Why don’t airports have recliners for everyone?

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Our final leg in Australia was a long drive from Ballerat to Sydney. The large highways offer as boring a view as any highway in America. Australians however have signs warning motorists to take breaks to stay safe. In America we just stress “click it or ticket” for our safety. We decided to stay at a Sydney Airport hotel. The hotel was right next to a junk yard. I still wish I had sketched the rusty mountains of auto parts as my final view from down under.

Sydney has a very modern airport and Terry decided to go shopping before we boarded. That of course gave me time for one final sketch. When I sketch I become invisible and she wasn’t able to locate me in the waiting area. We fired texts back and forth to find each other as the plane boarded.  The woman seated right in front of me looked quite uncomfortable trying to take a nap. This is how I felt for the entire twenty hour flight back to Orlando. I just can’t sleep on planes, so I watched movies non-stop.

In Australia they drive on the wrong side of the road, water swirls down a drain backwards and the sun moves backwards across the sky. They have gun control, offer a free higher education and have an amazing health care system. Melbourne is infectiously welcoming to artists. I consider it my home away from home.

Friends gather at Barney’s Bar Bistro in Australia.

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Another of Terry’s high school friends, Pam Anderson, invited us to her home and it involved a long drive through Victoria to the town of Ararat. The home was surrounded by a gorgeous garden situated on many acres. From the back yard we could see young colts following their thoroughbred moms. The couple were both teachers and their sons had just left home to forge their own lives. One son was a civil engineer and he was making good money out west for a mining company. The mine is in the middle of nowhere so the pay tried to compensate for the isolation. Their other son had moved to New York City. Apparently this trip to America is quite common for Australian youths.

Once a week a group of friends gathers at Barney’s Bar Bistro (Ararat – Halls Gap Rd,, Pomonal, Halls Gap, Victoria) for a bite, some drinks and plenty of conversation. The building is a converted woolshed barn and is has an open layout with exposed wooden beams. We sat out back waiting for a table to open up. In the field behind the bar, kangaroos by the dozens gathered to forage as the sun set. Terry and I were ecstatic at the sight but this was a common sight for everyone else.

Having been behind the wheel of the car all day, I was itching to do a sketch and I started to sketch the second we were seated. Terry apologized for my behavior but no one seemed to mind. By the time our food arrived the sketch was done. Most of the people in the group were teachers, so I got to learn a bit about the inner politics inside the High School. The boys had their mom for one class and their dad for another, so it was almost like being home schooled. A college education is paid for by the government, so youths are highly educated and they don’t start their adult lives deep in debt. American politicians could learn a thing or two from Australia’s example.

A Lorne Australia residential sculpture garden has plenty of surprises.

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Josie Browne, a high school classmate of Terry’s told me that I had to check out the front yard of a neighbor of hers named Deborah. She gave me directions and I set off with my art supplies in hand. Her neighbor is a well known sculptor in Melbourne. When I got to her property, I was met by “Big Dik” and “Tits“, a bull and cow whose sexuality was bright red. A ram named “Baby Tart” negotiated the space between them as they faced off. A bright pink sheep was covered in plastic forks and spoons which created a rich texture to her coat. A nude blue couple stood in the background near the entrance to the home-studio. Even the trees were alive with faces and covered in giant lady bugs.Unfortunately Josie couldn’t recall Deborah’s last name. My online research lead me to a Deborah Halpern, but her work has much more of a Picassoesque feel to it. My online search for “Big Dik” and “Tits” didn’t result in any bovine sculptures.

Josie told me of the time she visited the sculptor for tea. She was a bit terrified at first to see the inside of the sculptor’s studio. They became immediate friends and keep in touch. Awkwardly, I planted myself in the corner of Deborah’s front yard to sketch. If she was home, I would just have to hope that she wouldn’t mind me sketching her quirky work. Lorne Australia has a Sculpture Biennal where sculptors place their work along the long stretch of beach.  There were exciting and unexpected arts scenes like this throughout Australia.

Getting over the hump of a long flight.

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Terry and I have been traveling quite a bit this year. Back in June and July we flew to the Rockies in Canada and in October we disappeared for a month to go to Australia. Flying to the opposite side of the world is exciting until you are half way into the flight. Terry takes some medication right before take off that cuts the edge off of her fear of flying. Not only can she relax, but she can pass out on a dime. While we were waiting on the runway to take off, she got annoyed at the delay. She then fell asleep and several hours later she woke up and called over a stewardess. She asked the stewardess why we hadn’t taken off yet. The stewardess calmly explained that we WERE in the air and had been for quite some time.

I can never fall asleep when flying. This was a real curse of the flight to Australia. I watched all the animated films on the entertainment list. I believe John Hurst, a former Disney colleague got an award for his storyboard work in the opening sequence of Rio 2. It is a pretty impressive sequence with Parrots performing a complex Busby Berkeley Song and flight routine. I just saw a live action film I did early storyboards for. It was exciting to see compositional ideas incorporated in the final film. Some of the cast had changed but the action was true to what I remember.

Sketchbooks, clothes and my carry on were all used in an attempt to create a comfortable sleeping position. The delicate house of cards would always collapse and I would nod awake.

Trying to escape from the Sydney Holiday Inn.

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We left for Australia on October 14th and arrived on the morning of October 16th. With all the time zone changes and the date line, we managed to loose a whole day while in the air. Since I couldn’t sleep a wink, it felt like I had been awake for two whole days. We arrived in Sydney exhausted and spent. There was a long line, or as Aussies refer to it, a quay for the taxis. Since the country is on the opposite side of the world, everyone drove on the wrong side of the road. I flushed a toilet in the airport as well to see if the water drained down in the opposite direction. It did. I verified this by texting a friend and asking which way the draining tornado twisted in Orlando.

Most of the foliage is similar to tropical plants in Orlando. It was Fall in Orlando but Spring in Australia. Flowers bloomed everywhere but there were plenty of billboards to break up the beauty. Sydney has plenty of old historical buildings. I loved the old, well established neighborhoods we passed as we drove into the city proper. Downtown Sydney is modern, with new skyscrapers rising up everywhere. The newer buildings seem to defy gravity being slender slivers of glass and metal.

The Sydney Holiday Inn (55 George Street Sydney, 
2000
Australia) is located right near the famous Sydney bridge and from the roof of the hotel it is possible to see the opera house. Terry and I just needed to rest and unfortunately the hotel didn’t have a room ready for us. The lobby had lime green 6O’s styled couches. I tried to nap on the couch but the urge to sketch took over. Terry got annoyed and started looking for other hotels downtown that might have a vacancy. She worked her iPhone diligently calling one hotel after another. The clerk behind the desk noticed her making the calls and soon enough we were given room keys. When we got in the room, I dropped my suitcase, pulled back the sheets and fell asleep in seconds. The sights would just have to wait.

Leaving on a jet plane.

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On October 14th, Terry and I left for a month long trip to Australia. Terry was an exchange student for her senior year in high school and her Lauriston Australia class mates were holding their snurfurtieth reunion. I went along for the ride. Australia is about as far away from Florida as you can get. Getting there is an all day affair involving a stop over in Los Angeles California. My one view of LA on this trip was the Scoreboard bar in the airport. Sports events played on the ten or so TV screens above the bar as tired travelers drank in an attempt to relax.

I wish I could sleep in flight. I tried every possible way to rest my head against the bulk head or on a pile of clothes. My neck hurts, just thinking about that flight. I keep thinking that a large beach ball would be the perfect way to wedge myself into a rest full position.  Terry seemed to slumber through most of the flight thanks to the pills she popped right before take off. I spent most of my idle time watching movies on the seat back screen in front of me. It was a 24 hour entertainment marathon. There even was a camera mounted on the tail of the plane, so you could watch the flight as if it was a video game. That camera view is nerve wracking however if you watch as the plane lands. I’ve used quite a few flight simulators and I began to question the pilots flight pattern on the approach into LA. He weaved left and then right. I was so thankful that he did finally manage to find the runway.

Tea, Milk and Honey

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I’ve long been an admirer of Mark Taro Holmes‘ watercolors, so the first workshop I took was his, Tea, Milk and Honey Watercolor Workshop. The fifteen or so students hiked to the Ruins de San Francisco. The first order of business was to find a shady spot from which to paint the ruins. We couldn’t go inside the structure since it was unsafe. We all sat on some stone steps across the street from the building. Marc wanted us to all follow along as he went through the steps, doing a study of a stone window on the ruins. I admired his set up which consisted of a camera tripod on which he mounted a flat board and an arm which held his large palette.

Rather than follow along, I watched intently as he mixed colors and applied washes. The first step, pour the tea, consisted of light washes of local color. That first step had to dry before the second step, a touch of milk, which involved only adding semi-opaque paint to the shadow shapes. The third pass, sweeten with honey, involved thick gel-like paint added to emphasize contact shadows. A woman walked past the ruins with a basket of bananas balanced on her head and a mule pulled a wagon laden with a whole family. As we all worked, a lively basketball game began on the court behind us. Sometimes the ball would go out of bounds, bouncing into an artist who would then toss it back.

I lost interest in the ruins and turned around to sketch the animated game. There was plenty of arguing, all in Spanish of course. Players became aware that I was sketching them and they stopped on occasion to see my progress. One little boy obviously wanted to be in the sketch and I pointed to the player shooting the basketball. It was a little white lie, but it made him happy. A little girl would pick up my brush or pencil anytime I dropped it. She was very attentive.

After we were all done, we assembled on the steps for a group photo. The workshop forced me away from using line to define shapes. For me a light bulb turned on as the sketch became more about painting.

Puerta del Conde

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For the afternoon, Capturing the Event Workshop, I invited students to sketch on the city block leading to Puerta del Conde or inside the Puerta. I leaned against a pole and worked on the view down the street to the fort. The street bustled with merchants selling everything from sun glasses to art. The tropically themed art all looked the same as if it was pumped out of a factory. One of the sketchers can be seen working in the lower right hand corner of my sketch. I knew that two other sketchers were seated on the benches at the next light post down the road. The remaining sketchers went inside Puerte del Conde to sketch.

Residents of Santo Domingo were curious and inquisitive. Once one person stopped to look over my shoulder, there would soon be a crowd. Questions would be fired my way, but all I could do is shrug and say “No Espanole.” In a way, not knowing the language was a major advantage in that I didn’t have to interrupt the sketch to answer questions. I didn’t feel rude working away as they talked amongst themselves.

As I was finishing up my sketch, the students came as a group to let me know that the monument had been shut down before they finished sketching. I looked down the street and sure enough, an iron gate blocked the arched entry. I gathered up the remaining sketchers and we all put our sketchbooks on the street to compare notes. It was a strong afternoon’s work. What a delight to mentor such talented sketchers. A musician started playing guitar behind me and a coconut merchant hacked open coconuts with a machete. The events were there to be found but my sketch was done and I was hungry for dinner.

Capturing the Event

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I was teaching two workshops on the second day of the Urban Sketching Symposium in Santo Domingo. I had seven students for the morning class and we all met at the Centro Cultural de Espana. A sheet of letter sized paper with a bold letter B was taped to the wall. So we could find one another.

My  morning workshop, Capturing the Event, was less about technique and  more about how to make Urban Sketching a daily habit. I’m convinced that artists have a roll in making others aware of the communities in which they live. My most important lesson was that you always have to finish the sketch, no matter what happens. I offered several examples of incidents in which people tried to interrupt the sketch but I still managed to get the sketch done. We walked along the water front and through the stoned streets of the historic city towards the workshop site.

The Workshop took place in Parque Independencia which is a fortification at the end of El Conde Street. There was a monument inside with three large sculptures reminiscent of the Lincoln Memorial in DC. It was a hot day so I advised everyone to find shade. Barbara Boulter, (BJ) and I were drawn to the stoic guard at the entrance. BJ knew some Spanish so she asked if it was OK for her to borrow a chair. I had my own chair so I sat opposite her in the shade of the large stone arch facing the guard. I noticed two officers in camouflaged military fatigues arguing in the background. Then one of them approached me and started gesturing and speaking quickly in Spanish. I didn’t understand a word, so I kept sketching. Through his hand gestures, I became vaguely aware that they must have had a problem with my chair. I then stood and continued to sketch. The senior officer seemed to be loosing patience with me. Finally one of my students, Natali Ovalles, a native of Santo Domingo, came over and translated.

Apparently there was some issue with my being visible from the street outside the fort. It was perceived as a breach of security. BJ was seated in a small alcove which hid her from passers by. With Natali translating, I negotiated for a spot from which I could draw. I sat diagonal to BJ and sketched the stoic guard from behind. The armed guard who had made me move stood behind me the whole time and watched every line that went on the page. A cannon was aimed out over the historic city. The bottom line is that I got the sketch done. Our group assembled near some park benches and compared notes. Kalina Wilson asked pointed questions that helped me further outline my thoughts as I execute each sketch. Minus the run in with armed guards, it was a fun first class. In this case, capturing the event, became the main event.

Urban Sketching Symposium Day 1

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Upon landing in Santo Domingo I had to get a $10 Tourist card and then navigate through customs. Orling “Arty” Dominguez had arranged for a ride to the hotel which was a blessing since I don’t know a lick of Spanish. This was the first time I’ve ever hoped to find someone holding a sign with my name on it. There was quite a crowd lining the entry to the airport. After much hunting and a quick call to Orling, I found a young woman with a sign that said, “Thor.”

The road from the airport to the hotel snaked along the black lava rock coastline.  There were occasional water blow holes.  The cinder block roadside shacks and bodegas reminded me of Panama. The local driver wasn’t that familiar with the one way roads throughout the historic district, so we got quite a tour as he drove a Nautilus shell pattern towards the hotel. Within an hour of getting settled in the air conditioned hotel room, I had to find my way to Centro Cultural de España for an instructors meeting.

There was a swag bag full of donated sketchbooks from Strathmore, Canson and Stillman & Birn. A map showing where each of the workshops would be held, was a major help. People would meet at the Centro Cultural and then hike out to the workshop locations.

After the meeting, Lapin pulled me aside and asked if he could draw me. I was surprised with how close he wanted to sit as he sketched. We sketched each other and I was surprised that he finished before me. Getting to watch him work was a major thrill. Later that evening there was a Portrait Party, Ice-breaker at Quintana Bar, (C/ Atarazana #13, Zona Colonial, In front of Plaza Espana.) We all sat in an outdoor courtyard, adding more chairs and tables as artists arrived. The waitress did a good job with the first round of drinks, but soon she couldn’t keep up with the demand. About one hundred artists were signed up for the Symposium and I swear they all tried to squeeze into that small courtyard. It was incredibly exciting to be around artists whose work I have admired for so long.