Video Tour of the Not-so-new Studio

I’m still not totally skilled at handling multiple on-line venues. I have this blog, a Facebook page and a “Fans of The Art of David Deitrick” Facebook page that my good friend Scott Taylor instigated a couple of years back. I shell out $5.00 a month for a page on Freelanced.com and  I have a LinkedIn account but I do very little with it – their major selling point is “Where not Facebook” which doesn’t inspire much confidence in me.

My point? Not everything I post is pertinent to every one of these forums so I try to carefully pick and choose what goes where. Odds are what I post here will also go to my main Facebook page but not always to the “Fans of” page. That also means that sometimes material gets to the other pages…but not here. One example is a nice 180 degree video sweep that I made of my new studio that got to Facebook but not here.

 

This was taken a couple of weeks ago – since that time I’ve stored a little more stuff and added a printer/scanner, but for all intents and purposes this is my studio now …and it a the most “right” working space I’ve ever had.

 

Words and Images

For my whole life there’s been  this running gun battle between words and images.

 The ability to write and draw with an equal facility posed no problems in my youth but when it came time to declare a college major I went against my natural inclination and chose visual art instead of writing, I made that choice based on one very important fact: Distractions are not a problem when I make images. While I am painting I can also:

  • Listen to  music
  • Watch a video
  • Carry a conversation

On the other hand I have to be sitting in a monastery to write. Well, maybe not an actual monastery, but the place  has to be pin-drop quiet with no distractions whatsoever.

 Even more confusing?  When it comes  to painting I freely admit I am not stellar material. I’m a good draftsman, a good  sculptor and had I stumbled into  cut-paper sculpture earlier I’d be rich and famous, but I always knew that when it came to traditional illustration I was a “B-Lister” at best.  I compensated for that lack  by working extremely hard, but the fact is that when it came to making images my concept always surpassed my execution.

 I’ve never felt that way about my writing – not that I am cocky about it, just confident. It helped that during all those years focused on images I never completely stopped crunching words:

  • I’ve kept the same journal going consistently from 1972
  • I’ve edited newsletters in just about every religious or secular organization I’ve belonged to.
  • In the service  was the “go-to” guy for writing recommendations for awards and fitness reports.

 …and I borrowed a tool from my image-maker tool kit.  I work hard at my craft. While he might not seem the most obvious choice, Teddy Roosevelt has always been an inspiration for me in the way he fought his childhood weaknesses with hard work and a vigorous life style. As an artist I knew that my only compensation of lack of talent was hard work. If a classmate spent three hours on a project I spent six. If a competing illustrator put twenty hours into a cover I’d spend thirty or forty.  While I don’t spend quite so many hours on my work now, most of what I publish (especially the autobiographical stories) is the product of careful craftsmanship and word-crunching.

 It may be that I overwork my word-crunching at times. I do know that it slows down my output which isn’t a problem until I get sick and lose a week or two, at which point I start to lose followers as well. My original intent with the blog was to have kind of an  A/B schedule, with the “A” stories extensively crafted multi-page productions and the “B” stories  being made up of shorter more off-the-cuff observations.

 Maybe I need an A/B/B/A schedule….but as I’ve already weathered the disco storm once, so on that note I will wish you a good day.

( If you were born after 1970 you probably won’t get the joke…)

Laptops, Hacky-sacks and Soda Straws

Keeping this page going is like kicking a Hacky-Sack. As long as I keep busy and frequently add words and images I attract views and followers. Unfortunately there are times in my life now where writing is not quite – but almost as impossible as keeping a little leather packet full of rice in the air. I’ve made no secret of the fact that I deal with severe autoimmune problems, that between ankylosing spondylitis and rheumatoid arthritis the simple act of walking can sometimes defeat me.  What I haven’t been as open about  is the running gun battle I have with upper respiratory infections. It’s not unusual for me to have up to six cases of bronchitis a year; I’ll spend three weeks fighting the sickness only to get sick again only three weeks after I get better.  To put it bluntly I spend most of my time feeling like I am trying to breathe through a soda straw.

 Both the inflammatory diseases and respiratory problems stem from questionable medical practices of the mid-20th century.  I’m a thymus baby – as an infant I had an enlarged thymus which was thought to cause SIDS ( Sudden Infant Death Syndrome) The condition was called status thymicolymphaticus and while that is now an obsolete term it didn’t keep the doctors from removing that pesky gland with a series of hard x-ray treatments in 1953. The practice was discontinued not long after my treatment – a small comfort now that I’ve lived 64 years with a compromised immune system.

 It’s frustrating because I did everything right in terms of healthy living and I still ended up in the cross-hairs of a disease I didn’t even know about until I was almost fifty. It’s frustrating because I have a healthy dose of transpersonal commitment, a genuine desire to help those around me and other than call friends there’s not much I can do.

…so I write. I hope that I will some up with something that will bring insight, comfort or just a laugh to others. Unfortunately there are times when I can’t even do that (write) and I just have to hope that you’ll all hang around until I can get back to the keyboard.

 

 

2018: Stumble Fairy (Color Version)

2018-09-03 StumbleFairyColor0002Long before I was a college professor, design professional or military officer I was a working man. I worked as a janitor, a grocery clerk, roofer,  carpenter,  ranch hand, firefighter,  landscaper,  inventory recorder,  oil field hand and general maintenance worker for an apartment complex. Other than during my time in the oil industry  I was paid a fairly modest wage, but it never occurred to me to cop an  attitude about my situation…and I don’t recall being on the receiving end of the grief customers heap on people working in the service sector in the new millennium.

What the h*ll happened?

(At this point you’re probably wondering if

  • Did I remember to take my meds today?
  • What does this have to do with the color image I’m posting today.)

Usually I get my copy work done at the local Office Max by a young lady names Sarah, who is has a professional mind-set much like my friends and I had back in the Seventies. Sarah has a BFA in graphic design and is working on another related degree  – and while others a similar situation have acted as though the job is a major step down Sarah always turns in outstanding work. I do what I can to help her out but company policy forbids tips and there are only so many times I can file one those good service nomination forms for her.

However, there is one other way I can show my thanks, and that’s by telling you that she did NOT make the color copy/scan I’m posting today. Sarah has weekends off but I wanted to appease my inner OCD demons and show this image today.

(FYI, she made the scan of Stargirl that I put up a day or two ago.)

To be fair this kind of drawing is tough to scan. One slip with that salmon colored ground tone and the whole palette is messed up and it is never easy capturing the subtle nuances of marbilized paper.

In the future I’ll try to time things so Sarah does all my scans in the future…

 

2018: Small Victories

Imagine simultaneously dealing with:

  • the Super Bowl on the big-screen
  • Infinity War playing on your lap-top
  • a conference call going on your smart-phone
  • your ailing mother on the landline while
  • your mechanic is on call-waiting with an estimate for repairs to your truck
  • a young child tugging on your sleeve

Welcome to the world of adult attention deficit disorder.

I can’t help but wonder what my life would have been like had Ritalin been available in the early Sixties. At the very least I’d have avoided the treatment that was in place for attention deficit at the time ( a smack on the head with a snarled command to “sit still and pay attention”). While I was fortunate in eventually developing coping mechanisms, the deficit makes it all too easy to constantly run the woulda/coulda/shoulda tapes in the back of my mind.

It took years to figure out that there was problem, then more years to learn that the solution wasn’t a matter of getting rid of the problem as much as accommodating it, and that progress was not going to be very quick or all-encompassing.

…so please forgive me if I take great delight in small accomplishments, like

  • Letting myself off the hook for mistakes made decades ago.
  • Setting aside concern over what might happen in the future.
  • Living in the present and enjoying the day.

Step by Step

It’s starting out to be a good week, if nothing else but for an incredible accomplishment I made yesterday. When I went to work in the studio I took the stairs two at a time alternating left and right…pretty much the way everyone but me goes up stairs.

At first glance it doesn’t seem to be much of an accomplishment but consider the following:

  • Ever since I destroyed my left ankle I’ve taken any kind of step very carefully, moving just one level at a time. I’m building strength – which was one of the main reasons we moved the studio.
  • For the first time in my live I was able to shut the mental tape recorder and enjoy the moment. No running commentary on how fast I could run in 1983 or how many push-ups I could do in 1976. I just enjoyed the moment.

Doors and Windows

When I wrote about shuffling studio space the other day I failed to mention one important point – why I made the change. Yes, I wrote earlier that the move was meant to get me moving, but what I didn’t mention is that it wasn’t just exercise-type moving that needed to happen.

I needed to move out of a window.

A couple of weeks ago I was informed that my contract was not being renewed at the junior college I have been teaching at since the doors opened in the fall of 2012. I’ll skip editorial comment other than to say that the dismissal was handled in a most callous manner because the first reaction I had when I found out was a feeling of serenity.

  • Never mind the abrupt last-minute email message.
  • Never mind the loss of income.
  • Never mind the fact that at 65 it’s doubtful that I will ever be hired to teach again.

When I read of my dismissal I sat back and the thought came me: “When a door opens God will open a window.

OK – I admit it. In the past I’ve dismissed that phrase as trite and over-used, but it’s the first thought that came to mind and it has prompted me to jump-start other parts of my life and career – and I am convinced the new studio is an important part of that new beginning.

What’s more: when we finished the move and surveyed both the new studio and the sitting room in the space the old studio used to take up both my Beautiful Saxon Princess and I felt an overwhelming sense of “right” in the new arrangement.

Works for me.

Sketchbook Drawing 01 AUG 2018

SadSketch

Even at 65 I am drawing all the time. I have two sketchbooks, one of them a little 3″X5″ field journal and the other a section in the back of my planner. As a good part of my early training was in industrial design I usually work with designer’s markers over black line work, but sometimes I forego the color. This young lady ended up looking too melancholy for color.

I rotate subject matter between drawing from life, drawing from photos, drawing after another artist’s work and drawing ideas from my imagination. I am a firm believer that emulating another artist’s work is a good idea as long as doing so is a tool instead of a crutch. I feel the same way about tracing (tool vs. crutch) but it took comics legend Neal Adams to convince me that there was no better way to learn anatomical details that were particularly vexing.

That little circle-y symbol to near the young lady’s right elbow is my logo/sigil/symbol – I use it to “sign” sketchbook works and three-dimensional work.

Also – Facebook has changed the parameters for the way outside material can get automatically posted and I think I’ve lost some readers in the confusion. I am in the process of figuring out a way around the problem but in the meantime please encourage people to “follow” via WordPress or other means.

1977: Commitment and Cool-osity

There is a specific reason why I am re-running this post. During this past week I’ve ” thrown my wallet over the wall” again – we’ve moved the studio upstairs to the bonus room so I will be forced to transit the stairs several times a day and get some exercise whether I like/want it or not.  It might not seem like much, but with the inflammatory diseases I deal with any kind of exercise is simultaneously necessary AND painful and I don’t want to end up in a wheelchair.

David R. Deitrick, Designer

Making a commitment is rarely a comfortable thing to do.

I’ve got the kind of physique known as the “Cornish Coal Miner’s Build”, which means I have a long torso and relatively short legs.  With my short legs one of the hardest events on an obstacle course was the vertical wall – I could handle everything else but that wall was really hard for me to get over. There were many times when I’d just look both ways, then run around the wall if the coast was clear.

But when the coast wasn’t clear? Such was the case during a hot summer day at FT Lewis many years ago. A member of the training cadre was standing right next to the wall so I had no choice but to go over it in the proper manner. I stood there for a minute trying to think while the sergeant was “counseling”…

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2018: Third Parent

Ranch2003Dad

It was a buzz-word as common to the 1970’s as paradigm was to the 1980s. Gestalt – it’s a German word that first became popular in the 1890s Berlin throughout medical circles. It refers to the idea that something can be more than just a sum of its parts. It’s used mostly in psychology, but I have found the concept to be true in other aspects of life:

  • In Sports when members of a team collectively accomplish much more than they could separately.
  • In Art when mixing several colors can make a painting more effective than just black & white.
  • …and in residential architecture when a home becomes more than a collection of rooms.

I grew up in a Gestalt home.

The house we moved to in August of 1964 was definitely a whole comprised of many parts. It started out as a three-room cabin built in the late 1950’s by the original homesteader Jim Hovis.  Family growth required a largish addition to the front of the original three-room cabin followed soon after by a row of three bedrooms built on the north side of the house. When a double garage was built on to the south end of the house, clapboard siding was added to the home’s exterior giving the place a unified, almost gentrified appearance. For a time it was the showcase home of the whole Sterling area – while everyone else was living in log cabins, Quonset huts or trailers the Hovis place looked like it had been scooped up from a neighborhood in the middle of Anchorage and dropped down along the east end of Scout Lake Loop.

We had no idea of the building’s history when we moved into the place at the end of the summer of 1964 because we had more pressing matters on our mind:

  • My older sister and I were very unhappy about the move to the Peninsula and were convinced bears would soon eat us.
  • The previous renters had completely trashed the place and it took our whole family six months of steady work to get the place into shape

On the other hand Dad was pretty happy about getting the place for a low price and comfortable terms. Mrs. Hovis had become ill enough to require relocation to the lower 48 which meant that  Mr. Hovis had been a “motivated seller”.

We really didn’t understand the convoluted construction details until Dad and I started work on my attic loft bedroom and had to remove portions of two other roofs under the one that was seen from outside of the house. When plumbing problems took us into the crawlspace we found even more indicators of start-and-stop construction, most notably three different types of foundation.

It was just after that discovery that Dad finally concluded “in for a dime/in for a dollar” when it came to additions/modifications to the house. We finished my loft just before Christmas 1966 then in the fall of 1970 Dad and I started converting the inner portion of the double garages into additional living space. I don’t think there ever was a specific goal for the remodeling when we started, but by mid-1973 we had a cozy TV room just off the kitchen and another nicely finished space that alternately served as a bedroom and/or home office. Fourteen years later the remaining garage space was converted into a studio where I could continue my career as a freelance illustrator while my parents served as missionaries on Prince Edward Island. The last major change was a new garage on the south end of the house that my folks were able to add using the inheritance Mom received when her stepfather passed away in the mid-nineties.

….but in and around all of those physical changes other less tangible modifications were made to the home and surrounding pastures. During the next 50+ years three generations of Deitricks grew up, and all the love, hate, hope, tears, sickness and health involved in that process imbued the house and land with a benevolent spirit that would sometimes echo and other times mend what we were feeling at different times. The ranch became a haven and refuge and for me I knew that no matter how physically or emotionally damaged I may be, all I had to do was push my fingers down into the dirt to be cleansed from whatever ailed me.

Very soon all of that will end. Both my parents have passed on and circumstances are such that the property will be sold, and the home likely destroyed. Over the decades the quaint idiosyncrasies of a continually modified homestead cabin have become liabilities; shifting foundations, sagging rooflines and questionable wiring have transformed what was once a showcase home into an oddity.

British author Brian Aldiss wrote that the only unchanging aspect of life is that change happens. Children, grandchildren and great-grand-children will move on to find other places for imaginary adventures with Klingons, halflings and Cybermen and a new family will move in for their own story of a half-century. Life will go on, but for me there will always be a little bit of my heart missing. Even though it’s been fifteen years since I walked through that clunky, squeaking door I still miss it and mourn our Home’s eventually passing.

It’s like losing a third parent.

Ranch1976Al