A Wanderer Grown Old

I casually tipped my cap to him as we passed each other on the narrow path in the woods. He smiled and whispered, "When I was young I explored mountains. Now that I am old I explore my soul. And I have discovered, after so many years, that they are, each in their own way, among the most mysterious and most majestic of all God's works." Then, without another word, he went on his way. I watched him until the path turned and he disappeared into the forest, and I, more respectfully than before, tipped my cap to him again.

The Foreigner

"By a route obscure and lonely,

Haunted by ill angels only,

Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,

On a black throne reigns upright, 

I have wandered home but newly

From this ultimate dim Thule."

-- Edgar A. Poe, "Dream-land"

There's nothing much to this piece, nothing really worth mentioning. It's just a stranger nearing the end of his travels. As I mentioned before, I'm doubtful I'll continue adding images to this site. I may still have one or two more drawings in me, so this sketch may not be the end of the journey. But just in case it is, then I must say that this little blogsite afforded me a happy walkabout. I'm glad I rambled through it and I hope you also found your roaming through it amusing. Now, just in case this is the end of the journey, I want to take this occasion to thank a certain individual from France who, since 2018 and more often than not, faithfully accompanied me through this site's thick brambles and muddy paths. It means a lot to me that someone from France, where, I imagine, all roads lead to great art, made a point to stroll through my humble, little sketches. So, to that person and to everyone else who chanced upon this little byway in their wanderings, I just want to say a heartfelt merci and a possible adieu. Thanks for walking with me through these strange woods!

Broken Bridges

"No wise man ever wished to be younger." -- Jonathan Swift

Once upon a time there was a little boy who, after many and many a misadventure, achieved his dream. He found himself as free to roam as a dried leaf in the wind, unencumbered by memory, responsibility and regret. And he lived happily ever after.

Study of a Man

He has made everything beautiful in its time; also He has put eternity into man's mind... (Ecclesiastes 3:11).

Kept Lessons

The first image posted on this site, back in 2017, was that of a young satyr. Thus it seems appropriate that the possible last image should be that of an old one. I say "possible" since I may still occasionally post something: I'm just doubtful that I'll be posting on a regular basis. But in case this does turn out to be the last one, I want to say I hope you had as much fun visiting this site as I did in adding things to it. So, until we meet again, if we meet again, God bless, try to smile once a day and thank you for visiting.

Thoughts in the Rain

They sat at the entrance of the cave as the rain poured down, Iago chewing on some fennel and Quasimodo absently tapping his fingers on his leg. "Well," Quasimodo finally said, "you must admit we needed the rain; the woods were getting pretty dry."

Iago let out a deep, long sigh. "Rain or no, I don't think it makes any difference. These woods, these indescribable woods, I don't think they need rain or sun or... or anything. I think these woods are self-sustaining, complete onto themselves. They'll survive, unchanged, long after we're nothing but rodent-gnawed bones. I tell you this, too: sometimes I think this forest is sentient... a conscious organism always watching us... maybe even laughing at us. The sun, this rain, even you and I, maybe we're all just ephemeral, transitory amusements to this eternal forest... all, all of us... just a joke, a momentary smile on the face of eternity."

"Well, even I have to admit that it seems we've been wandering these woods for eons. But there's no need to become morose about it. You have to admit the woods are beautiful, so beautiful I doubt they'd maliciously laugh at us, risible as we may deem we be."

Iago smiled at his friend. "You know I'm always morose. Sure, I'll admit the woods do have some beauty to them, but that's only because most mysteries, by their very nature, have an intrinsic beauty to them. Even you and I may have some beauty to us, if one only knew how to look."

Quasimodo laughed. "Well, I may have some discoverable beauty, some well-hidden allure even. But you?"

"Well, maybe once upon a time, long ago. Or at least grant me I at once had the potential for beauty."

"Indeed, my friend! We all do... or did. But can leopards such as us ever change out spots? Can our old souls ever reclaim our long-lost innate beauty? Can we ever even hope?"

Iago stared up at the sky, at the falling rain, a puzzling expression on his face. "Maybe," he whispered, "the cleansing rain from above can cleanse the dirty things of the earth, might wash off the grime, might... restore what was lost." He stood up and turned to Quasimodo and smiled in spite of himself. "You old scalawag, you! Do you think it's worth a try?"

Quasimodo also rose. "Even in eternity," he smiled, "there's no time like the present." And so, arm in arm, they walked out into the rain and back into the endless woods.

And My Father Always Called Me His Little Flower

There's really nothing to say about this piece since the title fully explains it. However, this drawing was not originally crafted with any theme in mind. Indeed, the title and apparent idea were arbitrarily added after the fact since this was just another doodle where the pencil wandered where it would and the only part I actively played in the whole execution was to try to keep said pencil from wandering off the page.

The Wanderer

 Upon a finite shore he waits for his Pilot to bear him to his infinite home since, in this life, there is always hope. Happy New Year!

The Aged Faun

    Night was coming on fast by the time I reached the mountain crest. The gentle winds carried the scent of decay and the swaying vegetation, what little there was, was stunted and dry. The old faun was near the mouth of a cave, resting in the growing shadows. I tipped my hat. "Nice place."

You May as Well Know, Timothy

This drawing was done twenty years ago. That amount of elapsed time amazes me. It certainly does not seem that long ago that I drew this. As is obvious, part of the idea of this picture has to do with the remorseless passing of time. Death steals upon the saint and the sinner, the doer and the idler. It is impartial and universal, so all one can do is try to make the noblest use of whatever time one is blessed to have in this life. I know it's been some time since I posted anything new, or since I've even had anything new to post. It's not that I've been oh-so-busy as that I've been oh-so-lazy. But now this drawing, done so many heartbeats ago, brings home that I might well be in the last mile of my journey here, and that if I want to try to produce anything worthwhile, then I better start right away. So, it is now my ambition to start producing new work... starting maybe tomorrow.

The Conversation

There's not much to this. It's just a small representation of a universal reality.

Weathered

Since I couldn't think of anything to draw, I opened an old magazine for inspiration and chanced upon a photograph of an actor. Now, because I'm rarely successful in capturing likenesses, I thought I'd use his middle-aged features for reference to aid me in drawing an imaginary older person. I put the magazine away after roughing in the head, certain no one would ever suspect (or care) about my source. That's when Kathy walked by, said the face reminded her of someone and then amazed me by guessing the thespian (although, to be honest, it took her two tries). I was so surprised that I didn't even think to tell her she guessed correctly. In fact, I was so stunned that I quit working on the drawing, which is why the picture looks the way it does. I'm not so bedazzled with Kathy's keen detective abilities now, however, since she's been walking by as I type this and keeps guessing more and more people, most of whom I've never heard of. Still, it does make me wonder if anyone else could ever guess the model's identity.