Wekiva Photo Shoot

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Mary agreed to pose for a photo shoot to raise awareness about breast cancer. The catch was that she would heroically have to expose her breasts. Mary and Joseph (her ex husband) agreed I could come along to sketch. The photographer, Angela Marrocco, told us to meet her where they rent canoes on the Wekiva river. I arrived first and sat back on a bench to watch a few tourists relaxing near the river drinking beers and soaking up the sun. It was a beautiful day. Joe and Mary arrived and we discussed the logistics. Since there would be four of us, we would need two canoes. The women would go in one canoe and the men in the other. Once Angela arrived, she quickly rented her canoe and she and Mary headed down to the docks.

I used the digital device on the bar to try and rent the second canoe but got lost in the multiple forms. When asked to sign my name, I did it at first with a real pen before realizing I needed to use a stylus. By the time Joe and I got to the dock, the women were already paddling down river. Joe had never been in a canoe before. We jumped in and started paddling but we discovered we were still tied to the dock. Before long, we were working as a team picking up speed.

I had only seen two canoes in the time I spent waiting for folks to arrive. When the photographer found a cove where she could shoot Mary in the canoe, there were suddenly a dozen canoes crowded in the narrow river. I tried to get close to a tree that was overhanging the river. I figured if we anchored to that, I might be able to sketch the women in the other canoe. As I struggled with branches, I saw the photographer shoot several shots of Mary who had slipped her dress top down to her waist. Dang, I didn’t even get the sketchbook out yet! When Joe and I were finally secured against the tree, the women paddled back out into the river looking for another photogenic spot. I sighed and we followed.

For the next shot we all got out on dry land. There was an old worn out boardwalk set up in case of floods. Mary picked some ferns from the base of a thick tree trunk and used them to hide her face for the photo. She was a bit self conscious since she was visible to anyone paddling by in a canoe. The photographer worked quickly. I sketched as fast as I could. The photos were shot and my sketch was barely blocked in. For once I would have to finish the sketch in the studio.

Joe and I struggled to help the women launch their canoe. On the trip back, Mary was surprised by a branch and she fell back in her canoe with a thud. I’m amazed neither canoe capsized with all the activity.

Occupy Orlando Evening of Day 19

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I’m working strange hours this month from 5 pm to 9pm. I decided to drive down to the Chamber of Commerce after work to see how many people were still camping out in the Occupy Orlando protest. As I approached Senator Beth Johnson Park, I saw a tall man in an overcoat and fashionable hat balling up yellow police caution tape. I asked what the police tape was for and he told me he was souvenir hunting. People aren’t allowed to sleep in Orlando Parks so the protesters moved to the vacant lot across the street. Before long the police forced the protesters off the vacant lot since it was private property. The yellow tape was put up to remind protesters to stay away.

There were between 20 and 30 Occupy Orlando protesters who looked like they would be sleeping on the sidewalks that border the park that night. One guy had a hammock set up between several trees and he slumbered peacefully, an American flag tucked into the hammock rope at his head. I was told one man was sleeping on the sidewalk and he accidentally rolled onto the park’s grass. He was arrested. There was a folding table set up which had kitchen supplies.

It is fine to be in the park so long as you are awake. There is however a curfew. I heard drumming and walked into the park. Political protest signs were lying in the grass. I approached the make shift drum circle and started sketching. Another fellow listened, lying on the sidewalk and resting his head on his skate board. The rhythms punctuated the night. I rocked as I sketched. The drumming was interrupted when someone walked up with his laptop open. A live streaming video showed the thousands of people gathered in Oakland, California. The fellow with the cigarette and Amish beard looked at my sketch and did a happy jig. “That is so cool.” He said.

Two young college girls were seated in the grass next to me. The red headed girl had come from NYC’s Occupy Wall Street to join the Orlando protest. She was upset that her boyfriend didn’t join her in the protest. The other girl calmed her, explaining he was probably afraid. On November 6th eleven people were arrested in Beth Johnson park in Orlando, so the 0ccupation does have risks. On Halloween the red headed girl had to come up with a make shift costume out of the duffel bag of clothes she had brought from NYC. She told people she was Molly Ringwald and sure enough, she was a dead ringer.

I didn’t talk to anyone about politics, grievances or changes that need to be made. For me, It was enough to be witnessing a peaceful national demonstration that is unprecedented. Americans are assembling, and their voices are being heard. People suddenly realize, they are not alone, they are the majority.

Angelle’s Whiskey River

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Terry and I had been to Whiskey River the last time we were in Louisiana. The place is a dive bar located on the edge of a swamp in Henderson. We exited off the rural road and climbed a steep dirt road up an embankment over a levee. Dust rose creating a cloud behind us. The bar was a ramshackle place with a crude dance hall built with exposed beams and plywood. Five dollars at the door got us a wrist band. The band was doing a sound check. I sat at a bar at the back of the dance hall. When I started the sketch the place was almost empty but by the time I finished the place was packed wall to wall with people. The beers flowed. When the sketch was done I decided to drop my bag of art supplies off in the rental car.

Walking back to the bar a fellow stumbled towards me. His eyes were bloodshot. He had already had too much to drink. I shook his hand as he welcomed me. “You are going to have the time of your life buddy.” he said. I smiled thanked him and went inside. The band was called Geno Delafose & French Rockin‘ Boogie. Terry was on the sidelines of the dance floor swaying to the Cajun beat. I tapped her on the shoulder and we made our way out on the dance floor. We couldn’t help but bump into other couples. People were twirling, stomping and dipping to the beat. The accordion twisted its notes in a frenzy. A musician with a washboard on his chest scraped his spoons in quick and fluid wrist movements.

Terry and I did a dance move we learned at a folk festival once. We held hands and I twirled her keeping our grip until our arms formed a graceful knot. We then spun to untangle ourselves and we went the other way. The fellow from the parking lot was dancing up a storm. He was suddenly all balance as he gripped a girl close. These folks all knew how to dance. The plywood floor was pounding and swaying. A sign on a ceiling beam read, “No parking on the dance floor.”

Terry and I danced to the point of exhaustion. She confessed that this was her favorite place in the universe. Outside the light dimmed and the silver blue green hanging moss grew dark. We ordered some food from a food truck out in the parking lot. The lady inside got every order wrong but it didn’t matter I would have eaten anything. Mosquitoes the size of humming birds buzzed around us. When the music and dancing ended, we drove back towards our hotel getting lost on the rural roads.

Tropical Isle’s Bayou Club

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In the evening, Terry and I ventured out into the madness of Bourbon Street. I thought this place was only packed at Mardi Gras time but the craziness seems to happen every night of the week. Terry had on a nice dress and was carrying a beer in a paper cup. Some guy walked right into her and spilled her drink down the front of her dress. She screamed at him and threw the remaining beer at his back. We lowered our shoulders and stuck out our elbows whenever someone stumbled into us. Women with big butts jiggled them in open doorways inviting people in to see the live sex acts. People were tossing bead necklaces down from balconies to people who flashed some skin.

Terry knew where she wanted to go. She was looking for the one bar that played traditional Cajun music on Bourbon Street. In every bar there seemed to be live music. Cars crossing would have to crawl through the never ending crowd. We finally found the Bayou Club and were lucky enough to find a table right up front. The band, T’ Canaille, was doing its sound check. The accordion player went up to the bar and had several shots to warm up. I sketched quickly through the first set. People in the audience were invited to stand in front of the band and play the washboard with spoons. Unfortunately people who went up were either drunk or they had no sense of rhythm.

When the second set started, Terry turned to me and said, “Lets dance.” We danced on the tiny dance floor with several other couples until we were exhausted. Back on the street, I felt practiced now as we navigated the throngs. It was easier to dance through the insanity than to fight our way through the crowd.

The French Quarter

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From our hotel in the Business District, Terry and I walked to the French Quarter in New Orleans. As soon as we crossed Canal Street we were shuttled back in time. Ornate wrought iron balconies over hung the street. The buildings were old with ancient histories. We walked past antiques shops and Terry started to feel the itch. She wanted to shop. We walked into an old shop that sold vintage muskets and pistols as well as rare coins. We had been here many years ago and Terry had bought an old Spanish piece of eight silver coin from the Atocha. She had to look at the treasure again. She asked a dealer to open a display case.

I heard music down the block. Musicians were performing in the street. Terry and I agreed that I could get a sketch while she shopped. I found a spot in the shade and sat down leaning back against a drainage pipe running down an old brownstone. The sidewalks were made from large slabs of slate. Slowly a large crowd formed listening to the music. They blocked my view so I looked up around them drawing the architecture. A woman walking in front of me collapsed in slow motion as a slate slab shifted under her feet. Her husband offered her his hand to help get her up. She refused but kept struggling to get her weight up. He grabbed her under her arm pit and pulled. She was fine, I kept sketching.

The trumpet player was thin and emaciated. He thrust his hips forward when he played arching his back as he belted out the notes. When the set was over, he came up to me to see what I was up to. He let me know that they would be playing later that evening a block away on Bourbon Street. He asked me how they sounded, and I thought they sounded great. I was still throwing down watercolor washes as the musicians packed up their instruments and left.

Spit and a Polish

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After the wedding I wandered around Jackson Square. I had an hour to kill before the reception began. Artists were set up all around the square selling their work. A caricature artist waited for his next victim. I was intrigued by one artist who cut canvas into strips and burnt the edges with a blow torch. Some sort of tar or varnish was splashed on. The strips were then woven in and around the canvas stretcher. The work felt aged, ancient. There were plenty of depictions of New Orleans architecture and depictions of musicians playing. One artist drew the same musician over and over again, never deviating in pose or gesture.

I leaned against a pillar wondering which vendor I should sketch. A gentleman in a ball cap and blue jeans approached me. “You’re looking sharp.” he said. “But your shoes need a shine. I do good work.” I looked down at my black leather loafers. They were well worn and there were several spots of blue paint that must have gotten there when I worked on the Sonesta mural. I had to agree with him. I needed a shine. “Six dollars.” he quoted. I sat down and put my foot up on the wooden box. He began by scraping off the drips of paint then applied the boot polish. “Clench yo toes.” he said. I curled up my toes creating a tight bridge across the top of the shoe. “White boy knows how to take orders.” he joked. A black liquid shine was applied all along the sole of the shoe. He spit on the leather and rubbed it in.

A woman dropped off several pairs of shoes and her son stayed to have his shoes shined. I knew I didn’t have much time but I sketched the process. Behind the shoe shine was a hot dog vendor and a psychic. I was tempted by the thought of a hot dog but I was going to a reception where there would be plenty of food. I saw the groomsmen and bridesmaids walk by and I followed them. Guests met in a hotel lobby where a small Dixieland band was playing. A woman holding a white parasol grinned as she danced. Everyone was given blue and gold bead necklaces. A police motorcycle pulled up outside the hotel. The band marched out into the street and soon we were all marching down Bourbon Street. I threw beads to some children. People shouted for beads from balconies.

The reception was amazing with people dancing as it grew dark. Everyone did a modified line dance to “Wobble Baby!” When it came time to wobble we all leaned back and shook our hips skyward, followed by a clap and change in direction. A photo booth was set up for couples to shoot silly photos for the wedding album. Terry and I staged a series of shots where she punched my face in slow motion. The grooms cake looked like a pot of crayfish. Andrew Ranck, the groom got choked up as he thanked everyone for coming. “It has been a long hard road getting to this point.” He turned to his new bride, Shannon. “Can she be any more beautiful?” The father was in tears as he danced with the bride. Satchmo sang, “What a Wonderful World.”

Day of the Dead

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The day of the dead is a 3000 year old celebration that takes place in Mexico on November first and second. Grace Kurth offered a creative workshop in the design and art theory room at Full Sail. Participants were invited to bring…
1. A box: cigar, wine, wooden crate or any wooden or cardboard box.
2. A photograph of a loved one you wish to honor. It could be a family member, friend, special person, or a pet.
3. Mementos: tokens representative of their favorite, hobbies, music, teams, foods, movies, special trinkets, labels of their favorite drinks,
4. Glitter, beads, fabrics, buttons, any type of embellishment you might want to add.
5. Paints, markers, color pencils to paint the skulls. Glues and any hardware you might need.
6. Optional items: candles, marigolds, sunflowers, empty bottle, shawl, cloth, or other items.
I brought my usual bag of art supplies and my curiosity.

The day of the dead is not a dark macabre celebration. In Mexican culture death is considered a transitional phase not horrific or scary. It intends to celebrate the people who came before us. La Katrina born in 1913 drew cartoons which showed skeletons adorned in the trappings of wealth. The image showed that no matter how wealthy you are you will go through the phase of death. Dandy skeletons both male and female are popular images.

Grace took a trip to Janitzio, a small island where the day of the dead is celebrated. As evening fell a long line of people with candles walked up to the highest point on the island. There they built alters called ofrenda which celebrated the life of a loved one. Marigolds which represent regeneration were garlanded and used everywhere as decorations. Skulls of sugar called Calacas were ornately decorated to remind us that life is a delicious sweet indulgence. “Just when the caterpillar thought it was over, it became a butterfly.” Grace quoted.

Tom Buzbee brought in many photos and documents to commemorate his Papa. His father was a diplomat with a long square beard. Bananas were perched on the center rise of the ofrenda. Tom explained that when his father was sick in his final days he took to hoarding fruit in his room. Whenever he left the room there would be a scavenger hunt to find the hidden fruit. A small raisin was found years later that was once an apple. The smell of ripe bananas brought back vivid memories. Two of his daughters helped him make the altar. Libby was hot gluing long white whiskers onto the jaw of a skeleton, a stunning tribute to her grandfather’s whiskers. Avaryl had exotic skeletal tattoos on her chest and arms, a living celebration in the day of the dead tradition. She was busy decorating tiny skulls in bright colors. The room buzzed with creativity and stories of lives worth honoring.

New Orleans Wedding

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On October 22nd, Shannon Marie OBrien and Andrew Julian Ranck were married in the Saint Louis Cathedral in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Terry and I arrived a bit early so I could start sketching the church interior before the service started. Terry was nervous that I would be asked to move since family usually is in the first two rows. Stubbornly I stood my ground since I knew my view could not be obstructed by someone sitting in front of me.

A lone trumpet player stood in the balcony and his notes echoed joy. The Trumpet Voluntary filled the cathedral and everyone stood and turned to watch the bride walk down the isle. The flower girl and ring bearer followed her. They were just toddlers and there were murmurs of adoring laughter. Andrew beamed as he watched Shannon approach. All the young female attendants filled the row in front of me.

It was a very traditional Catholic wedding with prayers and New Testament readings. Vows were exchanged and the rings blessed. High above, statues of Faith, Hope and Love looked down on the young couple. Saint Peter stood holding a key with his arm reaching out. Saint Paul stood on the right holding his sword. The ceiling was a swirl of activity as the apostles surrounded Jesus who radiated beams of light. As the couple signed their marriage license at a separate altar, Ave Maria wafted up echoing off the vaulted ceiling. The music made the moment truly feel divine. There was one final blessing and then Ode to Joy played as a recessional.

Before I knew it, I was alone again in an empty Cathedral. Marriages seem like such fast paced ceremonies when you are trying to sketch them. This flurry of activity would lead to a lifetime commitment.

A familiar face stood before me admiring the Cathedral’s architecture. It was Kevin Deters who worked at Disney Feature Animation in Florida at the same time I did. Kevin is now working for Disney in LA and he has directed several shorts one being “Prep & Landing” for the Company. He let me know they are working on another Prep & Landing short now. What a wild, small world. I gave him my card and explained the blog and the work I do to pass along the animation tradition at Full Sail. Kevin let me know that he has now worked longer in the LA studio than he did in Florida. I admire what he has accomplished. I wonder if he came to New Orleans when Disney premiered “The Hunchback of Notre Dame.” That was an amazing party.

The priest walked up to me as I sat alone finishing my sketch. I was sure I was about to get kicked out. On the contrary, he loved the sketch and joked with me that usually the pencil snaps if someone tries to sketch him. There was another wedding happening in half an hour and he encouraged me to go right on sketching. I was getting close to finishing however, and I decided to leave as the church was emptied for the next wedding

Zombie Apocalypse

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Lindsay arrived at her job as a waitress at Austin’s Coffee. She had been held up in traffic crawling down I-4 and her forehead was pounding with a migraine. Running late, she ran to the bathroom and quickly changed into her uniform. She slipped on her black blouse with its snappy white collar then worked the aqua crinoline skirt up over her hips. She had recently washed a coffee stain out of her white frilly apron. She checked herself in the mirror and brushed a bleached blonde curl away from her face.

No one paid attention to the local news playing in the kitchen. A perky newscaster announced, “Patient zero went viral at 6 p.m.” Lindsay clicked it off and turned the Radio Dial until she found Johnny Cash. Austin’s was packed. Young hipsters sat in booths mesmerized by their computer screens. She took an order for some ice cold coffees not b0thering to look up from her pad. Then out of the corner of her eye she saw someone enter who was different somehow. The girl wore a pair of cut up jeans and a black bra. She looked like a 60’s flower child but she was a bit rough around the edges. She limped in and stiffly sat at a round table in the front of the room. “Great.” Lindsay thought, “This one isn’t going to be a good tipper.” Lindsay approached and pulled the spiral bound note pad out of her waist. She pulled the pencil out from behind her ear, licked the lead and rested the sharp tip on the page. “Well, What’ll you have?” she said with bored contempt.

The customer had a musky dead rat smell. “Don’t hippies take showers anymore?” she thought. Lindsay tried to be polite but she raised her hand up to her nose. She suddenly realized the customer’s left cheek was missing. The teeth were clenched and exposed. Suddenly the customer lunged at Lindsay and quickly grabbed her wrist. She screamed and pulled violently back and she heard the bone in her forearm snap. She looked and saw the bone sticking out. Her shoe slipped off in the struggle. In horrific pain she continued to scream until her wind pipe was slit with a serrated knife. One customer looked up from his computer but lost interest in the struggle and returned to Facebook.

Her head dropped to the table. Blood gushed out ruining her uniform. Her eyes stared blankly forward as painful wet noises came from her open neck. A tear rolled from her terror stricken eye. The hippie zombie tried pulling strips of flesh from Lindsay’s throat using a fork. The strips of flesh just dangled, never staying on the fork, like so much stubborn spaghetti. Frustrated, she threw the utensils to the floor and sank her teeth into Lindsay’s open wound. She hunched over her prey like a lioness.

What she really wanted however was fresh and juicy brain. She smashed a plate on the table and used its sharp jagged edge to cut the curly blonde hair away from the top of her victim’s head. She peeled the scalp away from the skull and let it hang down, dripping blood on the floor. She violently smashed the skull with a plate and once she had chipped a small hole in the skull she pushed her index finger inside and starting pulling chips away like she was digging into a large hard boiled egg. She slipped both hands inside the skull gently squeezing the brain as she lifted it out in one piece. The brain made an audible slurping noise as it was yanked free. She severed the spinal cord with her teeth, then she bit deeply into the soft thought filled mess. Blood oozed all over her face dripping down between her breasts.She ate the whole thing in a few very messy wet bites.

The other customers rose from their seats. Moaning, they approached the limp body now crumpled on the floor. All their hands reached out, hungry for fresh meat. A bit of frontal lobe was lying in a pool of blood in front of Lindsay’s eyes. A customer lifted it up pinching it between his index finger and thumb with his pinkie raised. He slipped it to the back of his throat like a raw oyster. Dozens of hands searched and clawed ripping and tearing away the fresh pulsing flesh. Blood spurted and knees became soaked in the widening pool of blood.

The Sketchy Broads host a monthly sketching session at Austin’s every month. Happy Halloween.

Phantasmagoria

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It would be a fiendish, horrific tragedy if you didn’t get to see Phantasmagoria. Tonight is the final show starting at 8:30pm at the Orlando Shakespeare Theater’s, Mandell Theater. I arrived early and started blocking in my sketch before the audience arrived. I love these final moments as the actors stretch, warm up and joke to break the tension. The actors gathered in a circle and held hands. Director, John DiDonna said, “Lets build a bridge to next year. Make these final performances fiendishly dangerous. See you on the other side guys.” Brittany Wine shouted out, “Love you all!”

All the actors layed down on the floor and they were covered with black blankets. John warned, “We have a full house tonight with 98 people. Check your extremities, don’t leave anything sticking out.” A female voice boomed over the sound system, “Five minutes to house open.” Members of the cast shot back, “Thank you five.” The room grew deadly quiet and then the audience walked in to find their seats. One actor rose quietly, the blanket still covering him to strike a ringmasters theatrical pose. As the blankets were lifted off, the actors came to life in their costumes of blood red and black. The costumes designed by Jennifer Bonner were lavish and stunning. A scrim behind the actors often acted as a screen for projections of animations and titles.

Each of the acts were built around horrific folklore and poetry. Edgar Allen Poe’s “Masque of the Red Death” resulted in the whole cast dancing, celebrating and then succumbing to the pestilence of the red death. No one was spared. Phantasmagoria was a whimsical and horrific poem by Lewis Carol.

“Allow me to remark
That ghosts have just as good a right,
In every way to fear the light,
As men to fear the dark.”

I enjoyed “The Picture of Dorian Grey“. In this act a painter created a stunning portrait of Dorian Grey. When Dorian viewed the painting, he saw it morph, revealing his inner dark self. The picture took on a horrific visage because Dorian was morally bankrupt. In the end Dorian died taking on the horrible appearance in the portrait and the painting returned to its former splendor. A life sized skeletal puppet was used to portray his inner self to great effect.

Music of Eric Satie played during an elegant and beautiful aerial act. Tiny Gina Makarova performed on a suspended hoop while Mila Makarova and Dion Smith performed suspended in silks. Satie’s music expressed the melancholy inner yearning of the creative spirit and the women floated weightless in its ethereal embrace.

The most stunning puppet was the Jabberwocky from Alice in Wonderland. An actor on stilts acted as the hind legs of the creature and a long silver spine snaked down from head to tail. The head was immense being controlled by a strong puppeteer. A small army was needed to control the beast. I wish I had been fast enough to get a sketch. This show is the perfect Halloween treat.