People of Marrakech


I just returned from a trip to Morocco where I was exploring, drawing, and researching for an upcoming children's book about Morocco. I met amazing people, saw amazing things, and left feeling bewildered and inspired. Most of the work I did there, I will be posting closer to the release of the book (2016!) but I couldn't resist posting a few snapshots of people in Marrakech.



 

 

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

The Charles W. Morgan: The 38th Voyage


Why should you be excited that a historic whaleship sailed into a marine sanctuary and saw whales?

It is a valid question, and one I have asked myself as I became increasingly excited and passionate about the trip. On July 10th I boarded the Charles W. Morgan, the last wooden whaleship in the world, as a part of the 38th Voyagers program with Mystic Seaport, funded partially by a grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities. On July 11th we sailed into the Stellwagen Bank National Marine Sanctuary on a mission of peace to the first whales seen off the deck of the Morgan in nearly 100 years. It is an event largely without precedence in our country's relationship to its troubled history with the environment. To use history as the literal vehicle for scientific education about the future is something to be excited about.

Sunset, moonrise, and glittering moonlight over the decks of the Morgan

We approached the Morgan, moored out past the harbor in Provincetown, in the glow of a radiant sunset. As we climbed aboard and began our orientation, I kept rubbernecking to the sunset behind us. After the orientation we had plenty of time to sit on deck, talk amongst the voyagers, and watch the nearly full moon glitter across the water through the rigging.

Captain Kip Files

The next morning, after breakfast, we awoke and began preparing for our sail. Captain Kip Files introduced us to the voyage as we prepared to hoist the anchor and head out towards Stellwagen.

Chief Mate Sam Sikkema, Second Mate Sean Bercaw, and Third Mate Rocky Hadler

Chief Mate Sam Sikkema, Second Mate Sean Bercaw, and Third Mate Rocky Hadler (whose birthday it was!) kept the ship and crew moving smoothly as the 38th voyagers wandered about, oohing and ahhing over the experience of being on board.


It took the combined teamwork of most of the crew and guests to haul the 1600 pounds of anchor aboard. With the ship liberated from her root, the tugboat pulled us out to sea.


The tiny figures of the deckhands were suspended 10 stories above us as they climbed aloft and began to release the sails.

  
As the sails began to descend, the entire landscape of the ship would change from one minute to the next. The sails became like canyons across the deck, funneling the wind up and propelling the ship forward on her own power.




As they unfurled the mainsail, it billowed down like a heavy stage curtain until it filled with wind and held taut.


In full sail, the masts soared over the deck like immense, luminous towers that the crew would rotate to follow and catch the wind. The ship moved forward towards the Sanctuary, with its crew of artists, educators, and researchers.

Anne DiMonti and Gary Wikfors

Myself and the other 38th voyagers scurried about, working on our various projects. The scientists began their observations and measurements. Anne DiMonti of the Audobon Society and Gary Wikfors, marine biologist and musician, were two that assisted in dropping a phytoplankton net over the side to examine the types of microscopic life that were living in the bay. On a voyage into a whale sanctuary, it's amazing to see the other side of the size spectrum of life in the same sea.

Beth Shultz

Beth Shultz, a literary scholar, professor, and collector of the art of Moby Dick, was on board absorbing the sights, sounds, and smells of a whaleship and creating poetry from the experience. Other voyagers used photography, video, and historic navigational tools to record their fleeting time aboard.


Then came the moment we had all been waiting for. With the tugboat gone, we were at full sail and entering the Marine Sanctuary. Suddenly, from up in the masts, the shout came out: "WHALE!"


And there, just over the starboard side of the ship, a minke whale's arched back crested the water and slithered back underneath. This was the first whale seen from the deck of the Morgan in almost 100 years. We watched her fade into the distance as we sailed by, her glistening fin surfacing every so often until she disappeared under the water.

 

As we sailed deeper into the sanctuary, the whaleboat was lowered over the side, in the same way it would have been during a whale chase.


In the distance, we began to see spouts, the shimmering exhalation of the whales.


Soon we were surrounded by humpback whales, surfacing, feeding, and spouting. The tiny whaleboat gingerly approached them, becoming dwarfed by the massive creatures.


With no malice on either side, the crew on the whaleboat watched as humpback whales surfaced, fluked, and fed just a little ways from their boat. How magical to be in the same place as a whaler from the Morgan, but with no task to do, no prey to kill, just time to sit and watch in awe.


The whales came closer to the Morgan, raising their elegant tails into the air and mightily slapping the surface of the water right next to the ship. It's hard not to think that the whales are aware that they are communicating with us. Whether or not they were trying to directly say something, their actions communicated with us nonetheless. They were not fleeing, they were not attacking, we were merely two species sharing the same speck of ocean for a time.


The crew and guests, meanwhile, buzzed about in a state of euphoria. Nearby, prominent marine biologist and explorer Sylvia Earle was interviewed about her thoughts on the Morgan's voyage into the Sanctuary. She spoke about how until recently, and in the time of the Morgan's whalers, it was always taken for granted that there would always be enough fish, enough whales, enough ocean. It is only a new change in perception that we realize that, small though we may be, we have an enormous impact on our environment and it cannot be taken for granted that it will always be there. This new awareness fills the sails of this 38th voyage and propels the Morgan forward on her new journey.

Gary Wikfors plays a German waldzither built during the same time period as the Morgan as we were towed back into port.

The Charles W. Morgan is an amazing confluence of what is important about history, and what is important about the future. Her history knits together the entire world, through her journeys and through the men who sailed aboard her. The cargo she brought back, spermaceti, oil, and baleen, served as the predecessors of the plastics industry and the industrial revolution. The light created from the oil and wax of sperm whales lit the world of the 19th century. The bodies of whales fed hungry people across the world after World War II as mechanized factory whaling took hold and decimated whale populations.


Today, our oceans are in an even more deplorable state as we harvest them beyond their breaking point and pollute them beyond all reason. But as perceptions of the natural world change, whales offer a symbolic embodiment of this change. These immense creatures that were once floating commodities, are now seen as one of the greatest ambassadors of the awe of the natural world.


The sailing of this ship is not just an event that is important to New England and its community that is so inextricably linked to whaling history, it is of nationwide and worldwide importance. To be able to resussitate a piece of history and use it as a catalyst for education and change is an amazing feat, and one that can act as an inspiration going forward. History and tradition do not need to be impediments to change and progress; they can be the wind that carries this change.



Through history, people can reaffirm their connections to their roots, while also becoming educated and invigorated about how that history connects to the changes that need to be made today. Provincetown, from which I sailed on the Morgan into the Stellwagen National Marine Sanctuary, used to be one of the busiest whaling ports in the world. Today, it is a huge center for whale conservation and related tourism. A large part of the town’s image today is based around the idea that protecting and learning about whales can be good business.



Imagine if communities across the world, entrenched in history and tradition, saw conservation as a viable way to preserve those histories.  Because of the Morgan’s new message, the history and tradition associated with whaling will be relevant for many more decades to come.


The Morgan sailing again does not mean our oceans are fixed. It does not mean our relationship with our oceans is fixed. The Morgan's voyage is not a victory lap, but it can be the starting pistol.

To see video and photos of the Morgan's voyages in Stellwagen, check out the links below:

From Whaling to Watching

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

The Charles W. Morgan Homecoming: New Bedford


This 4th of July weekend I was able to go to New Bedford to see the Charles W. Morgan on her 38th voyage. The Morgan was built in New Bedford in 1841, and the city gratefully opened its gates to welcome her home over 170 years later.

I will be joining the captain and crew of this 19th-century whaleship as a 38th Voyager during the ship's historic voyage THIS WEEKEND! While aboard, I will be drawing and observing the workings of the ship (and maybe a whale!!!) as she sails into the Stellwagen Bank National Marine Sanctuary. In addition to the work created on-board, I will be creating an animation about the Morgan, whale conservation, and our evolving compassion towards whales, other animals, and each other. You can view my previous animation about the cultural history of whaling below, which was created as a part of a collaboration between Dalvero Academy and Mystic Seaport.




It was my first time seeing her outfitted with all of the rigging and sails. It's amazing how different the experience of drawing her is, compared to several years ago when she was out of the water on dry dock.


Most of the ship we drew is now below water, and with her masts she extends up even higher above the water. She is a completely new shape, but still the same ship.


They closed the Morgan's pier in preparation for the night's fireworks (on July 5th, because New Bedford had been completely flooded on the holiday!) so we moved over to another pier.


We waited for the fireworks as the sun set behind the rigging of commercial fishing vessels and lit the sky behind the Morgan's masts in the distance.


As we waited, a family came over to wait and watch the fireworks on the risers near us. The two kids, Henry and Audrey, were very curious about my drawing and got closer to help art direct as we passed the time. Audrey helped pick the colors, while her older brother helped me figure out what to draw. I like the abstraction that came out of the collaboration in the drawing above! When his mother asked Henry why he thought we were drawing, he very astutely replied "So that you can remember what you see!" Right on, Henry! There is no better way to remember or appreciate something than to spend time drawing it and really thinking about it.


We then collaborated on a drawing of our surroundings. I added in a couple boats, sails, and shapes. Henry added in a sailboat, a flock of birds, the water, and his grandfather in a hat. Audrey then painted over the drawing of the grandfather with black (no offense intended, I'm sure), which Henry and I filled in with bright marks and colors as we watched the fireworks. Such a pleasure to do this drawing with the two of them! It's always nice to unwind and just play around with paint and pastels.

National Geographic Traveller: India & Let's Get Busy!


I am back from a wonderful trip to England with some VERY exciting news to announce! Before I left, I was asked to create illustrations for the Indian edition of National Geographic Traveller magazine to go with an travel article about places throughout India that were important in the life of Gandhi called, "In the Footsteps of the Mahatma". They used illustrations from Grandfather Gandhi to represent several of these places, and asked me to create three new illustrations in the same style to show different points on Gandhi's life.

As a huge fan of National Geographic and travel illustration, this was a dream job to get. Even more, they surprised me by putting one of my illustrations on the cover of the issue! It was an amazing feeling seeing that iconic golden rectangle around one of my illustrations. Thank you to the innovative editor Niloufer Venkatraman for the opportunity! You can preview the issue on their site, here: National Geographic Traveller: India


First, was his childhood home in Porbandar, which is maintained as a historical site. Here, young Gandhi is shown in his favorite room on the upper floor of the house. He liked to read up there because the room was so airy and well-ventilated.


The second was Rajkot, where Gandhi lived as a boy. He attended the stately Alfred High School in the background (now known as Mohandas Gandhi High School) and loved to play cricket.


The last (and my personal favorite) was Gandhi as a young lawyer in Mumbai, getting off the train in the Churchgate Station.

In other news, I was also recently featured on the Let's Get Busy! Kids Literature podcast, where I was interviewed by the wonderful Matthew Winner! We talk about travel, my upcoming projects, and the story of how I came to work on Grandfather Gandhi! It was a great pleasure to do, so I hope you enjoy listening! (Link below)

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: Western Wall


The Western Wall, or kotel, in Jerusalem is considered the most sacred place in Judaism, and has been a pilgrimage site for Jews since the 4th century. A wall of enormous blocks of Jerusalem limestone is all that remains of the Jewish temple built by King Herod in 516 BC, after its destruction by the Romans in 70 AD. When writing about holy Jewish and Muslim sites in Jerusalem, every sentence is a political statement. Even the previous sentence is loaded, since some Muslims believe that Judaism has no religious claims to anywhere in Jerusalem. When discussing the area around the Wall, it becomes even more difficult. Under Jordanian rule, from 1948 – 1967, Jews were forbidden to come to the wall. When Israel conquered Jerusalem in 1967, they liberated the wall for Jews in an emotional celebration, and demolished the Muslim neighborhoods that surrounded it in the now non-existent Moroccan Quarter.


Politics aside, there is no denying that the Western Wall is an incredible pilgrimage site for millions of Jews around the world. This pile of stones, with no special aesthetic value above any of the other stone walls around the ancient city, is made sacred only through the prayers and connections of the millions of pilgrims that place their hands against its cool, hand-worn surface.

 

In contrast to the solemnity and darkness of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the outdoor Wall Plaza is often full of singing and celebration. Bar mitzvahs, celebrations for boys entering manhood at age 13, are held in front of the wall every Monday and Thursday.

 

Boys beam from ear to ear as they carry enormous Torah scrolls with the men of their family. 
 

After the ceremony is complete, the congregations erupt into swirling circles of dancing and singing of the hora, as female relatives and onlookers peer over the divider between the men’s and women’s sides of the wall and toss candy as tradition.


Another Jewish tradition, tefillin, which consists of small black boxes containing verses from the Torah, and leather straps wrapped around the head, arm, hand, and fingers, is worn by observant Jews during weekday morning prayers. The origins of tefillin in the Torah are fairly vague in their symbolism, but they are described as a reminder of God’s bringing the Israelites out of Egypt and a protection against evil thoughts.


There is a stall near the plaza that will wrap the tefillin for you, to experience the prayer. The man asked if I would like to try it, and I asked what the meaning behind it was. He described the leather strap, which runs from the parchment scroll box, around the arm tightly down to between the fingers, serves as a symbol of connection between mind, heart, and hand. It is a physical reminder that a person should strive to connect his thoughts and feelings into action.


I saw a group of soldiers from the Israeli Army have the tefillin tied and the talit, prayer shawl, draped around their shoulders. They all then prayed at the wall, and several of them also wrote notes and put them in between the cracks of the stones.


Most of the moments at the Wall, though, are of quiet, personal connection. Young men and old men alike place their hands and heads against the Wall in quiet prayer. Proud fathers lead their sons to touch the wall for the first time.


Men often leaned against the Wall for so long, eyes closed, sometimes with tears falling down their cheeks, that when they opened their eyes, the sun was too bright and they looked like they had awakened from a trance.


The cracks between the stones burst with prayers and wishes written on scraps of paper and pushed as close to holiness as possible.


It is these spaces in between the stones that are sacred, physical reminders of hope. Like the plants that grow from in between the stones, there is the potential for life.
 
 

The Wall stands, not as a monument to a temple that existed two thousand years ago, but as a monument to tradition, hope, and connection.

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

Gay Pride Seattle/Gay Marriage NY in 'Understanding Illustration'


I am excited to announce that my reportage of Seattle's Gay Pride Parade and the passing of gay marriage in New York were featured in the book 'Understanding Illustration' by Derek Brazell and Jo Davies! Inside are several of the images from the reportage and an interview/essay about the process and meaning behind them. The book was released in the UK last week, and came out today in the US.


I received my copy, and the book is beautifully designed and curated, with 37 different artists whose work is examined in-depth to look at how they communicate through images. I am so honored to have been included in the book, and hope you will all take a look, as there is a great collection of artists inside. A big thank you to Derek Brazell for including me in the book!





You can take a look at my original posts on the events below, from my Picture for 1000 Voices Project on gay rights:

Gay Pride Seattle
Gay Marriage NY



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: 

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.)

Colorado Flood Relief Fundraiser

I am a Colorado native, and I happened to be back in my home state for my brother's wedding while the unbelievable flooding was happening near the mountains. While we experienced only heavy rain in my neighborhood, up in 15 other counties the damage was crippling. 8 people were killed, hundreds were missing, 19,000 homes were damaged, and over 1,500 were completely destroyed. It's going to take a long time, and a lot of help for people to get their lives back on track.

To help in any small way I can, I am going to be selling prints for the next 2 weeks (through October 20) with proceeds going to the American Red Cross disaster relief in Colorado. The selection of prints includes 3 drawings/paintings of the beautiful Colorado landscape done in Boulder and Rocky Mountain National Park, two of the hardest hit areas of the floods. The final selection is a drawing for an ongoing project on the history and future of the settling of Colorado and the west. This image is available in its full, panoramic format, as well as in three smaller sections.

All prints are signed and printed on gallery quality rag paper with archival inks, ready for mounting and framing. Price of print includes cost of printing materials and shipping, with the entirety of the rest being donated to the Red Cross. I will wait until the fundraiser has ended and send one large check. Payment through Paypal to evan@evanturk.com
Please e-mail me with your selection AND your shipping address, and send the donation through Paypal. (E-mail me with any questions as well)



"The Flatirons"
8.5 x 11 - $35
11 x 17 - $60


"Purple Mountain Majesty"
8.5 x 11 - $35


"Rocky Mountain Sunset"
8.5 x 11 - $35


"The West"
9 x 44 - $180



"The West: Settlers"
8.5 x 11 - $35
17 x 11 - $60


"The West: Collision"
8.5 x 11 - $35
17 x 11 - $60


"The West: Beginning"
8.5 x 11 - $35
17 x 11 - $60

 Please let me know if you have any questions!


Animal Kingdom


My favorite park in DisneyWorld is always Animal Kingdom. Having dreamed of going to the African Serengeti since I was little, Disney gives me a little taste of it to hold me over until I can go see the real thing. There is something about the art, the music, the landscape, the culture, and the animals of Africa that feels rhythmic, honest, and full of personality.

The sable antelope is the symbol of the Harambe Wildlife Preserve, where the safari tours take place.

Wildebeest nap in the shade, a mother elephant and her baby stroll past a baobab tree, and okapi and bongos hide amongst the leaves in the forest.

Giraffes lope gracefully along the open hills.

Hippos bob like corks in the river.

Rhinos, zebra, and ostriches dot the grasslands in a vibrating tapestry.

Deeper in the forest, the shy okapi nibble on leaves.

Brilliant yellow weaver birds flicker through the dense canopy.

Blue cichlids glow in the cool, shady riverbed.


Monet's Gardens


 

The next stop for drawing after the Canson Prix was to Monet's Gardens in Giverny, about 45 minutes outside of Paris. My mom, Chris, and I took the train out to the country early in the morning and spent the whole day wandering around the house and the extravagant grounds that Monet created.


Outside the house, the gardens are so thick with flowers that it's hard to find the paths in between the flowerbeds. From fence to fence, there are irises in every shade of purple and yellow, as big as grapefruits, peonies the size of basketballs, and poppies bigger than dinner plates resting on the ground because their comparatively puny stems can't support them.


It is a wonderland for an impressionist, with every color, mark, and shape imaginable, crammed into a beautiful plot on the French countryside.


With each flower more spectacular than the next, it was hard to focus on one thing for very long. I felt like one of the lucky Giverny honey bees flitting from flower to flower, trying my best not to sting any dazed, ambling tourists that got in my way.

 

Every once in a while a single flower happened to jump out.


Compared to the rowdy mob of flowers near the house, each shouting for attention, Monet's famous waterlily pond was like a quiet conversation between friends about how pretty they all are.


The tranquil pond, ringed with weeping willows and irises, and dotted with lilies and baby ducklings, is like a fairytale (stuffed with as many tourists as can possibly fit). It is easy to see how Monet could have spent the last years of his life needing nothing but to contemplate the little oasis he created for himself.




The Eiffel Tower


While in Paris for the Prix Canson 2013, Chris and I took a few extra days to go draw around Paris. One of our nicest days was spent relaxing in the shade of the gardens around the Eiffel Tower. The Tower is so perfectly Parisian, like all of the wrought iron balconies from the buildings of Paris decided to get together and make a building of their own.


I love having a park around the Tower. It would be nice if 34th St in Manhattan were a gorgeous planted promenade in front of the Empire State Building, built so we could all laze around and marvel at it.


We stayed there the whole day, watching the the color shift across the Tower as the sun drifted closer to the horizon and sank behind the trees.



Prix Canson 2013



I just returned from a wonderful trip to Paris as one of 39 nominees for the international competition, Le Prix Canson. The Prix is sponsored by Canson, a leading paper company since 1557, to promote emerging artists working with paper.


I was honored to be nominated as the artist for Canson USA, and thrilled to be able to be in Paris for the awards ceremony and exhibition at the Petit Palais, Musée des Beaux-Arts de la Ville de Paris. A big thank you to Robert Toth and Giulia Giovanelli and everyone at Canson for the nomination and all of the arrangements.

Chris and I arriving for the reception at the Petit Palais. Photo by Mom (not pictured).
My drawing, above, from my reportage of a zelij tile workshop in Fes, Morocco, was part of the exhibit.
 

Although I didn't win the prize, the winner was Zimbabwean artist Virginia Chihota, it was wonderful to be able to enjoy the beautiful reception in the courtyard at night, and see my work on the wall in the museum. The Petit Palais is one of the most beautiful buildings I've seen in Paris. Designed for the 1900 Universal Exposition in Paris, it is in the Art Nouveau style with (somewhat) toned-down and elegant decoration compared to a lot of Parisian grandeur.


In the days around the event, Chris and I took some time to relax and draw in the Tuileries Gardens, near the Louvre.


We sipped fresh-squeezed orange juice and café crème while watching the Parisians and tourists lounge languidly under the dappled shade of the square-cropped chestnut trees. Ahh Paris!


The girl at the table next to us puffed lazily on her cigarette, scrawled dramatically into her notebook, and personified perhaps dozens of French artist stereotypes at once. My hunch is that she was an American college student studying abroad.


It was a wonderful experience, and so magical to be in Paris in June. Every single iris was in bloom! Stay tuned for more drawings from the rest of my trip!


Spring in Mystic Seaport



Two weekends ago, I was able to return to Mystic Seaport with Dalvero Academy to take advantage of the spring weather. It was so nice to wander around the seaport and simply enjoy the beauty of it.

 

The river rippled under the groaning weight of the tall-ships, and parted as candy-colored sailboats slipped through the waves. Men and women bellowed work songs as they climbed into the rigging and hoisted the sails.


Boats tied to the piers creaked and swayed against the dock.

 

The work on the last wooden whaleship in the world, The Charles W. Morgan, nears completion as workers hammered and slathered the outside hull with paint before returning her to the water in July.


The salty air fluttered through the branches, tinkling the newly sprouted leaves like wind chimes, and washing away the winter chill.

Morocco: Return to Fes


After the Sahara, we returned to Fes for a couple days and then headed back to New York. Morocco is an amazing place, but not always an easy one. It's exhausting and magical at the same time.

There aren't a lot of places in the world where you can make a drawing like the one above: There is a man riding side-saddle on a mule, who is stepping daintily over the cobblestones of a precariously narrow medieval street perched on a steep hillside, while a man in the distance twirls silk into thread down the long winding streets, as the sun begins to set, turning the whole street to gold.

I certainly can't wait to go back.

Morocco: The Desert

 

Our final excursion out of Fes was to the Sahara near the border with Algeria. From Fes, it was a 9 hour drive to the dunes through some of the most amazing landscapes I've ever seen. We passed through Mediterranean rolling hills, an Atlas cedar forest, a French ski village, a whirling dust storm, one of the world's largest oases, and a high desert plateau surrounded by soaring peaks that were about to receive their first snow of the year.

We arrived at our hotel after a long drive across a desolate black plateau in the middle of a sand storm. We could barely see 5 feet on either side of the car, and even then it was only parched black earth. Our hosts came out to help us scramble inside as the blowing sand proceeded to wedge itself into every mouth, eye, ear, and otherwise.

 

 

After a tasty meal, our hosts treated us to some Berber drumming and we turned in for the night as the sandstorm blew on.

We awoke to a serene breeze through the window, and the wall of blowing black sand outside had settled to reveal endless golden dunes only 20 feet away. We ate a quick breakfast and went out to start our journey.

 

We met our two camels, one brown was brown and wooly and the other beige with a nose ring. Of course we named them after our brown and beige cats at home, Bert and Pica (We eagerly asked the camel drivers if they already had names, he answered "No. They are camels.").

The back view of Chris on the camel in front of me.

 After a long, beautiful camel ride through the martian landscape (through which the blustering wind and camel jostling made drawing close to impossible), we settled into our Berber campsite for the night, hoping to see the amazing starry skies you can only see when you're miles from civilization.

Pica the camel.

Naturally, as the sun was going down, the storm clouds were rolling in. As we were lying in our tent, trying to sleep through the booming thunder, we began to feel the pitter-patter of rain drops on our faces. The carpet/bamboo roof of our tent was not exactly waterproof, and as the frequency of the drops began to increase, we scrambled our things together and ran into the main tent where we huddled with a nice Australian family under the more substantial roof. We were treated to a torrential downpour in the middle of the Sahara desert as the deluge of water poured into the tent on all sides of our little mattresses in the center.



We didn't end up seeing any stars at all, but I feel like a rainstorm in the Sahara is just as unique of an experience, and we can see the stars the next time. Plus the sunrise the next morning made all the rain worth it, as the dunes that had been faded and shifting yesterday became crisp, solid, and vibrant after the rain.


Morocco: The Iron Worker


When we returned to Fes, Chris and I went out into the souks and happened upon a tiny, unusual shop on one of the many alleys of craftsmen. The man, dressed in black and grey with salt & pepper hair, was making black iron work with silver wire hammered into intricate designs. The iron-worker was such a sweet man, and a real artist. We found out later that the technique is one called Damasquine, and is a Moroccan version of a Syrian craft that originally used gold wire in much more formal Islamic designs. This man, while he created the more formal Moroccan style work as well, had walls of beautiful and whimsical animals that he had drawn himself. They felt like little Picasso drawings made out of iron and silver.

After picking out all of our Christmas gifts for the year, we asked if we could stay and draw him while he worked. We were able to see him create one animal from, from start to finish, in his tiny 5x5 shop.


He began by sawing the iron into the shape of a fish.

 

He then scored the iron and polished it with a jade-tipped utensil.


Then he heated the iron in a burner and it came out hot and jet black.


Then, using a tiny hammer, he hammered the silver wire into a design, like drawing.

 Once he finished, he polished it again with the jade, and gave it to us as a gift. It was so wonderful to see someone so passionate about what he was doing. His father had done Damasquine in gold, and he was the 5th generation of Damasquine workers in his family. He is the only one to practice the craft in Fes (although a dozen or so others do in the nearby city of Meknes), and he said that while his children enjoy drawing, they didn't like the hard manual labor that goes with creating the iron work, so he may be the last.

Morocco: The Blue City


We took a short trip from Fez, through the Rif mountains to the beautiful blue city of Chefchaouen. The small town lies perched on a hillside in a valley surrounded by soaring, jagged peaks.


Since the 1930's, the walls of Chefchaouen's medina have been washed with blue pigment (possibly as a result of Jewish immigrants fleeing Europe). Thick layers of every color of blue imaginable coat the walls and streets of the city.


Because of the sheer cliffs of the Riff mountains, the city is connected by a web of incredibly steep stone staircases, which surprise you with bizarre, twisting, otherworldly views.


Some streets have so many colors at once that they feel like an abstract mosaic instead of a real city.


 Down one long staircase at the edge of the city, you find the Ras el-Maa river trickling down the stone steps into the valley. Here the women do their laundry on huge concrete beds in the river, in some of the most beautiful surroundings you can imagine. I couldn't help but want to draw, even though I felt a little intrusive drawing people just doing their laundry. My broken French was enough to get us through most of Morocco, but here on the eastern coast, they only speak Spanish and Arabic. Not knowing a word of Spanish, I mimed my way into asking whether or not it was okay for me to draw them.

 

Initially they seemed wary, so I contented myself with just drawing the scenery and leaving the women out. The old woman of the group came over and sat next to me while I drew for a while, and smiled as I struggled to ask her questions. Eventually, I successfully gestured my question, and she consented to let me draw them. They went on with their business, laughing and singing together over the sound of the trickling stream and the soft breeze rustling through the hillsides of morning glories.


As I was drawing the teenage girl above, she seemed bashful because she was in her laundry clothes, and the old woman laughed and started asking me something in Spanish. I couldn't understand a word she was saying, or why the girl suddenly started blushing and laughing until I heard the word "matrimonio" pop out. Once I realized she was asking me, jokingly, if I was planning to marry her after such a tender drawing, I blushed and instinctively blurted out "No!". We all burst out laughing, and my cheeks turned more and more red as I frantically tried to make a more diplomatic decline of the offer (I don't think she took it personally).

The view out of our room at Casa La Palma


Our wonderful hosts, Ana and Carlos, at the beautiful bed and breakfast Casa La Palma were originally from Spain (only a couple hours away), and fell in love with Chefchaouen and moved there. With the incredible beauty, the calm, soothing air, and slow, trickling way of life, it's definitely a difficult city to leave.