Southwards

The stars alined and I took a long weekend, heading south for my niece's First Communion. And because of/in spite of being A) grounded in Chicago overnight B) flying last minute standby to Memphis and C) avoiding tornados while driving from Tennessee to Arkansas, getting there was all the sweeter.

Now my sketchbook is bursting and I'm ready to hit the ground running, full of strawberry shortcake and bonhomie.

 

And I wasn't the only one sketching this weekend. I think that kiddo's going to put me out of a job in a couple years.

Qu'est-ce que c'est?

Lunchtime sketching. Hold the ketchup.

Par Avion

I could look at these all day -- it's amazing how much art you can fit on a one inch bit of paper.

And I have to wonder what envelopes these were once affixed to and the messages they carried inside. I hope they were postage for chatty six page letters, not utility bills.

"What's the Word, Hummingbird?"

Sketchbook snippets from the past seven days. And now, upwards and onwards to the weekend at hand.

Plinkity Plinkety Plunk

I'm currently stalking Goodwill and Craigslist for a banjo, but no dice. I'll let you know if/when the happy day arrives.

Also, these abandoned London Tube posters are swell.

Looking Back

I remember once hearing someone postulate the theory that memories were inheritable. And while there's some scientific basis to that, it's not quite as romantic as being born with an innate knowledge of jousting or waking up a harpsichord prodigy.

However, when my mother was in my studio this week she commented that the above looked like her grandfather. And it made me start wondering again about the delightful connectivity of it all.

The Centipede

 

"Really, Benoît, you are so slow," complained Léonie. "My grandmother walks faster than you and she only has two legs!"

The centipede said nothing, but sighed deeply.