The Hummingbird

The Short Story, if you come here only to look at the sketches:

A tiny hummingbird, drawn from real life out in the wild. Woot!

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The Long Story, if you come to read the rambling tales of my mundane life:

I was out Urban Sketching with Miz Dee earlier this week. I was frustrated because my sketches weren't going well. The drawing part was fine, but the painting and composition suckedrealbad.

Decided to take a break and get away for a minute. Went around the corner next to the dumpster to ponder on things. Dumpster pondering is more beneficial than you might think. There are usually lots of interesting things in and around a dumpster. Most times I find something there I want to draw. But I digress.

So, I was sitting on the curb pondering the dumpster environs when I heard a splat a few feet away. Looked over to see a tiny hummingbird had fallen from the sky and landed among the debris.

He was laying on his side, not moving, one unblinking eye staring straight up into the glaring sun. His bill had somehow become wedged under an old pipe. He was pitiful. I took him for a goner. Chances for his survival seemed to be slim to none at this point.

I paused for a minute, wondering if I should intervene. There really wasn't anything I could do to rescue him from his imminent fate. But I couldn't stand seeing him laying there like that. If he was going to die, at least he could die comfortably in a quiet corner in the shade, not being baked in the sun in a pile of trash. No creature should met his end like that.

I picked him up ever so gently, trying not to touch him much or hurt him any further. He was tiny, maybe 2-1/2 inches long. He didn't even flinch when I picked him up. I figured he didn't have long.

I set him in a nearby flowerbed in the shade. I nestled him in the shredded mulch so that he was upright on his belly. He didn't fall over but he wasn't moving either. I left to let nature take its course. I couldn't bear to watch.

When I returned to my sketching spot, my warm tender-hearted side went back into hibernation and my logical analytical side kicked in. Make that my cold evil black-hearted side.

Humm...if the hummingbird is going to be over there dying for a while, he'll be still enough to sketch. When will I ever get another opportunity to sketch a motionless hummingbird in the wild???? Snatched up the sketchbook and off I went. The little devil on my left shoulder was most pleased.

I hunkered down next to the little bird, trying to get a good look at him. I was maybe 18 inches away. He was moving his head from side to side ever so slightly as I got my pen and sketchbook ready. As I drew, his head moved back and forth, a little bit more and a little bit more.

I was almost finished with the sketch when a big natural gas standpipe nearby came to life making a loud whooshing sound. That startled the little bird. He became noticeably agitated and his eyes opened wide. He really started looking around at that point. Suddenly he cranked his head up and looked me square in the eye. Uh oh. I've been spotted.

Then he took flight! Two sides of our spot were brick walls and the third a tall hedge. I closed him in on the fourth side. He rose about a two feet off the ground and hovered about a foot from my nose, giving me a thorough examination. He was sizing me up as friend or foe I suppose.

I remained motionless as he zigged and zagged, checking me out on all sides. He finally decided up was probably the best option for escape. Up he went, but not out into the open sky. He banged against the building a couple of times, then against the big loading dock door. He still wasn't OK obviously, but at least he was off the ground and no longer a potential kitty snack.

I watched as he finally made his way to the top of the wall and into the open southern sky.

Goodbye little bird. Thank you for the few magical moments we spent together. I'll remember this for the rest of my life.

See, I told ya dumpsters were interesting places to hang out. Didn't believe me did ya?

Die Cat Die!

Journaling:

Cheezburger the Porch Cat has a new tormentor. This is one pissed off little mockingbird. He starts dive bombing the poor cat anytime Cheezy pokes out even a whisker in his view.

The bird sits on the shepherd's crook a few feet from the porch and screams at Cheezy. The fact that there are humans on the porch doesn't deter the bird at all. He is out for Cheezy's blood.

Adventures of a Ninja Sketcher

Spent all the Open Studio time today chatting about arty stuff and didn't get a thing drawn. An itty bitty kidlet class was taking over the studio so I escaped into the hallway. Paintings were leaning against the wall in preparation for a show and a rooster one caught my eye.

I got down on my hands and knees with my nose an inch from the glass and studied it in detail. Fabulous feathers on this bird. I think I figured out how she did it. Must sketch and take notes.

You can skip reading all that on the left unless you are interested in painting feathers using watercolor. Just look at the bird and think, "Oh nice" and keep reading. But on a side note, I'm not sure if it's kosher to sketch the paintings or not, but I was out there doin' it in front of God-n-Everybody and nobody said I couldn't, so I did.



So I'm out there on the bench sketching the bird and the droning plunk, plunk, plunk of the piano tuner man is reverberating through the building. The receptionist says, "I'm about to go out of my mind listening to that."

"Is he close to being finished?" I asked.

"No" she says with a sigh.

"Excelleeeeeent" says the Ninja Sketcher with an evil smirk. A captive and preoccupied sketch target.

So I don my black pajamas and creep into the big rehearsal hall. I take up a position in the shadows partly obscured by a wall but with a full view of the piano. Out comes the Black Pen of Justice. Swish! You are mine! You cannot escape me now! (evil laugh)

Sketch, sketch, sketch, sketch, sketch.


(The squeaks are where he used the tuning wrench to tighten the string.)

I have to point out that even though I am in the shadows, I'm sitting on the floor in a completely empty foyer and am in full view should anyone open the main door. They would have to walk three feet in front of my knees to get in or out of the rehearsal hall so it's not as if I'm skulking around in the back corners or anything. Even Ninja Sketchers know it's not polite to creep people out.

I had just started to paint when Tunerman abruptly finished and turned to leave. I confessed I had sketched him while he was working and handed him my sketchbook. He chuckled and said, "You even got the broken ankle."

He told me the story of his broken ankle and how the doc had put him in the walking cast boot thingy. More chatting about piano tuning and he told me his story of the little boy asking him the question.

Then he added, "There should be a piano lesson going on right now. Somebody's late."

Excelleeeeeeent. More victims.

In a few minutes piano teacher and student came in. Teacher asked, "Will we bother you?"

"No, not at all, go right ahead," smirked the Ninja Sketcher.

St. PITT of Faber-Castell, patron saint of sketchers everywhere, was really smiling on me today. It's not often sketch victims willingly plop themselves down right in front of you when you have an open sketchbook and pen in plain sight. Yes, St. PITT was smiling...and so was I.

Sketch, sketch, sketch, sketch, sketch; paint, paint, paint.



My ears couldn't bear another minute of the piano lesson so I escaped back to the hallway again. A young girl saw me refilling the waterbrush and asked what it was, so I did another little show-n-tell.

She followed me to the bench in front of the rooster to watch me paint. I was thinking out loud for her so she would understand what I was doing, why I was choosing what colors, and how the brush worked. Had I thought about it at the time, I should have given the book, brush and palette to her and let her paint the rooster. Must consider that in the future.

Suddenly a flood of kidlets swarmed into the building for a class about to meet. Lots of young eyes peering over my shoulders. One guy studied my drawing for a bit, then the rooster painting, and said I had missed the brown color at the bottom. "Where? What brown? I am old and cannot see." We both got down on the floor on our hands and knees to study the painting. "Here" he said, "right under this part." Oh. He was right. Good eye kid.

He scurried off to his class, and the Ninja Sketcher scurried off home, because by this point she was suffering from Kidlet Klaustrophobia. However, I was sooooo stoked by the sketching and painting today. Three sketches completely painted on-site. Woot!

Got home and ranted and raved and flapped my arms, telling Hubby all about the day's events. I was high. High like on cocaine high. This is how the creative process is supposed to make you feel. Stoked I tell you.

And the rest of the world wonders why sketchers are always hunkered over little books with inkpens. If they only knew.

Life is good.

Bald Eagle

Journaling:

This is the first spread in the new larger journal...that I've drawn. All the newness and vast amounts of whitespace were too intimidating so I pasted stuff and wrote notes about it on the first few pages. The splashes of color seemed to kickstart my creativity.

This eagle was on a piece of mail from the DAV today. I liked how he looked so I decided to paint him with my own kinda style - thick black ink lines.

It was so much fun to be able to draw big and paint big!

I see I'm still avoiding the valley in this journal too, just in a much larger way.