Portrait sketch...almost

I was working with a high school student on a self-portrait project and did this little drawing of her in her sketchbook, demonstrating certain landmarks of human physiology and how they can sit in perspective. It almost looked like her, which was a plus. I don't usually do demos that require this kind of accuracy, as failing miserably at them can really muddy whatever point was to be made.


I made a photocopy of it and brought it home where I produced the following small oil painting from it.

It still almost looks like her.

It's Flat File Friday!

Some development work from several back burner proects I haven't quite gotten off the ground yet...

A Sketch of Andy.

My older brother.

Hooray! It's Spunky Old Broads Day.

oil on paper, 8"x10"

It wasn't the 1950 Vincent she rode
that Burt found enticing.
It wasn't the leather chaps
or the jacket
or the way she kept her silver curls
twisted up under her violet half helmet.
It wasn't even the women's penitentiary
teardrop tattoo,
Prussian blue bleeding into her crow's feet.
It was the lace and needlepoint
flowered seat cushion
puffy and downy white
perched on top
of her chrome and black chariot.
Had she made that?
Did the prison tat
and all that ebonized cowhide
conceal a softer,
even grandmotherly soul
with gentle hands
and a homey, suburban
decorative streak?

He revved his Viking
and pulled out of the rest stop.
The sky was a gleaming white
and overhead
a circle of turkey buzzards
clung gallantly to gusts of wind.

As for the seat cushion,
she'd probably
just pilfered it
from a newly deceased
cell mate.