Initial layers of acrylic.

I have found that the encre de chine is not actually water proof so as I try to paint in where the chinese lanters will be going the black ink mixed in with the white paint. Hopefully this will stop happening once I build up a few layers of paint.
I like the direction this is going so far. I just wish I knew how to make the colors of buildings with yellow street lights shining on them at night. The contradictions of light shining on dark. All of this is still very loose as I paint it. Finding the right colors for now to come back later and bring the detail back/add more.

Taking breaks I took out my tarot deck to show it to Inga. I deal us both a couple of hands. Past, present, future.
I think the first card I drew for my future was perfect to explain the fears and anxieties surounding my future of returning to the states.
It was one of the darker cards in the deck that doesn't come up too often. Not shades of gold like the others, but black and blue. The image was of a hand coming out of something abstract and reaching for the earth, but the only area of the earth that can be made out is Europe. This place is going to be hard to leave. It will be nice to return to family and friends and have some kind of notion of being able to prepare for a future and know that I won't have to leave everything behind by a certain date.
Both of our two hands each ended with the futures seeming somewhat dark. Perhaps it was just the theme for the night.

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New Birth.

Hey. C'est moi. It has been a few years. Since I last discussed into the void here I attended grad school for architecture at the University of Washington, finished the Master's program by the skin of my teeth, graduated into a global pandemic (I would not recommend this), gave away most of my worldly possessions, and am now flâneur-ing around Europe on the slim budget of my life savings. Allow me to reintroduce myself : I am the artist, Gaston. My interests include ; architecture, sustainability, art, vintage fashions, antiques, and flâneries. All while consuming massive quantities of tea. “I know where I'm from, but I don't know where I'm going.” I recently heard this line at a video playing at the Tate Museum in Liverpool, and it rang strong in me. In the film Casablanca, when Rick is questioned on his nationality he responds that his is a “drunkard,” insinuating that he has renounced his American nationality for that of someone who owns and runs a bar. From ...

Windy Coffee. [part 1]

Fulya was looking at my sketchbook the other day and remarked that she liked the random sketch that I had made of some girl that I saw walking along with a little plastic cup of coffee during the wind storm a few weeks past. As I still have some small pieces of very good watercolor paper [that I had sized to be used for some small frames I had collected but did not have anything to put in them yet], I thought that perhaps I could transfer a little sketch to a little piece of paper to play with techniques. Namely the layering of water colors. Something that I know I have been working on a lot, but practice makes perfect. I also wanted to see how using my new mechanical pencil filled with blue graphite would work in hiding my lines as I initially worked. I forgot to take a picture of the transition between not having the girl inked at all to inking her and starting the background. I was having a hell of a time trying to figure out a setting in which to put her. At first I was th...

French underworld tattoos at the turn of the century. The man sports a tattooed mustache intended to foil the prohibition of facial hair in the Foreign Legion. The World of Tattoo by Maarten Hesselt van Dinter. I can only dream of being anywhere near that combination of badass and crazy. Though at that point the Foreign Legion was probably still the best place for criminals to get their record cleaned so perhaps he is as well quite legitimately scary upon all of that. I find myself flipping back to this page time and time again to romanticize the French underground from around 1900. Give him an accordion, a beret, and some braces. Prostitutes who could easily kill you if you ever come up short and tattoo the names of their ‘actual’ lovers between their breasts, close to their heart. Tattoo ‘Je mother fucking t’aime’ in a tattoo cursive along my collar bones.

High Contrast Grey.

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