Dan Morelle posted a photo:

Another for my favorite new group www.flickr.com/groups/describbles/

Dan Morelle posted a photo:

“They told me I was too old to be a dancer – you will never be a dancer! Within 5 years I was a professional. In Brazil its almost impossible to realize a dream like this. Here you have so many more opportunities. You have to. Life is too short to not be passionate and do what want to do.”

Bamboo
Fountain Pen
Brush
India Ink
Water

Dan Morelle posted a photo:

This weeks lesson began with a measured drawing (which I actually quite enjoyed) followed by a loosey goosey pastel drawing that on a fresh day looks abysmal!
I’d like to do one of these but get the chance to shade it.

Dan Morelle posted a photo:

This is a panel from ‘Cooking Comics Presents’ an idea I came up with when I was down with the influenza after Christmas. I spent most of the time digesting Frank Miller comics. Dreaming in still images and captions. The first story is titled ‘Cooked Breakfast’ told in a gravelly voice like Marv from Sin City and cold dialogue like broken glass.

This is my favorite and most lucid panel, and i think I had a 30 minute nap halfway through drawing it, it was such a strain! More thick than sick.

ps. notice the slight trapezoid shape (or not) of the frame, that’s my quirky brain ingesting my eyesight and my physical adaptation. With my old eyes this looked like a nice rectangle.

Dan Morelle posted a photo:

After my dance disaster last week with proportions all over the place the teacher at my life drawing classes this week ‘suggested’ i partake in some measured drawing.

The discipline of measuring and ignoring the light and shade was quite a physical discomfort for me, this drawing took two hours. I understand I need to grasp this skill and will work through the pain.

The model kindly said to me during her jaunt around to look at everyones work “is this your first time?”

Dan Morelle posted a photo:

This has convinced me to go low-fi ( I was planning to go all Digital SLR this year), I have a Holga I bought on a whim last year knocking about somewhere but this was taken with Ella’s cheapo throwaway Barbie camera she got for Christmas – I forgot to bring my digital didgeridoo to our little New Year gettaway in Grimblethorpe, Lincolnshire as I was well below par. I was going to stick it the Holga on eBay but I think I will have play with it first …

Number 9 on Explore!!!! January 9, THANK YOU

Dan Morelle posted a photo:

This is the 5 sailed windmill in Alford, Lincolnshire again with the Barbie camera. Built in 1845 and still working today milling various grades of flour and selling to local bakers and shops. We were inside this massive engine when the miller set sail. What an awesome experience that was. Ground shaking, wind gusting throughout and the air dusted with a light creamy layer of flour. Of course we were all petrified walking round the balcony wind gusting and huge cogs turning. Please keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle.

I asked the miller how did he know when it was windy enough to start her up. He replied “You get to feel the speed of the wind and look at the trees, they will tell you – sometimes it can be too windy to start her up”.

In the cafe at the base we bloated our stomachs on teacakes and scones fueled by the energy of the of the wind.

Dan Morelle posted a photo:

Dan Morelle posted a photo:

A Li’l Birdy Story

As a small child I lived in flats in south west London. To the back of our ground floor flat was a shared garden which seemed like a gigantic field. It had perfect giant trees for climbing and patches of bare ground for digging holes and making mud pies.

I clearly remember that frosty autumn morning my brother and I discovered two little baby starlings cheeping away in distress on the ground, ejected from their nest. It was exciting and a little scary. One of the neighbours had a fierce little scrappy charcoal coloured mutt that was tormenting the birdy brothers under a bush. It must have been a Sunday because our dad was there. We caught the birds and put them in a white shoebox on the highest branch he could reach of the giant Horse Chestnut tree. I tore some grass up for their food and my brother got some cotton wool for their bedding. We used some crisp wrappers for insulation and made some air holes in the lid with a pencil point.

My father gently explained the birds might not survive the cold of the night or the shock of being handled by us but we wanted to make the effort to help them through the night – if we could only get them the strength to fly they could find their nest and be okay.

The next morning my brother and I slung on our little red coats on and ran outside hoping that we’d find our birdy counterparts alive. In our hearts we knew that was not the truth. What we discovered was worse that anything a little boy could imagine.

At the base of the tree propped up against one of the erupted ground roots was the box, tissue paper shredded and strewn about. I have no idea what happened to the lid. Inside was just a few blades of grass and about 2 metres away on the bare ground were the scrawny skeletal remains of our birds, no feathers, no flesh, no blood, just bones. So thin, fragile and white. In the corner of my eye I saw the dog licking his white teeth and sneering.

Dan Morelle posted a photo:

I went up in to the loft last weekend to dig out my water colours and dust them off after my 10-year hiatus.

Um, I have developed a bit of a Moleskine problem, this is the first play in my water colour book. Its inspired by a totem pole that I saw earlier this week at the British Museum.