The Pepper Imp’s Lesson

The following article will be printed in the Color Pencil Society of America's (CPSA) biannual publication called To the Point this spring. I know that I revealed several levels of nerdiness with that sentence, but I am ecstatic that they are going to print it. I don't get paid, but seeing my words and art in a magazine will be reward enough. I know that most of the article is for the target audience, but I was so excited that I had to share it anyway.

I have always had this dim inkling that there was an aged argument against using photos as a basis for art, but, since I had no intention of being a professional artist, I ignored all the anti-picture “rules”. I happily used photos as reference for my art and modifying them as I needed. Since my topics tended to be fantastical in nature, I never worried about violating a copyright law. I like to draw dragons and fairies and seeing as no one has been able photograph them (despite numerous offered rewards), I was forced to rely on my imagination. In bliss, I happily scribbled along with my reference photo system. Then I joined CPSA and saw the amazing art others were creating. Gulp! Suddenly a new horizon had opened before me, but I feared to stray from my formula. Until last spring when I attended a mini demo at a chapter meeting and along came Nicole Caulfield with a photo of a pepper.

“Uggh!” I thought, “Who would want to draw a pepper?! It’s so boring.”

I already knew how to draw a pepper, but I reminded myself the demo was about the pastel board not the pepper. I consoled myself with the thought that I could add a “Pepper Imp” scaling the pepper later and so, bent to the task. Shortly, I learned I did not, after all, know how to draw this pepper. I became completely engrossed in the highlights in the picture and the attached shadow and even the little light ring on the pepper created by the flash. Oh, it was a heaven of technical exercise! When it was done, I had an exact replica of the picture. It looked like I could pick up the pepper and eat it. Friends could not believe it was color pencil (and we have all heard that before).

So I took it home and propped it up on my desk to admire it. I did that! All the while, I was mentally sketching my Pepper Imp. Then it occurred to me that because I had followed the picture exactly, I would never be able to draw a Pepper Imp out of my head to match the realism of the pepper. The shadows would be wrong and the highlights would be cartoonish. Everyone would know. Despair… Downers never travel alone, of course, and about this time I received negative reviews of my art to contend with. I had recently posted on line and had received some early reviews from one person, favorable in some instances, negative in others, but not constructive. (I consoled myself later with the knowledge he had “critiqued” almost everyone’s art on this very large website and was reaping the rewards of such an endeavor. I won’t say anything about his skill because … umm…something about being nice.) Somewhere deep in a bottle of wine, the pepper imp problem and one of his comments melded into a coherent thought. The critic had said I was better at drawing objects than animals (I am paraphrasing here, because I deleted the comments after they angered my father…good old Dad). I still maintain that my mythical creatures were just as well drawn, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that I had used pictures as a basis for my scenery, while my mythical creatures were entirely imagined. The critic picked up on a subtle difference, though poorly articulated. It was the same problem stalling my proposed pepper imp. I eventually gave up on my pepper imp and put another pepper behind the first one (working from another picture and equally fun.)

About the time I identified this area for improvement, there were several articles and conversations marinating in my brain on the use of photos. Old school artists reminisced about the days when the use of photos was shameful and artist would hide or destroy originals. Then there was controversy on copyright issues. I started to look on photos as bad things, concerned that working from a photo would reduce me to a glorified camera. I did a few more pieces without photos, then I took a picture of my dog swimming (well call it swimming if you must, because it was so funny the people on the beach were dying with laughter). It was a great photo and I only wished the tennis ball had been in front of him instead of behind. Then I thought…I could draw this with the tennis ball where I wanted it. So I did and it was just as much fun as last time I worked from a photo and it turned out fantastic. But it would be the last time from a photo, I told myself.

Fortunately, I have an extremely short memory. I took a wonderful picture of water lilies and I love it so much, I just want to live inside the picture. I had to draw it. This time, I am not using it as a mere model for a sketch and changing it to suit some other theme, but am drawing it color for color and highlight for highlight. I am learning so much! (I should say that I have taken a total of two college art classes and one of those was independent study, so my background is pretty much self-taught.) Previously if I wanted to draw a leaf, I would probably use four colors: red and 3 shades of a similar green. Now as I try to match the colors, I am using about 10 different colors for each little flower petal. Without the picture, I would have just picked a premade color and moved on, but now am creating colors. Also, I am learning to see color with my eye and not my brain. Leaves aren’t always green! I am including completely random highlights with no idea of their origin. For this project, I have taken my cherished rules of a specific light source, a complimentary color and no black pencil and thrown them out the window.

And I am so engrossed in the project that I am pining for it as I write this essay. At the same time, I am afraid I won’t capture the realism and it will instead look silly, but I also realize fear has been holding me back in previous works. Fear of weird highlights and how stupid they will look because no one will be able to explain them. Fear of not using the color compliment because it will look cartoonish. I have had to lock all these fears in a trunk and hide the trunk behind the vacuum (shudder) where I will never find it. Beginning today, I will revel in the joy of being a glorified camera, because it is my own picture after all. I will learn from copying pictures, in the same way actual, real live art students learn by copying a master. And someday, while walking woods, I will see that elusive dragon and be able to snap a picture…or not because dragons are wicked fast. Sigh… but I hope, by doing this exercise of copying my own photos, I will improve my artist’s eye. When I start drawing dragons and fairies again, the result will be somewhere in the middle, realistic but not real. So to all those artists on the fence about pictures, I say go for it (just don’t violate copyright laws). I say don’t listen to anyone who says not to do something because it is not traditional fine art. If I had followed that kind of advice, I would have put my pencils down long ago and would now be a pretty lousy painter.

Patronage

Every day as I watch the depressing events in the news, I can’t help but feeling a little angry. Every other story seems to be pointing out the greed of the corporate fat cats, huge bonuses, corporate retreats in Las Vegas, and private jets. Maybe this is just a media slant, but how can I know. Meanwhile businesses are closing and people are losing their jobs. This however is only the backdrop for my concerns. A magazine called Realms of Fantasy is closing and along with many others. I do not regularly read Realms of Fantasy, but I was happy knowing it was out there and alive and well. As these magazines close because of a decrease in sales, it means that there are fewer venues for writers to publish their works.

Now it has been a long held that the arts do not receive enough support. I often wonder who is supposed to provide this support. I don’t necessarily think that the government should provide this support except at schools. So, who should support the arts? I like to look backward for some answers. Artists used to have patrons in old Europe. The extremely wealthy often supported artists and commissioned works. They also supported musicians. If we return to our time, the extremely wealthy comparable to the European aristocracy are rock stars and actors. Here we stumble into another cesspool of excess and—dare I say it—hedonism. Just watch shows like “The fabulous life of…” and it will almost make you sick with disgust at their spending. In addition to the profits they make from their acting skills, they are now adding to that by becoming “moguls” and branding everything they possibly can. They ask for more and more money from the little people; watch my movie, listen to my music, bye the product that I say are cool. So we have two branches of art: poor artists and writers and wealthy actors and rockstars. Of course there are more people that fit into these categories, but very general will do for this essay.

Since there is such a disparity between these two groups, it almost seems as if support of the arts should come from the arts. Take the magazine Realms of Fantasy. It has been supporting writers as they begin their careers, develop their voice and become the writer that will pen a fantastic novel. Many times these novels will be made into movies, such as the Golden Compass, Twilight, and Tarzan. If one Hollywood megastar who owes their career or even a portion of their wealth to a fantastical plotline were to become a patron of this magazine, it would not have to close. But I guess they have better things to do with their money like start an namebrand empire or buy a Lamborghini. I don’t want to come off as bitter about their spending because I am not. There is a part of me that enjoys that such a lifestyle is possible in the same way that I like knowing there are still tribes in South America who have no knowledge of the industrial world. The ridiculous wealth and spending keep an element of wonder in the world. On the other hand, it makes me sad to see that these uber wealthy are so focused on increasing and enjoying their wealth that they cannot support the roots of their craft, such as Realms of Fantasy. It would take one patron to keep the magazine alive. I just feel that it is time to revive the tradition of adopting artists and becoming their patron. I think that the worthy in our society should be supported by the undeservedly wealthy.

Relatedly, I think that it is time we had a shift our business world away from the “all about me” attitude to more humanitarian goals. What happened to the days where people would start a business to give their neighbors jobs? What happened to the altruistic nature of our country? I feel that if we are to change the direction of our country’s economics, it will have to come from the ground up. Everyone will have to change their attitude from “What can I get?” to “What can I do?”

In the words of Rumi, “You are searching the world for treasures but the real treasure is yourself. If you are tempted by bread, you will find only bread. What you seek for you become.”

What is it that our country is seeking?

Milk

The following is a short story that I am going to expand. I would love to hear your comments before I make the attempt. Thanks!!!
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Jenna stumbled eagerly into the kitchen, but her hope died as she saw the morning sun glinting off the translucent, white liquid puddled on the tile floor around the rocking glass. He was still angry. She watched its amoeboid like progress in the tan grout and the strange, creeping edge that was just a little blue. Every day for a week now… She flung the tear away angrily, trying not to remember. Each morning, in that confusing place between sleeping and waking, she thought it was a bad dream… until she saw the evidence on the floor. She tried not to think about how it began, but it felt like she had to remember the whole story from the beginning.
___

Long before she met him, she had loved the sun and would sit for hours on end in the bright patches of light, just staring at the sparkling dust motes. She would try and touch them, moving slowly so she wouldn’t cause even the slightest breeze. They always remained just out of touch. Until the day she brought a glass of milk with her. Usually she only had milk with her cereal, but the gallon was about to expire. She watched the sunlight shine through the milk, projecting unexpected colors, and she forgot all about the sparkling dust motes. That is, until they converged above the milk in a swirling sparkle. She almost imagined there was a figure in the swirls, delicately sipping the milk. It was another month of sunshine and crispy milk before she was sure, but a form was there. Then he showed himself, a beautiful translucent fairy with skin the color of milk. While he sipped the milk, he told her stories of the ages and of Queen Mab and of black horses with glowing eyes. He was enchanting and she was enchanted. She ceased going out on the weekends, spending more time with him instead. Her friends stopped calling and making plans. She lost that fire that distinguished her at work and she lost her job. If it hadn’t been for the trust fund, she would have been in serious trouble. Yet, she was happy in the sun with her fairy and nothing else mattered.

One day as she was wishing aloud that she could be an immortal fairy and be with him forever, he told her there was a way. At first, he wouldn’t say more. When he finally explained, she balked. There was no way. She couldn’t tear the heart out of her family like that. She couldn’t do it, she told him. After that, he didn’t join her in the sunlight anymore. The crisp milk sat untouched until it got sour. She left a glass of milk on the counter every night before she went to bed, hoping. She wiped up the puddle every morning.
___

She had just pulled a paper towel off the roll to sop up the milk, when she heard the shuffle of slippers. Her grandmother came through the doorway in Jenna’s borrowed bathrobe. Grama had arrived last night on the 8 o’clock flight from Georgia, because she was worried about Jenna, just like the rest of the family.

Seeing Jenna’s tear streaked face, she smiled gently and stooped to help.

“You know, there is a saying my dear,” Grama said with a little chuckle. “Don’t cry over spilt…”

Jenna didn’t hear the rest, even though she knew what was coming. She ran out of the room crying harder. No one ever cried about the milk did they? None of the women from his stories had ever cried over a spill, she was sure, but no one else had ever understood that. She thought about the beautiful dairy maid from one of his stories. She would sing to him and laugh and squirt milk into his mouth as she milked the cows. She had been funny, he had told her, but she had died young. They had all died young…he had told her… all the women…all his lovers had died young… about her age. Yet, he was still looking for an eternal companion? Had they been afraid to do what he wanted her to do? Or had they gone through with it? Suddenly resolved, she had to know. Shutting herself in her room, she sat in the sun and used the decorative dagger replica from that movie with all the elves to make the incision on her wrist. The dagger wasn’t sharp, but it was enough. As the blood welled up, it looked ghastly. Some dripped on the window sill, in a scarlet pool. Then she waited for him, kneeling in front of the window, her arms folded on the sill, her head resting on her arms and her wrists oozing. It wasn’t long before he was there.

“You are coming to join me my love? At last,” he whispered, settling in on her arm to wait with her.

She smiled at him and slowly closed her eyes, as if it would be for the last time. Then exhaled and did not inhale. With her last breath, she felt him leave her arm.

Then she stealthily inhaled and her eyes snapped open to see him on all fours lapping up the blood drops. His pale shade became mottled with red, turning him from an ethereal being into a stained creature. She sat up and he raised his face to her, hissing with his bloodied mouth. How could she have ever loved this thing? How could she have let her all her friends slip away for this? What if she had done as he asked?

“This is just your game, isn’t it? All of you fairies have a game that you have played through the centuries. Titania stole babies. Mab stole dreams. You steal the lives of young women and drink their blood. All those women in your stories were just the next game to you. Why?” she pleaded, wishing he could say something that would make it all untrue.

“It was the only way you could be with me, immortal,” he said, trying to repair some of the damage, but the blood around his lips mocked her. She could imagine him saying that to a hundred women through the ages.

“Liar!” she screamed and with all the speed she could muster, brought the dagger replica with a solid thunk though his frail body and into the wood.

A white liquid welled from around the dagger, spilling over the sill, mixing with the few blood drops and dripping down over the carpet. The door crashed open behind her and her grandmother rushed in.

“I heard you yell. Is something wrong?” Then she caught sight of the blood. “Oh, Jenna, what have you done?” she cried and ran out to call 911.

She watched as the fairy’s frail body shrivel and disintegrate back into dust motes. The milk began to soak into the carpet. There would be no evidence left and she would never be able to tell her family, her friends the truth. They would never be convinced she hadn’t really tried to kill herself. It had just been a test and he had failed. It didn’t matter what they thought at first because it would all change. Now, she would be able to get her life back, her friends, and her job. She clenched the two shallow wounds in her wrists together and waited for the paramedics, watching the white liquid drip. No, no one ever really cried over spilled milk.

Everything I want? It has to be good for me!

I have recently discovered podcast. For those of you that are not familiar with podcasts, they are almost like mini radio shows. The idea of a podcast immediately brings to mind thought on technological advancements. Didn’t we advance beyond radio and into TV? Wasn’t radio dying…just those filler moments in the car between places? Are we regressing backwards? These are some of the questions I have been pondering over the last few weeks as I have immersed myself into the world of podcast. For the last two weeks I have been listening to—well I was going to say “back issues”, but issues implies written words, so maybe I was listening to reruns?...no that doesn’t work either because it implies that an organization is actively airing it again…how about past-casts? Ok, back to the thread—For the last two weeks I have been listening to past-casts of “Adventures in Sci Fi Publishing” and pondering the question of radio verses podcasts. I came to the conclusion that the reason podcasts are technologically advanced over radio is that they are on demand. You download them and listen to them when you want to. With radio programs, if your boss decided to hang around the cubicle farm at the wrong time of day, you were out of luck. This, of course, leads to the question, “Why are these different from movies, audio books, music or TV shows, all of which are also available on demand?” Here I think it is both cost and availability. To watch a season of a TV show or a movie, you have to go to some store or wait for it to be delivered. Find a podcast you want and it’s yours faster than my dog can sneak up and slobber on me. Movies on demand are equally convenient, but can be costly, whereas a podcast is free. The only real media that can compare in cost and ease of access is you-tube videos. However, I think they may lack in entertainment value. I know that there are certainly entertaining videos on you-tube, but they lack relation to one another and it’s hard to build up a following. But, I am not interested in talking about you-tube vs. podcasts. The pertinent conclusion to this internal debate was that podcasts are here to stay.

Of course, the world of podcasts is relatively small. By this I mean that, even though it is already huge and growing, compared to the literature world or any other media, it is tiny…miniscule…practically nonexistent. So as I have been listening to the past-casts of several podcasts that are right up my alley, I have been thinking that I could get a handle on them and listen to every episode out there. I would have an entire collection!!! (I like to have complete sets. I mean sometimes I won’t even start a series of books until the series has been entirely written, so I feel like I can have the whole story in my head. You can see what a big deal it is for me to be able to listen to every episode of a podcast). As I explore the world of podcasts, I keep adding new ones to my list. I currently have about 550 episodes that I have not listened to. I am pretty sure that I am not going to be able to get through them all, keep up with the new episodes and give more newly discovered podcasts their proper attention. My ability to glue my headphones to my head is not the point though. The real gem is that I am able to find this many regular podcasts that cater exactly to my interests. I am practically wiggling in my seat with enthusiasm. It makes me remember when I was a child and there were only two channels on TV. I hated most of the shows that were on TV. Similarly, when we went to the library, the choices of books were sadly thin, often missing volumes in a series (now you know the real reason behind my obsession with complete sets.) I was often forced to read normal young adult fiction instead of the science fiction/fantasy that I wanted and forced to watch Wheel of Fortune when I would have much rather watched He-man and She-ra cartoons. Now, as I see this vista of unlimited delights before me, I think, “What a wonderful age we live in!” If he wants, a person can find reams of literature on studying “muddle puddle tweetle poodle beetle noodle bottle paddle battles” (Dr. Seuss reference, go look it up). So if I want to spend the rest of my life listening to podcasts on Sci fi publishing and read all the fantasy books I can get my little fingers on, I can! And the way the world is going, I might be able to able to get it all for free. Excellent!!!

Then a new line of thinking occurred to me. Was it really a good thing that I would be able to immerse myself in the subjects that I entirely enjoy? Even though I hated Star Trek (sorry, it’s true) as a child, it was good for me to expand my imagination in that direction. I mean, if I had not seen William Shatner in as Captain Kirk, how could I truly enjoy some of his lines as Denny Crane in Boston Legal? Would I know what it really meant to ‘boldly go where no woman has gone before?’ Probably not. I started to envision these poor children of the future who developed an obsession with a subject and were never forced by the lack of material to stray into another topic. Imagine when they grow up and go on their first date with that cute girl who sits next to him in that class on muddle puddle tweetle poodle beetle noodle bottle paddle battles. They will find that he is very knowledgeable on the Star Trek and she is very adept in the study of quorum sensing in aquatic microorganisms, but they have nothing to talk about and no interest in learning about each other’s passion. Next they date someone who shares their interests, but find that they have nothing to say because they have studied exactly the same thing and had identical experiences. Society would break down and it would be the end of all civilization. Fortunately, at this point in musings, I remembered that there are already people like that; people who are obsessed with Nascar or a sports team or Starwars or a comic, yet they still manage to function (sort of) in the real world and procreate more little knowledge clones. Also there are people like me who might like sci fi one week and be completely obsessed with color pencils the next. Now, I don’t fear the breakdown of society, but I do worry that as more material becomes available for a specific interest, people will not be forced to diversify and an individual will be less interesting because of it.

After I finished writing the above, I was listening to another episode of Adventures in SciFi Publishing and found they were interviewing a woman (Marie Brennan) who did her graduate studies in SF/F fandom. How awesome that a person could pursue that as a course of study! But again, I refer to my fear of people never being forced to stray from their chosen topic…hmmm.