Stopped for a coffee today on my way home from chit-chatting with Chuck at Iron Forge Press. It looks as though I’ll be doing some very cool fancypants printed collectible concert posters for his company. When I get samples, buy them from me and put them someplace safe and dry, it’s way more fashionable than a mattress full of cash. Now, back to that coffee shop stop…
“Hey, I’ve fucking been there… we’re selling bombs to the other side, that’s whey the Israelis have to be such fucking hard asses.” said the dude on the right, in between intermittent glances at his smart phone, and then “The American government knows, so long as people go to work in the morning and sit in front of the tube at night, they’ll stay apathetic and not worry about who has power.”
Back to the drawing board… a couple of fun projects worth sharing (I won’t bother you with stuff that’s not) on deck… two different mascot/logo projects for roller derby teams and a GWAR poster to draw. I’ll share some in-progress on those with you if you come back in a day or two.
When he caught me sketching him, the man said “I knew a girl in Venice, Italy who drew people for fifteen or twenty dollars.” in a thick Mediterranean accent. An affable fella, he was flattered by the attention (though $15-20 strikes me as cheap), but I dispensed with conversation by responding with a “oh, that’s nice…” or something to that effect and went back to drawing.
I think maybe I put him off a bit by not directly inviting him to see the drawing, as he was curious. Maybe he’ll stumble upon my sketch blog or someone who knows him will see this in my facebook page and tag him there some day?
Graffiti artists at work in Veteran’s Park in Delray Beach. The physical artwork of the artist on the left was, in my humble opinion, far superior to the duo on the right. They looked the part of graffiti artists more, b-boy style and whatnot, plus they were younger, had a boombox blaring music and put on more of a show,whereas the other artist’s show was almost exclusively on his canvas. There was considerably more crowd interest around the kids on the right. I do not really have a schtick and often wrestle with the need to develop one. Any time I’ve started to, I get embarrassed at the silliness of such contrivances and scrap it soon after.
I’ve half-filled a sketchbook with drawings of strangers at bars (way better drawings, too, I might add… found a style that just “works”, where quick sketches look much more finished) now. I drew the above a couple of months back at the Blue Anchor in Delray Beach. I’m a lot less shy about drawing people now. I was just starting to loosen up on these sketches. After the couple of wonderful Brit beers I had during these drawings, I managed to conjure up a decent one.
The above was of a couple of regulars at the Anchor bs’ing over great food and beer. They were all obviously very good friends and the conversation went to the fellas out-”I’m no homo”ing each other at one point. This particular form of male bonding was ironic to me for more than the typical “methinks thou dost protest too much” cliched reason, as this dude in the center of the sketch here reminded me greatly of my friend and former coworker Will who’s a big gay bear in Fort Lauderdale (OK, formerly big, as from Facebook updates I’ve learned he’s dropped most of his excess & has become a bit of a self-help career guiding life coach of sorts… go Will!).
One too many high alcohol content imported beers. I tried to draw my beach cruiser before hopping on it to ride home after drinking and drawing strangers. This drawing looks like shit. I keep it to 3 beers max now if I’m drawing in a bar so I don’t literally lose focus. The exercise is about creating neat little snapshots of art, improving my chops and observing others just being themselves, not boozing like an asshole. Keep an eye on this blog for future posts from the barhop sketchbook, it’s pretty compelling material (yes I’m a bit biased, but still…).
Cute family out celebrating the Dad’s birthday (he’s on the other side, with another kid or two, of the mom, baby and boy) at the table next to Diana and I in Deerfield Beach at Little Havana. Tres Leches with a candle from this restaurant makes for a Happy Birthday, indeed! Especially if it’s after having one of their skirt steaks (more chimichuri please! nom nom), pork chunks and onion or the fried snapper with a couple of mojitos… just make sure you double check for mint leaves in your teeth before you smile for any pictures!
I love this drawing… not nearly as much as its subject, but I just love it. My wife and I popped into a Starbucks in Delray (I MUCH prefer supporting businesses owned by human beings not corporate strawmen and loathe Starbucks for their lack of humor and legal bullying of the great Kieron Dwyer over an image that appeared on the cover of his amazing & short-lived humor comic LCD, but what can I do? Mommy and Daddy wanted their coffee & for some unquantifiable reason Diana prefers the ‘bucks to the District. Whatever, we’re all some shade of consumer whore and I realize I’m a big hypocrite for handing them my money so often… maybe bitching about it makes up for this a little? Probably not.) after viewing a house we’d thought we were going to be able to rent in town. The deal was too good to be true and fell through. It’s for the better that it happened before rather than after such a deal, as we all know that too good to be true is never true. So she was running late on the way into the office, but we needed a coffee (addicts!), as we’d rushed to the house to view it and try to work out a deal without having a morning cup at home first. While we were there, I scribbled this one of her out in record time. My hand was whipping around the page as if it were possessed and I think it made for a solid little sketch in less than 5 minutes time.
I woke up kinda early today, and snuck off for a bike ride to the beach and back before starting the day. As I planned to stop for big latte somewhere along my travels (part of my bike ride ritual), I brought a sketchbook I started keeping that is being filled only with illustrations of people at coffee shops. I have a few themed sketchbooks like this started and a few more ideas for related ones, ahem, percolating. I think they will each make quirky little gallery shows & cool printed volumes when there’s enough material to warrant.
This cat was really into the day’s sales circular from Best Buy. So much so, I don’t recall seeing him draw from his coffee cup once. He kinda reminded me of a vaguely Cuban Orson Welles, and I instantly wanted to doodle him… So I did!
I try to be as stealthy as possible when I do these live sketches of unsuspecting folks. I am easily rattled and once I get to drawing, I don’t really want to talk extensively, I just want to observe. Sometimes my spot gets blown up and the sketchbook parades around the room or whatever and nothing gets drawn after, as everyone is aware of my presence and stops acting naturally. That’s kind of a drag. While I was sketching this dude, a tatted up guy that rode in on a chopper-style bicycle, gave me kudos for the work, in passing, while going about his own routine. I appreciated the sentiment greatly, and also that he didn’t make a big deal about it and unwittingly throw me off of my game (waah, I know, play the conditions, jerky… that’s a big part of what I’m conditioning myself to do by sketching the shit out of what I see nowadays).
So anyway, we’d planned on painting the baby’s room today with my Mom’s help. This chore, as well as many other commitments piled up. After the coffee break, I got back on the beach cruiser to go peek at the beach before heading home when I realized I just did not having the energy or will to paint walls today, and furthermore, to clean house to make it presentable enough for the Mrs. to allow company, on top of everything else. I canceled those plans with mi madre, and started the trip home to catch up on some freelance and a few other chores, calling Diana on the way.
“I wish we could just go to the beach today.”, she said.
“We can!”, I replied, “Grab a towel for me and meet me at the beach ASAP.”
What a relief! We spent the day soaking in the sun, staring at strangers and not getting eaten by large hammerhead sharks, a distinct possibility in this town…
I managed to squeeze in a couple more sketches of folks at the beach. Nothing super fancy or finished, but both nice drawings nonetheless.
First one was a funny looking oiled up pudgy older guy powerwalking in 70′s shorts (you know, the shitty old-school Kmart kind that tend to flash sack to anyone in the wearer’s immediate vicinity) and a floppy hat.
The second was a latin couple cuddling in the sand. As you can see, the woman changed position, settling into her man’s arms. Initially I had planned to draw everything and everyone around them, but when they cozied up, nothing else mattered to my drawing hand.
I’d like to go on more about the day and what I observed & thought while working on these sketches, but the short of it is… Diana and I had a wonderful time together, blowing the world off and enjoying our new town and each other. For the last few hours I drew some roughs for a logo/mascot project and have been going back and forth on how to approach this post. Write, read, delete, rinse, repeat… I’m now officially blowing her off and giving a shit end to a great day together for her, as a result. I have to cut this short and go give the woman a footrub or something. She’s wonderful to me, and deserves some more attention!
Thanks for checking in with me, let me know what you think about the drawings and such. Good night.
OK, so I haven’t updated for a while… why don’t you cry about it?
Lots of things got turned upside-down and inside-out the past couple of weeks for me. Chief among them being a harried move into a new place.
I’ve still been sketching like a madman, and have a few interesting new twists on this concept up my sleeve. I’ll be updating the hell out of this sketch blog in the very near future. Most probably, I’ll do a dump of all the drawings I’ve been saving for when I have the chance to ramble on, and on, and on. Then, maybe future posts will incorporate more of the observational/personal blogging I’ve found I’m pretty decent at. Or not, I don’t know, maybe I won’t, it’s my sandbox.
In case you’re interested… I’m selling 5×7 prints of the above drawing here, it was drawn with a wacom tablet in photoshop.
I couldn’t see Grandma’s face, but Grandson lit up with glee, which made Grandpa very happy, when the wait staff brought a piece of cake with a lit candle to the table to song. At this point captured in sketch, they were just enjoying a nice meal (as was I) directly across from one of South Florida’s greatest beaches. I have no clue what they ordered, but if it was half as good as my mahi-mahi sammich & Stella, they had a lunch worthy of note, regardless of who was born on said date.
This is my favorite sketch created for this blog thus far, by far. It is very accurate, and its back story is compelling. I drew it Monday morning in the waiting room of the “high risk” pregnancy specialist doctor’s office that my wife and I are required by our ob/gyn to visit to make certain we are not going to have any complications with the Bean. We are 35, apparently this is the start-point for an increased likelihood of all sorts of nasty disorders… Downs Syndrome and the like. Thankfully, so far, so good, our boy is the picture of health and growing ahead of the doctor’s schedules (just like his Dad always did). He’s going to be as big as he’s going to be beautiful, mark my words.
There were two other couples in the waiting room with us, neither of them struck me as interesting subjects, but directly across sat an old man, alone, reading, waiting, visibly trying to not look too concerned with the news he was waiting for. He was a thick guy, I was reminded of how my best friend from high school, Travis, described his dad’s belly. He said his dad had that hard, old-man fat, the kind that’s almost impossible to lose and that doesn’t really jiggle… it’s the belly equivalent of calloused hands or feet, I think. General Patton probably had that kind of fat to him. Given where we were, and how he looked towards the office door with every sound that carried through the room, I knew exactly what was going on with him.
I shared his relief when his daughter burst into the waiting room, all smiles, melting his stoic veneer in an instant. I caught a brief glimpse of his cheery grin for roughly one-half of a second, when Diana nudged and whispered, demanding my attention so I read an article in a magazine she’d picked up from a table next to her.
It was an interview with Slash. I fucking love Guns N’ Roses, he was probably their coolest member, and is cooler than roughly everyone in rock and roll but Lemmy, Johnny Thunders and possibly Iggy Pop. I have been a fan since I was thirteen and they first broke. My childhood friend, David Robinson would join my brothers and I in the living room at our house with mops, tennis rackets, bedroom garbage cans and any other shit we could scrounge from around the house to pretend we were playing instruments along to a tape of Appetite for Destruction one of us had dubbed from a radio broadcast. It was the whole album, but bleeped, very shitty quality with radio dj’s hitting posts in between songs and a few songs cut off because whoever had dubbed it didn’t unpause the tape quickly enough when the station came out of commercial in between blocks of songs. I even read Slash’s autobiography a couple of years back (holy, drug addict, Batman) and have the McFarlane figure of him in my office/studio (not that shit again… pick one, right?) on a shelf. I know she was just trying to be thoughtful, but I was in a different world right then, trying to capture it.
I snapped at her like a real asshole… “I am watching a beautiful moment here, do not (I am less inclined to use contractions when I’m angry) interrupt it with a fucking advertisement”, I shot back at her in a stern, almost violent whisper.
She did interrupt a beautiful moment with a fucking advertisement, but that is no way for me to talk to the woman carrying my child. My temper thankfully only extends to having a shit attitude and swearing a lot, but that too has to be put in check a lot with my boy on the way. It’s time to stop being such a dick all the time (isn’t it always).
My subject was gone with his daughter… they had floated away (quite literally, I believe) before I was able to catch another glimpse and give another listen. I had missed the last bit of their story I’d be privy to and gotten needlessly nasty with the woman I love when her emotions and hormones are all over the place already.
I knew I was off-base with my knee-jerk (emphasis on jerk) reaction and immediately apologized profusely. She had been periodically watching me draw the man for the past 15 minutes, but was not paying attention to him beyond comparing his face to my drawing. Diana was impressed with the likeness as it took shape. I quickly explained how amazing the little drama that unfolded was and how I was living in it right then because I wanted to write about it here to go along with the finished drawing of the man. Since we’d already been through tests here, probably the same ones, had waited on pins and needles for the results we wanted to hear, and had experienced a similar joy upon receiving them, she almost instantly met me in the middle, accepting my apology.
I’m very happy for this tough old-guy with the big heart, I think he will make a fine grandfather if he isn’t one already. Diana and I could relate to his worries, the waiting games of a pregnancy are very stressful and cause emotions to run high.
A.D.Daddy
Diana proceeded to read me a few answers from the Slash interview. They were all very canned, probably written by a publicist selling some bullshit with his name on it.
She then picked up a different magazine, this one about parenting, not celebrity worship. I turned my attention to a comically dressed chubby kid (early/mid 20′s) who I assume was there for the Ashkenazi genetic testing, that the doctor’s office’s website states they specialize in. He appeared reasonably Jewish and was way too young to be there for the same reasons as we. He’d come with his partner of roughly the same age, who was much less interesting looking to me, even though she was visibly pregnant (which is inherently interesting).
I started drawing the guy. I think he had A.D.D., as he did not sit still for shit, not even to text into his slider phone. The 3/4 sideways NY Giants ballcap was really screwing me up as I drew, because the angle of the bill would dramatically shift with each movement of his head, throwing my whole process off. I plowed through a s0-so sketch of him. I’m not crazy about it, I wish I’d drawn a caricature instead. Ah well, they can’t all be pensive grandpas in wait.
Finding hats that fit over my noggin has always been a problem for me. My head is big as hell, yo. There’s a couple of websites that sell 2x hats, but mostly offer only old-old man hats, when I’m only looking for old man hats. I also have an issue with not wanting to advertise brands by wearing shit with their logos emblazoned obnoxiously on them, so that rules out at least 98% of all ballcaps on the planet. I should be paid for that, not the other way around. Just because I’m pretty much the size of a billboard, doesn’t mean I should be one for corporations I pay to buy things from.
The other week, I found a hat that had a longhorn bull shape made up of other little tribal-like shapes on the front and some Spanish verbage on the back over the expander thing-a-ma-bob. At first I thought it was a Texas U design in tribal and earth tones, but the Spanish text made me revise my thesis to a South of the Border brand of some sort. I didn’t recognize it as pimping anyone’s crap domestically, I kind of liked it (knew Diana would too, more on that in a sec) and it fit my head reasonably well, so I bought it.
My wife is a first generation American. Her family raised her steeped in their culture, fed her their foods, taught her their language, etc… American popular culture is almost as exotic to her as hers is to me… it was a forbidden fruit growing up. Having been raised in NYC, no aspect of this culture is more exotic than redneck country. This is not my scene, but I’m a big honkey mofo with a big beard and the like, I can slip into that look with a slight wardrobe adjustment, which I know tends to set her little panties aflutter. So, rather than bare my needs-to-be-shaven extremely balding head, I threw the Mexican Longhorn trucker cap on when we went out to lunch this past Saturday. It does compliment my face and I could see her checking me out like married women seldom check out their husbands the entire time I had it on. The extra eye-balling felt good, but also made me a bit more self conscious of my unfortunate male-pattern baldness.
We hopped in the car and headed to downtown Delray Beach to find something to eat after a quick visit to Hands Stationers to pick up a few more “Moleskine” sketchbooks (Actually “Hand•Book Journal Co” brand, but moleskine is the popularized, Xerox-ish brand of this sketch/note-book type, and it’s quicker and easier to just say “Moleskine” than the preceding. Shame, because Hand•book has a nicer quality of paper to their books and I don’t give a shit who drew in Moleskine’s 100 years ago, they are superior… unfortunately not in brand recognition.) so I can create more drawings to share with you hear and to jot down ideas on the go. I highly recommend them if you are even the least bit creatively inclined… it will make you more so and you will lose less ideas.
As I began walking from the car to Hands, a funny-looking Latino guy with long hair blurted out “Hey, peace, man” as he walked by, signaling a peace sign with his own hands (repeating that word a lot, I swear they’re not paying me to, though free art supplies would be much appreciated, no pressure). My first thought was “He must be a Facebook friend of mine who reads my anti-war conspiracy-type rants that recognized me”, then I thought “Duh, has to be the hat branding that I’m unwittingly promoting”. I have yet to look into either, but will update in a comment if I figure it out. Probably I never will, though.
Anyway, Hands didn’t have the small reporter flip-style sketchbooks I’m used in stock, so I got a standard binding one and also a larger sized one (that will get much less street-sketching use, as it will only fit in pockets if I wear cargo shorts) and a few more Prismacolors to add to the collection. After, we decided to stroll down Atlantic Avenue to a French Cafe we had yet to try but heard great things about.
We knew by looking at the plates of the other guests that we had found our new favorite lunch spot. When our own sandwiches arrived, we were over-the-moon happy with them. Diana has had a thing for that rivals her thing for redneck chic since visiting Paris as a young girl, reignited again with me in our travels in France for her best friend’s fantasy Chateau wedding a couple of years back., little ol’ Cafe de France in Delray beach handily eclipsed those memories. I had a taste of every one she ordered overseas and of this one and agree that it was far and away better than those. I’m not writing a food review, so I won’t bore you with the rest of the details, but needless to say, this unassuming little fleur-de-lis covered former ice cream shop is the place to go for, among other things, a reasonably priced sandwich on an authentic baguette, french pastries & desserts and wonderfully presented espresso drinks. We fucking loved it. Home run, we plan on going back often, and trying every dish on the menu.
Also, the owner, an honest-to-goodness, just off-the-boat Frenchie chatted us up quite a bit more than I’d have figured on considering I’m a big goon wearing a Mexican trucker hat, an unruly months-long beard complete with 2 weeks of neck & wolf-man cheek hair and dirty fingernails… a lesser frenchman would have simply waved a white flag and retreated to the back office (Ouch, why did I go there… the Cheese-eating surrender-monkey myth was dispelled by the incredible hospitality we experienced in Paris and Burgundy). He must have responded to my “WTF is she doing with this asshole” & beaming with pregnant glow wife, as the place was not visibly hurting for business. She’s just a magnet for positivity squared with our little Bean inside of her. Love and kindness awaits her every turn, it’s wonderful to watch and be a part of.
In the moments before our lunch was brought to us, I decided it would be a good opportunity to sketch her, something I want to do more frequently while she is carrying, to document the experience. I also thought about the man who’d said “peace” to me earlier, how silly it is that I’m shy about my balding head and wondered if I could out-sexy “redneck me” by doing a brief stint as “talented artist me”. So, I gave her my hat to wear as she posed naturally for a quick study, exposing my noggin’, which didn’t bother me near as much as it usually does, and what resulted is posted above.
She is going to make such a great mom, obviously I have issues (less today than yesterday and less tomorrow than today, though), she looks past them to my core and helps pull me through them every chance she gets. I am so lucky to have her, she is beautiful (the drawing is pretty good, but doesn’t nearly pay proper tribute) and will be an amazing mom.
Yesterday the cleaning ladies came. I am not a fan of this. I get embarrassed by it when I talk about it to people… like they are thinking “who’s this bougie asshole that thinks he deserves a maid?”. I feel like a real dickbag thinking that someone else scrubs my pooped up toilet and stuff. I don’t know why exactly, I mean we pay them. Wait, yes I do… I’ve heard the profession referred to as “servants” in the past, in a very demeaning way by someone close, and it upset me to no end for reasons that I don’t know you well enough to share.
Also, I know it’s forever going to be an awkward thing because I told my wife about how when I was on a summer vacation from the Joe Kubert School one year, the cleaning lady at my mom’s house and I flirted, and flirted, and flirted until we finally smoked some pot together and fooled around. I got to third base with her. It was pretty awesome, really. Fast-forward to now, though and I get paranoid that maybe she has a chip on her shoulder about the entire profession. Probably this is because she’s made comments suggesting such in the past, but only in jest. So, I don’t want her to feel insecure about anything like this happening again, especially since I work out of the house (daveberns.com, always looking for anyone who wants to pay me to draw something new) and she doesn’t. It won’t… I was a 19 year old kid and not married to the most amazing woman on the planet then (who’s also, incidentally carrying my child). Besides, a team of three or more people shows up and they whip through the house in record time, so it’s really not a realistic worry for her given the known safety of the buddy system, even if I was that much of a pig.
Anyway, the Mrs. and I have just always been slobs together. Hers are pretty bad, but my slovenly tendencies were downright legendary when I was single… borderline criminal… my house in Lake Worth was probably a worse mess than those houses with 50 cats where the owner dies and they don’t find out until a month later when the summer heat has odors wafting to the street. Plus, someone told me a long time ago that people who make a mess are generally more creative, or vice versa, and I think I got 3 times messier that second. Hah, I’m so insecure. Judging by our history, it just has to be or things get out of hand here. Besides, it’s only every week or two that they come, depending on how much disposable income we have, it’s not like Mrs. Garret wipes our asses every time we pinch one off.
Earlier this week, I was contemplating my physical size at present as I walked through the door of my bathroom. I’m fucking huge, not as fat as I’d once been, but still quite husky, and tall, just huge. Sorry in advance to my wife for how much birthing my child will pain her in a few months. He’s already very big for his age (yay, healthy baby!). I also apologize for constantly voicing sound fx of “RRRRRRIIIIIPPPP” and “SSSSSSNNNNNNIIIIIPPPPP” at her with appropriate hand gestures, in reference to it. It’s just cruel of me, won’t happen again… RRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPP. Back to the point, if I stand on my tippy-toes I pretty much am a standard-sized door. The old “You’d make a better door than a window” applies to me more than anyone you know, most likely.
When the cleaning ladies came yesterday, at one point, I got kicked out of my home office/studio (it has carpet and I work on a computer mostly, so I feel weird calling it a studio… strange hang-up, it is what I choose to call it, why so indecisive, right? Such an over-thinker) so they could clean it. I figured it would make for a nice little break to sketch something for the sketchbook blog. Well, as it turned out, the third cleaning lady, runt of the litter, but a full-grown woman of around 25-30 if I had to guess, was standing in front of a doorframe (open, no door, but standard size) to the kitchen mopping the living room. I plopped my ass onto the couch and jotted off this quickie of her, as the sight of how door-sized she was not brought me back to my own thoughts of how door-sized I am.
I’ll always feel weird about having another human being clean and organize my personal stuff for all of the reasons outlined, but today, writing this, and yesterday while I drew that hard working little lady, I am very thankful for the privilege of having them clean house once and a while. It gave me something to draw and many things to think about.
Orange Moe-haired Lady, reading, but about to be annoyed at two loud, obese, absolutely fantastic black women, I wish I had more time to draw in the Urologist's waiting room.
Ball Point Pen & Prismacolor Marker in Sketchbook
I swear a light shone on her and music played as I entered the Urologist’s office waiting room. This woman had a head of hair like Moe from the 3 stooges, only bright orange. She was a surly old bag, from the looks of her expressions, and did not want to have her magazine reading interrupted by anyone…. Least of all the two cartoonishly large as they were sweet black ladies with thick southern drawls who came into the waiting room, personable attitudes ablaze, asking everyone in the room how they were and questions about the tropical storm that did not hit us today. Ol’ Ginger Moe was not amused and shot more than a few dirty looks their way. I wish I hadn’t gotten called in right away to have sutures snipped out of my balls and could have drawn the whole scene. Oh well, at least I managed to get a decent 10 minute sketch off of the old lady.
07-23-2010
West Palm Beach, FL
Two old men shooting the shit over free refills in thermos cups.
Ball Point Pen & Prismacolor Marker in Sketchbook
On the way home, I treated myself to a Starbucks Latte in Boynton Beach (Maybe treat is a stretch, as they are no Coffee District, but that is besides the point), another man just handled my junk with pincers and scissors, I probably deserved two.
While I was waiting for my drink, I dashed off this quickie (probably less than 5 minutes) of two oldsters in the back of the store, drinking coffee from those branded thermos cups that I think you get free refills with. I don’t go to this shop often, but I suspect they do. I doubt they were talking about anything terribly interesting, if I had to guess, trading shit-tips on stocks, but they both had interesting faces. I wish I had a closer vantage point and another 15 minutes to do something a little more complete, the jowls and wrinkles would have been good fun. Still, I got the gist of it, quickly, there’s something to be said for that.
07-23-2010
Starbucks @ BB Blvd & Congress Ave. in Boynton Beach, FL
