100 Faces project - Completed!

 

And just like that... the 100 Faces project is finished. Face 99 is Astrid, Vagn's 10-year old granddaughter. Face 100 is the beloved family dog Churro, who passed away on June 1 last year -- because pets have faces too. 

I made the deadline, finishing within 300 days of the decision to start the project (July 27, although the drawing that became Face number 1 was actually completed some 3 weeks before). I'm not worried about this, since I drew several other people in the process but decided against including them for various reasons. I'll post the rest of the faces in due time, or make a video or composite image of them all.

For the most part I'm happy with the faces that I drew. Even the bad ones were part of the learning process. And this isn't the end for me, either. An unfinished drawing of a man playing a double bass sits in one of my sketchbooks, supposedly Face 99 until I realized I wouldn't complete it in time, given the May workload (and an oil portrait commission, yay!). Other projects have already been set -- 100 hands, 100 ears (where I'm weak), 101 dreams, 1000 people 1000 moments. These have no deadline, and are therefore not strict goals: the names form a filing system of sorts. Without a structure for grouping what I produce, my art tends to go unphotographed, or if photographed, then lost among the thousands of images that I take in a given year. 

So I'm done -- 100 Faces in 300 days. Time to celebrate. I think I'll go out into the garden and smell the lilacs. 

Oh, and below are Face no. 1 and 2.

Martin Luther King, Jr., I Have a Dream

Why have I reproduced Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I have a dream" speech in full below? Because I'm testing the very odd behavior of some visitors to my blog within the last few months. Bots, no doubt. Hundreds of hits within a day or two after a new post. ChatGPT collecting data? Will they bombard this speech of MLK in the same way they have each post that I carefully wrote? Or recognize the words and leave it alone?

If you are human, though, read and ponder.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

I Have a Dream

delivered 28 August 1963, at the Lincoln Memorial, Washington D.C.

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.

We cannot turn back.

There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. **We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: "For Whites Only."** We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until "justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream."

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest -- quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,    From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that:

Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

Free at last! Free at last!

Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

*** 
Retrieved from https://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/mlkihaveadream.htm on May 12, 2023. Antedated to May 9.

100 Faces in 300 days, part 10: Dan Keller at 16

 

***

I apologize for the main text being contained in an image,  and hope my words are still reader-friendly. I'm trying to deter ChatGPT or similar language-processing bots from hoovering up my words without my consent. More on this soon.

And my final decision was to leave out most of the hands, since something was wrong with their proportion with the rest of the body. Heck, the challenge was 100 Faces in 300 days.

100 Faces in 300 Days, part 9: Vagn Plenge

 

100 Faces in 300 days, Part 8: Drowning

A self-portrait from a photo taken when I was 17. It was a bad photo, slightly blurred, full-face, hair on either side of my face (parted bangs, short in front and long in back -- very 80s). Very much the photo of a landlubber.

This drawing, though, is a nod to the two times in my life I nearly drowned. The first, when I was seven, a quiet struggling right beyond the wave line. I could hear my extended family on the shore saying, "Look, it looks like (someone) is having trouble." (In Cebuano, a sentence like this does not need a subject). Then my grandmother waded in and fished me out.

The second time was on a beach in Zambales, in my 30s. Struggling silently against a wicked undertow. Unable to call for help. Then, the intervention of a brawny Filipino-American filmmaker, Michael, with whom we were swimming. He grasped me by the collar of my shirt (I had not brought a swimsuit) and hauled me unceremoniously onto the rock ledge.

Here I'm sinking, unable to speak, but seeing everything with perfect clarity.

***

Panpastels and charcoal.

100 Faces in 300 days. 95/100