A house, in the style of Flemish architecture (06-26-12)

During the first session of the Cartooning class I teach at the Milwaukie Center, I gave the kids the assignment to draw something without letting the pen leave the page. While they were busy, I decided to work along on the whiteboard.
It's funny, but as I started drawing a house, the style that immediately came to mind was that of Flemish architecture, tall houses with crenellated gables and small windows, as one commonly sees in Belgium in such cities as Brussels, Bruges, or Ghent...

Left: As drawn from memory           Right: A random example of the real thing

Malpertuis (04-20-12)

Malpertuis is a 1971 movie based on the novel Malpertuis by Belgian author Jean Ray. A long-time fan of Jean Ray's novels, I saw this movie when it came out, and it was real treat to find it available on Netflix's DVD rental site.

 Ghent, Belgium

"Euryale"

2011 Pen and Ink Project: A Castle in Belgium (11-30-11)

One day in February 2005, my brother Sébastien took me for a drive along the valley of the Meuse  in Belgium. High up, near the top of the forested cliffs bordering one side of the majestic river, one could see the ruins of a castle. In answer to my question, Seb said this castle was called Poilvache (a funny name in French), and offered to drive up to it.
After crossing the Meuse and driving uphill on windy roads, we arrived to a wide clearing covered with snow. A path off the side led to the old castle. Unprepared for a hike, I had put on a pair of Converse high tops that morning; they promptly got soaked as we got out of the car and started walking through the thick snow. After a short hike, we got to a high wall and a locked gate: access to the fortress was closed for another couple of months.
With Seb's help, I climbed over the wall, and we set off to explore the grounds. We were alone, with only the sounds of our feet disturbing the leaden silence. It was dusk. The entire valley was open below us, with the sinewy silver path of the large river down below. The sun was a dull pink through the filter of the fog coming in with the night. It was blood-chillingly cold. The ruins of the roofless dungeon stood three floor high, huge open walls punctured with window openings.
In my mind, I could see how it must have been, some 500 years before, when men huddled around fire camps or tended to their horses. The unimaginable torture they must have endured, wet clothes, frostbitten limbs, dark nights, the forest where dangers lurked.
And we, visitors from another time, in the silence all around, could hear horses neighing and the sounds of a garrison settling down for a night long gone, but the biting cold was ever-present, eternal.

Victorian House in Verviers (ca. 11-08)

For all the talk about houses, as this pretty much the focus of my new blog, I want to include a few photos of my absolute Best of Best, the ultimate reference of what I am looking for in a house: high style, and a moody personality, or, as my daughter Valérie would say, "gloomy, slightly impressive."
But there is no such thing on the West Coast...and if there ever was, it would be in a place like rotten part of Los Angeles or San Francisco, would have been abandoned, condemned and/or demolished...
This gem of a Victorian house is in my hometown in Belgium. Like the setting for a 19th century dark novel, it is precariously
set high on the side of a hill and accessed by a narrow dead-end cobblestone path bordered by the river; a tall spiked cast-iron fence secludes it from intruders. But the modern world has encroached: the freeway runs right over the top of the house.

The house's name is Béribou.

Belgium: My Aunt and Uncle (11-25-08)

While in Belgium, I went to visit my aunt (Tante Marcelle) and my uncle (Onc' Jacques).
My aunt is 83; she always has some interesting story to tell, while my uncle (85) tends to joke, with the same sort of dry humor my cousins inherited.

Tante Marcelle:
"Ah, that reminds me what happened with the neighbors, but that was 16 years ago, no, wait, it was 12 years ago, because I remember the wall hadn't been rebuilt yet, well, what was I saying? Oh, that's right, the neighbors, nice people; they always say "Hello" so nicely. But they have the nerve to park the truck right across the gate and there's no room left for anyone. Did I tell you the man is a truck driver? No? Anyway, they always say hello very nicely, but then, the kids do the darnedest things. They keep kicking their soccer ball over the gate, and it pisses me off that they keep doing it, over and over. When I go down the alley, if I have to go get groceries, and I find the ball, I throw it back over the gate, but I had to go tell the mother to tell the kids to stop ringing the doorbell at the gate. It's happened several times, I had to go all the way down the alley, then the stairs. -Ah, it was exactly 12 and half years ago, because we redid the stairs after the wall!- So you see, it just doesn't seem right for an old lady like me to have to go down all the way down the alley then the stairs, and just for a soccer ball, you see. It's bad enough that I have to go down those stairs twice a week to go get groceries. Ah, yes, that's right; I was telling you about the neighbor. What did I want to tell again? I can't remember anymore... I have the worst memory. No, really, I assure you. I can't remember anything. It's terrible how low we sink. So, as I was saying, those people are always parking their darn truck in the street and there is no room to do anything, see, since it's a cul-de-sac, no one can turn their car around because of his %^!! truck. But they're nice people...for the most part."

Onc' Jacques:
"You can almost tell whose car it was by the color of the paint scrapes on the side of the truck!"

Off to Europe! (11-14-08)

I'm leaving for Paris tomorrow, then off to Belgium next Saturday and will be back on November 26 (Julia's birthday).