Summer art projects. - in progress

I finished a piece today that I had started as a 'little' drawing to fill one of my many empty frames. I had received some old sketch paper in California from my grandma and wanted to pair its yellowing with some of my layered drawing. It took a lot longer than I thought it would take, but that was my own doing with adding more and more detail to such a small piece of paper.

I am still in the process of trying to finish a collection of other paintings. They are inspired by my travels around France and the many things that I saw while traveling around. Except the one in the upper left hand corner which is one that I had been working on last summer and was left behind while I left for France. At the moment I think I am done except for naming the gallery. That and finding it a frame to put it in. I really need to work at cutting the paper to fit the many empty frames I have in my collection, so that I can display them easier and save money on going to get things framed.

Tomorrow I leave again for my folks and to finish packing up all my things there. Hopefully I will be able to fit it all. At this point it is just a lot of large, delicate, and odd shaped items left. As well as a lot of porcelain. I had forgotten just how much my collection of pretties and antiques had grown last summer while working at that thrift store. I guess we will be set if we ever make the dining table larger and have a lot of guests over for a dinner party. When one of Jessye's former professors stopped by for a moment she shared the idea of using our apartment to showcase my art for first Friday. I don't know if that will work out all that well since we are a bit off the main drag for that, but it would be nice to perhaps host dinner parties under the pretext of art showings, à la the Salon Saloon parties in Seattle.

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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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