As I understand it, there is a tradition in many northwest Native American cultures that if a totem poles falls to the ground, it must be left there to decompose, untouched. I think this is a beautiful way of looking at nature: man borrows the tree and carves it to suit his needs. But when wind or storms cause it to fall, the tribe’s reverence for nature means that Earth should reclaim what rightfully belongs to it.
Archive for June, 2006
Without even a brief pause in my schedule after being out of town last week, I’m once more chained up to the ole’ drafting table. Yes, faithful blog readers, poor little Brad won’t be living as his alter ego “Old Man” anytime soon. No riding his 1952 Vespa, no restoring his 1923 Old Town canoe, and no working on his 1963 Airstream. There’s simply too much work and too many overlapping deadlines. But listen, we’re talking about drawing. For a living. I’m not exactly in a position to complain, am I?
To sum up, from now until the end of July I’ll be rendering the next deck of the yacht project I worked on in March. And I must finish all the final illustrations for Yusuf’s Ramadan Lantern, a storybook being published by an Islamic foundation. Oh, and I need to get as much done on my own children’s book that I’ve written.
You ask, “You’ve written your first children’s book? And it’s an alphabet book, cleverly titled Alphadog? Bradley, you’re just plain amazing!”
Uh huh. I’m settled on the text, and have been thinking about the style of the illustrations. I’ll probably aim for something reminiscent of the 1920’s National Park Service style. And with any luck, I’ll have sketches and 2 or 3 of the (you guessed it) 26 illustrations completed for Alphadog by the beginning of August.
Before heading home yesterday, we visited the Lake Shore Steamers train club on Saturday night in Willoughby, Ohio. Melissa’s cousin Marcel (I suppose he’s my cousin as well) builds and runs scale model steam locomotives. We rode the mile-long tracks that wind through the woods, over trestle bridges, and along the bluffs of a steep gorge. The groom, a member of the train club himself, took a turn at the wheel as well. I was offered a turn, but wisely chose to remain a passenger. Hot plumes of steam shoot high in the air from the fire box, and I’m still washing tiny flakes of coal out of my hair.