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breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

My initial painting idea for the capybara chasing Skull Owl is not really working. It's too busy, and top-heavy with detailed bits, and I was hoping I could balance it out with color, even though I should know bettr than to use color as a crutch. And that wasn't working very well--I tried about ten different styles and none of them worked for me. What I really want is watercolor--real, physical watercolor, because my processor laughs at the notion of using Painter watercolors at the size I'd need--which will involve a lot of hoop jumping if I go at it the way I'm thinking of doing, since I don't want to just transfer it to paper the usual way, which will lose all my nice megascribble linework, which, unfortunately, cannot be duplicated in physical media. (My thought is to finally get Kinko's to laser print me something on watercolor paper--I've been promising to do so for quite awhile, and the person I promised has been VERY patient--and if I can get a good print of the elaborate linework, I can try watercoloring over that and see if that gets the effect I'm after.)

I may, however, yet salvage it digitally--I started fooling around with an almost Arthur Rackham style, with the very dark sepias and muted, grungy creams, and that started to have promise. However, by that point I'd spent five or six hours hunched over it, and James looked in my face, said "Hon...your eyes are really bloodshot. I think you're done." And then I realized that my right arm ached from overuse and I stumbled into the bathroom to see that yup, my eyeballs looked as if they had road rash.

I will not give up hope, however--if the Rackham style doesn't work out, I'll try a different scene, which p'raps won't be plagued by the inherent compositional flaws.

For now, however, the next installment of Digger needs to be painted. Slugs ahoy!

breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

My initial painting idea for the capybara chasing Skull Owl is not really working. It’s too busy, and top-heavy with detailed bits, and I was hoping I could balance it out with color, even though I should know bettr than to use color as a crutch. And that wasn’t working very well–I tried about ten different styles and none of them worked for me. What I really want is watercolor–real, physical watercolor, because my processor laughs at the notion of using Painter watercolors at the size I’d need–which will involve a lot of hoop jumping if I go at it the way I’m thinking of doing, since I don’t want to just transfer it to paper the usual way, which will lose all my nice megascribble linework, which, unfortunately, cannot be duplicated in physical media. (My thought is to finally get Kinko’s to laser print me something on watercolor paper–I’ve been promising to do so for quite awhile, and the person I promised has been VERY patient–and if I can get a good print of the elaborate linework, I can try watercoloring over that and see if that gets the effect I’m after.)

I may, however, yet salvage it digitally–I started fooling around with an almost Arthur Rackham style, with the very dark sepias and muted, grungy creams, and that started to have promise. However, by that point I’d spent five or six hours hunched over it, and James looked in my face, said “Hon…your eyes are really bloodshot. I think you’re done.” And then I realized that my right arm ached from overuse and I stumbled into the bathroom to see that yup, my eyeballs looked as if they had road rash.

I will not give up hope, however–if the Rackham style doesn’t work out, I’ll try a different scene, which p’raps won’t be plagued by the inherent compositional flaws.

For now, however, the next installment of Digger needs to be painted. Slugs ahoy!

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.


breeden
ursulav

'Cos I'm a Meme Sheep!

Grab the nearest book.

Open the book to page 23.

Find the fifth sentence.

Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions

Both the Olmec and the Classic Maya lived in a tropical lowland, which, apart from some medicine-yielding plants, had few natural resources.

From "Pre-Columbian Art" by Esther Pasztory.

breeden
ursulav

‘Cos I’m a Meme Sheep!

Grab the nearest book.

Open the book to page 23.

Find the fifth sentence.

Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions

Both the Olmec and the Classic Maya lived in a tropical lowland, which, apart from some medicine-yielding plants, had few natural resources.

From “Pre-Columbian Art” by Esther Pasztory.

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.


breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

Today I went to the farmer's market. And they had plants.

Because it's spring.

I think I scared my friend Kathy, since I was gibbering and giggling, which is generally not standard behavior, and dancing giddily from plant to plant. Spring makes me high. Especially REAL spring. Minnesota doesn't have real spring. I mean, you can get plants there, and it's exciting, but it's not like when I was a kid in Oregon, and you can plant rocks and they'll grow. I had a serious gardening high, which took me waaaay back. And now I have this gigantic sunny deck and only a few forlorn (though lovely) little pansies and some random herbs (including Corsican mint and lemon balm, which I grow only because my mother grew it--I have no earthly use for them, but the smell just takes me back to childhood gardening) and 5-for-a-buck dianthus currently filling up maybe a percent of it. I couldn't get over it all--zinnias! Bleeding heart! Marigolds! Jasmine! I've never lived in a climate where I could grow jasmine and have it like me! Azaleas! Hydrangeas! Verbena and lantana and phlox and pinks and fifty zillion kinds of sage!

However, I was good, and restrained myself--mostly--and mainly bought some inexpensive shrubs that will fit in pots and grow large and last more than the summer and, gardening gods willing, gradually fill in a bit of the deck so that it is not a vast plain of weathered boards and those damn caltrops that are ironically known as "sweet gum balls." And a coupla ground covers to fill in under said shrubs. We'll see if I can actually get a butterfly bush to grow--Mom tried to grow 'em from seed a number of times, and...well, they were learning experiences. (We learned that she couldn't grow 'em from seed, mostly.) Supposed to be a good plant for the region, though, and for five bucks, I'm willing to give it a shot. This is the Ursula method of gardening--"It's hardy? It's cheap? Okay, I'll try it." Then I lose the tag, and forget the name, and thus the joy of discovery is always new. A terrible memory and a sense of wonder can be a great combination.

And damnit--in other gardening news--I planted some climbing nasturium seeds in a pot. You cannot transplant them, so I was careful to pick a very large pot. I had a seed left over, so I shoved it idily into a pot with my freesia bulbs. And wouldn't you know it, not a damn one came up, EXCEPT the one shoved in with the freesia? Which cannot be transplanted, because they hate that. Oh, well.

I wish I could grow foxglove in pots, but I think it's a little too...giant.

breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

Today I went to the farmer’s market. And they had plants.

Because it’s spring.

I think I scared my friend Kathy, since I was gibbering and giggling, which is generally not standard behavior, and dancing giddily from plant to plant. Spring makes me high. Especially REAL spring. Minnesota doesn’t have real spring. I mean, you can get plants there, and it’s exciting, but it’s not like when I was a kid in Oregon, and you can plant rocks and they’ll grow. I had a serious gardening high, which took me waaaay back. And now I have this gigantic sunny deck and only a few forlorn (though lovely) little pansies and some random herbs (including Corsican mint and lemon balm, which I grow only because my mother grew it–I have no earthly use for them, but the smell just takes me back to childhood gardening) and 5-for-a-buck dianthus currently filling up maybe a percent of it. I couldn’t get over it all–zinnias! Bleeding heart! Marigolds! Jasmine! I’ve never lived in a climate where I could grow jasmine and have it like me! Azaleas! Hydrangeas! Verbena and lantana and phlox and pinks and fifty zillion kinds of sage!

However, I was good, and restrained myself–mostly–and mainly bought some inexpensive shrubs that will fit in pots and grow large and last more than the summer and, gardening gods willing, gradually fill in a bit of the deck so that it is not a vast plain of weathered boards and those damn caltrops that are ironically known as “sweet gum balls.” And a coupla ground covers to fill in under said shrubs. We’ll see if I can actually get a butterfly bush to grow–Mom tried to grow ‘em from seed a number of times, and…well, they were learning experiences. (We learned that she couldn’t grow ‘em from seed, mostly.) Supposed to be a good plant for the region, though, and for five bucks, I’m willing to give it a shot. This is the Ursula method of gardening–”It’s hardy? It’s cheap? Okay, I’ll try it.” Then I lose the tag, and forget the name, and thus the joy of discovery is always new. A terrible memory and a sense of wonder can be a great combination.

And damnit–in other gardening news–I planted some climbing nasturium seeds in a pot. You cannot transplant them, so I was careful to pick a very large pot. I had a seed left over, so I shoved it idily into a pot with my freesia bulbs. And wouldn’t you know it, not a damn one came up, EXCEPT the one shoved in with the freesia? Which cannot be transplanted, because they hate that. Oh, well.

I wish I could grow foxglove in pots, but I think it’s a little too…giant.

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.