I sat across the room from this gentleman who, like others at the cafe, was there to work. He wasn’t able to use his arms easily. They jumped from one position to another. I felt like helping, but didn’t want to interfere. He didn’t seem to be seeking assistance. I left him alone.
I’m glad that these ducts are labeled, but I wonder if people know where the exhaust vent is. I like the flat shadows and how the curved ones cast by the ribs define the pipe.
I love the sky. It is never the same, from moment to moment.
I am forgetful at times. Although I am glad I can easily get another sketchbook, I am more worried about the chronological order of the drawings in each book. Thus the note.
I came across this writing during one of my walks. The street repair people have a graffiti all their own. Their markings mean something their compatriots. It is sanctioned street tagging.
The fingers did not touch his forehead for long. But is was a nice pose which I thought I could capture. I was only able to complete a partial sketch before his fingers were gone.
These two sketches are very different even though I did them in very close succession. I drew the man with the folded arms as a study in gesture, omitting details. I devoted the other page of this spread to a young woman who was very pretty. I carefully rendered all the details of her face, […]
Some inner sanctums (sancti ?) are less relaxing than others.
I’m not sure that these folks were related, but the sketch doesn’t rule that out.
This is the inner sanctum, the font of concentration. The firehose outside the entrance has no bearing on what lies within.