March 2007 Archives

The newspaper people had trouble downloading my file, their provider had somehow banned me again, it's happened before. So they had to do the layout without even having seen the drawing, they could have looked at my blog, but hey. Anyway, I think it explains the sea of white around Vonne van der Meer. In the end I managed to send the file with Send2deliver. Hasn't Vonne got the utmost Dutch face you ever saw? I think she has. And I do realize that I didn't flatter her. I hadn't heard of her before, but then I watched this interview and I didn't mind at all really. I know that I can't judge her literary value by her personal beliefs, and I don't. But she annoyed the hell out of me. I think it's curious how in Holland the anti-abortion people seem to label themselves pro-choice. I think they know full well that they would totally marginalize themselves if they were to expose their beliefs too overtly. So they present the idea of putting children up for adoption as an "alternative". And they don't stop stressing how life long troubles and tragedies will be the fate of women who dare to discontinue their pregnancy. With testimonial after testimonial. Well, they never asked me. I have had an abortion and I have never regretted it one moment. Abortion is not for fun but it sure isn't the big deal that Vonne van der Meer and her confederates like to make of it either.

I have to do this faster. Accept mistakes. That is the whole idea of using paint, no corrections. I feel like I am painting Easter eggs.

Piffin Coleta Duvekot

OCAD Id Number: xxxxxxx
OUAC REF. # : 2007xxxxxxx


Dear Piffin Coleta :

Congratulations!

Your portfolio presentation was strong and your application for admission has been successful. On behalf of the University, I am delighted to extend the offer of admission to the first year, Bachelor of Fine Art program in the Faculty of Art at the Ontario College of Art & Design.

This offer is CONDITIONAL upon meeting all stated academic requirements. It is important that you visit http://www.ocad.ca/prospective_students/admission_requirements.htm and review them. You will not be able to register as a student at the University unless you meet all of the appropriate requirements.

We are hosting a special event for newly admitted students on Saturday, April 28. 2007. For details please go to http://www.ocad.ca/prospective_students/learn_more.htm and click on Create Your Future.

Over the next few weeks you will be receiving a package of information that will include a more formal letter of offer. Please be sure to read all of the information in the package carefully. There will be details about:

· response dates and deadlines
· how to accept your offer online
· tuition deposit requirement

We hope that you will choose to join us and give your imagination a chance to change the world. If the Admissions & Recruitment office can be of any further assistance, I invite you to contact us.

We welcome you to our community and wish you every success in your studies.

Yours truly,

Jan Sage, Director
Admissions & Recruitment

Today is a historic day. Thirteen-year-old Otger passed his seventeen-year-old sister's line on the kitchen door post. He is taller! Only another eleven centimeters and he'll get me as well. How many peanut butter sandwiches will that take? The sister is a little sad, being the shortest one in the family. Tough luck, she takes after Michiel's mom, who was also short. Had she chosen any of her other three grandparents, she would have been tall and slender. But who knows which other flaws she would have had to battle then.

I honestly had never heard of this author. Which evoked the remark "but she is very popular with women over fifty". That made me feel better.

Oh, don't you just hate that too? People who listen to you empathically? Look you in the eye, lean over, say your name every time they address you and when possible touch? Or when they start telling you why you do or say things? Or when they lower their voice and sound like they want to start some conspiracy. Or when they state that they can relate to something you say. Or everything, even. Or when they say you are living their dream (or is that a different problem). According to the article such people aren't vulnerable and that is why they don't really communicate. But I just always find it plain arrogant. Unfortunately the article gives tips and tricks for avoiding this behaviour, I would have liked to see a more rigorous approach. Like how to eliminate everybody from your life who ever read a self help book. But it's like with religion, I wouldn't have any friends left if I did that. So I endure. Bigger drawing.

I wish I could have worked on my Little Golden Book today, but my other clients don't suddenly cease to exist. I think I am one of the very last people alive who actually had grandparents like these. Mine really looked like this. My grandmother resided in a big wicker chair in the kitchen, and bossed my aunt around. My grandfather hardly ever left his wood working shop in the back yard. Though I do remember him sitting in the kitchen too. Slicing potatoes, thinner than thin, with the patience of an angel. I don't really know how or when they died. I have this story in my head that my grandfather died from a fall in the bed room, but I don't know if that is true. My grandmother developed Alzheimer's. I think I saw her once while she suffered from it, not long before she died. She was worrying about my mother, and then she mistook my cousin Margriet for her as she came in the room. Which really felt creepy to me as a child, because my mother had died years before that. To me, my mother belonged to me, I had never really linked her to my grandmother at all.

Any neighbours reading this? I saw a dead pigeon hanging over Boulton Street. Caught in a very thin line running very tight high across the street, and stretched a long way too. A mystery, I couldn't see where the line was attached, it seemed to go all the way over the church. And the pigeon is hanging exactly over the street, as if someone had hung it there on purpose. And if it wasn't on purpose, even if the pigeon flew itself to death against this thin wire, how does it stay up there? I mean, it's not around its neck, it's too straight and tight for that. I am going to have a nightmare about this.

The project was on ice for a week or so, the publisher and I had some professional courtship display going on. But we found each other, so I can go ahead. Nothing like starting negotiations after starting the work :-( I collected what ever pictures I could find of the different characters. I already have a pretty good idea how I am going to depict some of them. The hamster sisters can wear their beautiful hats when they go picnicking. And I did not remember uncle Gerrit had such a bright pink beak. I can use my bengal rose on it. But now I am going to spend the rest of the day puzzling the story onto the exact number of pages. Which is pretty hard, I made mistakes in both my previous Little Golden Books. I have to decide which scenes go on single pages, and which ones on spreads, and still have the last words end up on the last page.

I was on the radio tonight, you could listen to it if you really wanted to, as soon as they upload tonight's episode. Theme tonight was organ donation, they had listeners call in to offer their shocking thoughts. No, I won't have anybody transplant my brain! Lucky potential receiver. And then a gentleman from Mexico and myself had to deliver some local news. Now in today's Canadian newspapers it was budget, budget, budget, budget. The federal government presented the budget, big thing. No way was I going to explain the Canadian federal budget to a Dutch radio audience. So I took what little there was of other news; poisoned pet food. Heart breaking story. But the gentleman from Mexico had such a load of hard boiled Armageddon size real world tragedies, that my pet food sounded awful meager. I thought about throwing in Toronto's mayor David Miller, who is officially Canada's smartest mayor after taking the lead in the mayors team at Test the Nation. But that would have made a ridiculous contrast.

The lady through whom we adopted him told us Orbit had a seventeen page medical history. She would fax it to our vet as soon as we would find one. Well, we still haven't. The seventeen pages will remain a mystery. Orbit was on a diet, he only ate special dog food with fish in it, because he was allergic to meat. And he was on prednisone. Yes, go ahead, read that again, prednisone. Steroids. Because of nervous bowel syndrome, would you believe it. And he had all sorts of anxieties too, I won't bore you with those. The diet was easy, Orbit couldn't wait to get off it. He loves meat, allergic, get out of here. We're feeding him tripe now, his bowl empty in seconds! But a friend of mine who is a pediatrician warned me about the prednisone. Don't do that too fast, he'll die. Okay, we can't have dying. So only on days where I was absolutely super sure Orbit was strong and healthy, I brought his dose down a quarter tablet. It took ages, I was terrified the dog would die on me. But I was determined to do it without a vet, this dog had seen too many vets in his life, making money off him. Scaring his owners into coming back. They take courses in that you know, vets. And I am such an easy target, so I stay away as far as I can. Remember that periodontist guy? I bet he had taken keep-them-coming-back courses, god he was scary. Using the word disease three times in every sentence. Having me pay for appointments where he would only talk to me. Fortunately I have a phone with a display, I just stopped picking up when he called. I find all doctors not covered by OHIP act that way. And Orbit's previous owners must have been the total vet victims. Vets like that should be prosecuted. Orbit is a different dog without the prednisone. He doesn't fart anymore, thank the lord. He used to fart constantly, who knows his previous owners put him up for adoption because of it. And he suddenly enjoys petting and hugging very very much. Poor dog, he was almost indifferent to that before. And when he sleeps he gives off these happy sighs... To other dogs he is nicer than before. He lost some weight, but not too much. And sure, he has a sensitive bowel. Whenever he eats something yuckie off the street, he throws up after, or has some diarrhea the next day. But that's no syndrome!

The house gave up another treasure today. I wish somebody would write me a sick note...

Dear Teacher,
please excuse Glen for being away yesterday as he was sick to his stomach & didn't feel very well.
Mrs. Gray

I found a Glen Gray. But I don't think the handwriting is old enough.

This drawing should have been in the paper today, but I guess it'll be for next week. Having my weblog mentioned in the newspaper is far better, and it's a first. Because of that there will be a lot of first time visitors this weekend, so maybe it's a good idea if I write that speech now. The speech that my NRC editor Ellen de Bruin has offered to read in The Hague, in case I win. Which I won't. So please Ellen, and everybody, put your tongues where they belong. In your cheeks. (Dutch version in the extended entry)

Highly appreciated public, I cannot even begin to tell you how surprised I am that I actually won this Bloggie for best written Dutch weblog. It doesn't make sense, I write in English. To be honest, I don't think I was nominated because of my writing abilities. Or my drawing abilities. Wim Noordhoek must have recognized my deepest secret talent that is the true power behind my wonderful weblog. It is, ladies and gentleman, and I only recently started to admit this, my calling in life to be a neighbour. I am the ideal neighbour. I have moved around a lot, lived in six different countries, and I had wonderful neighbours everywhere. To name just a few. Herr Heinrich in Stuttgart, who received one escort lady after another in his apartment, until he got his mail order bride from the Philippines. I heard her shout deeper, deeper! every lunch break. Especially in Summer, when they had their windows open. "A Mann muss sich erhole könne, gell!" Or the girl that lived upstairs from us in Rotterdam, we hardly knew her. But the doorbell rang the morning after I had given birth to my daughter, and there she was. Can I please see the baby, I stayed awake all night sitting on my toilet where I could hear everything. And all of my neighbours in Toronto, where I live now. They are a blast. I live in a street where everybody who is not Chinese, is in the arts. Musicians, actors, stage designers, photographers, etcetera. And everybody is friends, we are like a very old fashioned village in the middle of a big city, parties always and everywhere. I love my neighbours, and they love me. And my weblog makes all of you a little bit my neighbours. And that is the power of The Sellotape Files. You can stop by every single day, for a little neighbourly chat. Thank you Wim Noordhoek!

Here is a bigger JJ Voskuil. I am suffering from a severe cold, so I am not going to say anything remotely intelligent about these articles. I did go for a walk with Orbit this morning, but that was probably a mistake, I think I have a fever now. Yesterday I felt bad also, and I sent Piffin to the dog park. This morning; was that your daughter yesterday? I asked her what are you doing for March break, she said uuuuh. I asked her why don't you hook up with some friends to smoke some crack. Hell, in our day we could go on drugs and get off again.

So this is how my dog thinks about my work. He should realize it is paying for all of that yummie organic dogfood. Or rather, that Naema Tahir is paying for the next bag. Thank you Naema! It is always extremely nice to hear from the authors themselves. Preferably in fountain pen, but email is also highly appreciated. But now I am off, bye bye lieve kijkbuiskinderen.

Four of them in colour already. (I did loads in b&w, but you know that) In all sorts of regional newspapers. In newspapers I haven't even ever seen. The Stentor, for example, great name, Stentor. But from now on I will be able to see my little bijoux in print, because Willem's neighbours subscribe to the Stentor. They are printed not much larger than I show them here, but paid for generously. Which is a rare thing these days. Hurray for Wegener publishers. Ouch, their website is too red.

I had a romantic encounter today. I was walking my dog in Riverdale park as I heard a man singing. In strange long howling sounds, I thought he was a religious madman or something. He was sitting at the top of the hill, and I was walking down by the track. Then his two dogs started singing along, and I understood there had been nothing religious about the guy's howling sounds. Orbit ran up the hill like a bullet at hearing the singing, so I had to make my way up there too. The man apologized for making me climb the hill. He explained why he had to do his singing in the park, his neighbours were sick of it. By then Orbit had taken off, and was too close to Broadview Avenue. I called, but he didn't listen, he hardly ever does. So I asked the man to call my dog. I often ask complete strangers to call Orbit, because Orbit listens to male voices, the little sexist. I told the man my dog tends to just ignore me. Oh, that's a guy thing, he said, that's just us guys you know. Oh I said, you ignore women too. And then he gave me this flower that was lying by the Sun Yat Sen statue. Don't tell your husband, he said. Don't worry, I'll write it on my blog, I said.

I always only use the cheapest Staples HB pencils to sketch, no other brand, just Staples. I buy them in bulk. They are very bad quality, in a nice way. They have these hard bits in them, and you never know when they will emerge. And when they do, the pencil starts scratching, scratch, scratch, yummie. I love it when that happens. And when it happens I always hope it will last a bit, this tactile joy. But it is over quickly. Staples HB pencils also have a nice eraser on their rear end.

Photo is not great, but it's late and it's dark. Bianca, to answer your question, I do it on wood because it looks good. Michele came in this afternoon, she is a second generation Dutch immigrant. Hey! What is that?! I used to watch that as a child!

No computer, I bought myself a fantastic load of gouache, this is going to be a very colourful book cover. And I will do all the illustrations on beautiful Canadian maple, we went all the way to Markham yesterday to get it. Three hours in crazy traffic. The publisher sent me scans of an old Fables Newspaper book, in which the images are photographs of the puppets on the set. And reading the text my spirits went up and up and up! This beautiful over the top archaic and ornate language, it's just to die for. But then I discovered another attachment, the new text... Watered down, and weeded of spicy lines like "Me rug op!" (approximately "Up yours!") I know, the story is from roundabout 1970. Back the we could put many things in kid's books that are considered inappropriate now. Such a shame.

The newspaper's literary and cultural sections merged into a magazine this week. I can only look through the digital version, I can't see the no doubt enormous difference in print quality, compared to what we are used to. But Lévi Weemoedt and I have a whole page to ourselves, which is certainly nice. I think the critic is too harsh on Lévi, but he sort of admits it is a question of taste. I am not going to translate Dutch poetry into English, but I can quote some lines in German: "Hals- und Beinbruch, Alpenkreuzer! / Servus! Bergheil! Wiedersehn! / Tschüss! Grüss Gott! Auf Wienerschnitzel! // Danke schön. Auf Winterpehn!"

Spinach pancakes for dinner, and then out for a beer with our dear Dutch community. Unfortunately I forgot to order Dutch groceries this time, but dear Niemeyer seems to have achieved some additions to the Betty's menu. They serve bitterballen now, and some more Dutch stuff, I forgot. I think Betty's is becoming a Dutch haven in Toronto, they like us there. We should have watched the speed skating championships there today. But who's got time for that.

More than enough funny stories today, but nothing I can blog. Sorry! God, you don't know half how discrete I really am. All of your gossip is safe with me. Come and poor half a bottle of wine in me and I'll tell you everything. I burst with stories that would be so good on my blog, but I do have a real life as well. You remember how the best pieces of gossip used to start? Like fairy tales start with once upon a time? Really good gossip used to start with wittewieterdoadtis. No, nobody died today. Oh and by the way, I received an invitation for the big Dutch Bloggies Ceremony. Is anybody in my readership going there? Can I give you my speech for just in case?

Another guessing game. The other way around this time, who on earth did this illustration? I'd love to credit the artist, but the image is orphaned, I found it here. I finished Saramago's novel Blindness tonight. It took me a week longer than Otger. I gave it to Otger myself, it seemed like a book he would like: "In an unnamed city in an unnamed country, a man sitting in his car waiting for a traffic light to change is suddenly struck blind. But instead of being plunged into darkness, this man sees everything white, as if he "were caught in a mist or had fallen into a milky sea." Otger read it in three days, Otger reads anything in three days. Otger is a reader like my father was, it almost doesn't matter what you give them, a good book or a bad book, an easy one or a hard one, he likes everything. I did ask Otger how the book was, during those three days. He told me the story was quite horrible, and that he could handle it, but only just, and he suggested that maybe I wouldn't give him any even more horrible stories. Now I really had to read the book myself. Shit! Not only is this a really hard book to read, but it is also really disturbing. I mean, it's a great novel, I loved it, I can totally see why they gave this guy the Nobel prize, and I think great novels should be disturbing, but giving it to my teenage son was maybe a tad irresponsible. And he just read this? I am shocked and proud. I mean, he isn't the first thirteen-year-old to read grown up novels, and he won't be the last. And at his rate you can't expect me to read all of his books before him. So maybe we'll just have to live dangerously. Or better still, throw some suggestions in the comments!

Don't worry, she did not suddenly write a book. At least not to my knowledge. But every self respecting illustrator should draw a politician every now and again. For a while I have wanted to draw Maxime Verhagen as his true self, a Doberman Pincher. He so looks like one. But nobody asks me to draw Maxime Verhagen. Somebody asked me to draw Rita. Oh god, did I tell you that story? No I didn't (I did a quick search on the blog). One day I had to help an actor who lives on my street (my street is full of strange artists) practice for an audition. He wanted me to teach him a Dutch accent, but I failed. Anyhow. While we were having coffee, he told me he could do Hitler impersonations on any given Beatles song. He asked me to pick one, and the first one that came to me was Lovely Rita. And Daniel started breaking down the house, on that otherwise very quiet Tuesday morning. Or Wednesday. Otger was home, I don't remember why, but he got the fright of his life, and fled upstairs. Funniest thing was that Daniel doesn't speak German, he only speaks Yiddish.

I found this through The Paper Man, and I like it so much, I just have to have it on my blog too, thank you, Paper Man! The Napkin Fiction Project, you can use this Saturday to read all the stories on the Esquire website:

We put 250 napkins in the mail to writers from all over the country--some with a half dozen books to their name, others just finishing their first. In return, we got nearly a hundred stories.

For obvious reasons, I like N.D. Wilson's contribution best. But I must confess I haven't read it yet. Dammit, I don't even have time to write this blog entry.

Update: I read the story, read it, it's hilarious. Only I don't understand how he could tell it was breast milk in the bottle. Do you?

I had hoped Connie Palmen would be printed a little bigger, but her drawing turns out to be for the "reading club" column, which always just has a small illustration. They never tell me these things. Maybe I have a sketch that would work better this size, if I do, I'll send it to my editor, to print it with next week's column. Both of this week's books are about notorious murder cases, though in Connie Palmen's case -the death of a composer's wife- fowl play was never established. AFTh van de Heijden writes about Charles Manson, and that review is raving. And for some life blogging news; we just survived this winter's worst storm. But things like that never really bother us (as long as we have hydro), we don't have a car, and school and work are close. We oppose the commuting life style. We get a little wetter and colder walking the dog, that's all. I had to climb over some fallen tree limbs in the street and the park this morning. And I had to shift some stuff to higher ground in the basement. But here's an excerpt from the newspaper:
Cleanup after deadly storm
Pummeled by snow, high winds, ice pellets and rain, the GTA faces a wet and wild cleanup after a storm that killed at least two people in Ontario.
Power outages, especially in heavily treed areas of the city, have Toronto Hydro crews scrambling this morning in the aftermath of the biggest storm of the winter.
In several locations, downed wires are live, and people are cautioned to stay away.
Fire officials were advising people to stay home today because of heavy flooding and icy conditions, leaving people at risk of falling and breaking bones.
The city has arranged for a special city-wide pickup on March 5 of the downed trees and branches. People are asked to break them up as much as possible.
Large sheets of ice falling from buildings have also created a hazard for pedestrians. Police say that ice has been reported falling from several downtown buildings in an area that ranges from Yonge St. to Spadina Ave. and from Dundas St. to the lake.

Update:
Connie is bigger on the website.

I could recycle another old blog entry to explain this tv series, but the whole subject is about recycling. I am going to be a very environmentally friendly illustrator. You can even watch a sequel, if you want to find out how the story ends. I have watched this tv series endlessly, from 1968 to 1973. Although by 1973 I must have been too old. and I'm afraid I am going to watch it endlessly again, and no, I am not going to sing in the musical. Me telling you this is something of a scoop, in the Fables Newspaper.