Harry at the library

American Illustrator, Art, Barry Comer Artist, Dr. Ph. Martin's Radiant Concentrated Watercolor, Harry Potter, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, Illustration, Louisville Free Public Library, Storybook Illustration

harry 2

The Louisville Free Public Library hosted a Harry Potter party last night. Neither my friend Kathy nor myself knew about it, but were thrilled with the discovery. Even though I didn’t attend, there was plenty of time to see the exhibits and sketch the main entrance of the library. The curves, candles and discovery almost got the best of me.

It is very cool to have such a fine piece of architecture this accessible.

 

 

Dancing in the alley

Alley Flowers, American Illustrator, Art, art, artist, Australian Blue Heeler, Australian Cattledog, Badass Artist, Barry Comer, Barry Comer Artist, Dr. Ph. Martin's Radiant Concentrated Watercolor, drawing, dreams, Fall Colors, Gypsy Flowers, Handmade Paper, Illustration, Indian Handmade Paper

alleyflower

Early in the morning, flowers dance in the alleys and know the sun is coming. It is toward their end this year. They know it, I know it and my dog knows its.

As usual, we are walking with somewhat different priorities. However, Ozzy (Australian Cattle Dog) knows that I like to sketch as much as he well… whatever he does and thinks. One thing is certain, the scents are attractive to both of us.

This is my second painting in my birthday book of handmade paper. It certainly slows me down, but it yields great fortunes and merry discovery. Each shadow I see reveals its own dimension. Do you see the pages and how they reveal themselves at the bottom?

Push up

American Illustrator, Art, artist, barry comer, Cooking with Garlic and Onlon, Dr. Ph. Martin Watercolor, Dr. Ph. Martin's Radiant Concentrated Watercolor, drawing, Illustration, Push up, vegetables

bounty

Things that push up from the ground have colors unique to their region. Garlic from Georgia and onions from ‘your guess is as good as mine”. They attract me because the earth yields itself, and is willing to harvest. You need to close your eyes and taste; really taste. The flavors and textures paint themselves into the history of its birthplace.

Again, I am using Dr. Ph. Martin watercolors with satisfaction. They seem to have opened a creative crack that grows larger each time used.

Sunflower

Barry Comer, Barry Comer Artist, Dr. Ph. Martin Watercolor, Dr. Ph. Martin's Radiant Concentrated Watercolor, drawing, Illustration, line art, nature, Pen and Ink, Pen and Ink Illustration, pencil drawing, Prismacolor, Summer, Summer Heat, Sunflowers, Urban Sketch, Urban Sketching, Watercolor, Watercolors

sunflower

I have a friend who loves sunflowers and see them while walking my neighborhood with Ozzy. While his leg is in a perpetual state of lift, my eyes are always observing and wondering how to illustrate.

They are in my mind’s eye.

They are tall, don’t think they have a scent and, complicated. Next time, I will concentrate on the intricate center, the heart of the beast. I may try a gouache for a more opaque, graphic background.

… but it’s butter.

Art, Barry Comer, Barry Comer Artist, Butter Croissant, Dr. Ph. Martin Watercolor, Illustration, line art, Pen and Ink, pencil drawing, Urban Sketching

butter croissant

Yes, another croissant, but it’s butter and more colorful. It was gently discussed earlier that maybe my Dr. Ph. Martin’s were not as vibrant as they could have been. So here is my second attempt.

Plus, no coffee in this sketch, for those who dislike. Hrumph.

 

As clear as glass

Art, Dr. Ph. Martin's Radiant Concentrated Watercolor, Illustration, Watercolor, Watercolors

glasses

Dr. Ph. Martin’s watercolors are the bomb. I just haven’t figured out how to use them successfully for me – until tonight. They are strong-willed, sometimes opaque and wonky to me. However, I love them and am determined to utilize this beautiful gift.

Because of their opacity, I asked myself if glass would be the perfect challenge. How do I paint, illustrate and keep the glass clear?

Having had a good experience balancing cups recently, I decided to try water glasses from the kitchen. Good?

I’m pleased.

Painted background and sculpture

Art, artist, Barry Comer, Illustration, Sculptured Sketch, Sketch of foot and hand, Tinted Background Sketch

sculpture copy

Today, I painted an entire page in my book with a sepia watercolor wash. After letting it dry, I took to the new found texture with expressive happiness. Each line became more meaningful, with more and more depth revealing itself.

There are definitely abundant possibilities for future illustrations, especially if I move to joining digital and analog. The texture in the background now feels as if it can support an introduction of further color use with a dominant line.

 

Whine the wind for another tale

beat poetry, Cemetery, Flowers, Illustration, Lilly, line art, Pen and Ink, pencil drawing, Summer Heat, Urban Sketching

Todaysflowers

Trickling some laughs and rippling steam,
allow my hands to palm the curve,
and smell my sense and shake the salt.

Ears and waves her boiler-room shy,
trust the touch; the experience of age.
Smell your sense and shake it hard.

Dance toes on scratch-grass roads, feel
the boil, touch the lip – don’t leave me alone.

Touch the sense and push it through.
Tap dance girls all smell the same.
Goofied smiles, such nervous sounds –
skin-squealed up like boards of steel.

Whine the wind for another tale.
Just some love for Summer, just
pickled stuff.

2010 Barry Comer – Illustration 2015

Backyard sketch…

Backyard Bushes, color, drawing, Illustration, Leaves, line art, weeds

weeds

… before the mosquitos ate me alive, I took chair and sketchbook for some Saturday fun. With book in lap and dog at my side, I contoured, impressed and painted lines. Even though I am technically not painting lines, I feel that I am with strokes and different pressures. In this way, my eyes see the depths of the subject and tactile patterns.

The sketch was non-stop flurry, which makes me feel energized for the day.

America the beautiful

America, beat poetry, David Hockney, Decline, hand, Illustration, insanity, Jesus, Leon Trotsky, line art, Pen and Ink, Pen and Ink Illustration, pencil drawing, portrait, Self Portrait, selfie

today

… the beginning.

With purpled haze and showered stars, the crowds heaved toward heaven, and bared their chests, with savage eyes that screamed alarms, who played with notes and placed hypnotic words, into colors embracing their nightly rage. I dreamed this rape, when all soothed purple; in mysterious beat, that stalked our moment in time; at the edge of our enlightenment.

America! America!
God mend thine ev’ry flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law.

These apparitions danced, while the crowd drummed black, and with jungled code they conversed, lashing fiery tongues, until our black faced angels; loosened their hold. Oh worshippers, it was his vulgar-ripped hands, who captured our hopes, who demonized our little tap dancer; the Sermon Dream.

And it was replaced, our faith, our faith, our faith; with marbled bodies morbid, with murderous overtures, and hooligan priests, their despicable acts, the white barbarism. I saw these heavenly angels, who drank us drunk, les foules fâchées, je prie pour nous; poor mobs of seer poets, who lived in filthy hotels, with the distracted ghost of Madame Rachou.

Among the ancients, the artists, the Egyptians, injections of brutishness, and smoke from burning testaments, our moment reflected black to back, that found us huddled under hair, that warmed our skin with naked lightning, thrown from one hit peddlers, the movement went downtown with snickered grins and bust line pimps who fed us our chocolate dust. We ate their scraps and drank their piss, sipping to salvation, without the blood from He, who is never coming.

… the acts of violence, unspeakable joy.

The Angel birthed a disciple to wait, to sip his grace then dance below, to visit our tombs, and pray for He, whose second act, a delayed departure, flashes Broadway’s darkened corners.

The showered stars, the rancid thoughts, the hollowed chests; tracks of pity and fallen words, naked on porcelain lambs, cracked with hope that someone scratched; the King of hearts, the purpled belief, the tap dancer’s Dream.

Our faith, our faith, our faith; our bodies become the overture, the awkward rhythm, the Blood and Bread, the grace from He; who dreams of armageddon, then pleasures Himself with hymns of praise.

… the waters encroach.

Our fingers plug the desert, while waters gently pour; we lap dance grunt, panting to the written testaments; in mud, in blood, on the skinned infants who lost their chance.

We danced with a beat or three; to the rolling blankets; the humanity lost, and the gentle touched, by cold and rigid toes; crossed for the Calvary and furious charge.

The priests of marble, who prayed to Him; were found holding the lanterns, sweet trinkets, fast bullets and fresh water boogie; while the dark was lit, as a guide to His arrival. Hallowed by The name whose eyes openly screamed, who played with notes and fed the words, into colors embracing our nighttime rage.

God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

Barry Comer 2010 – Illustration 2015