"Sidekick"

December 17, 2011.

Under the influence of such Sixties and Seventies jazz greats as Grant Green, Ramsey Lewis, and Donald Byrd, I continued sketching this vision of Adam's partner-in-crime, if you understand the pun behind the title of this drawing.

"Afternoon of April 20th, Part Two"

"Afternoon of April 20th, Part One"

"So Amazing"

Friday, December 9, 2011.

Following this drawing is an illustrated journal entry explaining my passion for the incredible dancers of the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater:

"Parisian Thoroughfare"

Paris, France,
February 27, 2010, age 41
Aboard a Gray Line Paris Blue bus touring the city
Late that Saturday afternoon

From my Paris Grey notebook, February 2010

Ten forty-five in the AM.  VICK came! “He” finally arrived to sweep us off our feet.  Or at least showed up to give each and every passenger a lift to Pont l’Alma—-to the Musee d’Orsay (a young female acquaintance’s destination)—-to the Invalides (once an infirmary for the wounded among the French army soldiers)—-to the Champ du Mars-Tour Eiffel—-and out the tunnel, cutting across the city in the open air (“en plein air”) for us to marvel at the villages, skyscrapers, expressways, highways, forests…and the ghost of Jean-Michel Basquiat working his magic, mischief, and mayhem on the walls, bridges, rooftops, trains, and buses with his spray cans and paint brushes, thereby adorning, decorating, and redefining the RER-C Yellow line.  And trust me, Basquiat, once one of Andy Warhol’s proteges before he met his untimely end in 1988, certainly had my undivided attention.  Now really, how could I have avoided his overwhelming influence when it was staring me right in my face—-being in my face—-making me do an about face, turning my back to what others normally regard as art, “true” art.  Beautiful, tasteful…safe?  It was a smooth and relaxing ride on the train under the serene and idyllic and over the grimy and gritty, but it had to end for me on Virafloy, on the Rive Gauche, the stop I thought would direct me to the grand Chateau in Versailles.  Well, I stepped out into the brisk, blustery wind (a certainly cold snap), made a sortie out into the neighborhood, and ultimately found myself in the middle of a pharmacy, a grocery store, a church, a conservatory, and rows of small houses on a hill, all adjoining a network of narrow dead-end streets—-yes, dead-end streets—-seeing that neither one of them would lead me to the Chateau, but back to the Virafloy R.G. station! I was in a foreign environment within a foreign environment, a world apart from Paris.  A world apart from Paris’ bohemian past steeped in the Latin Quarter, from a neighborhood I’ve already come to know and appreciate.  Reluctant to ask a single soul in the village, fearing that my presence as the only Black man around (let alone American) would arouse both suspicion and wariness, I walked back to the station with my carnet of tickets in my pocket, my five euros in one hand, and my black Kangol cap in the other.  Of all the things I’ve experienced thus far in France, the incredibly cold and strong winds under the milky white skies were the only things that didn’t blow me away!


 

"Felicia"

December 7, 2011. 

In the course of my winter weekend break in Paris last year, I learned that both silence and solitude are essential for artists and writers if they want to execute their projects well.  And I found that to be the case this afternoon when a good friend stopped by to sit and chat with me, taking me from this drawing for a moment so I could devote as much time to her as she needed.  Again, time, for me, was of the essence.  So as my friend and I talked, I continued sketching, making sure that every detail was exactly as I wanted it to look.  Much to my satisfaction...and pleasure, it was! The result: a lovely lady in red. 

"Kyndra"

December 5, 2011.

Couldn't contain myself, not even for a moment, when I remain seated to finish this drawing of a socially conscious (and beautiful) young woman, who is seen donning an Afro and thrusting a punch...or rather a Black Power salute...unabashedly through the air, but only to show her respect for the men and women who came before her as well as her acknowledgment of their efforts to ensure the freedoms we now enjoy, but often (and sadly so) take for granted...

"Ailey's Comet"

December 4, 2011.

As the lovely young woman above unleashes her inner dancer, I recall the sight of a young man tearing down his own walls, shedding his own cocoon so the butterfly kept in his soul for so long could fly... 

"Before the men and women in the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater ended the afternoon with the brilliant and lush "Revelations" (1960), leaving their rush of spring fever behind with us, Vernard J. Gilmore, a native Chicagoan, walked out into a peaceful azure blue, getting ready to share with us his "Reflections in D" as the sunlight pervaded the window, casting its shadow on the young man's morning. 

As Mr. Gilmore moved rhythmically, defiantly, and passionately in the midst of the Duke (Ellington) and the Count (Basie) with nothing to fetter him, to frustrate him, to disturb his groove, to keep him out of his zone, I thought of Edward Hopper and his muse, a young woman resting alone on the floor in her boudoir, exposing much of her privacy (or what's left of it, anyway) to the voracious vultures among her visitors (or rather, voyeurs) as she posed with a trail of newspapers, of jazz records, of black-and-white photographs telling stories of her past (Spring Interlude, 1940).  Just as the woman does for anyone who cares (or dares) to invade her self, her space, her sanity, and her sanctuary, the young man put aside his insecurity, his inhibitions, and his idiosyncrasies for a moment to reveal to us his dreams, his desires, his fears, his fantasies, and his innermost thoughts that he once considered sacred, that he once wouldn't share with just anyone..."

From my Ailey notebook, April 2008.

"Full Split"

December 3, 2011.

On my way downtown, I was on the train, making this portrait of a lovely young lady in a full split until I heard the stirring, soulful sounds of Christmas coming from the mouths of high school students, which never failed to sail from the upper deck and into my ears, eventually bringing a smile to my face.  All this week, I heard nothing but traditional carols and contemporary favorites on the radio and the intercom, whether it was at work, at the store, or even on the buses and trains.  Christmas is definitely in the air, even as I write this letter.  Over a glass of red wine, of course!

In any event, I was at my table...with no one around me...at a Flat Top Grill downtown, penning this portrait over extra-spicy scrambled eggs (with spinach, mushrooms, tomatoes, a little garlic, a little red hot chili pepper sauce, a little cilantro, and a few jalapenos for a little kick), a couple slices of French toast (topped with chocolate chips, shredded coconut, strawberries, and blueberries), and a cup of black, regular coffee.  Just as I did a few Saturdays before.   

"Natural"

"Singing His Summer Song"

December 1, 2011.

Passion, not the cold, woke me up and got me out of bed this morning.  It got me up and into my seat so I could finish this portrait of a lovely young lady taking in the hot sun and the warm air on a beautiful summer's day.  Having listened to "Summer Song", a collaborative work from the Blackbyrds and the late, great Grover Washington, Jr., I thought that it would be an appropriate name for this drawing because it, meaning the song, captures almost everything I felt, saw, and experienced in the summers of my childhood. 

"Day One"

November 29, 2011.

It was on the cloudy, but warm morning of September 4, 1980, when I entered the classroom at my new school, feeling a bit uneasy around my classmates, feeling a bit unsure of the rest of the school year ahead of me.  Well, those fears concerning my new environment passed rather quickly when a tall and beautiful young woman (and I would be remiss if I didn't mention that she was also Black) walked confidently in the classroom, assuring me through her presence and stoic demeanor that everything was going to be okay.  As soon as my new teacher wrote her name on the blackboard and big enough for everyone to see, she introduced herself to the class, her all-Black male class, as "Miss Tyler."  Honestly, you would not have sensed that she was a bit nervous, considering that she effortlessly had the full attention of every student in that class the minute she started introducing herself.   And you would not have thought, either, that she was just fresh out of college when I met her that September morning. 

From that first day on, Miss Tyler and our class became a bit more relaxed around each other and I learned in time that Miss Tyler had both a brown belt in Shotokan karate and a considerable background in community theater, which made it easier for her to help prepare us for a Thanksgiving play two months later.  Making our year worthwhile, the twentysomething Miss Tyler even went so far as to introduce me and the other students to the noteworthy contributions of certain African Americans in the arts, sciences, education, and government, thereby filling quite a void in my education.  Why do I say that? Until I met Miss Tyler, I was not exposed to Black history at all and I didn't have a single teacher that looked like me, either.  

This sketch reflects fondly on my first and last year with Miss Tyler, a woman who, with a few other teachers, successfully helped me make my transition from elementary school to junior high, equipping me with the knowledge and skills needed to survive the next phase of my education and my life.      

"Wild Cherie"

November 28, 2011.

My nod to the Eighties and early Nineties!

"Birth of the Cool"

New Orleans, LA
Louisiana State Museum Cabildo/Arsenal and Presbytere
701 Chartres Street, Jackson Square
Saturday, July 7, 2001

That afternoon, I ended my pleasant stay in New Orleans with an unplanned visit to the Louisiana State Museum Cabildo/Arsenal in the heart of Jackson Square.  Adjoining the Presbytere on 701 Chartres Street, the Cabildo was once a city hall for the Sala Capitular, a legislature that overturned an earlier decision at the expense of Homer A. Plessy, a light-complexioned Black man, in an 1892 ruling concerning desegregation in public transportation.  Ascending the plush, red-carpeted stairway leading to the legislators' chambers, I studied the framed oil paintings and masks posted on the red-painted walls.  Before I studied the exhibits chronicling the events that gave shape to Reconstruction, including the Colfax Riot on Easter Sunday 1873, I studied numerous artifacts, including a pirogue, vintage photographs, and an oil painting of the commercial ship Yndia on the ground floor.  According to a video presentation on the same floor, New Orleans is reportedly a "gumbo" of African-American, European, South American, and Native American influences.  Each group brought their indigenous foods and built their own institutions, giving New Orleans (and the state of Louisiana) a multifaceted identity.  Enslaved Africans grew and harvested guingumbo (okra), the French invented the roux (oil-flour mixture for thickening soups and sauces) and file powder (ground sassafras for spicing foods), and Native Americans devised clever ways to trap game and gather crops.  Not a bad day at the Museum for $5!

This was taken from my New Orleans 2001 notebook.  Every now and then, I like to revisit life-changing and meaningful events in my travel notebooks kept over the years, whether it is a walk down Atlanta's historic Auburn Avenue in the hot sun (July 1994) or a walk to the Louvre and the Orsay on an icy cold and rainy afternoon in Paris (February 2010).  Retracing my steps, if not physically, helps me see what travel is about...or what it should be about. 

"New Yule City"

New York, NY
Metropolitan Museum of Art
1000 5th Avenue
Tuesday, December 27, 2005

Earlier today, my mom, aunt, and I took the C train to 86th Street and walked upstairs and out into the sun and the mild afternoon air, only to see people enjoy a brisk jog, a leisurely stroll, and a call on their cell phones in scenic and forested Central Park.  Waiting with my mom and aunt on the corner of West 86th and Central Park West for the next M86 bus to the Museum Mile along 5th Avenue, I saw one occupied New York City taxi speed down the street...by the woods...after another.  Sounds interesting, doesn't it? Well, it's not nearly as interesting as the Vincent van Gogh sketches and paintings that are currently on display at the magnificent Metropolitan Museum of Art! Now open to the general public, the special exhibition Vincent van Gogh: The Drawings is a tour of black chalk, reed pen, gouache, graphite, carpenter's pen, ink, pastels, watercolors, and oils telling the tale of Van Gogh's humble beginnings and eventful career.  Lined along the walls in each gallery juxtaposing one another, the sketches and paintings constitute the artist's journey in chronological order, highlighting some of his most significant works, including "A Marsh" (1881), the "Weaver" series (1884), "The Woodcutter" (July-September 1885), the preliminary draft and finished painting of "Boats at Sea" (1888), a preliminary sketch of his "Caffe Terrace on Place du Forum" (September 1888), "Courtyard at the Hospital" (1889), and "Corridor From The Asylum" (1889).  Why are they indicative of a remarkable career? According to the narrators on the audio guide, these sketches follow each other to illustrate Van Gogh's growing proficiency in technique, insatiable appetite for new ideas (including the invention and refinement of a reed pen, perspective glass, and color line), and personal inspirations (e.g. the winter garden behind his father's vicarage and the countenances on the faces of farmers and weavers) and maladies (e.g. dementia) engendering his art...

This latest entry is an excerpt from my New York City 2005 notebook.  As this November comes to a close and another December begins in a matter of days, I thank God for memories.  You can't ask for a finer Christmas present than that, now can you?

"Big Sister"

November 27, 2011.

Looking out the window, I saw that it was still wet and dreary.  Finding it just as comfortable to stay at home as it is to get a coffee at Starbucks, I sat downstairs in the basement and started producing this sketch of a very young karateka receiving lots of encouragment and instruction from her instructor, who obviously happens to be a gorgeous young woman of color... 

"Mother to Son"

"How Much Would Could This Nunchaku Chuck?"

November 24, 2011.

Happy Turkey Day, everyone! Thought I'd create this drawing of another lovely young lady doing her thing with her nunchaku while I was still, as my Grandmother used to say, "full of business"...

"Ventura and Vineland"

Accompanying this drawing is an entry from my Los Angeles 2007 notebook.

Los Angeles, CA
Starbucks Coffee
Studio City Plaza, Ventura and Vineland
Sunday, November 4, 2007.

So what exactly did I do instead for the rest of the afternoon? Well, I did nothing more than to go to the Studio City Plaza on the corner of Vineland and Ventura for a quick lunch at a Togo's Sandwiches and a leisurely large, hot chai latte at an adjoining Starbucks (yes, Starbucks!), where I also treated myself to some quality time writing in my new travel journal and the sight of two lovely, svelte twenty-something (Black/Hispanic) women in their summer dresses and high heels.  At any Starbucks, you will always find singles (engrossed in deep thought over either their work on their laptops or the latest headlines in the Los Angeles or New York Times) or twosomes/threesomes engaging in light, lively conversation over their lattes, cappuccinos, and Americanos, iced and hot.  That environment brimming and brewing hot with music, mirth, and heart is what makes Starbucks Coffee a relaxing and welcoming place to visit.

For me, anyway!

 

"Memory of Summer"

November 19, 2011.

For my dad, who was born on November the 19th.

For now, summer is over, but under the tolerable cold and the gentle winds rushing the brittle, brown leaves down the sidewalks, I still felt the urge to pick up my pen and pad and produce my impressions of another fine summer gone by, of another warm Sunday afternoon with a slice of deep-dish pizza and a mini meatball sandwich at a usually crowded Taste of Chicago, of another Saturday afternoon with a glass of wine and some cool, soothing sounds at the Chicago Jazz Festival, of another hour or so in the old and used books at the Printers Row Lit Fest on Harrison and Dearborn, of an easy ride on the trains because the kids were off from school.  

Over breakfast this morning, I sat at the table with no one around me and started making this drawing of a lovely young woman posing proudly in her denim maxi dress, reminding me of the simple pleasures that summer affords, making you feel like a child again.    

"Courtney"

November 18, 2011.

Well, my friend, it's another Friday evening for you and me and I thought it would be for me to welcome another weekend with this original sketch of an attractive young lady tying and proudly displaying her belt.  It may not sound exciting to you, but the process I went through in producing this drawing was, especially when I used a pen instead of a mechanical pencil. 

When I was a kid, my reading teacher would always tell me not to use a pen in class because I would not be able to correct any mistakes in my assignments.  Well, that was after I received my graded homework assignment, on which my instructor wrote in big, red glaring letters "NO PEN", which were underlined for emphasis!

Thirty years later, I still find myself working with a pen or two, reveling in the challenge of producing some more art with every stroke and every faint trace of ink as possible.  Having found a smile in my sketch, I saw that my hard work and hours of practice are really paying off.

"Kindness of Strangers"

April 19, 2011.

On Tuesday, September 20, 2011, a kindly and devout man took some time off from his work to share a healthy dose of God with me, relating his Testimony of a great spiritual rebirth and deepened respect and appreciation for life that followed the loss of a lucrative job and the tragic loss of his beloved wife in a house fire.  My acquaintance's Testimony of that ordeal in his life helped me put my own priorities into proper perspective, making me feel more appreciative for the blessings (including the assistance and spiritual aid I received from others) I received in my life, great or small.  Just as I did with my family when we were stranded in the middle of (really) nowhere, the man, too, received quite a bit of compassion and strength to guide him back on his way.  So really, this sketch isn't about my family get-together under the most awkward of circumstances, but rather about the concept of "paying it forward", of giving back.

"Baldwin, Wright, and Wilde"

May 10, 2011.

Although they had starkly different life experiences and emerged from different socioeconomic backgrounds, regardless of the color of their skin, James Baldwin, Richard Wright, and Oscar Wilde indeed have something in common.  Not only did these once burning literary lights die in France within eight decades of one another, but they also continue to serve as a source of creativity and insight for my work.  Moreover, they, along with Jack Kerouac and Ted Joans ("Who in the world is he?"), greatly influenced this sketch story, an account of my quiet time to writing in my Moleskines...and a light late afternoon snack (with a glass of red wine) at a nice, quaint cafe in Paris' Latin Quarter, just hours after I spent most of my Sunday afternoon at the Chateau in Versailles and scaled the stairs to the first floor of the Eiffel Tower, where I helped myself to a dark chocolate beignet and cafe creme.

"Takin' Notes"

August 1, 2011. 

This sketch is set on a northbound 6:15 AM Metra train, showing an empty, silent interior as seen and drawn by me, whose hands and empty notebook are featured at the forefront to present a feeling of isolation and solitude (think Edward Hopper's "Nighthawks" or Henry David Thoreau's "Walden"). 

"Black Butterfly"

November 15, 2011.

When I was a sophomore in high school, Deniece Williams, the incredibly talented singer who made our hearts fly "Free" with her eponymous 1978 hit, recorded a beautiful and poignant (and relevant) song, but it wasn't given a great deal of air time since its release.  As meaningful as it is, the song is "Black Butterfly".  To this day, it is one of my favorite songs because the lyrics are meant to instill a sense of pride in African-American children, enhancing their self-worth.

I was going to name this drawing something other than "Black Butterfly", but because the subject is transforming herself into a free and even more beautiful butterfly as she stretches (and because she's also Black), I deem it apropos.  It surely fits!  

"Street Player"

November 15, 2011.

Because one of my co-workers was interested in meeting a "busker", which is a colloquial term for a street performer, anywhere in the city, I obliged to make a list of a few places I thought he would be interested in visiting.  And besides, I'm a huge fan of buskers myself.  Whether I'm on the CTA Red Line subway waiting for the next train to 95th or walking to Macy's, I always see a street musician drumming on the pails at breakneck speed or playing a familiar tune on the saxophone or belting a beautiful classical concerto on the trumpet for a dollar or two...or simply a sympathetic and curious ear to give them the attention and admiration he or she deserves.  Simply put, those street musicians add to the pulse and pace of the city, making our lives a little richer and our days go a little faster.  Moreover, they're the rhythm and blues that keep our city alive... 

"Aisha"



 November 11, 2011.

Rhonda Ridgell Sampson.  Rhonda "Ridgehand" Alexander.  Kierston Simms.  Fredia Gibbs.  Chavela Aaron.  Linda Denley.  Lynette Love.  Cynthia Prouder.  What do these women have in common, other than the fact that they were/are Black and beautiful? Well, these eight aforementioned women have all excelled in their specialties in the martial arts...and belong in a group of people whose accomplishments and contributions are often ignored, slighted, and not mentioned in greater detail by the martial arts community, making it easier for anyone to insist that a Black presence...or the Black experience... in the martial arts doesn't exist.  As a younger man in the Eighties, I would flip the pages in my Black Belt pages, seeking an image of a martial arts teacher and student that looked like me.  And it wasn't long until I found an article in an Inside Karate magazine about Ms. Kierston Simms, a model, and her experiences as a competitor and instructor in Dorchester, MA.  From that point on, the likes of Mfundishi Tayari Casel and the late Dr. Moses Powell and Dr. Ronald McNair appeared in later editions, shedding more light on the positive impact of African Americans on the fighting arts, showing them as people with so many layers and so much to offer. 

This latest drawing, a pictorial story of a beautiful young woman performing a kata, serves as a tribute to the Black men and women who laid a foundation before their students, hoping that they would follow in their footsteps. 

"Six Eleven...Eleven...Eleven"

November 10, 2011.

Every line, arc, circle, square, and triangle form the image of a beautiful young actress and model sitting confidently in a man's suit.  I guess I don't have to tell you about the title of this sketch letter because it's pretty self-explanatory, but what isn't obvious about it is the inspiration behind it.  Last week, I read in a byline in an alternative newspaper that the film Gigola was going to be shown at a Gay and Lesbian International Film Festival in the city and an adjoining picture of the film's star suddenly caught my eye.  Thought that drawing a young lady with a beauty and aura of confidence similar to those of the leading lady would be a good way to pass the time, but it became such a great stress reliever, a brief respite from the stresses of urban life.  Every line, arc, circle, square, and triangle helped take my mind off the crowded aisles and occupied seats on the trains, off the computers and stacks and papers on the cubicles, off the ongoing traffic along the streets and sidewalks, and off the frenetic and unforgiving pace in the brisk cold and the pouring rain.  For a little while. 

"Seasons"

November 7, 2011.

What do Jean Auguste Dominique-Ingres and an unknown sculptor have in common, even if it has been a little over two centuries since their deaths? For one thing, they both won me over with their own ideas, their own individual embodiments, of beauty, art, and balance when I arrived at the Louvre and Musee d'Orsay, respectively...upon my arrival...in Paris a year ago.  February 25, 2010, to be exact.  Once I checked in at my hotel and got settled in, the next thing I wanted to see on my first day of my first ever solo weekend in Europe was that Whitman's Sampler of treats and treasures at the Louvre...and the Orsay...to come face to face with the old masters and the Impressionists that helped make the Art Institute of Chicago one of my favorite hangouts.  A joy since the summer of 1990!

Without a doubt, my cold, windy, rainy Thursday afternoon in the city would have been shot if I did not see the Venus de Milo...and I'm still glad I did! Seeing her porcelain loveliness, shapeliness, and sinuousness on her pedestal not only moved me to take pictures of her from two preferred angles, but also to draw this latest sketch on the train to work, on my fifteen-minute and lunch breaks, and on the train home from work.  You may be wondering why I chose an incognita young lady in a maxi dress for this sketch.  Remembering what I saw in Ingres' Le Source (The Spring) at the Orsay that afternoon, it continues to embody beauty and balance, to quench an artist's thirst for inspiration.  Moreover, we, as human beings, witness and experience the changing of seasons, undergoing a change of temperatures...and temperaments...as well.  Just as the warmth of summer and the mildness of spring tempered my writing and drawing, the coldness and wetness of the fall and winter months add bite, melancholy, and thought to my work just as much...

"Dear Pen Pal"

November 2, 2011.

Way before E-mails and texting and Blackberries...and viruses, there was the simple, poignant, and long-forgotten task of corresponding to your loved ones in legible, handwritten cursive letters (not shorthand, mind you) on paper, informing them of the events, however important they were, in your life.  Moreover, it afforded an opportunity for the correspondents involved to be as unique and personal with their letters...and themselves...as they wanted to be.  I seized such an opportunity...thirty-two years ago...when I enrolled in a kid's pen pal program, soon after I watched an episode of The Big, Blue Marble, one of my favorite television shows at the time. 

On one cool, cloudy October afternoon, I received my first letter from a boy (who was the same age as I)  in a small town in Pennsylvania, only to find with amazement and delight that he enjoyed the same things I did, inspiring me further to write back to him.  And as time went on, our mutual interest in games, sports, and arts/crafts developed into conversations about adult and heavier matters, such as our aspirations to attend college someday.  I even went so far as to initiate a phone call with him, once I had my parents' permission! Our correspondence, which also started with an exchange of photographs, lasted two years.  Even though those letters are long lost, I cherish, to this day, the impact...and my pen pal, my first and only...have on me.  

This drawing, a sketch of the very picture I mailed to him, isn't really a call for the return of writing letters. Manually.  However, it demonstrates my appreciation for my memories of a time when kids expressed themselves fully and creatively and said far more than just a simple OMG or IMO to a BFF.  And to me, that was a BFD!  

"Black Coffee"

November 5, 2011.

Autumn was definitely in the air...and under the sun...and on the changing colors and textures in the leaves strewn across the ground and along the sidewalks as I walked directly to Navy Pier this morning for the annual SOFA/Intuit Outsider and Folk Art Fair.  Starving for inspiration...and information, I stepped inside Festival Hall and walked into the galleries on the second floor, only to find myself in awe with the Bill Traylors, the Thornton Dials, the Henry Dargers, and the Joseph Yoakums on the walls, feeling more inspired to be stay true to my own style, to stay creative, to shun conventions altogether.  Simply put, to just keep making art for the pure joy of it. 

Taking a break from talking, walking, and browsing along the halls and past the walls, I stopped at a SOFA cafe, bought a piping hot cup of black coffee with a chocolate chip cookie, and started drawing another favorite image in my sketch pad at the table.  This time around, the subject was a beautiful young (African American) model, whose image is no longer present online...and it's truly a shame, in my opinion.  Wanting to "immortalize" her on paper, I concentrated on the lines and curves, taking my time and having fun with my drawing as I drank in the dark.  Not one to keep time, I looked at my watch and realized that I stayed for quite a long time.  Two hours! But quite frankly, my dear, I didn't give a...

Afterwards, I passed the beautiful stained glass window displays on my way out the door and walked back into the sun and the air, ready to call it a day.  For now.   

"Renee"

November 3, 2011.

As a child, I would run through the pages in my mom's big, bulky Sears (and Roebucks) gift catalogs, looking for toys and games I wanted to have for Christmas.  But lo and behold, the tall, leggy models quickly got a hold of me, playing the parts of ingenues...glamour girls...leading ladies in the latest fashions and elaborate designs, making me forget about those goofy games and toys for a while! Well, so much for Santa Claus, I suppose.  

A couple of days ago, I created a sketch that reminds me a little of a look once considered ideal among models (and designers...and photographers) and popular among the men and women who flipped the large pages back and forth all the time.  Tall, trim, chic, statuesque.  And of course, very beautiful.  A mere escape.  Then again, that was the 1970s and society has grown to embrace differing body types and been questioning body image in the media since.  At the same time, this sketch is, for me, a pleasant reminder of my coming-of-age, my growing curiosity, and my aspiration to something greater than a Magic 8-Ball.  I'm quite certain it could never have predicted that I'd make this. 

"Soul Shadows"

March 23, 2011.

San Francisco, Friday, August 21, 1998.  Age 30.  Until my brother and I set foot on the grand and gorgeous city of San Francisco, the very City By the Bay that spawned the living legends of Alcatraz, Fisherman's Wharf, City Lights Books in the bohemian North Beach neighborhood, and TV's McMillan and Wife and The Streets of San Francisco, my well of ideas was dry.  Bone dry! Wanting to feed my wanderlust...and write again, I set out with my brother to go west, to spend a weekend in San Francisco, only for me to eventually and accidentally come in contact with the avant-garde art, live jazz, Art Deco and/or classical architecture, the quirky and laid-back locals, and Northern California fusion cuisine that would provide poignant physical/mental imagery and forever alter the look and purpose of my work, namely my Travels. 

"Childhood in the Rain"

February 5, 2011.

Tokyo, Wednesday, June 28, 1989.  Age 20.  Taken from my Tokyo notebook (which is considered "lost" because it actually doesn't physically exist, but was retold purely from memory), this sketch story surrounds the colorful, playful images of Walt Disney's vision of childhood and the relentless power and speed on the slik, streamlined Shinkansen ("bullet train" whose look suggests innovation and progress) with my impressions of my quality time with my family on a cold, rainy, and seemingly dreary Wednesday afternoon in the city, the beautiful and bustling capital of Japan.  At the time, I did a dry run with my mom and brother on a Shinkansen underground and above the city center to help us become better acquainted with the rapid transit system and gain a much deeper understanding of life from the locals' point of view.

Dedicated to the memory of my dad.

"Angie Standing Tall"

October 31, 2011.

This afternoon, I walked to the Merchandise Mart with my new co-worker Zak, only to learn along the way that he has learned to draw during his brief sojourn in Holland.  What prompted Zak to start up a conversation in our mutual interest in drawing was my habit of drawing or producing sketches five times a day.  That's right.  Five.  I draw before I report to work, on both of my fifteen-minute breaks, on my lunch break, and on the train home from work.  And I really don't mind investing that much time into my work because I love it and it's worth every single minute of it. 

And this latest sketch, my friend, is proof positive.  Here, the student, a tall, beautiful, and plus-sized young woman (and a woman of color), poses proudly with her new black belt around her waist....

"Robin Scorpion Strikes Again"

October 29, 2011. 

Blessed with beauty, brains, and athletic prowess, Robin Scorpion, our heroine, returns to the ring, ready to put the bad guys in their place...at the hospital, that is!

This afternoon, I arrived at Mr. Holmes' barber shop and took a seat, ready to finish this drawing in my sketch pad until it was time for me to come up and get my cut.  Honestly, I was glad the older man came before I did.  Otherwise, I would not have taken the time with this drawing.  And the soulful, socially conscious music of the late Julius "Cannonball" Adderley on the CD player/radio made my work much easier to do...and a lot more rewarding!

In the course of my spirited conversation with Mr. Holmes, my every-other-Saturday afternoon barber, he informed me of a new neighborhood art studio that was going to open in a month because he saw me drawing and coloring away with wild abandon.   Gorgeous Galleries Art, Inc., I do believe, is its name.  And I thanked Mr. Holmes with a tip for the tip! I'm definitely going to check it out as soon as it opens.  Incidentally, it's right next door!

"Erica Cain"

October 28, 2011.

Having enjoyed another rejuvenating, uninterrupted nap on my Futon, I got up around 12:30 in the AM, ready to complete this latest drawing while I'm still fresh and alert.  So I got my sketchpad, turned on YouTube for a round of soothing, feel-good Seventies and early Eighties hits (Poco's "Heart of the Night", Chuck Mangione's "Give It All You Got", Herb Alpert's "Route 101",  and England Dan and John Ford Coley's cover of Todd Rundgren's "Love is the Answer"), and began applying more lines, not story lines, on an attractive young woman (don't let her looks and the title fool you) who seems willing and Abel to do away her opponents in the ring! 

"La Belle Vie"

January 23, 2011.

"Yes, the good life, full of fun seems to be the ideal..."

Whether I was taking an audio tour on a hop-on, hop-off Gray Line Paris bus around the city, walking down the crowded, but bustling Latin Quarter on a sunny Saturday morning, or simply enjoying my second petit dejeuner next to Claude Monet down in the basement at my hotel, those very lyrics lingered on in my head like the sweet and tangy taste of red wine rolled and swished around in my mouth.  Yes, that classic song took on a much deeper meaning for me when I spent my first weekend in Europe.  In France.  In Paris.  In the dead of winter.  Solo.  Ever!

On the afternoon of February 27th, a Saturday, I met a couple of guys (a Black man from St. Louis and his friend from Berlin, Germany, respectively) on the Gray Line Paris Blue bus, asked the bus driver with my limited command of French for directions, sent him a Merci beaucoup, monsieur his way before he got back on his bus, and started walking around Les Invalides, hopeful that I would find my muse, a Thinker named Auguste Rodin, before I returned to the States.

Or was I really searching for myself?

"Robin Scorpion"

October 26, 2011. 

As the title of this latest sketch suggests, especially to a die-hard fan of television soaps, this girl's got the looks, the smarts...and the moves to land the bad guys at the general hospital!

"Escape Artists"

September 3, 2011.

"Saturday in the park, I think it was the Fourth of July..."

Robert Lamm and Chicago (1972)

I thought it was, too!

"Raw"

October 25, 2011. 

Normally, I apply the colors on my subjects, finishing my sketches and call it a day.  However, I never bother to ask myself, "Why do that?" Why cover...why hide...why mask the undulation of the lines swimming, swishing, clashing, and rippling against one another as to make and confirm something beautiful, something rare, something...raw? So this time, I put my coloring pencils aside, took Vincent van Gogh's cue (I visited a retrospective exhibit about his life and work at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York in '05), and let the lines tell the story.

"Blowin' Through The Jazz Man in My Mind?"

Undated. 

Set at the annual Chicago Jazz Festival on a beautiful, warm Saturday afternoon, the afternoon of September 4th, on Chicago's Grant Park and Millennium Park, respectively, this sketch letter, prefaced with the feel-good Seals and Crofts classic "Summer Breeze" (1972), is an ode to both old school jazz and summer as it shows the writer/artist keeping busy with his sketches, staying under the influence of the cool, red wine and the hot, classic sounds of Ella Fitzgerald, Maynard Ferguson, Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and the recently departed Abbey Lincoln (an amazing storyteller in her songs), to name a few, among the legends of jazz.

"Bit of a Stretch"

September 17, 2011. 

Enriched with a tempering of the rich and dramatic reds, browns, and blacks with the bright and airy blues and yellows, a pinch of unbridled passion, a dollop of depth, and equal splashes of inspiration and an appreciation for realism, this latest sketch aggrandizes the subject, a beautiful young African-American woman, as she stretches her muscles and clears her mind, ready to commence training in her dojo.  To me, this drawing of this young lady filling nearly every inch of space on that single page with her pulchritude (coupled with concentration and dedication to her art) affords a deep and lasting joy, considering that it is the kind of image...a positive example of African Americans...I always longed to see, a picture of another side of Black life I never saw as a child.  That changed when I met Diane, my first and last homeroom teacher of color, a twentysomething woman already with a brown belt in Shotokan karate...and someone who looked like me. 

"Wake Up Call"

September 9, 2011. 

Not a moment goes by on the streets of Chicago that you don't see either a panhandler, a StreetWise vendor, or a Greenpeace/Illinois PIRG canvasser on the corner vying for your dollar...and your bleeding heart.  Then again, it's another thing altogether to watch a street musician of color try his/her hand at a Handel and/or Haydn classical trumpet solo, disproving the myth that classical music is a white person's domain.  Really, you don't see that very often, which is exactly the point of this sketch letter.  Being an avid fan of both the opera and old school jazz, it does my heart a world of good to see a musician of color, particulary an African-American man, play anything other than classic R&B, urban contemporary, and reggae because we as a people want to be able to assert our versatility and open-mindedness whenever such opportunities present themselves.  For me, nothing's more important than that.

"Eying The Eiffel"

January 25, 2011.

When someone looks at the Eiffel Tower, whether it's in a picture or in person, many things associated with the iconic Paris landmark come to mind.  Magic...glamour...mystery...intrigue...majesty.  And I would be remiss if I didn't include history on the list! History? Yes, history! It just so happened that on the late afternoon of February 28th, a Sunday, just an hour or so after I completed my tour around the Chateau in Versailles and took the RER-C back down the Yellow line to the Latin Quarter, I came into direct contact with Gustave Eiffel's architectural wonder, that striking vestige of Paris' storied past, when I held onto the rails and scaled five or six flights of stairs from the Jules Verne doorway to the first floor, feeling the very strong and cold winds rush in my face.  Had to hold on to my black Kangol cap for dear life! As I did, a local boy and his grandfather behind me stopped midway to catch their second wind.

My pilgrimage to the Eiffel Tower was clearly rewarding.  Nothing short of inspirational.  I got to catch a panoramic and breathtaking view of the beautiful city that Paris is, especially at sunset (even if it wasn't from le sommet), and shared a table with a seemingly nice local (and young) family, whose toddler son was coaxed into eating his gofres avec chocolat (waffles topped with melted semi-sweet chocolate).  As he did, I kept recording my adventures in my Moleskines over a dark chocolate beignet and cafe creme.  Tres bien ("Chocolate cake")!   

"Nevar More"

October 10, 2011.

Intended to be a pun on Edgar Allan Poe's classic poem "The Raven" because the title is spelled backwards, this sketch letter is purely a fictional account of an actual (and awkward) encounter with an attractive and petite young woman in my Shotokan karate class at NIU so many years ago. 

Named for the edge and spirit of adventure cascading down her long, wild jet-black curls rushing down her shoulders, Raven, the lovely protagonist in this drawing, is a composite of the women I knew who possessed and exhibited such qualities, inspiring me once again to put my imagination to work.  So off I went to the steep, isolated steps where no one was around and used my fifteen-minute work break to draw every minute of my experience with the raven-haired beauties who impacted me, in one way or another.  Would have named her Robin because of her crimson red headband, but black suits her...and me...just fine!

"Leg Up On The Competition"

October 22, 2011.

Just hours before my brother and I re-joined our old high school buddies and their families for a Halloween get-together at one of their houses (and it has been twenty-five years since we last saw each other upon graduation), I finished this sketch of a tall and beautiful young woman (and a basketball player!) stretching her left leg before she resumes her training in her dojo. 

"Atypical Friday"

November 23, 2010.

Friday, February 26.  Early that Friday morning, I, a Young and Restless writer, got out of bed, feeling not the least bit tired from staying up all night and writing away in my Moleskines at the secretary.  Surprisingly enough, I felt rather refreshed...and really hungry! Ravenous is more like it.  Wanting to savor more of Paris, I went to the bathroom, starting to get myself ready for another day...single and solo...in the city.  Getting out of my 40-hour, work-a-day, Western mindset for just that weekend, I started taking a bath...not a shower...because I was, after all, on vacation! 

Once I got ready and gathered my essentials in my travel vest, I left my room and took the Red Elevator down to the basement for my first petit dejeuner, but not without bidding the front desk manager a fond Bonjour, monsieur!

For the rest of the day--under the rain and in the cold air, mind you--I met some seemingly down-to-earth people from Paris, London, and Los Angeles on a Gray Line hop-on hop-off Green bus, journaled over a Caffe Americano in a salon on the second floor at Starbucks St. Michel-Cluny (a popular hangout among college students), took a Gray Line Blue bus (accidentally) later that afternoon and discovered both the Picasso museum and Georges Pompidou Center along the way, prayed in the comforting partial darkness inside the Cathedral of Notre Dame, waited in a long line at Le Champo for a movie (but never it shortly), and enjoyed both a fetching young female server's hospitality and a light dessert (a dark chocolate torte with a cup of regular black coffee) at a small cafe across the street from my hotel. 

So how was your Friday?

"No Turning Back"

December 21, 2010.

Before his untimely death in 1969, Jack Kerouac, one of my favorite escapist writers, wrote several novels whose unpredicable characters and story lines are based on his real-life exploits, especially with his fellow bohemian poets, abroad and Stateside.  One of those novels, a story of an uninspired, but aspiring young writer and his wayward friend traveling across the United States and to Mexico in search of adventure and a new identity apart from the repressive status quo, would eventually become not only a representation of Beat culture for a hungry new generation of thinkers, artists, and writers on the East and West Coasts in the 1950s and 1960s, but also the inspiration and paradigm for my San Francisco (1998), New Orleans (2001), and Paris (2010) notebooks.  That novel, my friend, is On The Road.

Keeping Kerouac...and my dad, an adventurer at heart...in mind, I gathered my passport, boarding pass, and tools of the trade (including a digital camera and three small Moleskine notebooks), left the apartment, and walked confidently out into the brutally cold morning air under the overcast skies, excited to go to Europe.  To France.  To Paris.  To see the world again! But this time, alone.  Just as Sal Paradise and his buddy Drifter Dean Moriarty do, I had to step out on faith, learn the customs, etiquette, and language of my host country, and keep my wits about me at all times because I was going to be thousands of miles away from everything I've ever known and grown comfortable with.  Alone.  Equipped with a command of French words and phrases to help me get by and a little more than a hundred euros for the adventure of a lifetime.  Didn't know a single soul in the city, friend. 

The reservations have already been made and confirmed and you've got your passport on you.  Paris awaits! Once you reach O'Hare and take the evening flight to the city, there's no turning back.  And once you take off and vanish into the dark blue night sky, you're free, I thought, brimming with the vision of an inspired and grand getaway!  

And once you take off and vanish into the dark blue night sky, you're free.  Free.  Free to explore and enjoy Paris at any pace and in any fashion I want.  Free to be myself, especially with other people.  Free to meet other people.  Free to indulge in new experiences.  Free to take chances.  Free to stay up as long as I like.  Free to do my own thing.  Free not to answer to anyone else, to be encumbered with someone else's demands and concerns.  For those reasons, friend, free...is a good four-letter word!

Boarding the next morning Metra to the La Salle Street Station, I lugged my American Tourister to my seat,
shivering with excitement...and it wasn't just from the cold and the hardening, powdery snow.  Edward, let's Paris, I told myself. 

Silently.

"Moondance"

October 14, 2010. 

On my first day solo...ever...in Paris, on the forty-third anniversary of my parents' wedding, I helped myself to a huge slice of the City of Light, admitting that it was more than I could chew.  Much more! In the bitter cold and sparse rain under the overcast skies (and it was, after all, winter, my friend), I enjoyed my first ride on the RER-B along the Blue line to the St. Michel-Notre Dame stop in the Latin Quarter, did a little journaling and people-watching over a cup of regular black coffee (with a small, complimentary dark chocolate truffle) at a Brioche Doree on the corner of St. Germain amd St. Michel, visited and took pictures of and around the legendary Cathedral of Notre Dame before I checked in at my hotel, took a few pictures of some amazing art (including the Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo, Winged Victory of Samothrace, and a few Degas delights) at the Louvre and Orsay, journaled and watched more people passing by over dinner at Le Petite Perigourdine, a nice restaurant within a block from my hotel, and had a mocha at Starbucks St. Michel-Cluny for dessert.  Under the full, golden moon! Wrote quite a bit in my room...in unsettling silence...until one in the morning!