Sunday, July 4, 2010

This is what happens when I clean the basement...

First off, I'd like to apologize for the horror show you are about to see... I don't know why, but every now and then folks who are in the arts like to trot out stuff that they did when we were kids. Maybe it's to offer encouragement to a younger generation ("See?! There was a time when I was even MORE awful at this!). Maybe it's to justify all the time we spend doing this (No, actually, I really don't spend all my time playing in the basement, ha-ha-ha!). Perhaps we just want to remember a time when even what we did was crap... at least we thought it was awesome. Or, it could be to prove that what we do is something we actually have to work at. I've known some people who seemed naturally gifted, and seemed to draw so easily. I'm not one of them. But this is what I've always wanted to do, so I worked at it. Daily. And I guess I do want to encourage people to do the same thing. Skills are learned and earned, and they build on each other.

At any rate. Last weekend, we cleaned out the basement. That means the storage rooms, the work/utility room, the studio and the family space. It's hard to put into words what all this entailed... But I'm going to give it a quick go, just to give you an idea. When we were finished, there were two bathtubs full of junk to send to goodwill (By that, I mean that stuff was stacked in the bathtub twice as high as the tub was deep). A full truck load of trash (Scrap lumber and metal, old paint and joint compound... boxes... that type of stuff.) We spent roughly twelve man hours sorting, moving, disassembling, sweeping and resetting-up. Going back over it, it seems like a ridiculous amount of work, that could have been avoided if we just hadn't let things pile up so much. Isn't that what everybody says when they clean out the basement?

Back to the point of the post, and the reason (I hope) that people look at this corner of the inter-web. Art. While sifting through old portfolios and boxes of art from high school and early college, I stumbled on these two (ah-hem) gems. I hope you don't hate me for scarring your eyeballs with what a thirteen/fifteen-year-old boy thinks is cool. Ha-ha-ha!

This First one, I'm pretty sure I drew in eighth or ninth grade. Wow. Check out the detailing on the armour. That's some classy stuff... and apparently, he had a lucky rabbits foot surgically grafted to his arm so that he could hold his rubber sword. We all have to start somewhere though, right?
This second one is... well, okay lets call it more ambitious. I was in tenth grade, and totally into punk music and comic books. Can you picture how cool I was? No? That's okay, I wasn't.
Thanks for taking this little trip down memory lane with me. Until next time, take care and be good!
Your friend,


Amanda Rose said...

Fun...thanks for sharing your found treasures.

As the old Virginia Slims ad campaign boasted, you've come a long way, baby.

(Do Virgina Slims still exist? If so, please note that it is not my business or desire to promote smoking.)

Loulou La Poule said...

I think we are so built that we get a thrill from looking back at the archeological evidence of our existence. When my mother died and I was responsible for sorting, I came across a poem I wrote at 14. It was so obviously a shy teenager's poem. Part of me thought it was dreck and part of me found it wonderous: there, EVIDENCE that I lived and wasn't always 62!

Now, tell me you didn't find those drawings just a little wondrous.