Inky Disaster

ink and gouache

25
Has the night descended?
Was the road of late so toilsome? did we stop discouraged, nodding on our way?
Yet a passing hour I yield you, in your tracks to pause oblivious, Pioneers! O pioneers! — Walt Whitman

I figure if I’m going to offer my services as a portrait drawer, I should have some famous images to offer as samples. Expect to see more… any requests?

A smiling Tarahumara, or more accurately, Raramuri man. Inspired by a photograph by David Ducoin

I battled with impatience to keep my crosshatching neat and tidy. I may have lost that war, but won a few skirmishes here and there.

And yes, I have become totally obsessed with the Raramuri thanks to the excellent book, Born To Run. Now my resume looks something like:

Portrait Artist
Art Teacher
Plumber (not certified, no job too small, a lot of jobs too big)
and now, Barefoot Running Consultant. I’ll do that for free.

If you need any of these services, drop me a line.

UPDATE: It’s my uncle Victor. Kids. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t tell ‘em apart.

All done:

The thing is, dad isn’t sure it’s him. There’s no date on the old photo proof I used as a model; does the name Ted Black ring a bell? He was the photographer.

Famous moonshiner, Popcorn Sutton, rather then spend the rest of his life in Federal Prison, committed suicide earlier this week.

The bad guys won the Whiskey Rebellion.

The population of the US is -1 more; I’ve seceeded.

“A man is no less a slave because he is allowed to choose a new master once in a term of years.” – Lysander Spooner

Hamilton’s legacy.

A busted moonshiner? Let The Depression II begin!

Me and my chicken, Lunch. And Lunch is what she will be, if she doesn’t start laying some eggs.

I am skeptical of the claim that chickens are the real source of eggs. I think it’s all part of a Chicken Union plot to artificially inflate the value of the pulletariat.

For Illustration Friday.

From a photo by Massimo Sbreni.

I committed to very pudgy cheeks. The wife says mumps.