Cindy
Cindy Woods has long been one of my favorite sketchbook artists. I love the quality of her line, the clarity of her observation. And she is a strong exemplar of the fact that no matter what one’s situation, drawing makes it better. She recorded her life at the Virginia Home, a nursing home for Disabled people, with grace, humor, and warmth.
I was fortunate enough to convince Cindy to include some pages from her sketchbook in my new book, An Illustrated Life: Drawing Inspiration From The Private Sketchbooks Of Artists, Illustrators And Designers. We planned to have a chat for the book’s podcast, but time ran away from us this summer. I began to regret that more than ever when Cindy told me she had developed a form of cancer that was effecting her ability to speak and that she was not sure what her prognosis would be. Then this fall, she told me that she was worried that she might not get a chance to see the final book, because the publication date was still weeks away and she was about to enter a hospice. In shock, I called my editor, Amy, and asked her to rush the very first copy to Cindy’s bedside. She had it in her hands before I even saw a copy and was so happy to see her drawings among those of so many people that she knew and admired.
Cindy passed away last night. Her close friend Ronda called to tell me that it was peaceful and Cindy was comfortable and surrounded by family to the end.
Here is the text of my interview with Cindy in full as it appears in the book:
My journey to drawing has been a very very slow one. I don’t remember drawing much as a kid and my efforts in high school were rather timid, no more than doodles. Though I was constantly looking through children’s and art books that love of pictures didn’t translate into making many of my own until I moved away from home. It was the inspiration from Paul Hogarth’s book “Drawing People” and moving into a nursing home full of people willing to be drawn that finally got me started. There was a chess club that met with the residents here on a weekly basis and because they were so focused on their game it provided a safe way to observe people without them taking much notice of me. I gained confidence in drawing this way and started to ask folks to pose for me. These introductions through drawing are how I came to know many of the people here. Since I’ve lived here over 30 years most of these folks are deceased now, making these early drawings all the more precious to me. That’s how I began to draw and though there’ve been periods of inactivity it has in one form or another been a consistent part of my life ever since. The one odd thing is that in all that time I’d never kept a sketchbook. That’s a recent development and now that I’ve started I regret it’s not something I began early on. Even though keeping a sketchbook was encouraged in art school for some reason I just never took to it. I don’t know. Drawing in a sketchbook is sometimes a scary thing. The internet made a big difference in finally getting me started. Seeing so many beautiful pages on websites made me regret that I wasn’t able to flip through pages of my own. I liked the sense of progression through time that felt so much stronger in a book then with the loose single sheets I’d always used. And I regretted even more that as I began to explore illustration I had stopped drawing from life, drawing my friends, and that there was a huge gap of years and people that had gone unrecorded. So, with a building full of folks still willing to act as models, I began filling the pages of my very first sketchbook with their portraits. I started a second small sketchbook for travel, keeping it always at the ready in my shoulder bag and learning to scribble quick whenever there was an opportunity. I joined a figure drawing group and keep a sketchbook of just those drawings. Blogging all these sketches has made a difference in keeping me committed to the task. I’ve never drawn so consistently before over such a long period of time and the rewards of that practice have been fantastic. I notice more, always on the lookout for something interesting to draw or that I want to remember. I can look back in my books, especially my travel sketchbooks, and recall bits and pieces of a day I’d otherwise have forgotten. I’m more confident with my drawing and can capture a scene more quickly. Even when there’s barely any time I’ve started to dash off the most scribbly notes and use them to work on a sketchbook of scenes from memory. I’ve come a long way but I’ve still periods of fear, of messing up the pages, that will keep me from working in my books. I also, because of my disability, have a hard time holding some sketchbooks. I don’t want to lose this momentum I’ve gained so in addition to a sketchbook I always make sure I’ve got a cheap pad of paper from the drugstore with me so at least I have something I can switch to for when I’m feeling less confident and intimidated about using my book. I’m also still finding and am constantly inspired to try new things by the examples I find on the web. I’m curious what keeping a set time and place for sketching would feel like. Or drawing a whole book just out of my imagination. I want to try collage. Work more on composition and lettering. If I could remember them an illustrated dream journal might be neat. I’ve been slow in starting and developing this sketchbook habit but now I can’t imagine stopping.
To see more of Cindy’s work, visit her blog.
Teaching
For the first time, I am teaching a regular class on sketchbook journaling and, it is some thing I really look forward to each week. I have an awful lot of students (25 or so) and our classroom is a less than inspiring place, but each Tuesday night we talk about drawing and journaling and the wide world of art, then we draw and write together for a couple of hours. Many of the folks in class are new to drawing but all are plunging in with courage and enthusiasm. Some have become instant sketchbook addicts, while others are still hanging around the shallow end, getting their bearings. This week, one of our exercises was to break an object into abstract parts and explore each one deeply. I then combined all of the individual drawings and revealed what we had been looking at collectively: a picture of our new President-elect. There was wild applause and excitement when the group mind came together. Teaching a class is forcing me to really think about what drawing is and how to communicate what I have taught myself over the years. It is is very challenging but the support and pleasure of my students inspires me mightily.
Ironically, this morning I was called out by a professional art teacher, here on my blog, who questioned whether I was disrespectful of art education. I hastened to explain:
Hi Danny. The book looks great, but I have to admit, upon viewing the little videomercial, despite the beautiful imagery, I was a bit turned off by what I perceived as a slight jab to my profession . As an art educator, I work my butt off day in day out turning kids onto art. The smiles on their faces when they enter the art room say it all. Their work says even more. I know too many good folks who are on the same boat as me who would feel the same. Am I overreacting here, or being slightly too sensitive? Maybe so. Still, in these trying times, when school budgets are getting cut left and right, and art educators (or,as we called them back in the day, art teachers) are either finding themselves out of a job, or not being able to find a job, the last thing we need is someone dissing art education. I’ll certainly buy the book – how could I resist something this good? Still, please talk me down and tell me why I’m getting my panties in a bundle over a tiny, little sentence (or don’t waste your time on me at all).
Steve
Dear Steve:
I hear you. Let me unravel my thoughts. First of all, I believe art education is vital to both children and adults. My son goes to a high school that specializes in art education and he takes two hours a day (!) of drawing classes. We have put him in several summer and after-school classes to develop his love of art too. So, I am all for art education … when it is done well.
I was deeply scarred by my art teacher’s abusive and derisive comments when I was a boy. I receive so many emails and letters form people who had similarly traumatic experiences when they were young too, dismissive or overly rigid teachers who made them feel they could never draw, would never amount to anything. These teachers are the exceptions in a profession that takes a lot of self-sacrifice and commitment, besieged from all sides by budgets and support for the football team.
So, while I do not diss art education in general, there are without question times when it is poorly taught. A bad teacher might be careless with comments, or overly programatic and rigid, or create a negative environment. There are people who are second rate in all professions but the ones who are incompetent or indifferent at art education can have long and deep impact on the very people who come to my site and books looking for a way to repair their creative instincts.
I realize that this may not be the answer you sought. But please know that a) my book contains work from fantastic several art educators (Rama Hughes, Roz Stendahl, Kate Johnson, Brody Neunschwander, Kurt Hollomon, Gay Kraeger, Christina Lopp, and more) and b) that I consider much of my mission to teach people to teach themselves art so I am also a sort of an art educator ( In fact, I am currently teaching a class here in New York).
And finally, Steve, I am often careless myself in the way I express myself here and elsewhere. I appreciate the rebuke, gentle though it was, and the opportunity to clarify.
I hope you enjoy An Illustrated Life: and that it brings ideas and inspiration to you and your students.
Your pal,
Danny Gregory
I hope this seems like a fair and valid answer. I really don’t want to add art educators to the long list of people I piss off.
Speaking of insanely great art teachers and students, here’s a drawing Jack did in class last week. Several of the students in the class have been blogging about their experiences on Tuesday evenings. Check out Seth’s first hand reports.
An Illustrated Life: Drawing Inspiration From The Private Sketchbooks Of Artists, Illustrators And Designers
An Illustrated Life: Drawing Inspiration from the Private Sketchbooks of Artists, Illustrators and Designers is my newest book, a collection of illustrated journals from 50 different artists. It’s 272 pages of four-color inspiration at an amazing price! Buy Now From Amazon
Me Time
My grandfather died last winter at 98 so I’m not even half his age yet. Maybe I’m only approaching the midpoint of my life, or maybe I’ll have massive heart attack and keel over at my desk this afternoon. There’s no telling.
Regardless, I know each day and hour are precious. But it’s hard to keep the relentless tsunami of stuff, or responsibilities, of things I want to do, from swiftly wiping each day off the board before I can even wipe the sleep out of my eyes. Life moves quickly and the further along the road I get, the faster the pages fly off the calendar.
Knowing this, trying to hold it on my mind, can help me to prioritize. But it’s still tough to keep the world at bay and to decided how to spend my time well. Often I lie in bed and think, damn, when am I going to get to read all those books I want to read or spend more time drawing with Jack or more time cooking dinner with Patti. When am I going to get to live in Micronesia or the South of France or in that little house in the meadow? When will I get to spend two hours a day at the gym or four hours a day doing oil paintings or six hours a day reading Proust? When will I learn Italian? Learn to drive a motorcycle? Defend my heavyweight boxing title?
I’m not filled with regret because I somehow feel I will get to do these things. I’m just not sure how or when. Perhaps my appetite is just larger than my calendar. Fortunately I am often insomniac so I get to spend 3 to 4 a.m. thinking about stuff I didn’t fit in during the day (most of it actually just anxious nonsense).
Anyway, this consideration of my gallon of ambition and my pint glass of life set me on the way to a new project. It’s something I’ve mulled over for a while and finally out into action. It’s an effort to really think about the things I wished I could have fit into a day and then an attempt to fit one of them into the next day.
I have just completed a project called ‘Me Time’, which is an attempt to find an opportunity to pursue the many things, small and large, that my normal waking hours just don’t allow for.
I created a record of this process, in words and watercolors, had it printed up in a cute, square format, and I must say I like it a lot.
This summer, I published “Bad to the Bone“, my first book with blurb.com, and I was pretty pleased with the results. The printing quality was great and by squeezing my markup I could offer it to for a pretty reasonable price. The book itself was a collection of drawings and paintings of dogs I’d done earlier in the year, combined with some slight doggerel, a noble but ultimately experimental effort.
‘Me Time’ is pretty different. It’s also a small and affordable book,but it was conceived as much more of a book than its predecessor. It’s tightly designed, carefully written and profusely illustrated. I also think that, as a lifestyle experiment, it was illuminating. I think that it might give readers a few ideas about how to make more of their own time, and add depth and richness to their lives. If not, well, it has a few good jokes and a couple of nice paintings.
If you’d like to check out the book and maybe order yourself a copy or two (I think it might make a nice, modest year-end gift for friends, at least that’s how I plan to use it), click the preview link on the box below.
If you order a copy, I’d love to know what you think and, whether I should continue with this sort of experiment.
An Illustrated Life Podcast 013: Christine Castro Hughes
My editor tell me that in a week or two, I will be getting the first advanced copy of my new book, An Illustrated Life: Drawing Inspiration From The Private Sketchbooks Of Artists, Illustrators And Designers. As you can imagine, I’m thrilled.
I’m also excited to be starting up my podcast of interviews with the contributors to the book again after an inexcusably long hiatus.
Today we will be talking to Christine Castro Hughes in Los Angeles. Christine is a wonderful designer and an avid illustrated journalista. She and her husband Rama are the hosts of the Portrait Party, among many other creative endeavors. I hope you enjoy our chat as much as I did.
To see more of Christine’s work, visit her site.
And listen to our conversation here. The episode is 33 minutes long; perfect to listen to as you draw in your own journal.
I am very happy that Christine will be represented in my upcoming book due out in a month or so from HOW books ( though you can pre-order it today).
Please stay tuned and consider subscribing via RSS or iTunes* to this weekly feature until the book comes out this Fall.
See all previous episodes on my podcast home page.
Childhood memories
(click images to magnify)When I was a boy, I travelled a great deal. My family wasn’t in the Armed or Diplomatic services. I guess they were just adventurers, peripatetic wanderers, refugees, gypsies.
These are pages of random memories, without any real conclusions, just snapshots of stuff. I drew them from old family albums with a dip pen and india ink, painted them with watercolors. If you can bothered, click to enlarge the pages and read the captions.
My maternal grandparents (Gran and Ninny) were German refugees and were married in Rome. Mussolini threw them out in the mid 1930s.
Then they escaped to the part of India that became Pakistan (after World War II and Partition). My grandparents were doctors and they remained in Lahore for thirty-five years. My great-grandparents had also fled Germany and joined them in India, but later moved to Palestine. My mother (Pipsi from Püppchen or ‘little doll’ in German) and my uncle grew up in Pakistan, then went to boarding school and university in England.
I was born in London and first went to Pakistan when I was two. Of all the places I’d lived till I came to America, I always thought of Pakistan as home.
The long voyage to Lahore, via plane or ship, was always an event.
Snake charmers and bear trainers came to our house to perform for me.
Lahore was always bustling.
We moved to Pittsburgh when I was five, then Canberra, Australia when I was six.
At nine, I moved back to Pakistan alone and lived with my granparents for a year and a half.
Then we moved to a kibbutz in Israel.
I went to a public school and became fluent in Hebrew. I also got my first job, at a slaughterhouse. When I was thirteen, a week before the Yom Kipur War, we moved to Broooklyn.
ARGHHHH!!!
Another Sunday Drawing with Jack
(Click images to enlarge)
Back for another go at life drawing. I un-retired my dip pen and was glad of it; it’s so much more organic and expressive than the Rapidograph. I also decided to tackled the entire form and try to concentrate on values as much as accuracy.
Jack blew me away, as usual. He and his pastels muscled their way to a beautiful, surreal, Incredible Hulk sort of thing. Because he wanted to do something with the model’s blank stare, he put her in an imaginary train and drew in the view. I think he still has plans to fill in the top part of the page.
On Saturday night, Jack rushed in with this lovely portrait of the hopefully-not-next-Vice-President-of-the-United-States, Sarah Palin. I see his future in Stalinist propaganda.
Air Devils and Mad Men
When I was a boy and living in Israel, my mum happened upon an ad in the Jerusalem Post looking for children who spoke English and were interested in appearing in an American TV commercial. I was both and so I went to an audition in Tel Aviv. A group of people behind a table asked me to run around a small yard and look like I was having the time of my life. Getting attention like this was sort of fun but also a little nerve wracking.
A few days later, I was invited back to Tel Aviv for the shoot. I walked on the sound-stage in awe. Someone had built a perfect replica of a perfect boy’s room surrounded by bright lights and a camera. In the middle of the room, there sat a circular cardboard runway with a plastic mountain in one corner and a control tower in the center.
I was one of three boys in the cast. One had brought his mother, a plump and bossy woman carrying a makeup case which she used to polish her son’s perfection. The other boy was quiet and shrugged when spoken to. The plump mother told the director that she insisted her boy should get the lead role; he was very handsome, she said, a great actor and extremely sensitive. The director told her son that, indeed, he would get to fly the toy plane while I was to look on with enthusiasm. The shrugging boy was used as hand model and plugged the toy into the wall socket in a close-up shot.
Air Devils proved to be one of those elaborate toys that are interesting for about five minutes and then up in pieces or gathering dust. A wire on the control tower spun the plane around in a circle; it landed and took off and not much else. There was no room for imagination in playing with it but it took up a lot of floor space, even in the gigantic idealized American boy’s room on the sound-stage.
I don’t remember much else about the shoot except it lasted for thirteen hours and that the director said the plastic mountain looked like someone had pissed on it (which, for a twelve year old boy, was the height of subversive humor). I was paid the equivalent of $10 for my day’s work, which went toward buying some candy and a soccer ball which my neighbor kicked onto the roof of an adjoining building a few days later.
Six months after the shoot, we moved to New York. One day after school, I was watching TV and the Air Devils commercial came on. I was shocked by the weirdness of seeing myself on television. I don’t think I ever saw the spot on the air again but the memory of it stuck somewhere in my brain, replaying in weirder and weirder re-edits over the years. I have sat through so many auditions and shoots over the past quarter century and the memory of myself, a twelve year old weird, multi-national kid standing in front of that table of strangers, flickers past me now and then.
I have casually looked for a copy of the spot every so often, screening reels of old commercials, thinking it would be amusing to add it to my own reel of commercials. However, it never turned up.
Then this afternoon, bored in an editing session, I typed the words ‘Air Devils” in the YouTube search field… and there it was. You can see me in a wide shot and then a close-up of my home-cut hair and fake enthusiasm.
It’s funny, as a person who makes and judges ads all day, to be a part of this commercial. The complete absence of an idea, the histrionic voice-over and completely unpersuasive cop[y. I can imagine the poor creative team, working on Hasbro, knowing they have a shoestring budget, knocking together a script and then flying to Israel, of all places, to avoid union costs and produce something, anything to throw on the air for a few weeks before Christmas.
It’s so much a conceit of my business that what we do matters very much, that every commercial must be polished and crafted and made as good as possible, that we must fall on our swords for every creative decision … and yet, after they have served their purpose, our well-cut gems retain as much appeal as last month’s milk. I assume that the zillions of other people’s dollars I have spent on high-end production will end up, if I am lucky, being just someone else’s blogged memory in twenty years from now.
Sic transit.
Danny Gregory 
