"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.