And then there are sketches where I don’t have the luxury of time. I did this sketch from a (however slowly) moving train, so I frantically blocked out the drawing in pen, and then approximated the color based on whatever was currently passing by my window. It’s maybe not the most precise or accurate way to work, but it gets the job done in a pinch.
I don’t know if it’s the shape I’m attracted to, or merely the fact that I drink a ridiculous amount of tea every day, but I’m beginning to realize that within my pile of sketches I have quite a collection of teapots. So here for your viewing pleasure…is a collection of teapots.
It seems appropriate to drink Chinese tea at the start of the lunar new year—so imagine me raising my cup to you, in wishing you a happy weekend.
Tomorrow marks the beginning of the Year of the Sheep—whether you’re in Chinatown or your hometown, wishing you a happy lunar new year!
The Olympic Athletic Club diving girl isn’t vintage, but she sure looks like a throwback to me. Every time I find myself in Ballard—or even that general end of the city—I make sure my route takes me past her. I can definitely see her being a Seattle icon fifty years from now—our own Little Mermaid.
Loch Nessie might know about her American cousin, but I doubt she’s met this gal, who’s named in her honor and who might just be a distant relation. Now that is a family reunion I’d like to see.
Friday’s post reminded me of the time I stood on the the opposite edge of the continent—that time at the northwesternmost point of the contiguous United States. Cape Flattery isn’t just lonely, it really does feel like the edge of the earth. The northern Pacific coast generally isn’t dotted with quaint cottages or resort spots the way the Atlantic shore is—huge swaths of it are uninhabited and downright inaccessible. But it’s that emptiness that makes it so wild, so beautiful, so perfect.
This might just be my favorite building in all of Victoria—and not just just because of the architecture. What I love best about the old custom house is how it sits apart from its neighbors, neither bounded completely by streets or by water. The building is in the absolute heart of the city, yet somehow in its own little world.
There are restoration success stories like Lucy…and then there are others without the happy ending. In my part of the world right now, a floating rust bucket is the talk of the town. That’s because at long last, an odyssey spanning nearly 90 years, thousands of miles and a whole lot of folly is about to come to an end.
From the 1930s through the 60s, the M.V. Kalakala was a swingin’ Art Deco ferry in Seattle’s Black Ball fleet. Her unusual (and flawed) design made her either a shining star or a laughing stock, depending on whom you asked—but either way, she enjoyed a fair amount of fame. She was the recipient of the first-ever commercial on-board radar system (FCC license #001!), and even made a cameo in the popular “Black Ball Ferry Line” song by Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters.
Once she was retired from ferry service, though, she went into a long, slow decline—beached and converted into a cannery in Alaska, then later towed back to Washington as the unfortunate victim of restoration projects that never made it off the ground. I’ll spare you all the twists and turns of the Kalakala story—a quick Google search will give you a whole host of written words, photographs, and even sketches by other folks who can tell the tale better.
Normally this is just the sort of story that would get me up in arms, ready to send a donation to the save-it fund and spread the word far and wide. But this time, I think I’d prefer to see the Kalakala sail off into the proverbial sunset. She deserves a better end than rusting through and sinking in a swirl of toxic chemicals, in a town that bears no real connection to her history.
Still, I’m glad I’ve had a chance to catch glimpses of her over the years. And I didn’t want to miss the chance to sketch her, even if only from a distance. She’s slated for demolition at the end of this month—I’m glad the weather held out long enough to give me a couple of good views of her.
Wishing you fair winds and following seas, Kalakala.
What with moving into a new house and juggling a bunch of new studio projects this year, most of my sketching in 2014 was done pretty close to home. I have a feeling 2015 is going to be very different—several road trips are already on the calendar, and I’m making plans for others. Still, I’m glad I had this year to remind me that there’s so much to see in my own back yard.
So I’m raising a virtual toast this New Year’s Eve, to the distant road ahead—and to the garden path leading right back to my own door. There’ll always be room for both.
I’m sad to report that one of my favorite holiday traditions came to an end this weekend. For the past thirty-plus years, the Pacific Northwest Ballet has staged a unique version of The Nutcracker—complete with unusual choreography, nontraditional storytelling, and incredible kinetic theatre sets by one of my illustration heroes, Maurice Sendak. I’ve seen the performance several times since I’ve lived here, and have even sketched from the audience before—but when I found out this would be the last season, I had to go one more time, pencil in hand.
As you can imagine, it’s pretty dim in there during the performance, so I sat there doing blind contour pencil drawings in the dark (hey! All those art school exercises had a purpose!). Then, as soon as the house lights came up for intermission, I looked at the (often hilarious) results and cleaned up the drawing in ink, from memory. Then when I got home, I filled in the color as best I could.
Sketching this way is never exactly ideal, but I have a feeling it’s going to help me remember that last performance for many years. And it’ll remind me of how grateful I am that the PNB has given Seattle such a wonderful Christmas gift for so long.