Saturday, 5 May 2012

Lichen in art stix

This week's Illustration Friday prompt is hitched, and there are few more things in the world more "hitched" than the components of your average lichen.

Lichens are associations between algae (or cyanobacteria as well) and fungi. The blanket term for long-term close association and interaction between two species is symbiosis, and if I remember right it was originally coined specifically to describe how an alga and fungus work together as a lichen. This particular brand of symbiosis used to be taught as the prime example of what's called mutualism, where both organisms benefit from the association and sometimes can't even exist without it. If I was going to call a lichen a mutualistic association I'd explain it by saying that without the alga the fungus wouldn't survive because it can't make its own food, and without the fungus the alga wouldn't survive because it would desiccate.

You'll notice that I said if I was going to call this mutualistic. Thoughts on that changed a number of years ago in the scientific community. Now some scientists prefer to call it commensalism, where one partner benefits and the other isn't harmed. Sort of a marriage of indifference, I guess. Some scientists have even gone so far as to call the association a form of parasitism by the fungus, although I think that's a bit extreme.

Me? I just figure that the two organisms are pretty permanently hitched.

What you're seeing in today's scribble is a loose (very... see below) interpretation of some SEM views of lichens that I found on the web. The green blobs would be algae, and the brown... things are the fungal hyphae surrounding them. And the reason why it's so scribbly when I usually like working on details?

Yeah, I'm still splinted up. Turns out that the sprain was a little less minor than I thought it was.

Ah well.

Scribbles for the near future then, I guess. Probably good for me, in the end. It doesn't hurt to loosen up a bit now and then, even if it's not something you're exactly choosing.

I suppose.

Saturday, 21 April 2012

Cliff in art stix

This week's Illustration Friday prompt is heights, and this week's scribble is courtesy of my sprained wrist and current inability to do much with it but scribble.

Oh, and the fact that I didn't bother to do anything for IF last week so I thought that a scribble was at least better than a blank.

No big story behind this one, except that I added a last-minute waterfall because I was reminded of camping in the Rockies when I was a kid. As we drove to whatever campground we'd be going to in Jasper or Banff National Parks, I'd alleviate the boredom by watching for the little trickles of water that would sometimes appear down the artificial cliffs that were made when the construction crews blasted through to make the roads. Those mini-falls were almost magical in the way they'd appear out of nowhere, head down the rock face, divide or spread (depending on how jagged the rocks were), and then somehow seem to disappear before they reached the highway.

I also used to find it fascinating how little clumps of trees seemed to grow in the oddest, most inhospitable places on those cliffs. You've got to give it to nature, really. Tenacity at its best.

I'm going to stop typing now, if that's ok with everyone. My backspace key is getting waaay too much of a workout today...

Sunday, 8 April 2012

Spring Return in watercolour and art stix

I meant this for last week's Illustration Friday prompt of return, but somehow I never got back to it in time...

Ba-dum-bump.

Yeah, even I'll admit that it was a cheesy line.

Anyway, this is an ATC on vellum bristol. Interested? Leave a comment or drop me a note at the e-mail address on the sidebar.



Feel free to do either even if you're not interested, of course...

Saturday, 7 April 2012

Corvus in inktense

This week's Illustration Friday prompt is vocal, and this... oh man, did the scanner do a number on this. I'm posting it anyway, but it looks a heckuva lot different in person, I can promise you. Just imagine actual washes and a lot less vague scribbling, if you don't mind.

The reason for this response to the prompt? The story (well, one of the stories. Thought I'd leave out the cheating pregnant lover version on this one. I hope no one minds) of the constellations Corvus (the crow), Crater (the cup), and Hydra (the water snake. And not the same hydra as the one that Heracles fought, for those who know that story. At least, not the same one as far as I know). Bear in mind as I retell it that this is the somewhat cleaned-up version I tell to kids when I'm doing planetarium shows. I'm not usually too much in favour of censoring mythology, but there's a time and a place for everything. Ready? Ok, here goes...

Apollo was the god of many things to the ancient Greeks, and among those things were the sun and music. In his job as the sun god, he had to pull the sun across the sky every day, which was a lonely task. As the god of music, though, he was able to gather many musical friends around him.

Amongst those friends was Corvus the crow (and yes, I usually do explain that Corvus means crow. It's the scientific name for them even today). Corvus was a gorgeous bird with beautiful, shimmery white feathers. He was very clever, and had the best singing voice around. When Corvus sang, even the gods on Olympus stopped to listen. With all of those virtues you'd think that things were fine for Corvus, but he had one big fault. He was lazy, and to get out of work he'd tell the most incredible lies. Not the best idea when you're hanging around with the gods.

Eventually the lies started to wear on Apollo, but in fairness he decided to give the bird one more chance before he banned him from his presence. He handed Corvus his golden cup Crater and told him to go down to a sacred spring on earth to fill it with water for him. Corvus took the cup and winged his way to the fountain, fully intending to make a good job of things to please the god. Unfortunately for him, though, he spotted something on his way that sent things in a different direction.

A fig tree.

Figs were Corvus's favourite food, and the closer he got to the tree the more he kept thinking of figs. By the time he got there, figs were the only thing on his mind, and he put the cup down in the grass and flew up to the tree intending to have a feast.

The figs, however, weren't ripe yet.

Well, by this time Corvus was so intent on figs that he decided to wait for them to ripen instead of just doing his job and coming back later. He waited and waited -- some say for days -- and even sang to the figs with his beautiful voice to help them ripen sweeter. Finally, the figs were ready. So Corvus ate a fig. And another fig. And another. He kept eating figs until he was pretty much full to the top with figs. And just like one of us after Christmas dinner, after such a meal he didn't feel like doing anything but napping. So he flew down to the ground, snuggled into the grass, and started snoring.

Apollo, meanwhile, had been watching all of this as he drove the sun chariot across the sky, and to say that he wasn't happy is an understatement. He shone the sun down in just such a way that it reflected off of the golden cup and straight into Corvus's eyes. Corvus woke with a start, wondering why everything was so bright, and noticed Crater lying there in the grass. Remembering his mission, he grabbed the cup, flew off to the spring as quickly as he could, filled the cup with water, and headed off back to Apollo's palace.

Now, things might have been fine if he'd just told the truth when he got there, but Corvus wasn't used to thinking that way. By the time he'd got back to Apollo, he'd thought of what he figured must be the perfect story to keep himself out of trouble for his laziness. He handed the god his cup, saying, "here's your water, Apollo, and I sure hope it was worth the struggle to get it."

"Struggle?" said the god. "I should have thought that filling a cup with water would be an easy enough job for a clever bird like you."

"Well, it would have been," replied Corvus," but when I got there the water was all murky, and I had to do my best to clean things up. Then I had to wait for the water to run clear. And then, just as I was going to dip your cup in, Hydra the Water Snake leaped out of the fountain, stole the cup from my beak, and swam back under the water. He's been living in your sacred spring, and that's why things were so dirty. Well, I couldn't let the situation continue, so even though I'm not a water bird like Cygnus the swan I jumped in, swam to the bottom, and fought the snake. It was tough, because he's big and very strong, but finally I was able to get my claws around his neck and squeeze until he was dead. Then I found your cup, waited until the water was clear again, and came back here as quickly as I could. So I hope you enjoy your water..."

Corvus could see that Apollo wasn't happy. In fact, Apollo was angrier than Corvus had ever seen him. Apollo was so angry that he reached out and grabbed the frightened bird by the neck. He put his hand down Corvus's throat and pulled out that beautiful singing voice, throwing it away to the wind (who uses it to make the tree leaves sing even today).

But Apollo wasn't finished. He started pulling out shimmery white feathers by the handful, letting them fall to earth where they became the first snow.

When Apollo was done, poor naked Corvus hid himself away in shame for a long time. He hid, in fact, until all of his feathers could grow back. When everyone saw Corvus with his new feathers, though, they were shocked. No more fine, shimmery feathers for that bird. The feathers grew back deep, deep black to remind Corvus of the dangers of black lies. And when it was time for music and Corvus went to sing, everyone covered their ears because there was no more beautiful singing voice to be had. No, all that was left was the Caw! Caw! that Corvus and all of his children have had to carry with them ever since.

Apollo later put Corvus, Crater, and Hydra up in the sky as stars. You'll notice, however, that Corvus can never quite reach the cup for a drink to soothe his poor raw throat...

----------

For anyone wanting a map to see the constellations for themselves, it's not hard for me to recommend Skymaps.com. Good, clear monthly PDFs with lots of added info. Don't go too closely by the plotting in my doodle -- I'll admit that I was mostly eyeballing it.

Incidentally, when I was trying in vain to fix the mess that the scanner made of the picture, I reversed it on a whim and I kind of like it that way. Gives you Corvus in his white form, if nothing else.

Sunday, 25 March 2012

Kick the Bucket in art stix

This week's Illustration Friday prompt is swamp.

Just when you're swamped with work, the bucket gets swamped. And then, naturally, your floor's a swamp.



This... well, this was me last night doodling with nothing but the light of the television. I'll try to post something a little less... um, this... later in the week if I find the time.

Saturday, 17 March 2012

Shades in pen & ink and soluble graphite

This week's Illustration Friday prompt is shades.

No big explanation this week. Those of you who know, already know. For those who don't, watch this if you like.

Saturday, 3 March 2012

Stained Tulip in pen & ink and inktense

This week's Illustration Friday prompt is intention.

I intend to do a lot of things. Many of them don't seem to be got to, unfortunately.

I know I'm not alone there. We all have our intentions that never get fulfilled. I have a serious personal issue with art intentions, though.

You see, I'm very firmly a hobbyist when it comes to art. I don't want to ever take it seriously, because I'm the type of person who loses the fun in hobbies when I start to take things seriously. Just to give an example: I sing. I've sung since I was a kid. I used to compete, perform, sing in choirs... a big part of my life was singing.

Then I started to teach singing.

Fun stopped.

In fact, the fun stopped to the point that even though I quit teaching years ago I hardly ever touch my piano anymore. And I like the piano. I just got so burned out that it stopped being something that I wanted to do.

I do still sing, though. It's too ingrained to go away. I sing just for myself now is all.

I don't want to take the chance of the same thing happening to doodling. And yes, I know that many of you don't like the term doodling, but using it is one of the things that keeps me in hobby mode.

Like I said above, however, that attitude can create problems when I actually intend to do something arty. As soon as I start making plans or (in the case of occasional illustration needs at work) have to do something, I get massively blocked. It's like my brain tries to remind me that there's not supposed to be pressure with the doodling, so the answer to the pressure is to not do a darned thing. It can be frustrating when there really is a have-to-be-done, as you can imagine. There've been times when I've literally had to lock myself in my apartment for a day to get work things finished. It's sad, I know.

How does any of this relate to the picture? 

Well, for a while now I've been intending to try my hand at ATCs. I have a package of pre-cut cards. Assorted papers, even, so that if I didn't feel like using one type I could work with another. That package? Has been sitting for months. I take it with me almost everywhere, in case I finally get around to acting on that particular intention.

Months, did I mention?

It was a plan. It was, possibly, starting to take things seriously.

It got totally blocked.

Until the intention prompt came up this week, gave me a good swift kick in the behind, and made me make good on a too-long-held intention.

Yep. What you see above is my very first ever ATC. Will I do more? Probably, now that the pack's been started and the pressure's off. That's the intention, anyway. I guess we'll see what happens with this particular intention.





Incidentally, I called the card an ATC rather than an ACEO for a reason. Interested? Just let me know.
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