Black Lives Matter


They stood surrounded by monuments to justice in Foley Square in Lower Manhattan. The crowds gathered and grew to vent their frustration, confusion, disappointment, and anger. The appalling decision on Wednesday not to indict the police officer responsible for killing the unarmed black man, Eric Garner, in Staten Island, reignited the spark from the similarly disappointing decision in Ferguson, MO. The officer who killed Michael Brown, another unarmed black man, also walked free without an indictment from the grand jury.


Thousands assembled across Manhattan in Foley Square, Union Square, Times Square, and marched across the city to let their anger be heard. The crowd is made up of men, women, black, white, Asian, Latino, gay, straight, young, old, and every piece of the New York melting pot that should make it a safe place to live for all.



The police presence was immense and intimidating. They stood like a wall, diverting the bubbling river of protesters through the streets and across the bridges of the city.


In the recent months, social media has become full of #hashtag activism to call attention to racial disparities, especially in their dealings with the police.


#HandsUpDontShoot, recalling the surrender by Michael Brown that witnesses described before he was killed.

#ICantBreathe, echoing Eric Garner’s last words before he was killed by police.

#BlackLivesMatter, the phrase that New York Mayor Bill De Blasio lamented “should never have to be said”, but still does need to be said, because black lives are frequently undervalued by the law.

#CrimingWhileWhite and #LivingWhileBlack try to highlight specific instances of how black citizens are treated by law enforcement compared to white citizens. White people committing actual crimes are ignored, while black people minding their own business are hassled, arrested, and sometimes killed. (Although this has been criticized for focusing too much on white stories in the talks about racism.)

While I may not love Twitter and Facebook, I can’t deny that these platforms have opened up discussions on race in way that allows the privileged to see a small piece of what minorities endure on a daily basis, myself included.


At one point in the protest, people carried coffins bearing the names of black people killed by police. Like pallbearers in a time of mourning, they carried the black coffins through the crowd as reminders of lives lost.


I noticed a black family next to me as the coffins passed, with a young boy, about twelve years old, chanting along with his parents. Hopefully it is empowering and maybe as he grows he will know that he does not deserve the burdens of racism he is forced to carry.


It reminded me of another popular hashtag this summer within the children’s publishing community, #WeNeedDiverseBooks. (You can read more about it here) It is a call on publishers, editors, authors, and illustrators to show a more diverse world in books for children, to reflect the world we live in.

 

Part of the campaign's platform is that children of color need to see themselves reflected in the books they read as kids, or they may not ever want to read at all. Black lives matter, and black stories matter. Each individual has a story that matters. These are stories that need to be told, so that the legacy of this anger will no longer be a burden, but a source of power and empathy.

My friends Carly Larsson and Audrey Hawkins also reportaged the protest.

You can see their drawings here:
Audrey Hawkins
Carly Larsson

Israel: Jerusalem: Temple Mount/Haram al-Sharif


The Temple Mount in Judaism is said to be the place where God gathered dust to create Adam, the place where Abraham bound Isaac for sacrifice, the location of the first and Second Jewish temples, and the home of the Foundation Stone from which the Earth itself was created.


The Haram al-Sharif, or Noble Sanctuary, is the third holiest site in Islam. It holds the Al-Aqsa Mosque, to which Muhammed made a miraculous journey from Mecca in only one night. For a time, in the early days of Islam, Muslims were instructed to pray towards Jerusalem instead of Mecca, and the site of the glittering Dome of the Rock is where Muhammed is said to have ascended to heaven.


Unfortunately, these two sites are the exact same place. The Mount sits directly above the blocks of the Western Wall, the remaining piece of the Jewish temple. After the site was conquered in 1967 by Israel, it was immediately turned over to Jordanian control to avoid inciting a war, and it remains in their control today. It is one of the most politically and religiously charged places in the world, and is a pin in the semi-dormant grenade of the Israeli-Palestinian peace talks.


The ascent to the Mount is not made easy by any means. Non-Muslim visitors are only allowed to ascend between 7 and 10 in the morning and between 12:30 and 1:30 in the afternoon, so that they are only there in between prayer times. Non-Muslims are also not allowed into the Dome of the Rock or the Al-Aqsa Mosque. Islam maintains a very private, mysterious, and exclusive air in a city where religions are so jumbled.

Visits require strict security as the site often erupts into sometimes violent political displays and protests. Non-Islamic prayer is not allowed on top, so bags are searched to remove any books written in Hebrew that might be used for prayer.


Once the gates were opened, I climbed up a narrow, rickety plank to the top of the Mount where beaming sun, the gentle murmur of conversation, and several Israeli guards with machine guns welcomed me to the most beautiful place in Jerusalem. The expansive terrace is covered with gnarled old Cyprus trees, palm trees, glittering fountains, and students of Islam in quiet circles reading and studying the Qur’an under the twinkling shade.


Behind the gardens looms the impressive, glittering gold of the Dome of the Rock. After ascending a staircase and passing under a delicate archway, I emerged onto a stark, desert-like plateau. In the center, the Dome of the Rock stood like a fortress, immovable and imposing. Tiny, ant-like people moved around the base of the structure, dwarfed by its weight and austerity.

 

Its surface pulsed with intricate tilework and windswept Arabic calligraphy. Cursing my blonde hair, pale whiteness, and obvious not-Muslim-ness, I watched as men and women in long flowing robes passed in and out of the doors, freely able to see the beauty of the interior.


As my very short time on the Mount dwindled, I went back down to the Al-Aqsa gardens to draw the men and women milling about and reading from the Qur’an. In contrast to the emptiness of the area surrounding the Dome of the Rock, Al-Aqsa plaza felt very much like a college campus, with students (of all ages) passing to and fro, books tucked under their arms, reading and studying together in large circles, separated by gender.

Suddenly, the solemn quiet erupted into a howling chant that began in the distance and slowly began to move from circle to circle, like the wave at a baseball game. “ALLAHU AKBAR!” each group would shout in turn, until the entire plaza, and hundreds of people were all shouting with increased fervor. I continued drawing, not sure what was happening, until I asked a nearby man.


He told me that people were shouting because extremist Jews had entered the Haram al-Sharif with an armed Israeli escort. He said these Jews sought to destroy the Dome of the Rock and the Al-Aqsa Mosque to rebuild the Jewish Temple. It is true that an extreme, right wing Jewish faction is gaining traction in Israeli politics, and part of their platform is the rebuilding of the Jewish Temple on the Temple Mount. The shouting would start intermittently every 20 minutes or so, and last for several minutes as the Jews and their guard moved through the plaza.


As I was drawing the angry crowds shouting at the two men walking through, I became nervous that the onlookers might be offended by my depiction of them. On the contrary, it energized and excited them. Men began calling their friends over to point out people they knew in the drawing, and seemed very pleased that I had accurately depicted their anger. They seemed to feel validated by my drawing. I wonder if the Jews I drew in the picture would have felt the same way, and been equally validated in their reading of the drawing.

The Mount itself has become an illustration of whatever anger or righteousness each side of the divide feels entitled to. Within it are the seeds of Israel and Palestine’s most festering wounds and also the potential for its most poignant healing. Its contested nature is a testament to the deep, shared roots of Islam and Judaism: two seeds of the same fruit.





For more of Evan Turk's travel illustration, check out the link below: 

Israel: Jerusalem: The Church of the Holy Sepulchre


My next three days of drawing in Jerusalem were at three of the most important holy sites for Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. These three religions were all born out of Jerusalem, and throughout the past several thousand years, each of them has claimed and reclaimed holy sites all throughout the city. Mosques, churches, synagogues, and religious pilgrimage sites of all kinds were built right on top of each other as the ruling powers changed. For instance, above the tomb of Biblical Hebrew leader King David is the hall of Jesus’ Last Supper, and above that is the dome and crescent of the E-Nebi Daud mosque, from Ottoman rule (which is now drawing controversy with its possible conversion into a synagogue).


My first stop in my own pilgrimage around Jerusalem was to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, one of the holiest sites in Christianity, where Jesus is said to have been crucified, buried, and resurrected. Christian pilgrims from all over the world come to follow the road of the Stations of the Cross through Jerusalem, to reenact Jesus’ final hours, culminating in a visit to the Church.
 

The church is dark and filled with echoes. Smoke from incense and candles hangs in the air, and people wander through the various shrines of each denomination of Catholicism present in the winding church. Up a narrow staircase to the right of the entrance is Golgotha, where it is believed that Jesus was crucified. From up over the entrance, you can see the streams of pilgrims entering and winding their way through the maze-like church.


Here, pilgrims wait in line to enter a small shrine on their knees, underneath a flat silver Jesus on the cross, to pray. Nearby, dozens of candles are lit in prayer, and collected by the priests as they basins fill up.


What interested me most was the different ways in which people worshipped upon entering the church. The most popular was the Stone of Anointing, where it is believed that Jesus was laid and prepared for burial. Pilgrims wipe the stone with oil, kiss it, put their forehead to it, lay their hands on it, and anoint themselves with the oil.


Some delicately touched the surface with their fingertips, while another was using her kerchief to wipe up every bit of oil, dabbing between and mopping up in between the cracks. Another woman I saw took about a dozen souvenirs she had bought and rubbed each one on the stone to bring back home. There were all different styles, but everyone seemed very intent on making sure they came away with a bit of the holiness rubbed off on them.


Around the church, people stop in front of various places and portraits, crossing themselves, kneeling to pray, and often reciting prayers from their iPhones.


Olive-wood crosses are ubiquitous and often you can see people deep in thought simply smiling and stroking the cross.


 There is a solemnity and compulsiveness to the way people proceed through the space, like they are moved by magnets.


Orthodox priests glide through the halls like big chess pieces, sometimes chanting and wafting smoke out of lanterns.


 In the central rotunda is the Aedicule, which houses the Tomb of Jesus. Long lines form outside the tiny entrance for people to go inside and pray, as outside pilgrims light candles.


Unlike the Stone of Anointing, where people seek to take something away, the glowing lines of candles around the shrines were all left behind as burning prayers. The site of the church itself felt secondary to the constant flow of the exchange, with each person taking something with them and leaving something behind.

For more of Evan Turk's travel illustration, check out the link below: 


Israel: Jerusalem: The Mahane Yehuda Market


I recently returned from a two and a half week trip to Israel both with the Jewish heritage program Birthright (Taglit) and a week-long excursion in Jerusalem afterwards, on my own. My introduction to Israel and the situation there began with preparing for the trip, and trying to go in with both an open and skeptical mind. As a person who is, in general, not overly political and is not religious, it was very interesting to me to go to a state where everything, even its own existence, is inherently tied to politics and religion.

My short journey was only an introduction to a place that has thousands of years of history, coming from a myriad of cultural viewpoints that are often disputed and completely contradictory, and that are intricately tied to the mythological histories of three of the worlds largest religions. Since I can’t hope to understand more than a few drops in an ocean, I’ll do my best to describe the few windows I had into trying to see this unique place.



My week in Jerusalem began with a visit to the Mahane Yehuda Market, or shuk, where hundreds of people from all over the city cram into a tightly packed set of streets lined with over 200 stalls selling ripe, bursting pomegranates, sticky dates, cheese, halva, eggs, braided hallah, gummy candy, and practically anything else that can fit in a stall.
The Market is a jittery tapestry of shifting layers and different worlds overlapping with each other, all in the simple interest of doing some shopping. Since its creation in the late 19th century, under Ottoman rule, it has been a nexus of colliding people and cultures in Jerusalem. 

Arab and Jewish merchants sell and shout to every sect of life in Jerusalem. Orthodox Jews, secular Jews, tourists, Israeli soldiers, haredim (ultra-Orthodox), and non-Jews all bump and shove through the narrow alleys and haggle for the lowest price.
 

I came to the Market on Friday morning, before the weekly Jewish celebration of Shabbat, when the shuk is at its most crowded.

 
People come to the Market on Fridays to shop for their Friday night Shabbat meals and capitalize on the falling prices as the shopkeepers prepare to close early for the next day and a half. Hiding out in corners, tiny restaurants, and in stalls that had already closed for the holiday, I stayed still in the current as the river of people swirled past me.

 

Despite the hectic bombardment of the senses for an outsider, there is a peaceful rhythm to the way the locals move through the crowds. But in Israel, there are always reminders that things have not always been, and will not always be peaceful. The Market was the site of suicide bomber terrorist attacks in 1997 and 2002. Most patrons are Jewish, as the Arabs tend to shop in the markets of East Jerusalem. Soldiers carrying their machine guns saunter through the streets with their friends shopping for candy, a reminder to kids and parents of the fact that most youth in the country will have to serve their time in the Army.
 

For people in Jerusalem, every aspect of daily life, even grocery shopping...

 

...lays over the bristling reality of the politics and religion that are deeply embedded in the soil. But daily life moves on like the steady stream of people through the market, with a frenetic vitality and eagerness.

For more of Evan Turk's travel illustration, check out the link below: 

Life Drawing



I just finished an amazing workshop with Dalvero Academy, drawing from the model for four days straight. It doesn't get any better than great teachers, great friends, great models, and tons of drawing! It's always a great place to explore and try new things. Here are a few of the drawings from last weekend.






Bethesda Terrace: Part 2


On today, which is hopefully the coldest day of the year, I decided to go back and think warm thoughts and look at warm drawings from the heat of summer. Above, is a drawing of the Winter seasonal landscape lining one of the staircases at Bethesda Terrace in Central Park, where I spent a few weeks this summer drawing and painting with pastels (See Part 1 Here). The birds look a little stressed and cold, I think.
But that's enough winter!


Let's all just think nice warm thoughts...of weeping willows, laying in the grass, and sun-dappled reflections on the water...


...of running outside in the early morning, gentle breezes (with no wind chill) rustling the leaves...


...relaxing in a gondola as the water, trees, and clouds drift by...


...and listening to the resonant sounds of strings and choral voices echoing through the warm, dewy air.


Above is the seasonal birdscape for Summer...don't they look happy and relaxed?
Let's keep that mindset going...


(One of the many benefits of working from home, is that on a day like today, I can do as the cats do: Curl up in a too-small shipping box near the radiator and pass out.)

The Charles W. Morgan: Main Topmast: Part 1


This weekend I had the opportunity to go back to Mystic Seaport and see them adding a taller part to the middle mast, known as the main topmast, to the Charles W. Morgan, the last wooden whaleship in the world. All three lower masts were in when we arrived, and they were preparing to attach the extension with an enormous crane.


The crew began prepping the rig.

 

Quentin Snediker (front left) oversaw the production as the crew worked and the crane loomed overhead.


A tall spindly ladder was hooked onto the crane and swung around onto the Morgan so that Alex, one of the key crew-members for this installation, could climb up to the very top of the lower mast to perform the installation.


 
 
This is not a job for those afraid of heights.

 


A block of concrete bricks was hauled onto the ship as ballast to help stop the Morgan from listing.


Alex climbed to the top of the mast and secured the necessary ropes before they brought the top portion of the mast to install.


The crew on the ground hooked the mast onto the crane.


The crane swung the topmast, as big as a tree, over our heads and above the Morgan.


Perched atop the mast, Alex and Matt guided the topmast into its locking position and began securing the two together.


The top of the mast now has two "spreaders" which look like outstretched arms. 


With each new addition, the Morgan becomes more and more stately and grand. After she was lowered into the water at the launch in July, the ship felt a little short and squat, with less of the immense impact she had out of the water. But as she grows taller and taller with each new piece, you get closer to seeing how impressive she will be with her full rigging and sails.

Stay tuned for Part 2 where I get to ride in a small boat in the river as the crew actually moves the enormous whaleship!

Morocco

  
Today I leave for Morocco, and it will be three weeks of new sights, sounds, smells, and tastes. There will be a lot of drawing to come, but first here is a thumbnail I did imagining our camel ride through the Sahara.


'Till I return!

"Restoring a Past, Charting a Future" Opens at Mystic Seaport!



The Dalvero Academy show at Mystic Seaport is finally open! I had the chance to go up and see it this weekend, and I am so thrilled that the show has come to fruition after 3 years and so proud to be a part of it.

My contribution to the show focuses on the theme of woodcarving as a symbol for the creation of the Charles W. Morgan, the last surviving wooden whaleship in the world, and the carving of global culture that grew out of whaling and survives today. These are a few drawings I did about the woodcarver's shop. Definitely go check out the show! In addition to drawings, I am also exhibiting my own wood carved sculptures and an animated short film, not to mention the incredible art from the 23 other artists I'm honored to be showing with!

You can read more about the show and its artists here:

Dalvero Mystic