St. Patrick's Day Parade


A few friends and I went out to draw the St. Patrick's Day Parade yesterday, despite the unwelcome return of winter. Even with the wind, it was great to be outside drawing. It was my first time seeing the parade, partially because of its discriminatory policies against gay groups, and partially because of my fear of the drunken masses, but I ended up enjoying myself very much. I am part Irish, after all! My favorite part, though was seeing all the people who came out to march and watch. (Also, I genuinely like the sound of bagpipe music).


The marchers were often very stoic and soldierly...


...while the onlookers were more boisterous.


I loved how excited everyone was to be there and show their Irish pride. We were uptown near the Metropolitan Museum, so it was a bit more of a classy affair than what happens down in Midtown.


There were too many bagpipes to count, but I still feel as though I have no idea what the actual shape of a bagpipe is. Maybe next year!


I love the way that immigrant communities in New York often retain their distinctness amidst the melting pot of the city. The people, even if they've been here for generations, often feel like they have retained a lot of that old world spirit. My favorite of the day was the lady in the upper right, determined and undeterred by the cold.

Sightseeing in England


For some reason I only end up posting my drawings of England on rainy days! But here are some "Greatest Hits of England" drawings from the trip. First up, the White Tower in the Tower of London complex, built in 1078 by William the Conqueror.


Parliament Square: Big Ben, Parliament, Westminster Abbey, double-decker buses, and a statue of Winston Churchill! 


The Shambles is the oldest street in the city of York, with timber-framed buildings that teeter over the narrow cobblestone path. Many of the buildings date from the late 14th and 15th centuries.


Finally, a beautiful sunny day in the gardens watching the swans, at the royal palace of Hampton Court.

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

Winter at Mystic Seaport & Ezra Jack Keats Honor



It's been a while since my last post, but I've been busy finishing up the artwork for my next children's book! It is my first book as author and illustrator, called The Storyteller, due out in 2016 (more to come soon)! I'm also thrilled to announce that I received the Ezra Jack Keats Award Honor for New Illustrator for Grandfather Gandhi! Keats was an incredible illustrator, and I am so honored to be in his company in this way.


I also had the chance to go back up to Mystic Seaport with Dalvero Academy this past weekend, for a snowy and beautiful couple of days. The first day was COLD, so my hands only emerged for brief amounts of time before I ran back inside. The Charles W. Morgan looked like an ice-stranded Arctic vessel in the frozen Mystic River.


This was our first time seeing Mystic Seaport's newest acquisition, the Mayflower II! Built in 1957, it is a historical replica of the original Mayflower, created in England as a symbol of partnership between our two countries after WWII. She's an odd looking ship, but a lot of fun to draw! I'm looking forward to learning more about her as the restoration continues.


The next day we were treated to the most beautiful snowstorm, with snowflakes the size of butterflies settling over the quaint New England houses. A small flock of hooded mergansers (some of the most adorable little ducks) flitted all over the frozen river.


As the snow cleared away, all of the color began to return to the landscape.


Blue sky and sunlight finally broke through the clouds.


Still trapped in the ice, The Morgan seemed like it was coming to life too.


Hopefully this is a sign that spring can't be too far off, and the ice will be melting soon.

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

Olives of Gethsemane



For the start of the new year, I thought I'd post some drawings I did near the beginning of last year from my trip to Israel. Outside the walls of Jerusalem lies the Garden of Gethsemane, a grove of ancient olive trees said to be the same trees Jesus prayed beneath the night before his crucifixion.


Whether or not these could really be the same trees is up for debate. The trunks of three of the trees have been dated as old as 1092, 1166, and 1198 CE. Nearly one thousand years old, but not old enough to have witnessed times during the life of Jesus. It is said that when the Romans conquered Jerusalem in 70 AD, they cut down every tree in the area.


But olive trees have a miraculous ability of perseverance and regeneration. Beneath the thousand year old trunks lie even more ancient roots. Some say that the roots may be over two thousand years old.


Olive trees can regenerate themselves from their roots, even after fire, destruction, and decay. Despite the hollow, scarred trunks, the new life in the branches springs from the life of the ancient roots.


Olive branches are a symbol of peace, but also of the essence that survives hardship and renews itself.


So here's to a brand new year, with the possibility of healing, growth, and new life!

Happy 2015! 

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

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

Cubic Greco-Romans


I had the chance to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art for the first time in a while yesterday! I got to check out the new 65 million dollar entrance (meh) and the new Cubism show (yay!). It was a quick trip, but I got to spend a little time drawing around the Greco-Roman galleries afterwards.


It is always a nice palate-cleanser to go to such an amazing museum after working on projects for a while. It helps to scramble your brain a bit, and point it in new directions.


Can't wait to go back next week!

Rainy England

 

It was a rainy day in New York City today, so I thought I'd post some drawings from some of the rainier days of my trip to England this summer. It rained for about half the trip, and although it impeded some drawing opportunities, I don't think I'd have had it any other way. The countryside just looked so much more English on the rainy days. The painting above is from the village of Ebrington in the Cotswolds, which is possibly one of the quaintest places on the planet. I started the painting during a brief break in the rain, but soon the rain began to pick up. The colors started to blend into one another, and everything took on a soft, squishy look that was much more what the village felt like. The mist dappled the watercolors and made them feel just like the moss that covered every surface.


Continuing the soft and squishy trend of the English countryside were the flocks of adorable sheep that dotted the hillsides. I painted these one very rainy morning from our bedroom in a local farm house that overlooked a field covered with sheep.


Sheep are hilarious looking animals, with silly, huggable shapes that seem predestined for nursery rooms and plush toys.


I couldn't get over how cute the lambs were. Often, two of them would run at their mother from a distance and begin suckling on either side with their tiny tails wagging.


The last rainy painting was from our journey to Highclere Castle, or as it's more commonly known, Downton Abbey. Like all good American tourists, my knowledge of English culture is dictated by a melodramatic soap opera with gorgeous production values! I have to say, TV show aside, the Highclere estate really is incredible. The house is surrounded by lush, rolling hillsides covered with dark forests, scurrying white lambs, and enormous bushes of rhododendrons and azaleas in sunset colors.

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

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.

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.)

Magnolias and Mosaics



Recently, my boyfriend Chris and I took our first mosaic class with Yakov and Angele Hanansen at Unicorn Art Studio. The two have been doing large scale mosaics for over 30 years, and were kind, insightful, and extremely knowledgeable teachers. Both Chris and I have become addicted and can't wait to do more!


This piece was based on a drawing I did this spring (above) at the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens when the magnolia trees were in full bloom, dropping their thick, fleshy petals onto the newly sprouting grass. Behind them, hillsides of daffodils glittered in the distance. It felt like a big quilt of different patterns, colors, and textures. I then turned that drawing into the design for the mosaic, below.


The process of translating a drawing into hundreds of cut pieces of stained glass is extremely meditative.


It forced my mind to think in new ways about drawing, because in a mosaic, everything must be considered. The color, size, shape, and direction of every piece and pattern is important. Intention is everything.




I had a lot of fun creating different patterns, and layering and weaving different marks and colors throughout the image.


Finally, the act of grouting was a very nerve-wracking, but exciting, and transformational experience. After working on putting the pieces together for many, many hours over 2 months, you have to smear the dark grout over all of your hard work. Then you wipe it off and see how everything has been transformed by filling in the gaps. I was surprised by how much the image changed!



Above is a little video I put together of all of the progress shots, showing the growth of the mosaic.

 

And now, finally, it is home, hanging proudly in our living room. I can't wait to start the next one!

The Charles W. Morgan: The Main Topmast: Part 2


For the second part of my day at Mystic Seaport, we were able to see the crew pull the Charles W. Morgan out into the river and turn her 180 degrees towards the shipyard. Quentin Snediker, director of the restoration, offered us the chance to ride in one of the small boats in the river for the operation, so my friend and fellow Dalvero Academy member, Jennifer Kiamzon, and I jumped at the chance and hopped in. Other Academy members were onboard the Morgan itself or perched on top of some nearby scaffolding.


Seeing the enormous ship from the water was such an exhilarating experience! The tiny boats like the one we were in rotated around the Morgan like a school of little fish around a giant whale. The little one in the drawing above had a powerful motor, and hooked itself onto her bow and began pulling the Morgan into the river.


We drifted peacefully away from the whaleship as the other boats pushed and pulled her massive heft into the river. Suddenly we heard Quentin shout the name of our boat over the walkie-talkie and the driver gunned the engine and headed for the Morgan's hull.


Before we knew it Jen and I were flailing back as Paul, aboard our boat, leapt over us and braced himself against the hull of the Morgan as our boat rammed into her side.


We peered up at the towering masts as Quentin surveyed the boats over the side of the Morgan and shouted orders to push and rotate her into place.

 

We moved away, and then rushed in several times for Paul to leap forward and press against the boat.


As the Morgan finished her rotation, the boats dispersed and we headed back to dock.



She now faces in towards the shipyard with her monumental prow jutting out over the dock.



For a couple of landlubbers it was an amazing experience! Peering up at her towering masts from the water made me imagine what it must have been like for the sailors in the whaleboats on the hunt, seeing much this same view as they prepared for a grueling, cruel chase in the open ocean. One behemoth looming above them, and another diving beneath.

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!

Grandfather Gandhi


This past year I was able to do the illustrations for an upcoming children's book called Grandfather Gandhi (Atheneum/Simon & Schuster), written by Mohandas Gandhi's grandson, Arun Gandhi, and YA author Bethany Hegedus. It was a wonderful experience and it is so exciting that the book will be out this March.

Arun speaks to the choir.

I was able to finally meet Arun Gandhi this past weekend at an event for the Keystone State Boychoir in Philadelphia, where I donated a print from the book for a fundraiser and Mr. Gandhi was their guest of honor.

The choir is made up of students of diverse economic, racial, and ethnic backgrounds and offers dedicated members a chance to travel all over the world and experience new cultures through their gift of singing. This December, a group of 60 of the boys will be traveling to India to learn about the culture and about Gandhi, as well as to perform. The talented group sang many songs, including a Muslim hymn sung in Urdu, an Indian raga, and Arun's grandfather's favorite hymn, Lead, Kindly Light.

Arun translated the significance of the Namaste gesture and greeting in India as "I bow to the divine spirit within you."

Arun listening to the choir.

It was beautiful to see how all of the kids in the choir really responded to having Mr. Gandhi there, and how he was also humble, gracious, and very touched by their appreciation. It is not his direct lineage from someone great, but his own inspiring efforts to live by his grandfather's teachings as an individual, that make him worth listening to. He cautioned against people simply revering his grandfather without remembering to turn his teachings into practice. Arun's lineage gives him this platform to live by example and sow the seeds of those teachings in himself and a new generation of young minds.

 

It is a similar lesson to one offered in the book, Grandfather Gandhi, in that one does not have to be perfect to do great things. In the book, Arun wonders how he, with all his anger and imperfections, could ever live up to his revered grandfather. But Gandhi teaches Arun that everyone, even the now legendary peace activist himself, experiences anger. It is what a person does with that anger that counts. I thought this was a beautiful lesson to pass on to the kids, who are just starting out and are learning to allow themselves to dream of what great things they might be able to do one day.

Arun, his grandfather Gandhi, and his sister Ela.

It was a wonderful experience, and I am very appreciative to Julia Rasch, Steve Fisher, Martha Platt, Arun Gandhi, and everyone else for welcoming me and inviting me to be a part of the weekend with a great group of boys. I'll be posting more about the book as its release date gets closer!