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& Sunday Sketches
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12 years ago
Showing posts with label * IF. Show all posts
Showing posts with label * IF. Show all posts
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Friday, December 31, 2010
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
zinnia
Today's temperature is a high of 14 degrees so I thought I would post a bit of beauty in the starkness. Also using this as my submission for the Illustration Friday prompt: phenomenon & the Inspiration Avenue prompt: believe
pen & ink w/color pencil
Sunday, December 5, 2010
trilobite w/bumbershoot
Illustration Friday prompt: prehistoric
(I remember having one of these embedded in a rock when I was little - thought it was the coolest treasure - amazing to think you can touch the imprint of something from 500 million years ago!)
a one-line pen & ink drawing w/Inktense pencils
As Trilly left his house that day
he took his brolly on his way
for he heard the news man say,
"Be prepared for rain today."
But the rain that fell on down
was not the kind you want around
and in an instant all were bound
to be fossils in the ground.
(I remember having one of these embedded in a rock when I was little - thought it was the coolest treasure - amazing to think you can touch the imprint of something from 500 million years ago!)
As Trilly left his house that day
he took his brolly on his way
for he heard the news man say,
"Be prepared for rain today."
But the rain that fell on down
was not the kind you want around
and in an instant all were bound
to be fossils in the ground.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
savour
some simple pen and ink/color pencil doodles for this week's prompt at Illustration Friday
I'm using it for Sunday Sketches & AEDM too...
I'm using it for Sunday Sketches & AEDM too...
Also, come and add your art for Whimsical Wednesday
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Monday, November 8, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
IF: spent
This week's Illustration Friday prompt got me thinking of one of Hans Christian Andersen's famous short stories: The Little Match Girl (below my illustration you can read the complete story or watch the Disney/Pixar 6min animation of the tale)...
The Little Match Girl
A translation of Hans Christian Andersen's "Den lille Pige med Svovlstikkerne" by Jean Hersholt. from the The Hans Christian Andersen Center
It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. Evening came on, the last evening of the year. In the cold and gloom a poor little girl, bareheaded and barefoot, was walking through the streets. Of course when she had left her house she'd had slippers on, but what good had they been? They were very big slippers, way too big for her, for they belonged to her mother. The little girl had lost them running across the road, where two carriages had rattled by terribly fast. One slipper she'd not been able to find again, and a boy had run off with the other, saying he could use it very well as a cradle some day when he had children of his own. And so the little girl walked on her naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an old apron she carried several packages of matches, and she held a box of them in her hand. No one had bought any from her all day long, and no one had given her a cent.
Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along, a picture of misery, poor little girl! The snowflakes fell on her long fair hair, which hung in pretty curls over her neck. In all the windows lights were shining, and there was a wonderful smell of roast goose, for it was New Year's eve. Yes, she thought of that!
In a corner formed by two houses, one of which projected farther out into the street than the other, she sat down and drew up her little feet under her. She was getting colder and colder, but did not dare to go home, for she had sold no matches, nor earned a single cent, and her father would surely beat her. Besides, it was cold at home, for they had nothing over them but a roof through which the wind whistled even though the biggest cracks had been stuffed with straw and rags.
Her hands were almost dead with cold. Oh, how much one little match might warm her! If she could only take one from the box and rub it against the wall and warm her hands. She drew one out. R-r-ratch! How it sputtered and burned! It made a warm, bright flame, like a little candle, as she held her hands over it; but it gave a strange light! It really seemed to the little girl as if she were sitting before a great iron stove with shining brass knobs and a brass cover. How wonderfully the fire burned! How comfortable it was! The youngster stretched out her feet to warm them too; then the little flame went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the burnt match in her hand.
She struck another match against the wall. It burned brightly, and when the light fell upon the wall it became transparent like a thin veil, and she could see through it into a room. On the table a snow-white cloth was spread, and on it stood a shining dinner service. The roast goose steamed gloriously, stuffed with apples and prunes. And what was still better, the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled along the floor with a knife and fork in its breast, right over to the little girl. Then the match went out, and she could see only the thick, cold wall. She lighted another match. Then she was sitting under the most beautiful Christmas tree. It was much larger and much more beautiful than the one she had seen last Christmas through the glass door at the rich merchant's home. Thousands of candles burned on the green branches, and colored pictures like those in the printshops looked down at her. The little girl reached both her hands toward them. Then the match went out. But the Christmas lights mounted higher. She saw them now as bright stars in the sky. One of them fell down, forming a long line of fire.
"Now someone is dying," thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star fell down a soul went up to God.
She rubbed another match against the wall. It became bright again, and in the glow the old grandmother stood clear and shining, kind and lovely.
"Grandmother!" cried the child. "Oh, take me with you! I know you will disappear when the match is burned out. You will vanish like the warm stove, the wonderful roast goose and the beautiful big Christmas tree!"
And she quickly struck the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother with her. And the matches burned with such a glow that it became brighter than daylight. Grandmother had never been so grand and beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and both of them flew in brightness and joy above the earth, very, very high, and up there was neither cold, nor hunger, nor fear-they were with God.
But in the corner, leaning against the wall, sat the little girl with red cheeks and smiling mouth, frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. The New Year's sun rose upon a little pathetic figure. The child sat there, stiff and cold, holding the matches, of which one bundle was almost burned.
"She wanted to warm herself," the people said. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, and how happily she had gone with her old grandmother into the bright New Year.
The Little Match Girl
A translation of Hans Christian Andersen's "Den lille Pige med Svovlstikkerne" by Jean Hersholt. from the The Hans Christian Andersen Center
It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. Evening came on, the last evening of the year. In the cold and gloom a poor little girl, bareheaded and barefoot, was walking through the streets. Of course when she had left her house she'd had slippers on, but what good had they been? They were very big slippers, way too big for her, for they belonged to her mother. The little girl had lost them running across the road, where two carriages had rattled by terribly fast. One slipper she'd not been able to find again, and a boy had run off with the other, saying he could use it very well as a cradle some day when he had children of his own. And so the little girl walked on her naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an old apron she carried several packages of matches, and she held a box of them in her hand. No one had bought any from her all day long, and no one had given her a cent.
Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along, a picture of misery, poor little girl! The snowflakes fell on her long fair hair, which hung in pretty curls over her neck. In all the windows lights were shining, and there was a wonderful smell of roast goose, for it was New Year's eve. Yes, she thought of that!
In a corner formed by two houses, one of which projected farther out into the street than the other, she sat down and drew up her little feet under her. She was getting colder and colder, but did not dare to go home, for she had sold no matches, nor earned a single cent, and her father would surely beat her. Besides, it was cold at home, for they had nothing over them but a roof through which the wind whistled even though the biggest cracks had been stuffed with straw and rags.
Her hands were almost dead with cold. Oh, how much one little match might warm her! If she could only take one from the box and rub it against the wall and warm her hands. She drew one out. R-r-ratch! How it sputtered and burned! It made a warm, bright flame, like a little candle, as she held her hands over it; but it gave a strange light! It really seemed to the little girl as if she were sitting before a great iron stove with shining brass knobs and a brass cover. How wonderfully the fire burned! How comfortable it was! The youngster stretched out her feet to warm them too; then the little flame went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the burnt match in her hand.
She struck another match against the wall. It burned brightly, and when the light fell upon the wall it became transparent like a thin veil, and she could see through it into a room. On the table a snow-white cloth was spread, and on it stood a shining dinner service. The roast goose steamed gloriously, stuffed with apples and prunes. And what was still better, the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled along the floor with a knife and fork in its breast, right over to the little girl. Then the match went out, and she could see only the thick, cold wall. She lighted another match. Then she was sitting under the most beautiful Christmas tree. It was much larger and much more beautiful than the one she had seen last Christmas through the glass door at the rich merchant's home. Thousands of candles burned on the green branches, and colored pictures like those in the printshops looked down at her. The little girl reached both her hands toward them. Then the match went out. But the Christmas lights mounted higher. She saw them now as bright stars in the sky. One of them fell down, forming a long line of fire.
"Now someone is dying," thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star fell down a soul went up to God.
She rubbed another match against the wall. It became bright again, and in the glow the old grandmother stood clear and shining, kind and lovely.
"Grandmother!" cried the child. "Oh, take me with you! I know you will disappear when the match is burned out. You will vanish like the warm stove, the wonderful roast goose and the beautiful big Christmas tree!"
And she quickly struck the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother with her. And the matches burned with such a glow that it became brighter than daylight. Grandmother had never been so grand and beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and both of them flew in brightness and joy above the earth, very, very high, and up there was neither cold, nor hunger, nor fear-they were with God.
But in the corner, leaning against the wall, sat the little girl with red cheeks and smiling mouth, frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. The New Year's sun rose upon a little pathetic figure. The child sat there, stiff and cold, holding the matches, of which one bundle was almost burned.
"She wanted to warm herself," the people said. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, and how happily she had gone with her old grandmother into the bright New Year.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
The Racing Gnicar
Illustration Friday prompt: racing
The racing gnicar does it wrong;
his heels are where the toes belong.
Ever racing he sings a song:
“hum ditty, bum ditty” all day long.
I stopped him once,
said, “You’re all wrong.”
He replied, “My lungs are strong,
want to come and hop along?
It’s easy when your toes are long.”
“Be with you when you’re all wrong?”
I replied to his silly song.
“Hum ditty, bum ditty,” he sang alone—
I shook my fist and gave a groan,
“Don’t you see that you’re all wrong?”
You know what that gnicar did?
He raced away, probably hid.
Poor old creature with his stupid song
Never seeing he’s made all wrong.
The racing gnicar does it wrong;
his heels are where the toes belong.
Ever racing he sings a song:
“hum ditty, bum ditty” all day long.
I stopped him once,
said, “You’re all wrong.”
He replied, “My lungs are strong,
want to come and hop along?
It’s easy when your toes are long.”
“Be with you when you’re all wrong?”
I replied to his silly song.
“Hum ditty, bum ditty,” he sang alone—
I shook my fist and gave a groan,
“Don’t you see that you’re all wrong?”
You know what that gnicar did?
He raced away, probably hid.
Poor old creature with his stupid song
Never seeing he’s made all wrong.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
IF: old-fashioned
one-line pen and ink
Old is the fashion
of the fashioned old;
externally wizened,
yet wisdom extolled.
visit Illustration Friday
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Rose was so tired of her frenetic ways and longed to simply be still so the muddy waters of her mind might settle...
Illustration Friday prompt: muddy
"muddy water, let stand, becomes clear" ~ Lao Tzu
one-line pen & ink drawing w/watercolor pencils
"muddy water, let stand, becomes clear" ~ Lao Tzu
one-line pen & ink drawing w/watercolor pencils
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Sisyphus
Illustration Friday prompt: confined
pencil illustration
I thought the Greek myth of Sisyphus portrays being "confined". The story of the tricky king Sisyphus who is condemned by the gods to roll a large boulder up a steep hill - only before he reaches the top the boulder would always roll down to the base of the hill again thus forcing him to be confined to the task for eternity...
More on the myth here
pencil illustration
I thought the Greek myth of Sisyphus portrays being "confined". The story of the tricky king Sisyphus who is condemned by the gods to roll a large boulder up a steep hill - only before he reaches the top the boulder would always roll down to the base of the hill again thus forcing him to be confined to the task for eternity...
More on the myth here
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Sunday, December 13, 2009
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