Method Becomes Madness
My method of drawing the pictures for my '100 Object' series involves making a pencil sketch, photocopying it as a precaution because I'm still not very confident with my inking, then inking. I use a brush and black india ink, although I just bought white ink (utilized for the carbonation bubbles in my last picture). I am left-handed.
This morning was an experiment - a sketch from memory, an object from my childhood. I was listening to 'Ascension' by John Coltrane, and thinking about how I realize it's brilliant but I still think it sounds like a mess, and wondering how he prepared his musicians ahead of time ("Just kind of go nuts, okay? I'll wave my hand or something when it's over..."), and I was holding the bottle of india ink with my weak, inferior, bastard right hand and I placed the ink bottle ever so gently down three inches from the end of the table.
Splat. Exxon Valdez was in my living room: the hardwood floor, the desk, the table, my hand. Blackened seagulls flailing at my feet. Looking at my dripping black hand, I did the stupidest thing I could think of - grab the thin, generic-brand paper towel in my lap. The ink soaked right through onto my new jeans. I may as well have just wiped my hand on my pants. Nice work. I felt like the guy on "Lost" who survives the plane crash and then walks right in front of the engine and gets sucked up into the fan.
It's all your fault, Trane. I did find out that india ink cleans up off of hardwood floors better than you'd expect, and apparently ammonia is the key if you have a real nasty ink stain on clothes. I used Windex. I'm not optimistic.
As for the picture, maybe I'll finish it when I get home, maybe I'll flop down on the couch and watch some horror movies. Sometimes dead is better.
This morning was an experiment - a sketch from memory, an object from my childhood. I was listening to 'Ascension' by John Coltrane, and thinking about how I realize it's brilliant but I still think it sounds like a mess, and wondering how he prepared his musicians ahead of time ("Just kind of go nuts, okay? I'll wave my hand or something when it's over..."), and I was holding the bottle of india ink with my weak, inferior, bastard right hand and I placed the ink bottle ever so gently down three inches from the end of the table.
Splat. Exxon Valdez was in my living room: the hardwood floor, the desk, the table, my hand. Blackened seagulls flailing at my feet. Looking at my dripping black hand, I did the stupidest thing I could think of - grab the thin, generic-brand paper towel in my lap. The ink soaked right through onto my new jeans. I may as well have just wiped my hand on my pants. Nice work. I felt like the guy on "Lost" who survives the plane crash and then walks right in front of the engine and gets sucked up into the fan.
It's all your fault, Trane. I did find out that india ink cleans up off of hardwood floors better than you'd expect, and apparently ammonia is the key if you have a real nasty ink stain on clothes. I used Windex. I'm not optimistic.
As for the picture, maybe I'll finish it when I get home, maybe I'll flop down on the couch and watch some horror movies. Sometimes dead is better.
posted by Francis at 3:42 PM
3 Knee-jerk Reactions:
I once saw someone used Fresca on a spaghetti stain. Perhaps you should try it?
Trane used to spill tar heroin like that all the time, so you were really sort of doing a tribute to him!
Stee has funny hair.
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