstones for any normal reason, like colonial history or possible genealogical discoveries (though I’m not knockin’ that stuff). I love them because they’re literally monuments to early graphic design. Great typography? Check. Graphic symbolism? Heck, yeah. Amazingly inventive, refined and creepy illustration? In spades.

(Sorry. I can’t resist a grave-digging pun—not this close to Halloween.)

Celtic Colours

Well, okay, my visit missed the actual Celtic Colours music festival by a couple of days (sad but true). But even a short two days on Cape Breton gave me a nice taste of the Celtic heritage of the island—

—as well as a panorama of stunning autumn color, absolutely everywhere I looked.

If that’s not a good consolation prize, I don’t know what is.

Tourist (lobster) trap

No trip to the Maritimes is complete without a good lobster meal (or two, or three…). And a pound of fresh lobster looks mighty impressive on a plate—good drawing and good eating.

Now, a fifteen-foot, fifty-ton roadside lobster statue?

That’s something I could sink my teeth into.

A world where there are Octobers

“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped from September to November, wouldn’t it?”

—L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

And I’m so glad my first visit to Prince Edward Island was an October one.

Even without the peak fall color everywhere, the island was easily one of the most beautiful, picturesque places I’ve ever seen. In fact, the gratuitous beauty got to be a running gag between my travel companion and me—with each new jaw-dropping vista, one of us would roll our eyes and sigh, “Jeez, I guess I’ll just look at another pretty scene…” and then laugh.

Actually, laughing about it was about the only way we could keep our sanity. It was all I could do not to abandon any attempt at sketching (because what puny drawing could ever hold a candle to the real thing?) and just burst into dumbfounded tears over the enormity of it all. Because all those October trees, and October fields, and October skies made for two days so perfect that no amount of careful painting could ever do them justice.

Lobster Lane

I just got back from two glorious weeks in the Maritimes. I still have a lot of color finishing to do on my trip sketches, and somehow it’s still four hours later in my brain—so for now, here are just a couple of drawings to give you a taste.

The tiny fishing village of Peggys Cove (oddly, there’s no apostrophe in the “official” spelling) is a place I’d been wanting to see for many years—and thanks to the perfect weather on the day I spent there, it became one of the highlights of my trip. I’m told the place is one of the most-photographed places in Canada—and it’s not hard to see why. As I heard a tourist from Texas exclaim behind me, “Everywhere you look there’s a picture!”

Boy, howdy, is there ever. I sketched, and sketched, and sketched for hours—even in a steady, icy, screaming wind (the reason I couldn’t do any actual painting on site). Every time I finished a scene and started to walk on, I’d get about three steps before finding another vantage point I just had to sketch. I ended up filling fifteen page spreads that day with my pen scratches—so you can bet you’ll be seeing a lot more of Peggys Cove before too long.

Memory lane

There’s only one drawback (no pun intended!) to the sketching trip I’m currently on—and that’s that I’m missing my ten-year reunion at RISD this weekend. So to all my friends from college who are whoopin’ it up this weekend: I’m raising a glass to you from afar!

T-time

Twice in my life (about 15 years apart) I’ve lived within an hour of Boston; and a couple of years ago I got to show the Tailor around my old stomping grounds. The city’s undergone a lot of transformations in recent years (Big Dig, I’m looking at you), but I love that the trip in on the T has hardly changed at all.

As we approached the city, I glanced at the system map to decide where to go first. As I read, the name of each stop triggered a flood of memories and images, all arranged by the cardinal directions, rather than by the years. This is probably why I love maps so much. Not only do they describe and organize a particular place—they also catalogue my entire relationship to that place. For unfamiliar cities, I love watching my mental map grow from a blank slate to a rough sketch and beyond. For places like Boston, the grid in my head is chock-a-block with minute, accurate (though sometimes obsolete) details, annotated pictures and pinned moments in time.

How about you? Do you have a place where your memories unfold like a treasure map? Or somewhere you know so well that every subway stop tells a personal story?

Giddy up, Ichabod

I have a thing for covered bridges—and thankfully, many other people do, too. That means the communities that possess these relics work hard to preserve them, and I’m grateful that there are still covered bridges for me to sketch. And each one is so wonderfully sketch-able, because they’re all so different.

The Cornish-Winsor Bridge, which straddles the New Hampshire-Vermont border, is one of my all-time favorites. And not just because of the two-dolla fine notice, either (though if any Sleepy Hollow ghouls chase me I’m stayin’ on my hoss). For me, the best part is how absurdly long the span is.

Have you ever crossed a covered bridge? Which one is your favorite?

Banana split for my baby

I got lucky with this place. I happened to glance at the New York Times a couple of days before we left for Philly to visit our friend Gilles, and stumbled upon a glowing review. When we got there, it was Gilles’ birthday and blazing hot outside: hello, ice cream parlor!

And hello, best ice cream of my life. It’s been two years since I was here, and I can still taste the maple syrup. If you find yourself in Philadelphia this summer, grab some cash (they don’t take plastic), get in line (it’s packed), and get ready for a dish of heaven.

King of the (urban) jungle

It’s hard to imagine that the Library Lions were ever unpopular (but they were—the public thought they were “squash-faced” and “mealy-mouthed” when they were unveiled over a century ago). I can’t think of a better symbol for the City. No matter how many times I’ve found myself in New York over the years, I always try to pay these guys a visit. Keep up the vigil, boys.