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Entry #176

Bruno

2014-07-17 01:24:27 by Jiovanni
Updated

I have been experimenting for the past day now with this. I like to think of it as selective lines or selective bolding of the lines. I start out by drawing the basic outline of the drawing and then adding small details like the eyes, mouth, lines in the face. I then go back and darken and bold only certain lines, to enhance and give the image the illusion of shading. On top of that I also make various shapes and fill them up with little lines. This also to enhance the drawing-- so that combined with the dark bold lines and the little sections of tiny lines-- when you stand back to look at this from a distance, you get somewhat of a sense of form or shape or dimension. This is the best I can do in this technique. It's not a perfect product, but at least it doesn't look totally flat. I leave the rest of the drawing with thin lines. Those thin lines are my foundation.

1846717_140557462931_Bruno.jpg

In memory of my dog. 1998-2003

 


Comments

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VicariousEVicariousE

2014-07-19 22:13:33

Same here, that's why I do my best to stay out of situations where my personal feelings/stuff are threatened.


VicariousEVicariousE

2014-07-19 00:56:43

That's quite a story! It must've been like when the Bumpasses hound invaded the kitchen, and ruined Christmas dinner (almost) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_christmas_story Your father sounds like an exceptional guy, I would've been apoplectic, but helped you clean up.

Jiovanni responds:

oh my goodness yes-- it was exactly like the bumpasses dogs ransacking the kitched in the Christmas Story! haha! that is a great analogy!

My dad was really upset about the incident, but was only dropping off from school and was back off to work. So he basically told me that I had to clean it up. I don't know if he blamed me or though I left the door unlocked...
We had a VERY old kitchen door. It had a glass door knob on each side with an antique keyhole with no matching key. It had a small window pane in the center of it. Because the door was so aged, as was the doorknob-- my parents had installed small metal latches to the top and bottom of door frame. to lock the door, you would lift the little latches up, swing them over against the door and push them down to lock them. The day the dogs broke in, the latches may not have been in place, may have been weak, or even just one latch was secured. But whatever happened, those dogs got in and tore up the kitchen.

My father has gotten better with age. As a child, he was the first human being that I truly learned to fear and walk in egg shells around. That fear stunted me from childhood on. I think I have only heard him tell me he loved me maybe once or twice in my entire life. Writing it in a greeting card doesn't really count. But my mother picked up the emotional slack that my dad deprived me of. My mother has always been caring and nurturing and loving. As a result of these two dynamics my personality developed decently. I became a soft spoken, caring person--- but when angered or pushed to the point of breaking-- my father's temper and rage unfurls like a tongue of flames.


VicariousEVicariousE

2014-07-18 23:40:39

I know he looks nothing like my dog, but Bruno certainly looks quite unforgettable, a trait you gifted him with this portrait.

Jiovanni responds:

thank you. He was the first pet I had that I lost to cancer. The first pet I had, that I lost at such a young age. He just fell through our fingers completely. I will never forget that. It's something that I've always had to live with. My parents more so though. I came back from a week long summer camp. I noticed that Bruno didn't look so well. I asked my parents about it and they just shrugged it off, saying that he had a cough or congestion. When his throat started swelling and his cough progressed to a bronchitis kind of a sound, my parents finally took him to a vet-- but it was too late at that point. They put him on comfort meds and he survived for about a month before he had so much congestion and difficulty breathing that we finally had to have him put down. He was miserable and we could see it in his eyes that day. I watched my father cry for the second time in my life. I still remember him sobbing outside the vet's office; he kept saying "I thought we had more time" "He was so young". I felt like it was karma deep down though.

We got him when he was under a year at the pound. It was a tense moment, because he was a stray and the pound was making calls to the supposed owner. We waited by the phone for about 3 days because we had to wait for the time to pass for the owner to claim the dog-- before we could officially adopt him. We finally got the call that he was ours. I was ecstatic. This was in 1998/1999. We took him home. He was never really able to be an inside dog. He was pretty much just an outside dog. He was very spontaneous, wild, and rough. He would jump on you and knock you down or get over-excited and pee on the floor. He didn't have table manners and wanted to leap onto the couch with us. So from early on, my parents set a ground rule that he couldn't really be in the house except during the rain or winter. We even got him a dogloo but he hated it. I never understood why. It just seemed foreign to him I guess. So for the 5 years of his life, he pretty much just lived outside. He would guard the house, ward off squirrels and cats. The only command he ever learned was sit. He never really learned to be gentle. He was very affectionate and liked to lick. But it was like he was the dog in the corner. He lived outside and was invisible to us, except when we would come out to feed him and bathe him. At one point we even got a second boxer mix to keep him company. That failed though because she was an escape artist and was constantly getting out of the yard and into the neighbors yard. We had them on leashes on a run at one point, the two dogs. Well one day, I came home from school and some how both dogs got the kitchen door open, while still attached to their run and leashes. They managed to knock down all the plants on the windowsill and dig their way into their big bag of kibble, as well as into the trash. It was a mess of kibble, trash, potted plant soil, and broken flower pots all over the kitchen floor. My dad came home with me to this sight-- and the two trouble makers with silly grins on their faces. All my dad could say was "God Bless America". I think he said that about 10 times in a 5 minute span. I was left to clean up the mess. That was the worst of the damage though. Eventually we had to get rid of the second dog because she wouldn't stay in the yard. She wanted to be free I guess. We found her a good home though.


VicariousEVicariousE

2014-07-18 14:57:41

Me too, but it's all fuzzy globs of yellow/brown on little 2x3 shiny bits, gonna take some doing...

Bruno reminds me a bit of Dutch, our german shepard, great dane mix

Jiovanni responds:

ah ok. Well it's supposed to be a boxer. In reality, my dog was a boxer/mutt mix. he was a real sweetheart


VicariousEVicariousE

2014-07-17 01:42:08

Did you do that from memory, or did you see a picture lately? I'm a guy, I'll take pictures, but hardly revisit them until needed :p I found an old album I made up of my trip to Florida, but the tacky glue on the inside, made the already crappy late 70's photo process, look -so- washed out... I'll have to try scanning them from the album pages, pah

(Updated ) Jiovanni responds:

not memory, I found a drawing on pinterest that I drew to the best of my ability and then ad-libbed here and there. But it was an accurate representation of what my boxer dog, Bruno looked like.

I would love to see your photo album :-)