I miss paris

American Illustrator, Art, artist, Bars, Boulevard Saint-Germain, Cafe, Cafe Sketches, cafe sketching, cafe workers, confit du canard, David Hockney, Dessert, Dinner, Dr. Ph. Martin's Radiant Concentrated Watercolor, drawing, French, Paris Cafes

paris copy

A single flower illuminates a confit du canard, with a wine glass appropriately sized. Smells and touch; many textures. I miss speaking a language whose melody is sung in alley cafes.

Parts are home in memory. Parts are waiting for new eyes and newer touch.

Mr. Badass

American Illustrator, artist, Badass Artist, color, drawing, Pen and Ink, pencil drawing, Tommy Kane

Tommy

Introducing none other than Mr. Kane; Tommy Kane.

He is an extraordinary illustrator and teacher (Sketchbook Skool http://www.sketchbookskool.com) and travels everywhere to sketch.

I love this guy. He’s rough and tumble, but has a very sweet soft spot.

http://tommykane.blogspot.com

I totally recommend you buy his book (http://www.bookdepository.com/Excuse-Draw-Tommy-Kane/9780956873835)

For ozzy

Australian Blue Heeler, Australian Cattledog, dog, Love, Pet Dog

Ozzy copy

Sweet Dreams

We climb to the stars baby –

the stars’ ladder.

We are those stars of charts

and meanderings through

the crystal skies,

the jet-plane paths and

blue oxygen.

How far I climb is up to me,

but all I see in front are

paths and forks,

with shiny points –

pinned points.

Behind is my death of things

that memory won’t serve,

that flamed out until

sterling snaps and rustles –

left to burn.

Dearest, the imaginarium calls wild.

Do you hear?

It is sharp and planed,

existence defined by us  –

the skaters who climb our

stars and our ladders, reaching

longitudes, more or less

defined by us.

We draw our breaths

and heave our chests.

Do we breathe?

Do we blow?

We snap our fingers

like little flickers.

Beat of our dreams, sweet thoughts –

dearest hopes.

A warm day at the Mellwood

Chairs, Deck chairs, Food, Hipster, Mellowed Arts Center, outdoor patio furniture, Urban Sketch, Urban Sketcher, Urban Sketchers, Urban Sketching, Urbanfolk

mellwood

I spent a very warm afternoon at the Mellwood Arts Center sketching. (http://mellwoodartcenter.com/wordpress/).

“Originally the Fischer Meat Packing Company, the Mellwood Arts and Entertainment Center has been renovated into a 360,000 square foot home to over 200 artist studios, specialty stores, galleries, teaching studios, office spaces, rehearsal spaces for theater groups, dancers and more. MAEC has been host to many exciting Art Fairs, Film Festivals, Music Concerts and numerous other creative events.”

I am really happy the days of screaming animals is long gone.

My candy girl

1960s, Addiction, Adoption, color, Flowers, Iris

iris

Green mint breath,
with a predator’s thirst,
her hot steamed plunder,
spanked to affection;
some candy man love.

Her tom-tom palms,
such smooth pony thighs;
candy requires perfection,
ride, boy ride.

The monkey house screams,
call it a wild girl whisper,
her hot scripted words;
I believe in love.

Candy riders, where’s this going?

Going to slaughter,
touching her thighs;
riding the animal slide.

My candy girl,
little steamed fluffer,
she sweats warm venom;
I feel her love.

You’re pretty slow, if you still don’t know.

It’s called taste of the savage,
for ponys and monkeys,
a sweet attraction;
for candy boy love.

She was hired to please,
to guard, above the knee.

You got it now.

It was ‘62 and I was hot.

2010 Barry Comer – Illustration 2015

Bongo boy

Art, beat poetry, drawing, Self Portrait, selfie, Selfies

Bongo Boy

Nasty boy, nasty beat,

bongo boy.

He fingers skins and

flicks her hide,

bongo boy.

He mean,

but he not so stiff.

Tickles when

he giggles to

her beat.

Fewer lines calling home

12-step, 1960s, Addiction, beat poetry, Cigarettes, Communism, Expressionism, Illustration, line art, Poetry, portrait, selfie, Street

me

Yup, fewer lines seems to be my calling at the moment. I’ll go with it until the “call of the line” brings me home.

There does seem to be a little “street” in me.

Everyone wore glasses but the redhead

Art, beat poetry, Cafe Sketches, Chairs, Coffee, Coffee Bar, Coffee Shop, Coffee Shop Sketching, Hipster Bar, IPhone, line art, Redhead, Sketchbook, Sketchbook Skool, Urban Sketch, Urban Sketching

Cafe sketching is fun and instructive. If you can’t get the gesture, you can’t get the feel. Everyone moves like clockwork and nothing stays the same.

Having sketched heads, hands, legs and faces, I fill in the blanks from memory.

Redhead copy

Pomme frites and dipping sauce

Cafe Classico http://www.caffe-classico.com, Coffee Bar, Love of the Line, Sketchbook Skool, Urban Sketcher, Urban Sketching, Watercolor

Pomme Frites

Momentum is a beautiful thing, along with energy, the time to commit and a delicious subject. I normally drink a cup of coffee sans food, when sketching. The possibility of a mess or worse, looms over every stroke. Only on Saturdays do I feel safe to combine the two.

Food is probably one of the most difficult subjects to paint. Everyone knows what it looks like, tastes and texture. One misstep and the critics come out for blood. Look at food photography and know, that hours and money go in to the perfectly composed image. With my sketches, I know the only person I need to satisfy is myself. However, I have to prove it each and every time. No fudging will ever replace my vision and taste buds.

Along with a sense of reality, I also must contribute my line and composition. If I fail in either department, it is an interrupted triumph; failure of my sketch to launch.