Revised Sketch for Sean O'Halloran

This is the original sketch I had done for the painting in the previous post. You can see that my final watercolors resemble the original sketch down to the smallest detail. I love drawing and enjoy the sketching part of the process. And while I was learning watercolor, a rather unforgiving medium to the uninitiated, I learned early on that it's good to have a solid sketch, replete with values, before putting paint to paper.



Below is the revised sketch. I have used (quite literally) bits and pieces of the original drawing, which I put together, montage style, into a revised sketch. If the sketch looks pieced together, it is. And while I like the drawing of the horse and O'Halloran's wife better in this revised sketch, I've pulled back too far and there's no strong focal point. So it's back to the drawing board.

 


Here's the revised sketch (below). I know. I know. You're saying to yourself, "It's the same thing. There's no difference between the two." Remember the backs of the Jack and Jill magazines from when we were kids, and there were two illustrations that on the surface appeared to be the same, but there were differences? Well, there are differences here, too, but not many. I made Sean O'Halloran larger, and changed the shape of his wife's cape in the revised sketch. This provides a stronger focal point, something the original revision was lacking. And this revised revision (!) will serve as the roadmap for my painting.


Sean O'Halloran and the Faerie Lord

Early last year I did a series of illustrations for an original folktale called "Sean O'Halloran and the Faerie Lord" for Cricket Magazine. It was a wonderful tale and I was happy with the way the illustrations came out. The story was about a young mother who was kidnapped by fairies; she was enchanted and became enslaved as the wet nurse for the offspring of the Faerie Lord; her husband was left to fend for his children on his own, continually trying to find his missing wife; ultimately, he was able to capture his bewitched wife when the fairies led her on horseback by the cross on the road.

These are a couple of the images I created for the story. This first one is Sean O'Halloran's wife as she sits, entranced, at the foot of the bed in which the Faerie Queen has just given birth. The midwife is about to hand over the newborn.


The next image is where Sean O'Halloran, having heard that his wife would be led across the countryside by the fairies at nighttime, is flailing about, trying to locate and capture his invisible wife as she passes by. (The bells on the horses have given them away.)


For whatever reason, after the work was done, I wasn't entirely happy with this second image. The composition was forced in a way that, after the piece had gone to press, didn't please me entirely. So I'm going to rework the piece. And I'll post my process here.

Until now, this blog has been where I've posted family stories accompanied by graphite drawings I've done. With this post, the direction of this blog will change. While it will continue to feature my illustration work, it won't necessarily have to do only with family stories.

Enjoy!

Savannah Crime Scene

For those of you who read John Berendt's Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil and are familiar with the murder of Danny Hansford by Jim Williams, this is the elegant mansion on Monterey Square in which the crime occurred. The infamous deed happened in the darkened room to the left of the front entry. (A still more dastardly deed is represented by the 2-hour parking meter — if you've ever dealt with one of Savannah's metermaids, you know what I'm talking about.)

The house is generally recognized because of the Berendt book, but this was built for the great-grandfather of  legendary singer-songwriter Johnny Mercer. The house's current name, the Mercer-Williams House, reflects this dual notoriety.

I did this sketch with pencil as well as black and white ink on brown paper. The dense foliage in the square casts dramatic shadows on the house. (I can't say that I captured the intensity of the light and shadow in this sketch, but it was fun to do.)

Ybor City, Florida


I recently traveled to Ybor City, Tampa's historic district. I love the busy-ness of the place — fascinating characters milling about, low-riders cruising narrow streets, bustling cigar shops/cafés, crumbling brick buildings with wrought iron balconies. I sketched and sketched, yet my images were disheartening. I simply need to get out and sketch more often! (Easier said than done.) It's been so long since I've posted here that I thought I should put up at least one image from my recent travels. Okay. Here's another:

Historic Note

Between 1860 and 1899 more than five million Prussians sailed to America, the largest group of immigrants to this country before 1900. They left because of economic hardship and political unrest, hoping for better lives in America.

When August was young, Germany was not a unified country as it is today. It was made up of many small kingdoms, of which Prussia was one. Today the kingdom of Prussia no longer exists. People of the German Empire included Austrians, Belgians, Czechs, Danes, Dutch, French, Hungarians, Lithuanians, Luxembourgers, Poles, Russians, Slavs, Swiss and, of course, Germans.

Kaiser Wilhelm ruled the Empire but Otto von Bismarck was chancellor. He tried to unify these diverse groups into a single German nation. He declared Protestantism the state religion and closed Catholic churches. He persecuted anyone who spoke a language other than German.

Like most rural Prussians, August’s father was a day-laborer. He received meager wages for odd jobs performed for wealthy landlords. He managed to save enough to send Berta to America as a mail-order bride, a practice common among Prussians wishing to relocate their large families to the States. However, it would be four long years before the family was reunited in Michigan. During that time, Berta and August wrote to one another. And mail took ten to twelve weeks to cross the Atlantic.

 When August’s family left, the government forced Johann to remain in Prussia to complete his army duty. However, once August reached Parisville he mailed his emigration papers back to Johann who fled using August’s identity. Once reunited in Michigan, August’s mother, Franziska, changed her name to Frances, Johann changed his to John, and Karl changed his to Charles. Berta became known as Bertha and August simply went by Gus. He and his siblings learned English quickly; however, his mother never mastered the new language. Strangely, August and Berta continued speaking German while Johann, Karl and Anna spoke Polish. The German-Polish split in their family mirrored the German-Polish split in Parisville. Interestingly, a similar division occurred later in their village of Kniewon-Samosten: when a new border between Germany and Poland was established after World War I, the village was cut in two — Kniewon became part of Germany while Samosten became part of Poland.

Parisville is believed to be the oldest Polish settlement in the United States, established around 1852. And Parisville is where my grandmother, Martha Abraham, was born. Grandma was August’s daughter. August my great-grandfather. Following her father’s example, Grandma spoke to me in German as well as English. “Was ist mit Dir los?” she asked if I were upset — “What’s the matter?” “Ach, Du Lieber!” she exclaimed — “Oh, dear!” At Christmas she baked Lebkuchen — spicy gingerbread men. She taught me prayers in German — Gelobet seist Du, Jesu Christ. And whenever she saw me, she gave me große Umarmungen und Küßchen — big hugs and kisses — which are exactly the same in German or in English!

October Morning on the Road

 

Once again I had to head up to Atlanta for the day, something I'm not keen on doing. Fortunately for me, Silke was willing to drive part of the way, giving me a chance to play around a bit more with my iPad. It was a brilliant autumn day, not a cloud in the sky. I'm having fun playing with digital image-making; not sure that I'll take it up full time yet, but will continue to explore.

Letter Dated 3 May 1882, Bremerhaven, Bremen

Dear Bertha,

Mama had me sell the cow! All we own we carry in bundles and bags. But Johann is not with us! He had to remain in Prussia to finish his army service. He said we had to go to Michigan without him and that he will join us as soon as he can.

In the morning we board the S.S. Ohio for Baltimore. We will arrive in Parisville by mid-June! I cannot wait!

Aside from learning a few words of English (did you notice?), I have learned some Beethoven duets for us. But am hoping you will teach me some Stephen Foster songs instead. What do you think?

Your soon-to-be-American brother,
Gus

Letter Dated 8 September 1881, Parisville, Michigan

Lieber August,

Tuesday morning the nuns were here collecting for the poor. The sky looked shadowy and opaque. Our chickens had vanished. The horses were skittish. Then we smelled smoke.

August, it happened so fast! The forest to our west was burning! Wind carried sparks through the treetops, setting everything around us ablaze. Flames surrounded our hotel. There was no escape.

We fixed an icon of Our Lady to the front porch and raced back inside. We prayed.

Four hours the fire roared! Timbers creaked. Windows cracked. Heat blasted.

An unsettling silence followed. We opened the door and crept out past Our Lady. There was not a blister or burn on her. Yet the fire had consumed everything. Charred bodies of man and beast littered the landscape. The air reeked of soot and singed hide.

Miraculously the hotel was spared. It was the single structure left standing in the vast wasteland that was once Parisville.

We are grateful to be alive and to have lost nothing. But at times like this I wonder why I ever left home. First Papa. Now this. I need you more than ever. August, come to us!

We have been setting aside money for an emergency such as this. I have enclosed a draft on the American Exchange Bank for $350. At last you all can sail to America. Let me know when to expect you. Until then, I bless you all with the Holy Cross.

Deine Schwester, 
Berta 

Going High Tech

 

This is a real switch for me. Having recently purchased an iPad, I uploaded the Brush app before flying to Ohio last week. It kept me entertained on the short flight and posed some process problems/challenges I enjoyed. I'm going to keep working this way for a while and am eager to see where it takes me. Bon voyage!

Letter Dated 15 October 1880, Kniewon-Samosten, Prussia

Liebe Berta,

I cannot believe that I am an uncle! But Mama says she feels like a grandma.

Since spring the rain has not stopped. Standing water fills the fields. Rye rots on the stalks. We harvest what we can. With Papa gone Johann has returned from the army, but his strong arms and sturdy back are not enough. Mama takes in laundry. Anna cooks for day-workers. And it rains.

We had so little money that Mama was forced to sell my violin to pay the rent. I asked if she could sell the cow instead. Things are so bleak that I fear I may never meet my new niece. Berta, what if we never see one another again?

Dein Bruder, 
August 

Letter Dated 13 August 1879, Parisville, Michigan

Lieber August,

My heart breaks when I think of dear Papa. He worked tirelessly to send me to America so you all could follow. Now he will never see this New World himself. It makes no sense.

But Father Gratza assures us that God has a plan, that life is a mystery. And this must be true, for I write you now with glad news:

I have had a baby! Little Agnes looks like you and drools the way you used to! I wish you were here to be her godfather. William intends to make her a fiddle when she is older. He says we will have two musicians in the family. While a duo with Agnes will be wonderful, a trio with you would be better still. If only we could play together! And if only Papa could see his first grandchild — and an American grandchild at that! He would be so proud.

Deine Schwester, 
Berta 

Letter Dated 27 February 1879, Kniewon-Samosten, Prussia

Liebe Berta,

Terrible news: Papa is dead. He was out logging when a runaway sledge knocked him unconscious. Lumbermen carried him home. We sent for the doctor, but he could do nothing. Papa never awoke. We buried him yesterday.

Mama is beside herself. I remind her, “Where fear is the greatest, God’s help is the nearest,” but she takes no comfort in these words. To think that we will never see him again! Sister, what will we do without Papa?

Dein Bruder, 
August 

Letter Dated 16 December 1878, Parisville, Michigan

Lieber August,

The third star approaches, the Holy Night draws near. As we divide our Christmas wafer, we think of you; and the wish we make is to be reunited soon. Next year, God willing, we will play carols together again. But this year, you and your sweet strings are sorely missed.

Happy Christmas!

Deine Schwester, 
Berta 

Letter Dated 30 October 1878, Kniewon-Samosten, Prussia

Liebe Berta,

You will not believe what happened!

Chancellor Bismarck closed our church! To think that you now have two churches there while we have none! Father Brill says Bismarck will force us all to become Protestant! What’s more, the chancellor has forbidden us to speak Polish or Kashubian. We must speak only German! Sister, you cannot imagine the awful changes we face since you left.

The storks have begun their migration south, warning us of the grim winter ahead. Already cold rains have started.

I truly miss you!

Dein Bruder, 
August 

Letter Dated 15 March 1878, Parisville, Michigan

Lieber August,

By the time you receive this letter, I am certain your arm will have healed and that you are once again playing violin. Keep practicing. I will do the same. And we will think of one another.

Most settlers here come from Prussia. They are so eager to be entirely American that they break ties with European ways. For example, people here call me Bertha! Imagine! They say it sounds more American than Berta. So to fit in I am learning English, but it is not necessary. People here rarely speak it! They speak Polish or German, just like back home. And while we are all Prussians trying to fit in, there is one old habit that we will never reject: Germans and Poles here are as suspicious of one another as they are in Prussia. This discord is so blatant that the Parisville church is strictly Polish while just a mile down the road there is a German church. Unbelievable! Two churches to serve so few people! At least the economy in Parisville is better than in Prussia! It’s doing so well, in fact, that William and I are building a hotel. Papa was right — things are better here in America!

Deine Schwester, 
Berta 
 

Letter Dated 13 August 1877, Kniewon-Samosten, Prussia

Liebe Berta,

We have moved. Papa says that with you in America and Johann in the army, we could no longer afford such a house.

After our move we had a fire. I was getting up from the table when I banged my head against the petroleum lamp. It fell on me and flames covered my arm. Mama snatched up the porridge and poured it over me. Papa rolled me in a blanket.

My arm is still tender but healing. Until it is better, I cannot play my violin. Since I sound so horrid without you, little is lost.

Tell brother William hello from me. Papa boxed my ears when I said William looks like Chancellor Bismarck!

Dein Bruder, 
August 

¿Chicle, Meester?

Anytime of year Oaxaca is a wonderful place to pick up beautifully crafted folk art — everything from black clay pottery to colorfully painted wooden animals, gorgeous textiles from nearby Teotitlan del Valle to hand-made paper from Etla. But if you're in Oaxaca during a fiesta (and when isn't there some sort of fiesta in Oaxaca?), street vendors are particularly plentiful. This sketch was done early one morning during Semana Santa on the Zócolo. I was nearly the only person up and dressed. The vendors, who often sleep in their stalls, were just waking up and getting going when I sketched this little piece.

Letter Dated 7 July 1877, Parisville, Michigan

Lieber August,

We are married! Enclosed is a photo we took after Mass. I cannot wait for you to meet your new brother-in-law!

And another surprise: William and I are building a hotel! Parisville is growing. More people pass our way each day — lumbermen heading north, trappers and fur-traders — and they all seek lodging. The railroad will come soon, bringing still more people. This hotel is such opportunity! And when you arrive, we can perform duets for guests. A respectable hotel needs beautiful music, right?

Deine Schwester, 
Berta 

Happy Birthday, Baby!


Happy Birthday, Silke!

Who says that Friday the Thirteenth is an unlucky day? I hit the jackpot being able to celebrate my sweetie's birthday on such an auspicious day! Thirteen has become a lucky number for me!

I have to admit that it's a stretch for me to post the above pastel painting of Silke on this blog. For one, she's not exactly an appropriate image for an urban sketch blog. Nor is the artwork even mine. The artist is Frau Erdmann, a prominent painter in Germany's Black Forest, and this was a piece that Silke's father commissioned when she was about nine months old. Even at that tender young age, Silke already took in the world around her with those gorgeous eyes that grabbed me and never let me go. After twenty-five years, I still find them to be the most beautiful jewels around!