Warts and All, My Journal

Here come the warts ..... if you don’t know what I’m talking about, I promised to scan some of my journal pages, warts and all, so those of you who are interested can see my working process. (see my last post: Question -- March 8, 2012). I apologize it has taken me so long to follow up on my promise. Life has been busy.

Many artist’s journals are works of art -- beautifully laid out, lovely drawings, and carefully worded . A few of my journal pages qualify, but the vast majority of my pages are scribbled notes and sketching. I try to put the entries in while they are happening, or as soon after as possible. I want to capture what has just inspired me, and not worry about wording it carefully or making a sloppy sketch. I call it a ‘working journal’. I’m not about to tell you that is the way to keep a journal, but, for me, it works.... and has worked for many years. I’m just about to finish Vol. 39. I have a wonderful record of things I want to remember that goes back over 30 years. Many of my paintings have their roots in one of my journal entries; I often refer to an old journal to remember when to expect natural events (when do skunk cabbage bloom, or elephant seals pup); I savor old memories; I even save a few recipes; and a treasured sketch or two by someone else. I only wish I had started sooner.

More more of my ideas on journaling go to my post, “Thoughts on Keeping a Journal” -- Feb 1, 2011: http://elvafieldnotes.blogspot.com/2011/02/thoughts-on-keeping-journal.html

And now for some pages......

First an old one, from Volume 6. I sketched this page over twenty years ago when we were in Grand Tetons National Park, yet the style is similar to my current journals.

The next six pages are in the order they fall in my journal. I intentionally picked pages I never got around to blogging about. The first page is the beginning of a four day trip to Burns, Oregon. The Malheur National Wildlife Refuge is just to the south. The Malheur basin is host to a wonderful variety of birds. We stay in a little motel on the edge of town and spend our days photographing and sketching.

To get to Malheur from home we drove over the top of the Cascades, and see Mt. Thielson along the way.

The funny little squiggles at the top of this page is an attempt to record a Swainson’s thrush’s song visually. It does help me remember a bird song.

This page looks odd because three fourths is left blank. I know the paper in my journal is too thin, so I often leave the back side of some of the art blank .... so no writing shows through on the back side. The Mt. Thielson color sketch is on the other side.

Often while Dale drives the miles and miles of the open West I entertain myself with quick sketches. Here I focused on the variety of fence posts found in the thin, rocky soils of central Oregon. Part of being an interesting artist is knowing the variety a subject offers, not just the easy symbol. Fence posts offer a lot of variety.

If you bother to read the text you’ll find it quite jerky. Even with my words I’m not aiming for a polished product. That comes later. Far more useful to me to capture some good phrases and details that capture the moment, than worry about it flowing well. Words can always be edited.

The black spot on the right side bears mentioning. Before I added color to the red-winged blackbird I was sketching with water soluble ink in a fountain pen. I wanted more darks without adding any more lines, so I just scribbled off to the side and dipped by water brush into the scribble to pick up some ink.

Quick sketches ... probably drawn while Dale stopped to photograph ... The top two could have been drawn while he was driving. I can’t remember. The middle one is of huge bales of hay lined up in a row. The bottom one is an avocet.

I spotted the baby great horned owl as we drove by a small ranch. Most of the country is very open. Ranches usually have a few trees at the homesite .... and that is where the red-tailed hawks and the great horned owls nest. This owl was old enough to fly, but still covered with down. He was perched on the corral fencing. You can still see my pencil lines. Sometimes I pencil first. Sometimes I jump in with ink right away.

The pencil sketch in the lower left is a flop, so I didn’t bother adding ink. The drawing of the swallow was almost surely done from my laptop that evening.

In this instance I filled 6 pages in a 24 hour period. The number of pages I fill in a full day in the field varies a great deal, but seldom more than this. I try to do most of my writing on the spot or as soon after as possible.

One last sketch, from a different journal. Sometimes I tackle a much more detailed drawing in the field. While Dale spent two or three hours photographing the flickers excavating their nest hole, I had plenty of time to almost complete this drawing.

I just found a marvelous quote, so appropriate for this moment:
"There's only ONE way of Life, and that's YOUR OWN." ... THE LEVELLERS
Found at the end of "Drawing and Painting Birds" by Tim Wootton .... a nice book on bird art.

Question

I usually get the most 'comments' when I post about art ... so, obviously, a bunch of you (my readers ) are artists, or at least interested in the art process. .... and for the others of you, never fear. I'll soon run out of art posts and get back to organizing the several posts I have in my 'to do' basket.


At least two of you (my readers) expressed a desire for a peek into my sketchbooks. Are there more? If there is an interest I'll post several unaltered pages, warts and all. I have to admit I'm probably a fool for even considering it. Some of you may be operating under the illusion I keep a beautifully laid out journal. Ha! For others, is may be liberating. Once upon a time I thought my journal had to be neat and tidy ... and I was always way behind in putting anything into it.

Sketching Versus Drawing

Life has been all too hectic lately. But I do have this post on sketching versus drawing ready -- another essay I wrote for The Sketching Forum ( http://sketching.cc/ ). More wanderings in the field soon to come.

A drawing of the cabin where Dale and I honeymooned in northern Wisconsin. Drawn in 1964.


When I joined The Sketching forum I knew I was joining a ‘sketching’ forum. I didn’t bother to differentiate between sketching and drawing. I looked at various postings and figured I belonged. Then the back and forth of ideas got me thinking. What is the difference?

At first it wasn’t clear to me. Where does one draw the line between one and the other? It is rather like fine art and illustration. Often you know which one you are looking at, but there is also a grey area in between.

About two weeks ago, I was going through some of my old journals. Suddenly it dawned on me. I could draw long before I could sketch. In fact I could draw quite well long before I could sketch, partly because I wasn’t even trying to sketch well. Sketching as an art form wasn’t even on my radar. My earliest journals are mostly words, some quick thumbnails that were only intended to remember an event, and some careful drawings.

Oh how I wish I had appreciated the value of sketching all along. I have to admit I was exposed to some sketching in college. Unfortunately the instructor thought we’d learn by working from the same subject arranged differently .... the subject was pieces of a junked car. You can imagine how much that inspired me! He didn’t succeed in telling my why I was drawing pieces of a junked car. I only knew that when I got mad and scribbled crap, he liked it. I had no clue I should have gone looking for a different class. I finished college but never took another art class in college. After college I took a three year correspondence art course and learned a great deal ... about drawing, but not about sketching.

I bumped along for twenty more years. I painted a lot and did some pen and ink illustrating. Had my work accepted in some very nice places, but my ability to sketch hardly grew.


As I mentioned in an earlier post in 1984 I attended a week long workshop taught by Jack Hines, Jessica Zemsky, Veryl Goodnight and Robert Bateman. And I went to the same workshop in 1987. Suddenly I saw sketching as a means to become a better artist -- learning to really see the world and to capture it. I wanted a sketch to say something, to capture the character, and not just be a reminder. I dared to be much bolder. There is a quote in The Art of Robert Bateman, “ A great master once said, ‘In order to learn to draw you have to make two thousand mistakes. Get busy and start making them.’” I think this applies to sketching even more than drawing.

My ability to sketch jumped forward. I’ve long sensed that real growth in my artistic ability tends to be in jumps, not an even path. I jumped. Thumbing through my journals for the next few years show some sketches that sing, some fall flat on their face .... but I was reaching out and trying. My sketches had very little attention to fur, feathers, bark ... Form and light had suddenly become more important. Thinking about a light source is often the key to good form. Successful sketches captured the gesture. Each sketch tended to be of a specific individual, not something generic. Sketches were done quickly. Drawings were done carefully.

A wonderful byproduct of taking sketching seriously is that I incorporated some of my new found knowledge into my drawings. Instead of relying on texture and detail, I began incorporating gesture, form and light along with the texture and detail. This Swainson’t thrush was carefully drawn in pencil, yet has some of the freshness of a sketch.

When I’m sketching I’m usually working quickly. Either my subject is going to move or I don’t want to keep Dale waiting. In the long run I think having to push myself has been good. At first I judged my sketches in terms of how well they were done versus a careful drawing. I now realize they are different art forms. A lovely loose watercolor can be just as great a work of art as the carefully controlled oil painting.

I have a strong sense that sketching comes from somewhere within, sort of zen. When I’m drawing I’m thinking about what I’m doing; but sketching doesn’t give me time for much thought. I’m accessing a skill I’ve slowly developed.

I’m currently enjoying a very different art journey than the one I followed for so many years.

Field Sketching

One of my favorite field sketches. I look at it and remember how chilly the day was. Dale and I were in Yellowstone, watching a sandhill crane nest. I was scrunched in the backseat of our car so that both Dale and I were on the side of the car facing the black bear. The elk carcass had been hidden by winter snow. When spring came this bear or another pulled the carcass to shore. This bear spent the next few days feasting and sleeping near his treasure.

I recently posted a series of field sketches on "The Sketching Forum" (www.sketching.cc/} and have decided to do it here too. Plus I’m in desperate need of seeing if I can post via Dale’s Mac versus my PC.

Some of these sketches are quicker than others; the purpose of some is different than the purpose of others. So I’ll add a running commentary along with the drawings to explain why I did each one.

It been a good exercise to think about my sketching. It got me thinking about why do I sketch? -- My purpose is twofold. I sketch to capture moments in nature, often to capture a specific event or behavior; and I sketch to get better at sketching. My early sketchbooks tend to have very sloppy ‘just to remember the moment’ sketches and ‘encyclopedia’ type drawings . I tried to draw accurate animals -- stiff. Later I realized the importance of the character of the animal.

Capturing this ellusive character of an animal means sometimes I have to work quickly. I need to allow myself to make mistakes and to feel O.K. about the scribbles that happen along the way. If you thumb through my journals you’ll find a few drawings scratched out … I was way off base. You’d also find some drawings unfinished. If I don’t know where to go with a sketch of an animal I think it is better to quit than to create fictitious information. Mostly you’ll find a variety of loose sketches tucked in between lots of words. Very few pages are properly laid out, neat and tidy. In my mind it is a ‘working journal,’ not a finished product.

I’m sure the more I sketch the more information I put into my grey cells. Hopefully I’m putting them in faster than they are falling out! I don’t say that lightly. During the ten plus years Dale was disabled I didn’t sketch nearly enough and I basically quit painting. I was time challenged. I knew rust was gathering in my veins. Dale got two new hips in 2009. I’ve now had two years of finding a decent amount of time to sketch and do some light painting. I doubt I’ll ever go back to gallery painting. I’m having too much fun sketching and writing. The writing part is new. I’ve scribbled in my journal for years, but I’ve only come recently to writing something for other people to read. For me the writing and the sketching are tangoing together. Both help me see nature and bring me close to it.

For me capturing a bird that I’ve never sketched takes practice. I wish I could just pop a little bird on a branch and know what kind of bird I’m looking at. Sometimes I get lucky, but I get luckier if I’ve drawn it before.

So I practice. Here is an example of several robins, all drawn from life. I’m convinced some of the information remains stored in my head when I do little practice sketches like these.

Here is a different type of practice drawing. I know I’ll find myself in situations where I want to be able to sketch good ravens on the wing. Here I looked at our photos on the laptop and made a series of careful sketches – pencil first and then ink. I probably could have learned just as much with careful pencil drawings in a fraction of the time.

I can’t say this little field sketch is particularly well drawn, but it does capture the interaction. A raven flies low over a vast expanse of marsh, looking for opportunities to steal blackbird eggs. The blackbirds are frantic and mob him. If I want to do a careful drawing later on I’ve got one of the most important elements here.

And now for some quick sketches on one of my favorite birds, sandhill cranes. For the past several years we have been fortunate to know of a nest in Yellowstone. I usually use a spotting scope when drawing the birds. I either sit outside with the scope on a tripod and I sit on a stool, or else I mount the scope on the car window. Either way both my hands are free.

I could have erased the words with photoshop elements, but it gives you a better idea of my journal if I leave them. I look at all these crane sketches and they take me back to a special place where I’ve spent many, many hours. The little arrow by the crane's neck is just a reminder to myself I should have drawn a longer neck.

I’m happiest when Dale is in position to photograph and I’m free to sketch.

Another of my favorite field sketches. I love it when I can say it all with just a few lines. Learning to draw just the essence has been harder for me than trying to include every feather.

Bobcat!

I’ve just run out of fingers to count my bobcat sightings on! Let’s hope I someday run out of toes too. Dale thinks I’ve seen 11 wild ones in my life, but I can’t remember one of the ones he is talking about. I know I missed at least two when I was right with him. Once I was dozing in the front seat of the van and didn’t wake up fast enough. Zip! And the bobcat was gone. The other time I was still in the sleeping bag in back of the van. Serves me right for being lazy that morning!

Today my luck was better. Mid afternoon we were driving on a gravel logging road. Suddenly up ahead trotted a small bobcat. She (?) continued ahead of us for about a hundred yards and then popped into the think tangle of salmonberry bushes that have grown up on a horrendously steep slope. I peered over the edge, but I knew that would be the last of her. She reminded me to think about the bobcats I’ve seen. Half have been quick glimpses like today, but some sightings have been longer.

My first will always have a special place in my heart, partly because it was my first, and partly because it was a beautiful sighting. I was on my way home after teaching an evening art class. When I turned off the main highway and headed down a blacktop road for the last ten miles I entered a world of solitude and snow. The road ahead was unblemished white. There was only about an inch of new snow so I knew I’d get home safely. I drove slowly, feeling as though I was in my own world of snowflakes. The sameness of it all was shattered when a bobcat crossed the road. Our paths crossed on that dark snowy night, soon to be erased by more falling snow, but not erased from my memory.

I even found two bobcats at once. I was walking down a high desert road in northern California. There, in front of me was a bobcat sitting on the crossbeam of a telephone pole … and underneath another. The two seemed more intent on each other than me so I quietly waited. I knew Dale would be coming along soon in the van. The bobcats stayed put until the van arrived, but the van was too much. The one on the ground ran off. Moments later the pole sitter scrambled down too.

Sheepy Ridge(Klamath Basin Refuges, California) was especially good to us sunny fall day. We were parked between a large body of water and the steep incline of Sheepy Ridge. Dale was photographing a shrike on the ridge side. He has me reasonably well trained not to interrupt him when he is concentrating on a photo. But out of the water came a drenched bobcat! Only the bobcat’s head was dry. The rest was lean and soaked. The bobcat had obviously lunged into the water, caught the coot, and now needed a quiet place to eat. He crossed the road to the Sheepy Ridge side. Dale clicked away while the cat headed up the slope to the rocks above.

Maybe my favorite bobcat sighting is the bobcat that never saw me. At least I don’t think he saw me. Lava Beds National Monument headquarters, California, has a large parking lot, visually well blocked from the road. Only the entrance shows. I was walking circles in the lot, getting some exercise while I waited for Dale. When I was at the far end I glimpsed a bobcat through that entrance opening. He was heading east towards the main road. I froze, but as soon as he was out of sight I ran to the entrance and peered around the corner – just in time to see him turn left onto the main road.

I ran to that corner and peered around again. There he trotted, enjoying the easy path of the road, the early morning sun, and crisp still air.

Drat! Off in the distance I heard a car coming. Cars are occasional, so each one can be heard from far off. I knew The bobcat would disappear. He did, but only for a moment. As soon as the car passed he was back up on the road, continuing his path north. I stayed put watching him grow smaller.

A second car came and once again he popped just off the road. He must have been within ten feet of the car. If the driver had looked in his rear view mirror he would have seen the bobcat on the road.

How many bobcats have seen me go by without my seeing them?

Busy, Busy, Busy

Sometimes life gets busy. Good busy, but too busy. It started Saturday, January 28. Dale and I were leading an Audubon field trip, our annual ‘Raptor Run.’ When we arrived at Plat I the sun was beginning to win the morning struggle to burn off the fog. Will-o-the-wisps of steam rose from the damp ground and dissipated into the thinning fog. We both noticed how beautiful … but kept our attention on our fellow birders and the birds. It wasn’t the appropriate time to sketch or take photography seriously.

We returned to Plat I on Monday, but the fog had lifted by the time we arrived.

Our next try was on Thursday, February 2:
Damp. Chilly. Greyness fills the valley. Snags on the far side of the pond are so pale, I can’t see if any eagles are perched there today. The water lies still, repeating every bird on its surface. Sounds carry through the fog, bringing me more birds than those I can see. Above me rides the sun, a faint glow in the grayness. I can see the dark forms of cormorants resting on a spit, great blue herons fishing, and some ducks.

It’s a beautiful morning. While Dale photographs I sketch … and then turn to my paints. I almost succeeded in finishing the little painting at the top of this post before we hurry off to our appointment at Wildlife Safari. We are responding to a call to photograph several new animals that are to be part of their new Australian exhibit which opens next month.

Sometimes volunteering can be fun; hectic but fun. Our first stop was a visit to the wallaroos. I’ve seen kangaroos hopping about on film. A wallaroo looks like a kangaroo, but is only about four feet tall. Bong! Bong! Bong! They almost flow as they jump about. We’re right in the pen with them.

I don’t want all my shots to looks as if I’m peering down on the wallaroos, so I sit on a handy crate. Now I’m eye level with the little fellas. One comes hopping over for a good look at me. He stops and then, “Thump!” He stomps an extra loud stomp. I can’t help but wonder if I’m going to get the next stomp. But, no. Off he goes. What funny creatures they are.

With wallaroos dancing in my mind we move on to the next stop – a cockatoo who thinks people are just wonderful. He flares his crest, opens his wings and bows low. Such a beautiful bird.

Next in line is a kookaburra ( a large kingfisher). He doesn’t think much of our presence. He keeps moving to which ever end of the cage we aren’t. But that is all right. Our camera lenses are big enough to follow

The cockatiels just sit …. But the last bunch of birds make up for the cockatiel’s indifference. Have you ever been is a small room with 200 budgies! It’s deafening. The air actually stirs with all their chattering and flitting about. Some are true to their nickname, ‘Lovebird.’ They cuddle together on a perch looking as if they belong on a Valentine’s Day card. Others are trying to be the best acrobat in the bird world. I feel as though I’m looking at every color in the rainbow. There are green ones, blue, yellow, aqua … So pretty.

Our Wildlife Safari keeper, Shannon, still has a little time so we top off the day by getting a few photos for another department. First cougars! Johnny peers at us when we arrive, and then strolls over hoping we’ll tickle his ears. But this time we have to stay on the other side of the fence and it’s hands off even though he would just love that tickle. His companion, Mesa, just had a little tiff with Johnny. She sits on a high platform and gives us all a good snarl. Oh to be so close to such beautiful cats.

Two more species, bobcat and coati, and then we head home with over 400 photos to weed through, edit the best and turn them in to Wildlife Safari as soon as possible. We did take a day off for the Super Bowl and another to go to the coast, and presented a slide show on Tuesday night. Yesterday we finally turned in the photos and I get to take a deep breath. No wonder I’ve been feeling a little busy, but good busy.

Pelicans at Plat I: November 30, 2011

Plat I ( ‘I’ is pronounced “eye”) is a little reservoir about twenty miles from where I live. All summer the reservoir has a nice supply of water. In mid October the Sutherlin ‘water master’ draws the reservoir down exposing a vast expanse of mudflat with a fraction of the water. In winter the reservoir catches heavy rains and keeps large areas of Sutherlin’s valley from flooding. The surplus of water can then be released in an orderly fashion. In the spring the reservoir is allowed to fill and provides water for irrigation. Meanwhile a variety of shorebirds, cranes, herons, waterfowl, and raptors enjoys the habitat.

Several great blue herons have their necks craned skywards when we arrive. A cormorant flies over. That couldn’t have spooked the herons, so I get out of the car and scan the sky – a golden eagle soars above.


Three white pelicans when we arrive. Soon seven more join them. Three years ago three white pelicans surprised us by hanging out and enjoying Plat I’s plentiful fish supply. The next year five pelicans came for a few weeks. This year we have ten!

The pelicans swim along the near edge of Plat I, feeding. They seem to be having good success. Brown pelicans usually plunge for fish from high over the water, but white pelicans fish from the surface. It always surprises me the shape of the two species is so similar, yet their feeding habits are so different. The white pelican is a much larger bird. It weighs about twice as much as a brown pelican and its wingspan is nine feet, one of the largest spans in the bird world. White pelicans normally swim in a group, herding fish, dipping their heads into the pond’s murky water and filling their large gular pouch beneath their lower mandible. The gular pouch is the flexible skin that hugs the pelican’s lower mandible and can expand to hold nearly three gallon of water. The trick is to suck fish in when filling the gular pouch. I watch a pelican as he dips, fills, and then drains the water from his pouch. I know he has caught a fish when he tips his bill upwards and gives a little extra flick as he swallows.

I get out my sketchbook and start out sketching peeps -- least sandpipers. They are bathing near me, little tiny egg beaters whirring away, sending a fine spray of water flying. They remind me of chickadees whirring away in our bird bath.

In the distance a louder sound grabs my attention: Whop! Whop! Flop! Whop! It sounds like Mama Sasquatch learning to swim. But no, it is something considerably smaller. Just a white pelican taking his bath.

After a thorough wetting the pelican swims to shore and starts to preen. After soon suns slips low over the reservoir, highlighting his whiteness.

The group of pelicans fishes their way towards some egrets. They are chasing egrets! One after another a pelican swims up to an egret. I think they were trying to pull tail feathers -- just like ravens sneak up to tweak an eagle’s tail feather! One pelican is enough to push one egret. One by one the egrets leave the area where they had been fishing and fly over to the southern section of Plat I.

Once the egrets have been cleared out peace settles in. Several common mergansers swim together. Cormorants preen along the muddy shoreline. All too soon a great blue heron gets too close to the pelican’s preferred feeding spot, it takes several pelicans flapping and chasing to move one great blue heron. The heron squawks and croaks as he splashes off, giving the pelicans 100 yards of space.

Evening's chill is seeping in. Time for us to head home.