Delight

In that light, it is a delight...a wonder to study and to learn to love some small part of what God must have loved when he made a lizard. To delight with him in its scales, color, spines and forms. And to me, God is saying "you like that? me too!" 

- Nicholas Kole

One of my favorite memes is the German Cola Kid. As attempting to explain any meme is a fools errand, you should probably watch this animated version to see what it's about. But in the event you don't have time for that, I will now attempt to explain the meme. In the video, the aforementioned "Cola Kid" excitedly relates how his mom has just allowed him to drink cola and play Fortnite, the combination of which is enough to send him in a joyous YIPEEE!!

Kids, exemplified by the Cola Kid, are able to find joy and excitement in the most mundane of things. For me, it wasn't cola and Fortnite, but it was frozen pizza, being old enough to stay home alone, and watching Cartoon Network. As a kid, it didn't take much to have a good day, or to be obsessed with trains, dinosaurs, and sea creatures. (Isn't it crazy how deeply kids fall in love with things most adults never care about?) I think this open wonder and delight towards the world is one of the first things to go as we grow older. It was for me, at least. As we see more things, even incredible things become normal, and we forget that they were ever unexpected in the first place. As we see more broken and sorrowful things, our open delight in pockets of beauty and brilliance is replaced with a defensive cynicism.

As I've recently been thinking about What I Want to Say With My Art, I keep coming back to this idea of delight.  I think about the way God delights in us, His children. And the way He looked at His creation and said that it was good. Because God didn't have to make the world so dang beautiful. He didn't have to make a world with jellyfish, and sandstone arches, and the color blue, and good pizza. But He did. And I think that gives us the permission to get excited. Childishly, foolishly excited. In our art (our writing, drawing, cooking, all of it) we can lash out in unbridled admiration for this flower or that person or this cola and say yes. this is good. taste and see! That, at least, is what I want to do. To, in the words of artistic theologian Robert Capon, "look the world back to grace."

For me, the aquarium is one of the best places to practice this habit. Here is gathered, at great cost and human effort, the strangest and most majestic forms of life on earth. And our whole mission is simply to look at them. But the looking, we find, is difficult. We're anxious to move on to the next exhibit, so we delegate our looking to a quick photo and keep walking. 

I think the designers of Georgia Aquarium particularly understood this tension. For all its beautiful theming and chaotic, lawless atrium, the building's most impressive feature is a simple dark room facing a massive wall of water. Rays and sharks more than twice my height effortlessly sail across its cerulean surface and back into the murky distance. To me, it's the brontosaurus scene of Jurassic Park, only real. Finally, as an adult, I'm confronted with things I haven't seen, on a scale I cannot understand.  In response, the Georgia Aquarium offers me a large, carpeted step. I sit down, pull out my Ipad, and begin drawing. Drawing convinces my adult brain that I'm not wasting my time, so that my kid brain can say again, "cool shark. big shark." More than making a "good drawing," I now want to capture what's delightful about "shark." I wonder if what you find delightful may be entirely different. But regardless, I think we have a lot to learn from each other. 

So get painting, dancing, writing, and let me know!

Thanks for your readership :)

-dh

Color Keys from the Florida Keys

Hey everyone! 

I just got back from a week-long trip boat trip with my family. Yep, that's right, a boat trip. Do people still do many boating vacations nowadays? Not a cruise ship or anything. I'm talking one-family-two-sails-really-feel-the-waves-underneath-the-hull kind of boating. Anyways, I really enjoyed it. It's a totally different way of of life, and while I'm glad to be back on land, it was fun to try! I now have a much better understanding of what Rat means when he talks about "Simply messing, messing about in boats, or with boats. In or out of em, it doesn't matter" (that's Rat from The Wind in the Willows - though I dearly hope you already knew that). I'm still trying to get all the salt out of my clothes and hair - it's a process. Especially since I won't be going to Ireland this summer, it was nice to have the chance to see a new place, though one of a significantly warmer and more humid nature: the Florida Keys. I've been recently amazed by just how big America is. Even though Florida is still in the states, it definitely feels like a different country compared to Tennessee. The expansive salt marshes, the spanish moss, the decaying rust bridges set over azure salt water - it just all seems so summer-y and adventurous. And this strange nostalgia for the landscape of Florida and the coastal American South (part of the reason why I LOVE Princess and the Frog), was nice to indulge. And indulge I did! Through gazing for hours out of the car window and the boat ... spaces on deck??? Oh and I also did some art. Bet you didn't expect that! ;) 

I brought, as usual, way too many art supplies, most of which I never used. I intended to do watercolor pieces like I did during my Bahamas mission trip last summer, but when I started the first one I kept getting frustrated with the pencil sketch which seemed to predict getting even more frustrated with the watercolor later down the line... so I caved, pulled out the Ipad, and worked almost entirely digitally for the remainder of the trip. The watercolors and gouache were not touched :( I have mixed feelings about the outcome. This was my first big trip with The Pad, by the way. I felt like the digital nature of the art was able to capture the luminosity and vibrancy of the color and water in way that would have been difficult for me to do with traditional media. And the whole process is just so much easier. I feel more comfortable with it as a medium, I feel more free to experiment, depicting light is quick (lookin at u, multiply and overlay layers), I don't have to wait for paint to dry, and I don't have to mix colors unless I want to. So all that means drawings that look prettier (in my opinion) and I have more time to spend on the actual vacation. (which is kinda the point of the thing)

But, on the other hand, I feel like traditional plein air painting in new and inspiring places is what encourages me to still keep traditional media as part of my skillset. I don't want to be a primarily/exclusively digital artist if I can help it, cause I feel like each time I put serious effort into my traditional work, I make breakthroughs on the digital side as well. Remember that Brother Bear poster? Or perhaps any tree I have drawn in the past year? Those were directly influenced by how I plein air paint with gouache.

It's in the simplification of shading and round shapes in the tree

Traditional media is just cool, and becoming increasingly rare in animation art. In other words, the Disney Archives are quickly becoming something you access through a computer, and not something you hold in you hands and think, "Wow. Milt Kahl drew this. And now I am trying not to spill something on it." I know I'm not going to get better at traditional media if I don't actual try it, fail, succeed, and learn. So part of me was a little disappointed that I didn't risk it on this trip. Plus, using traditional media fosters a greater sense of "place." Knowing that I worked on this piece of paper at this place in the universe makes the art a bit more special than a file that just ends up in Google Drive. Anyways, I digress. You probably didn't come here to listen to me ramble about drawing mediums. Maybe you actually wanted to see some art.

So here's some art.

Sombrero Key Lighthouse

Many, if not most, of these were inspired by what's in animation called "color keys." Popularized by Pixar, these are small paintings which are intended to direct the color of a scene rather than the detail and design. I like to do them because they don't take a lot of time, and if the detail is off, eeeeehhhhh, just shrug and say it's a just a color key/sketch. Actually, don't say that. (personal pet peeve: calling something a "sketch" to lower the bar when in fact, the piece is not "a sketch." Just own it, people. The piece is probably good anyways.) I would love to do color keys professionally some day, but combining them all into a harmonious order called a "color script" seems baffling and something that takes guts.

 Snappers

I actually got to pet this manatee, who lived in a marina and was pretty scarred up

Many of these were also inspired by the art of Louie Zong, a man whose work has become increasingly influential to me over the past several months. His art has a lot of texture to it and good color sense all submerged in a childlike simplicity and innocence which I really appreciate. His work often gets very simplistic but somehow still feels professional ... needless to say I'm a fan, and am trying to incorporate some of his sensibilities into my own art. But at the moment, the most immediate thing you'll notice is quite a liberal use of Procreate's "Splatter" and my modified "Flicks" brushes.

Clownfish, Moon Jellies, and Sandbar Shark

I needed to use a pencil after sooo much digital art. Also, baby gators.

Sleeping Hawksbill Sea Turtle

In Key West, they have wild chickens that roam around town, just doin their thing. I've known several friends who kept chickens, but what surprised me most about the Key West chickens was watching the hens run around surrounded their chicks - back at home you usually just see the adults or mail-order chicks by themselves in a pen. So it was delightful to see these little families where everyone was all together! When I got back home I wanted to make a more stylized piece that reflected this memory (drawing on *heh* the art of Annette Marnat, thanks Naomi Bethel). This took a LOT longer than I expected but was a fun exploration into a new, soft, and even-more-texture-y style.

also took some cues from Audubon's Great American Hen and Young

Although I don't try to pressure myself to draw when I'm on vacation, it's nice when art like this spills out naturally! You may have implied from that statement that drawing often feels like work now, which is true. And although it's good work, work that makes me happy and time fly, I realized that I need to recapture that spirit of play, be willing to let pieces suck, and draw without reference... but that's likely a topic for another day. Be sure to check back here on the Roost for that! A lot is going on on my Instagram too - I'll be posting most of these pictures there and celebrating 500 followers! That's a big milestone, and I'm going to try to focus on being grateful for that rather than envious of 1000... let's see how that goes. ;) As usual, feel free to share Roost posts with your friends if you think they would be helpful. People really seemed to like the only "advice" post I have on here, and I plan on posting a few more tutorial kind of stuff here over the summer, so if there's a specific topic you want me to cover, let me know in the comments. 

Thankful for you guys, your readership, and your support! Hope your summer is off to a great start.

-dh


ALSO Music Recommendation for this week: I've been playing the BotW Hyrule Castle theme frequently to make everything seem more epic, maybe you would like a (Triforce of) Courage boost too? I finished BotW the week before the sailing trip and Man Was It Awesome. Storming the castle is so intense, especially when accompanied by this song. And for those Ambrosia fans out there, know that she participated in the final battle against Ganon! Very cool. Thanks Fujibayashi. More BotW art (and Ambrosia art???) to come during Zeldathon this June 13. 

woah that sounded official