Self-Portraits, Then and Now

The first one is from 1996. The second one is from today. So what's changed since 1996?

I cut my hair (and dye it now.) I got married. My mother died (in 2000.) The twin towers. I had a baby (in 2003.)

I stopped drawing for awhile there, though I was doing some wild abstract paintings. A few months after Madeline was born, I wrote a picture book. A few years ago, I bought myself a new set of rapidographs. And a bunch of woodless pencils (my favorite kind of pencil!) and a few china markers (hard to unravel.) So I'm drawing again.

But what else is different? I feel like I hardly know that bold, confident young woman from 1996. Before all that crap happened. Before I spent so much time worrying about my parenting skills, or lack of. She looks so carefree.

I am not carefree. But I do have my set of rapidographs and a brand new bottle of ink.

And I've written a bunch more books. And I am more likely now to go to conferences and talk to people I don't know. I am more able now to send my stories and drawings out into the world and greet rejection letters with a 'that's okay; I'll just keep trying." I am more able to say "I'm an artist." Because I really am. So maybe this is the new, bolder Constance, after all. The one who is writing a blog in 2010. Which is something I never would have done (technology notwithstanding) in 1996!

Draw As You Go

This weekend I was at Spring Mingle, a fabulous SCBWI conference in Atlanta. I met and heard agent Josh Adams, literary legend Jane Yolen, and two amazing editors, Cheryl Klein and Meredith Mundy. I heard so much useful, helpful information on craft and on submitting. On the history and the current state of publishing. On persevering and persevering some more. I was surrounded by people who love kids books as much as I do, which is one of the best reasons to go to a conference!

And then there were the puns. My god, the puns. Come up with a kids-lit related pun and win a lunch date (kinda) with one of the presenters. I went to the conference (and roomed!) with two critique group buddies, and we were each successful punners,

with: When little rabbit's pjs fell down, old rabbit saw his goodnight moon. (or something)

and: Paddington tried to hibernate one winter, but he just couldn't bear it.

and: What happened when frog parked in the fire lane? He was towed.

So much happened in the course of three days, I've been thinking on how to blog about it and it's making my head hurt. BUT I can show you some sketches.

Because drawing is what I do.

Like this one I did in the Beauty Bar in Manhattan. Isn't she great?

In My Dinner with Andre, Andre says: I could always live in my art but never in my life. (or something)

I can live in my life sometimes. I just try to draw what I can. Like this rabbit in my yard.

Yes, I know I'm no Beatrix Potter. But we used to live in Brooklyn, so what d'ya want from me?

Mostly I'm drawing Madeline. And she's drawing me.

So what did you learn at your conference?

Oh, and thanks for the wine, Donna. And thanks for the chocolates, Ameliann. And thanks for saving me a seat at the agent's table, Andrea. I appreciate you guys!

Why Crows Matter

Why crows?
Loud enough to startle you when you're walking across the yard. Black enough to leave their imprint on the sky. I love to see them menacing their way across the frozen grass. Or sitting so high on a branch, screaming to the heavens.

I wrote this poem:

What Crow Know

Crow watch- wonder
how we do
without wings, pale things
ground-bound, so down

Up
sail Crow
in blackness, forgetting
limp limbs- thin lips
which no can crow or-

Caw!
Crow fly fast.

A blot of ink circle my
sun- my blue- and more
amass, a murder of

Crow-

So bead eyes in tree,
what see- what see-
me? growing slow

caw!

Crow know
Crow go.
go.


I read this poem today and realized I wrote it two years ago when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. But I was lucky.

As a matter of fact, I got my mammogram results today-- and everything's okay. I even have a poem.

I want to dedicate this to all the many women who are dealing with or have dealt with breast cancer. Please share your story. Do a painting, write in your journal, do a drawing. Or write a poem. And imagine how great it will feel to look back years later and see what you made.

Me as Frida and Others

This self-portrait, from 1999 maybe, was obviously influenced by Frida Kahlo. I really got into Frida's amazing art in my early 20s.

Interesting that her first self-portrait (or so) looks like a Modigliani.

So she wanted to be Modigliani. I wanted to be Frida.

When I was in middle school, I read a book by Andy Warhol and wanted to be him too (maybe his art didn't influence me but his big dose of COOL sure did!)

In high school, I was fortunate enough to take figure drawing at a local university. Then I briefly wanted to be DaVinci (but we all want to be him at some point, right?)

I've also wanted to be Egon Schiele, Chaim Soutine, Alice Neel and Jackson Pollock (who wins the best quote of the universe with (when asked if he painted from nature): "I am Nature.")

Nowadays I'd like to be a combination of William Steig, Arnold Lobel and Beatrix Potter. Maybe with a pinch of Mo Willems.

Or I could just pinch Mo Willems. He's so cute!

Did someone just break into a chorus of "I gotta be me"?

Yes, I know, I gotta be me. I wanna be me. But I also want to take a blogmoment to thank all the artists and writers in the world for putting it out there so I could find it. And maybe borrow a little bit. Thank you all for keeping it going.

Now, who do you want to be?

Check out the really fun contest at this wonderful blog: http://www.faeriality.blogspot.com/

I'd say more about it, but I'm on Day 4 with a sick and irritable birthday girl :(
Not me!
Madeline is seven today. A very grouchy seven. But cute.

Another Post About My Kid

Madeline drew this portrait-- of me! I only wish I were so glamorous, but I do think she caught my essence.

On our morning walk to school today, she said, "Mom, is it true that snakes used to have legs?"

Thrown somewhat by the unexpected question and early hour, I replied, "No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know. Why?"

"Well," she said, "if we evolved, then snakes must have evolved too."

"And, " she added, as my head continued to spin, "can you believe we started being a million years ago? We were covered with hair. Lots of it. And then, in 1492, .... oh, no, that was something else."

Madeline pauses for a breath.

"We're having punch tomorrow!"

for their Valentine's Day party, of course. This disjointed thinking, this jumping from one concept to the next is what makes my husband observe at times that having a kid is like living with a crazy person. I think it may also be somehow the seed of creativity.

After all, tomorrow is Valentine's Day.

And we used to be covered in hair!

Now, who wants some punch?

Subway Drawing

I admit it. I miss New York. Yes I complained about the constant noise, nerve-jarring commotion, hectic pace and the subway.

What? I complained about the subway? Hard to believe. Because the subway was like one endless free figure drawing class. I'd steal glances or find people who were sleeping, reading or too spaced out/tired to notice. Or I'd just look at the whole car and assume an expression of someone who's attention was somewhere else, and try to draw the whole scene. There's so much going on in every car: musicians, poets, sleeper, dreamers, angry old people and crying babies. People from every corner of the world.

One time a young man approached me (and everyone's in their own private tiny cramped space on the subway and does not want to be approached--- there's probably at least one crazy person per subway car and you never know)

You an artist? he asked me.

Yes, I am. I said, hoping he wasn't going to yell at me for staring at his girlfriend or something.

Want to draw me?

Sure!

And there he is. Abe. 23 years old. February 14, 1998.

I drew him. He smiled. I offered to give him the drawing.

No, he said. You keep it.

Valentine's Day. I guess Abe wanted to give me a little something special. Thanks, Abe!