Portrait in Linen

Torso Study

Again attempted a non-precision approach on a study of the torso. Virtually no pencil-tip lines, with the exception of detail on the hair.

I made certain this time to avoid the “old technique” of drawing in the hair, which involves several layers of several individual lines at diverging angles, lightly blending, then pulling out the highlights with an eraser.

Instead, tonight I laid down two smooth layers of charcoal–one light for the upper layer of hair, one dark for the underlying layer of hair. Blended that, added darker tones of depth, then picked out subtle highlights in gentle, broad sweeps, rather than razor-edge strands.

And again, no outlines. Edges are blended and faded into background; in some places, edges are invisible and only suggested. In the past, I’ve been too chicken to try that technique, but I think tonight, I proved to myself I can effectively create some illusory continuity of line.

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Mobile again. Felt like a captain without a ship there for a while. Van’s been in the shop for the better part of a week–A/C went out. Bad thing in South Louisiana; good thing it happened in mid-May, rather than at the peak of August.

Got it back, and now it smells like a big sweaty man. I’ve never been one plagued with gag reflex, but I just about lost my lunch there the first few seconds I climbed in behind the wheel.

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Additional Arms

Since a therapeutic solo trip to the beach is out of the question, I decided to treat myself to a few things on my wish list instead–art supplies from Hobby Lobby.

Walked in to a pleasant oddity–Hawaiian slack-key guitar streaming through the store speaker system. Usually, it’s Christian soft rock or golden oldies, but the song I heard sounded like the soundtrack intro to one of the educational Hawaiian language videos I like to watch. For most everyone else, the music probably set the mood for a languishing summer afternoon sipping piña coladas and laying out under the backyard sprinkler. For me, it inspired a craving to practice Hawaiian language sentence structure and dialogue.

Came out with a handful of previously coveted items:

• Strathmore Bristol smooth drawing paper, 300 series - best for flawless blending on works of photorealism
• chamois
• Exacto knife - for future paper cutting art works,
• mechanical pencil - for fine lines and detailing on works of photorealism
• new double-hole sharpener
• Clic eraser - for most precise corrections and highlight details
• white felt - recommended to me for large-area blending. Tried it, didn’t like it.

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Writing elsewhere now. The online edition of the local newspaper opened an on-site blogging community for readers. In a moment of spontaneity, I created a membership, then spent the next thirty minutes writing an article about falling in love with our city. Proofed it twice, then hit “publish.”

Apparently, reader-written articles get a turn being on the newspaper homepage under “Featured Blog.” For all of a few hours, I enjoyed occupying the link there. Kinda made me feel like a staff writer for a brief time.

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What Karate-Dō is Not

In tonight’s reading of Funakoshi’s Karate-Dō, I read a segment called “Recognizing Nonsense.” Here, Funakoshi attempts to distinguish what karate-dō is not.

It is not–he writes–ripping flesh into strips, or breaking x number of boards or tiles with one’s bare hands, or tearing ribs out of the body. It’s not piercing beans or sand or pebbles or pellets of lead with the fingers. It’s not superhuman ability or strength. And…karate is not mysterious and frightful.

Funakoshi writes, anyone is capable of feats of skill and strength with sufficient training and practice, and there is nothing at all extraordinary about that accomplishment.

If Master Funakoshi were sitting with me at our dining room table, peering at me from across a plate of lemon-shoyu chicken and speaking these things to me in a raspy, accented voice (not unlike Dad’s might’ve been if he were today living), I would believe him. I would set aside my fears of remaining perpetually weak and awkward (“hemahema” in Hawaiian), and I would trust in the fact I could grow stronger if I trained hard enough and long enough. It might be possible.

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The Skirt of Lu’ukia

Otherwise, restless and fearful. Cognitive appointment on Thursday. That means sinking a tender foot into the deep, sucking sludge of inner- and inter-conflict, along with all the origins and implications and bi-products…facing flaws, accepting responsibilities. I swear, it’s a more painful process than shots to the thigh muscle. I’m so anxious about that, my insides feel like they’re tied up in a Bowline knot. Or, if you’re more partial to Hawaiian maritime instead of Boy Scouts, you might say, “…like they’re tied up in the Pā’ū-o-Lu’ukia (lit. ‘The Skirt of Lu’ukia’),” which is a complicated knot cited by legend to be impossible to untie.

In Hawaiian mana’o (Hawaiian thinking), the center of thought and feeling is not in the heart as it is in Western thought, but in the na’au–the bowels, the guts..

Western thinking: “I’m absolutely sure–my heart knows.”

Hawaiian mana’o: “I’m absolutely sure–I feel it in my na’au.”

Considering this, I find it bitterly ironic my given Hawaiian name is Lu’ukia. Symbolic…perhaps my na’au will always be tied up thus.