Photoshop vs. my hand

This is a piece I completed recently for my college ministry group – a “ticket” for our kick-off barbeque. I said I’d help handle publicity for our event, and chose to do so by creating an informational ticket to distribute throughout campus. My Photoshop skills are not extensive, so instead I chose to draw and watercolor our barbeque ticket. The process offered me moments to consider the extent of manual work opposed to technological methods. What can Photoshop do that I can’t with pen and brush? And what can my direct contact with the paper do that Photoshop will never be equipped to handle? My final product was adequate. It conveyed a message a message. But more importantly to me, it was a work of art – not a masterpiece, but a little pen and watercolor sketch expressing direct contact and emotion, also necessary in an advertisement of our sorts. I’m certain a Photoshop pro could recreate my dinky, little ticket at a quality demanded by Martha Stuart for a formal wedding, but I still believe there is “something” about anything produced by hand.

My second bible

GQ (Gentlemen’s Quarterly) is the bible that rests alongside my Bible on my nightstand. I simply can’t get enough of it. Apart from my Christian-based Bible that works to lead my life in a faithful direction, this bible guides me to the Mount Canaan of fashion commandments, the latest political drama, the best places to travel under $300, and the newest technology in deodorant. And of course, the advertisements are well worth the $3.99 I pay for the magazine – they in themselves are many times works of art, and have now become food for my advertising-intrigued brain.

When will it bite them in the butt?

Ironically following my philosophy class, I witnessed an ethical faux pas just outside the classroom. It took place in one of the most competitive parking lots, in what was the most desirable parking space. Two students strolled over to their prized spot where their brand new Lexus sat ready to drive. The whole scene caught my attention because I too search for the perfect spot, but this one was simply too good to be true. They hopped into their pimped-up, white ride, and just before driving in reverse, quickly snatched a handicap sign off from their rear-view mirror. What low-lives these people lead. I have nothing more to say.

But it did make me think: how could one reserve such a special parking spot for future use? Hmmm…what about one of those orange parking cones. In my case I could store the cone in my trunk until a particularly coveted space became mine. I would leave it at the head of my parking spot and people would assume it was reserved for someone important, or required upkeep. At least I wouldn’t be depriving someone physically impaired of a parking spot. I’m just practicing for the future when my job allows a space designated to me with my name fuzzily stenciled on the cement with white paint.

This image is a watercolor and pen sketch I recently completed in San Miguel, Mexico, a Spanish-colonial town dating back to the seventeenth century. The subject matter is typical of this town: stucco walls with a painted band of color (blue), terracotta roofs, and of course, the original VW Beetle. I believe there are more Beetles in San Miguel than citizens. Of course I needed to include one in a drawing. But interestingly, I never saw the New VW Beetle. I did see, however, a Beetle souped-up to include a Corona tap handle for the car’s shift stick. Clever Mexicans.

Comedians

Last weekend I attended a comedy show with a group of friends. It was nothing glamorous – just a group of approximately ten individuals claiming a comedian title – this is up for discussion. I will admit to a few hard laughs here and there. On average, every-other comedian was worth his or her pay. But by necessity, it appeared, every comedian used part of his or her appearance to their advantage on a comedic level. For example, one comedian (400 approx. lbs. (he told us)) used his weight to his “funny” advantage – I didn’t find this funny. He claims that after using an automatic urinal, he turns around to flush five simultaneously. Another man compared his appearance to Ellen DeGeneres. Gross. A black man used his skin color. A short man used his hobbit-sized height. And an Indian pulled out the “I’m brown” card.

Makes me wonder what I could pick apart at myself for comedic entertainment.

Pencil vs. Pen

Yesterday between slides in my marketing professor’s power point, I skimmed the students around me, noticing one element common to each: the writing utensil choice of pens over pencils. I continued to scan the lecture hall, searching for someone, anyone, holding a pencil. But the preference was unanimous.

A preference was also unanimous in elementary school: pencil. I remember my English teacher demanding us to write in pen instead of pencil – she might as well have forced us to use our own blood. Because what would’ve happened had we made a mistake?! Crossing out was aesthetically unacceptable to our written masterpieces…but then again there were those “erasable pens.” Those never worked. In fact, they were worse than an actual pen because of the gooey and high ink viscosity required for erasing (better stated as smearing).

My impromptu research concludes that a transition of sorts must take place between the ages of elementary school, if not middle, and college. Attributing the transition to the wishes of our past teachers who complained about smudge marks and the lightness of contrast would be silly. Maybe we can attribute this transition to confidence. After all, we are college students.