I spent a few long weekends last year fixing the ceiling in the sticky room and repairing the damage in the office from leaks in the roof. I enjoy working overhead about as much as I enjoy needles in my eyes—sanding a ceiling is about as hateful a job as can be imagined. So it was to my dismay that Jen pointed out the growing stains in the ceiling over her bed in the sticky room; after ignoring it for months, I finally crawled up there to find evidence of water leaks down the beams onto the insulation—nothing drastic, but water is water. Our previous experience with roofing repair consisted of several tar-stained rednecks trying to convince me to let them pull all the slate off and replace it with asphalt shingle. So today I hunted around the internet (the Yellow Pages lists nothing for “Slate Roofing”) for local shingle contractors, and found several, as well as a link to the Slate Roof bible. I left estimate requests with four companies in Baltimore, and hopefully I’ll get some replies in a few days. More on this subject to come.
More Nekkid People. Drawing went pretty well last night. I was able to slip back into the groove after having been away for a year, which made me feel good. Each drawing had its high points, but I don’t think I got one solid sketch from the whole night.
Generally, I start from the head as a reference point—the first thing they tell you not to do in drawing class—and work from there. Resolving the head correctly usually helps me tie the rest of the structure of the drawing together. My drawing style tends towards the draftsmanlike, not sketching—it’s more challenging to describe the form with line weight and simple shading than it is to use ten lines to hint at where the form should be. Using one definitive line forces me to explore the reason and shape of the form.
The neighborhood has changed a lot and not at all. 1500 Mt. Royal Ave. looks much as it did on the day my Mom and I pulled a rented station wagon up to the curb filled with all my college crap. The Fox building, of course has changed, and the old rest home is now student housing, but the streets of Bolton Hill remain little changed since my tenure there.
They finally put air conditioners—window units—in the drawing rooms of the Fox building. It’s so much nicer to concentrate not on your own stinking body but that of the model you’re attempting to draw. The proctor usually brings in tolerable music to listen to, which is a small miracle. Sometimes it’s Ella Fitzgerald, sometimes it’s Louis Armstrong, sometimes it’s Billie Holiday. Today it’s a mixture of slow jazz standards and Gershwin, but I find it hard to draw to Rhapsody in Blue. (Given all the time changes, it’s more of a painting-type composition.) iPods are definitely mandatory, considering the guy next to me mumbled along with the chorus of every song.