BookLust

Pater Chatter

After reading my recent write-up on my mom, not to mention my past discussion of my Jamaican grandparents, some folks might be wondering if I actually have a father. Well, yes, I do.

My family background is, I think, a fascinating mix of the exotic with the earthy. My mom's background are generations of a mix of Jamaican, Jewish and Portuguese, and my dad's family is at least two generations Canadian, originally poor farm folk from England. For some bizarre reason that I still don't understand, my dad's parents (well, my grandfather) decided to leave Woodbridge, Ontario in the early 1900's to start a farm in Yellowgrass, Saskatchewan. According to the Canada 2001 Census, the population in Yellowgrass was 422. Imagine what it was like during the turn of the century, not to mention the Depression.

My dad was born in 1929, the second youngest of 9 kids; only my dad and one older sister (Ethel) are still with us. When my grandparents first came to settle in Yellowgrass, there was pretty much nothing. I'm not entirely sure of dates, but it's my undertanding that for at least a year or more, they lived in a hole in the ground. My grandmother, Florence Kew, bless her heart, had at least one kid living in a hole in the ground. I never met my father's parents; they were both gone before I was born.

Of course, many others followed. When there finally was a house (if you can call it that), it was built with whatever they could find. That included cow dung to fill in the holes in the walls, of which I am told, there were many. How all those kids survived is a miracle to me. Only one child died in infancy. There were no dentists or doctors readily available, and yet my dad is a healthy 76 and has all his own teeth. Little facts like that fascinate me. I know that this is an overused phrase, but I mean it when I say my dad came from next to nothing. Survivor and self-made man do not begin to describe him. They were poor. Really poor. My father does not share a lot of what it was like in those days, but when he tells me little things like he couldn't go to school until he was six or seven because he had no shoes, I have a small understanding of the difference between my life and his.

My dad was (and still is) a smart guy, who did very well in the maths and sciences. Of course there was no money for university, but my dad was the only one in the family to finish high school.

Once out of highschool he did odd jobs on the farm, worked in the mines in Sudbury, and eventually came to Toronto in the early 1950's with next to nothing in his pocket. He ended up working for a pop machine company, and taking electronic courses in the evening. As luck would have it, IBM was looking for bright young men, and back then you didn't need a degree to work for that company. You just had to write an exam. In comes my dad, in his messy overalls, a shy rube from the prairies, and I'm sure everyone thought who the hell is he, thinking he can get into IBM? Well, he passed the exam with flying colours, and never looked back.

Working for IBM gave my dad the opportunity to travel all over the world, and that included Jamaica, where he met my mom. It's actually a very interesting (and bizarre) story of how he came to Jamaica, and perhaps I'll tell it one day. Suffice to say that I am here today because of an irresponsible bus driver in Jamaica.

My dad may not be the avid reader that my mom is, but he influenced me in many other ways. He always enjoyed my drawing, and would bring home reems of IBM computer printout paper for me to scribble on. He would buy me art and cartoon books that he would see at used book stores, that he thought I might like. But more than anything else, I have learned from my dad the value of hard work, perseverance, and the love and appreciation of the simple things in life. I can still remember as a kid on many occasions, watching my father stare out the window in our dining room, as a horrific thunder storm would be raging. He'd have a big smile on his face, and he looked like he was a million miles away. He'd turn and tell me about the storms on the prairies, and how much he loved (and missed) a good storm. I didn't quite understand back then, but maybe I do now. I love storms, and messy weather, too. I like to look out a window and see the world raging around me. And when I do, I often think of my dad, and of that bittersweet poem by Christina Rossetti:

Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you.
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I.
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.

TGIF Illustration 8!

This week's subject for Illustration Friday is tranquility.

I always feel tranquil when I'm watching fish. Especially kissing fish.

Mmmmmm .... kissing.....

A Trek Down Memory Lane

Finally starting to feel better. Weather still sucks, though.

After reading about the recent passing of actor James Doohan, aka 'Scotty' from the original Star Trek, it got me thinking about my own childhood passion for that amazing TV show.

Yup. I was a Trekkie. And I prefer the term 'Trekkie' over 'Trekker', thank you very much. And no, I never went to conventions dressed up like a Romulan or anything like that; I just loved the original show. The schlocky acting, the sexism, the cheezy sets – I loved it all, because for its time, the ideas were revolutionary (let's not forget that the kiss between Captain Kirk and Uhura was the first interracial kiss on TV!!), and many of the episodes were written by some very talented science fiction authors.

My brother loved the show just as much as me, and it was actually something that brought us together as creative partners when we were kids. During the 60s and 70s I recall that there were quite a few shows and comic books out there that featured well-known cartoon characters, all living their lives as kids. Little Archie was one of them, and didn't The Flintstones do the same thing? I know there are other examples, but my brain still isn't working up to snuff. Anyway, it was these types of cartoons which inspired my brother to create the comic strip The Boys on Enterprise Avenue. Yup, that's right. All the main characters from Star Trek, as kids. My brother wrote the stories, and I illustrated them. I'm pretty sure there were at least three stories in total, but sadly I only managed to save the first one. It's your typical introduction-to-the-characters story, in which Spock is the new kid on the block, and everyone has to get used to him and his odd ways. And yes, they all lived on the street Enterprise Avenue.

Naturally Jimmy Kirk was the leader of the gang, Leonard 'Boney' McCoy was the grouchy kid who was interested in everything medical (he liked to operate on dolls), Chrissie Chapel had a major crush on Spocky, 'Blabbermouth' Uhura couldn't seem to stop talking, Monty Scott loved to take things apart and then fix them, Sulie (why did we call him that?) was big on driving little cars and being in control, Kylie (remember he was Transporter Chief in the show) wanted to figure out how to transform atoms back and forth, and Li'l Pavel Chekov sucked his thumb and hugged his doll, and wanted to play with all the big kids.

We had a lot of fun doing those strips. I think it was a very clever idea for a strip which my brother created. My cartooning abilities at the time were still pretty rudimentary, (I think I was maybe 11?) but I did my best. I'd like to think that Gene Roddenberry would have been pleased.

Sniiiifffff ....

Major freakin' allergy attack. Hence no posts. Hopefully better by tomorrow.

Have I mentioned how much I hate summer?

Northern Exposure

Off to Muskoka for the weekend to visit family.

This shot was obviously taken during the glorious Fall. It was a mighty sunny day, hence the preponderance of squinty-eyed people.

I'm thinkin' that if I stare at this photo long enough, the evil Summer will just go away.

Cartoon Buddies 4

Take a gander at the fabulous work of my kiwi pal Mike Drinkwater, a strange but delightful New Zealand fruit. Mike (aka Mikemot) has recently run away from home, bidding cheerio to all things weird, wobbly and wonderful under the sea, and he has now set up shop in the U.S., all because of some sweet Yankee gal who made his heart go pitter-pat (it usually goes ka-phlumf, so this new beat really threw him off course, literally).

He's one of those cartoon guys who can do many things, gag cartoons, greeting cards, kids' books and his claim to fame, animation (he worked as an animator for Warner Bros' Tiny Toons as well as Taz and Animaniacs, and then Disney's Darkwing Duck, Duck Daze and Goof Troop to name a few). He's a real whiz when it comes to colouring, and in fact it was Mikemot who did the luverly colouring a few months back for that Tasty Tart (which I will be getting back to, I promise!)

So after months of nagging the crazy little marmot, he's finally made himself a pretty web site. Great job, Mikemot! So all you art directors out there, throw some work to this cartoonist kiwi, so that he can buy himself some new shorts!

BiblioQueria 7

I have often wondered, had I been given a different mother, would I still have had such a strong love of books and reading? Is the love of reading purely environmental, or is it genetic? Something my mother passed on to me, perhaps, from her parents? (My maternal grandparents both loved books and reading, and my grandmother was a teacher before she got married). Or can I take sole credit for my passion for books? I will have to say no. I simply cannot ignore the huge influence my mother has had over me when it comes to books, art, and a passion for reading and learning. (That's her, by the way, in her element).

Growing up in Jamaica, my mom was very fortunate to have had an excellent education. It was an all-girl's school, just like the kind in the U.K., with the forms, and A-levels and O-levels and uniforms and prefects and field hockey and all that jolly good stuff. It was also learning the Classics, and Latin and the Bible and history to such a degree that one ends up becoming a bloody walking, talking encyclopedia/dictionary, which I often joke that my mother has become. Why go check in a book if I can just ask my mom? But she hasn't just retained countless facts over the years, she also has an agile and curious mind, that even at the age of 70, shows no signs of slowing down. She still works part-time as a librarian, specializing in Canadiana and genealogy, and has won numerous awards for her expertise in local history, as well as contributions towards the city of Mississauga, where she works.

Books were a staple of our home, just as vital as food. My mom had a small library in my parent's bedroom, and her writing table always had a few books displayed, all with fascinating titles, that as a kid I didn't quite understand, but wanted to know more about. What is The Anatomy of Melancholy I would wonder, and who the heck is Pamela? I thought The Faerie Queene was a kid's story until I finally tried to read some of it. The Penguin Classics edition of The Charterhouse of Parma fascinated me as a kid, because I wanted to know who the dark dreamy guy was on the cover.

But the best room in our home was without a doubt, the basement. My father turned one whole wall into bookshelves, and that is what we called 'The Library'. Every paperback under the sun, and then some. I could just go downstairs and grab any book that interested me. That's how I discovered Roald Dahl's adult stories, Daphne Du Maurier's Rebecca, Ray Bradbury's The Illustrated Man as well as his amazing short stories, and the entire Penguin collection of Agatha Christie's mysteries. There was a Horror section, a Western section, a Cartoon and Humour section (of course!) and all of these books, once taken out, had better bloody well be put back in their proper place once you were done with them, if you knew what was good for you. That's what you get for having a librarian for a mom.

In the rec room there were more books; the Dickens classics,
Anthony Trollope, Henry James, Thomas Hardy, etc. There was also the complete collection of Somerset Maugham's short stories in two hard bound books. I have fond memories of spending Sunday afternoons devouring the entire collection, and then turning to his novels once I was done.

My mom also had an extensive collection of art books, and that is how I discovered people like Andrew Wyeth, Ingres, Michelangelo, Ken Danby and a slew of others. On the weekends there was always classical music and opera blasting as the laundry and housework was being done. That's how I learned about Mozart, Mahler, Bartok, Beethoven, Camile Saint-Saëns (what a thrill when I first discovered Introduction et Rondo capriccioso!), as well as the best musicians and conductors: Sir Georg Solti, Leonard Bernstein, Herbert Von Karajan, Nigel Kennedy, Kiri Te Kanawa, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, and the doomed Maria Callas.

And my mom's tastes in music weren't just limited to the orchestral kind. She could play the organ, the piano and the guitar, and loved to sing folk songs and sea shanties; I have very fond memories as a child, listening to her singing songs like 'The Fox' or that tear-jerker sea shanty 'The Golden Vanity' as she strummed on her acoustic guitar. And yes, she loved West Indian folk songs, too. Harry Belafonte was much revered in our home. And my love for Christmas is strongly associated with my mother's love of Christmas music, both religious and secular.

I could go on, but you see what I'm trying to say. I cannot begin to express how lucky I am. It is thanks to my mother that I love books, art, literature and music. But most especially, books.

And so my question this time is ... is there anyone in your life who had a strong influence on you and your love of books?

Seen in The Village

I'm adding a new category, 'Seen in the Village'. Hopefully I'll keep it up, not like my sadly neglected 'Seen in a Bookstore'. I promise I'll add more to that category soon!

I live about a half hour walk from The Bloor West Village. That's where I hang out to buy books and coffee, meet friends and clients, and generally just shop and people watch.

As well as people, there are usually a lot of dogs. On Saturday I saw this sad little creature (forgive me, but I have just discovered that I don't draw bulldogs well). Yes, when I first saw the poor thing, I laughed, as did every single person who walked by and looked at him (her?). You know, I'm not a big fan of bulldogs, but really, who the hell would dress up a poor dog in a polka-dot tutu?

Some things should just not be done. No matter how funny they are.

My Tek-neek

Here's a rough sketch from the latest children's book I'm working on. Note the messiness of the sketch. That is what I am all about. I am a messy drawer. Always have been. I wish I could be neater, but it just don't work for me. I'm not one of those genius types who puts pencil to paper the first time out and shits gold. I start and stop, erase and start over again. And again. By the end of the experience, my drawing hand will have HB pencil dust all along the side, and there will be those goddam 'eraser bits' all over my drawing table, my lap, and on the floor. It's not a pretty sight.

And for reasons that I can't quite comprehend, I am a low-tech kind of artist. I don't even own a light table (and really, I should). If I need to trace things, I use tracing paper. You don't wanna know how messy that gets.

Recently Mike in Wisconsin inquired on my blog if I could share some of my colouring techniques. Jeepers. It's not like I have a multitude of techniques to choose from. After the messy pencilling is done, I pretty much always ink my drawing with a number 2 Cotman Winsor & Newton brush. God I love those brushes. I use Winsor & Newton black india ink. I usually colour with watercolour, but have recently been experimenting with gouache. I'd like to work more with gouache, but don't feel totally comfortable with it yet. Mind you, I still don't feel entirely secure with watercolours either. Regarding paper, sometimes I use watercolour paper, sometimes Strathmore, sometimes even just basic bond printing paper. Depending on what kind of effect I want to create, I'll colour the inked image in Photoshop, if a 'soft' look is not required.

So there you have it. My amazing illustrating secrets revealed. I'm a creative slob and techno-boob.

TGIF Illustration 7!

The subject for this week's Illustration Friday is metropolitan.

This is an old illo I did a couple years ago, just for fun. I'd say that doggie lives a pretty metropolitan life, wouldn't you?

Any hoo-how, back to work. I'm illustrating my third little children's book!