The Big Sky

Posted by Salvador Castío

And if I only could

I’d make a deal with God

And I’d get him to swap our places

Be running  up that road

Be running  up that hill

Over the last few months, the music of one of my artist-heroes, Kate Bush, has been in the zeitgeist. Her song, Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God), from her classic album, Hounds Of Love, has had a massive resurgence and been introduced to a whole new generation of fans thanks to the show Stranger Things. 

     Kate and her brilliant work have been a part of my life for nearly forty years. It seems fitting that one of the artists I admire most is in the public eye now. I first discovered Kate in 1985 when Running Up That Hill was released. Its immediate impact piqued my interest, leading me to purchase her next release, The Whole Story, her greatest hits compilation, which was nothing short of epiphanic. 

     Over the last few months, I have been somewhat absent from social media. That absence has been intentional. I have spent my time indulging in things that nourish me creatively, such as revisiting favorite albums, watching documentaries, and reading as much as possible. I have spent most of my time quietly working on pictures I have wanted to make for myself. I have zero interest in sharing what I have been doing on social media or with anyone. It’s up to me to share my efforts ― or not. The work I have been doing is solely for myself and no one else. The only goal that I have had during this time is to create work that matters to me. People notice when you do work whose only goal is to satisfy your artistic goals. Doing work solely to please myself is the only way possible for me. There’s no point in creating things that don’t matter to me or satisfy me. Ultimately, whatever I do has to fulfill me.  

     I have long admired and respected Kate Bush for this very reason. She’s done things her way from the beginning, and her work has been brilliant. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Kate, it has always been to do things your way without compromise.

     Kate and her work have been a part of my personal soundtrack ever since my formative years in the 80s when I went from being a beginner with nothing but a burning desire to make art and loads of talent to an art student. First in Los Angeles at Otis-Parsons, then in San Francisco at The Academy Of Art College. My college years were a supernova of people, places, culture, and remarkable artistic growth. Throughout those life-changing years, Kate’s music continued to challenge and amaze me. The Whole Story introduced me to Celtic folk music, The Sensual World introduced me to Bulgarian singing, and The Red Shoes furthered my exposure to Celtic music while also exposing me to the Madagascan valiha. This incredible exposure happened alongside my artistic skill’s growth and refinement. 

     Eventually, all this led to where I find myself at this very moment. Last weekend, I decided to give my followers on Facebook and Instagram a sample of some of the work I’ve been doing over the past year, and the response was fantastic. Between likes, comments, and reshares, total engagements were just over 200. It was clear that people were responding so strongly because they could see the decades of sweat and effort that I’ve dedicated to my work. They saw something genuine, and they responded. I couldn’t ask for more.

     My picture of Kate for this week’s post is taken directly from my sketchbook. Her song, The Big Sky, from Hounds Of Love, is the inspiration. I have always loved the song’s meteorological-based lyrics ― cloudy, overcast days are magical and forever inspiring. Best of all is the song’s title; it best reflects my ambition.

I’m looking at the big sky.

Onward, Ever Onward

Posted by Salvador Castío

 

     In the fall of 1971, when I was five years old, I had a peculiar experience that changed my life forever. Up until now, only a handful of people have heard this story. One afternoon, in my kindergarten class, I was standing in front of an easel, blissfully splattering tempera paint onto a large sheet of construction paper. Like all the other kids in my class, I focused on creating something from the large blobs of color I was applying to my paper’s surface. I was, as they say nowadays, in the zone. During those moments of complete concentration, I had a vision that I have never forgotten. The blobs of color on my sheet of paper transformed into a scene before my eyes. Suddenly my brush strokes of alizarin crimson and cobalt blue had become the inside of a large, ornate building. I recall standing in silence, taking everything in. The room I was standing in was vast, and large framed paintings adorned its walls. I remember scanning the room slowly from top to bottom and side to side. Suddenly, something caught my eye. In the distance, in one of the large frames, was the painting I had been creating in my classroom. I’m not claiming clairvoyance at the age of five, nor do I claim to have been able to articulate what was occurring at that moment. Still, intuitively, I understood the message behind what I was seeing. I stood there frozen in disbelief as I looked at my work on that enormous wall. There was no question that what I saw that day was my destiny. I have never once doubted what happened that day. I’m damn lucky, and I know it. Not everyone knows what they want to do for the rest of their life at age five.

       My first-grade teacher, whose name I’ve sadly forgotten, confirmed what I already knew when she pulled my mom aside during a parents’ night at school to tell her that her son had real talent that she should nurture and encourage. My mom didn’t miss a beat and began her lifelong support of helping me achieve my goals, including going to art school and becoming a professional. 

     I can’t begin to tell you how much art has helped me over the past five decades and how, in many ways, it has saved me as well. In elementary school, I was your classic nerd kid. Black, thick-rimmed glasses, funky haircut, and insecure as fuck. To make things even worse, I had a noticeable strabismus and struggled with math. All those things made me a prime target for all the tiny assholes in my class. There were days when I felt like I was in hell. The insults, put-downs, and vicious cracks at my expense went on for years. 

     Thankfully, art was always there to help console me; it has never failed me. During those difficult years, I realized that I could do something unique that others couldn’t do. That gave me inner strength. I may have felt great insecurity because of my awkward appearance and weak math skills, but my talent was iron-clad and untouchable. I wasn’t the best at drawing in school – some kids drew better than me, but that didn’t matter. Nothing was going to stop me from developing and refining my talent. That realization, more than any other, sealed my fate. It was the one area where I had total control.

     I come from humble beginnings: I lived in the projects on Section 8 housing in my youth. There, I began to read comics and became exposed to art. Comic books opened up another world for me. Along with their fantastic tales of heroic do-gooders and sinister villains, they also exposed me to the brilliant draftsmanship of Neil Adams and the genius-level imagination of Jack Kirby. Because of that, all I ever wanted to do was draw, draw, draw. You have lots of time to fill when you’re an only child, and nothing does that better than drawing. I may have lived in the projects, but comics lit the flame that continues to burn brightly to this very day. Art not only allowed me to survive those challenging years but also to grow as a person.

     My mom knew no boundaries when it came to supporting my talent. Because of her never-ending efforts, I am the artist I am today. Despite money being tight, she made things happen for me. When I was thirteen, I got my first drawing table. A year later, I had my first formal art classes. My tutor was a local artist named John Sierra. John had a large studio in an industrial area of Fresno where he worked on mural designs. I still remember the large rolls of paper stretched out over the studio’s floors. His work was excellent, and I benefitted greatly from his expertise. He taught me the fundamentals of drawing: basic shapes, shading, and perspective. Those things were eye-opening for me. I continued my education at fifteen via a two-year correspondence course through Art Instruction Schools. Without telling my parents, I replied to the “Draw me'” ad from TV Guide. The next thing you know, there was a rep from the school in our living room, signing me up for a two-year stint. That course expanded my knowledge by teaching me basic color theory, multi-point perspective, and composition. That course aided in my development throughout high school. In 1985, Otis Art Institute of Parsons School of Design accepted me into their illustration program. I was only there for a semester, but my time there left its mark – it instilled a level of excellence that has never left me. Parsons School of Design ranks as one of the world’s best art and design colleges, and I remain fiercely proud of my time there. My art school odyssey continued throughout the late eighties and early nineties in San Francisco. My educational journey finally came to a close in 1992 when I finished my studies at the Academy of Art College, where I majored in illustration. 

     In my formative years, my artist heroes set the bar for me. They also reinforced the belief that I’d had since childhood that I could be great at what I do if I worked hard and long enough. More than any other, that belief has helped me weather all the uncertainties and personal changes that I’ve experienced over the past three decades. To make art, you have to believe in yourself and what you do. To do great work, you have to be willing to play the long game. That requires an unusual amount of patience. There are no shortcuts – either you put in the time at the drawing board or don’t.

     I’ve come a long way since my vision of my future at five and my discovery of art through comic books in the early 1970s; my taste in art and my skill have expanded significantly since then. I have never been ashamed of where I come from and will always be proud of that. However, that does not mean I wanted to stay there either. When you come from a modest background, it pushes you to achieve your goals or kills them. Over the past thirty-five years, I have been through many changes and ups and downs. All through it, I have continued to draw and strive. Onward, ever onward.  

Drawing used in this post

In 1868, Burne-Jones was in the throes of a turbulent affair with Maria Zambaco, his Anglo-Greek muse, and model. During that period, Burne-Jones produced an extraordinary series of pencil drawings of Maria. I based my drawing for this post on one of these drawings. I don’t pretend that my drawing captures the subtlety inherent in EBJ’s brilliant drawing – pencil, pen, and pen and ink are two completely different mediums, each with their unique properties. I wouldn’t consider this a finished piece by any means; it’s a study. Maria Zambaco remains a bit of an enigma to this day. New details about her life have emerged over the past decade, but a lot remains unknown about her. Burne-Jones ended his affair with Maria in 1869. Over the next decade, he became the most celebrated Pre-Raphaelite painter of the late nineteenth century. Maria eventually moved to Paris and continued her artistic career working with people like Aguste Rodin. She died there in 1914.

 

 

 

Up A Tree

Posted by Salvador Castío

 

     One of the challenges of writing a fortnightly blog is accepting that real life can and will step in and throw a wrench into the best laid out plans. I wrote and edited the blog post that you should be reading right now a week ago and had gotten pretty far into the drawing that will be accompanying it as well. As you know, I work in pen and ink, and if you’re somewhat familiar with that medium, you know that making corrections can be time-consuming. To my utter horror, yesterday evening, I realized that the drawing that I’ve been working on was off and had to stop and correct the error. Correcting mistakes in pen and ink involves applying a copious amount of white designers gouache to the affected area. The gouache then needs to be allowed to dry before any redrawing can start to happen. Precious time gets eaten up between things such as covering the error, redrawing, and reinking. 

      Those things were the least of my worries as real life had bigger plans for little ol’ me. Over the weekend, our landlord informed us that people would be coming to trim the trees around the house. In all honesty, I didn’t even give it a second thought. Why should I? I was too busy putting together this week’s blog post, so why should I care? Here’s why: on Monday morning, the quiet bliss of my petit atelier was hijacked by the raucous cacophony of chainsaws and men bickering back and forth in Spanish. Being a fluent Spanish speaker, I couldn’t help being a Gladys Kravitz. I heard the old guy in the bunch tell one of the younger workers, “Oye, ¿sabes qué? No sabes nada y es mejor que te calles la boca.” Oh man, it was getting tense up there, and it wasn’t even noon yet. The old guy didn’t take crap from anyone, and he wasn’t scared to speak his mind either. That dear reader is what’s known in Spanish as hablar sin pelos en la lengua. The unnerving buzz of chainsaws, the clanking of ladders, and the bickering in Spanish went on for three days. 

     All this made it impossible to concentrate and get my drawing done in time. After three days, the buzz of those chainsaws had me up a tree. Making art and chainsaws don’t mix well unless you’re making sculptures from tree trunks. Anyhow, instead of leaving you wondering why this week’s blog post got delayed, I thought I’d serve you a tasty little tapa and fill you in on the events of the past three days. Fear not – this week’s post will be appearing over the next few days, along with a spectacular new drawing.

About the drawing used in this post

The drawing used in this post was done two years ago and meant to be finished and published in a blog post, but for some reason, it got lost in the shuffle of daily creative life. I based my drawing on a painting by Burne-Jones, my artist-hero and guiding light. I want to finish this and publish it in an upcoming blog post. Now that fall has arrived and winter is around the corner, I can settle in and start catching up on the mountain of projects that have piled up over the years. 

 

 

The Fine Art of Hypocrisy

Posted by Salvador Castío

     The terms “Starving artist and “Famous after death” have never sat well with me. They’ve always struck me as being simplistic and condescending. People who toss around these dimwitted epithets do so with an air of derision and a sense of warped frivolity. It’s all a big joke to them. They don’t care. First, they insult you, and then they proceed to ask, “By the way, can I talk to you about designing a free logo? Helen Miren famously said that she would advise her younger self to use the words “Fuck off” more often. At fifty-five, I have learned that lesson. Being blunt and to the point is also a fine art – you have to know when to land your punch. Don’t get me wrong, some people genuinely love, understand, and value what people like myself do. Unfortunately, they are few and far between. Regrettably, they’re not who I encounter most often. Usually, it’s people from the other faction that I run into, the people who dub everyone an artist and attempt to get cheap work out of them. 

     In all my years of making art, there’s one thing that has become more than clear to me: it’s not skill or talent that most people value. It’s the price tag that’s attached to your work. The bigger, the better. A little fame doesn’t hurt either. The mighty dollar and notoriety are a potent narcotic cocktail and aphrodisiac to most people. One drink, and suddenly you’re the toast of the town; people want to be around you, have you at their parties, and take you to dinner. Some people think that crack or meth is a big problem; trust me, crack and meth have nothing on money, greed, and power. It’s why terms like “Supporter of the arts” are dubious at best. I know people I would consider actual supporters of the arts – they’re a precious handful. They buy art, and they pay full price. It’s a glorious thing. Most would-be supporters of the arts are nothing more than hypocrites who can’t differentiate between Michelangelo and Charles Schultz and who insist on giving their money to people like Denzel Washington. They haven’t figured out that Denzel Washington doesn’t need their money.

     Thanks to social media, we’ve reached a point where anyone can hawk their wares to whoever is willing to buy them. There are advantages and disadvantages to that: on the one hand. It allows any hardworking artist to get his work seen by the public, and that’s fabulous. On the other hand, it won’t be long before drunken monkeys make art and proclaim, “I got prints.” Platforms such as Instagram have become virtual flea markets for art. Every Tom, Dick, or Harry with even the slightest inclination towards making art is there, prints in hand. Do you laugh, or do you cry? I don’t know. This phenomenon is rooted in the lack of art education in our schools, amongst other things. If you do not understand the amount of work an artist puts into refining a skill, how can you value them? Artbooks and museum visits are nice, but that’s just the surface of it, not the guts. If you happen to know someone who makes art professionally, talk to them and ask them about what’s it like to make art. I guarantee that what you hear is going to be different from what you think. 

     With the advent of social media and smartphones, people’s perceptions of art have changed a lot. Frankly, it’s not just in the visual arts where you see this change. You see it all over the place. In a nutshell, in regards to visual art, it boils down to this: if you can fling paint at a canvas, then you are an artist. It doesn’t matter whether you have a skill or not, just as long as you can soak that canvass with blobs of paint. You may be wondering why something like this would interest me. It’s simple: it’s because “Anyone can be an artist” sends the wrong message to people about what artists do. To be clear, when I say artists, I am referring to professionals -not hobbyists or people who do it as a side hustle. I’m talking about the people who make art day in and day out for a living. Let me be clear about this, I will always stand up for the people who have spent their lives busting their asses to elaborate skill and refine it to a high level. Refining skill requires a certain level of commitment. It’s a level of commitment that most people aren’t willing to make.

      Making art isn’t a free ride. Artists spend copious amounts of time learning their craft because it’s important to them. It’s not a hobby – it’s their livelihood. Attempting to devalue or minimize that in any way will never sit well with me. If you think anybody can be an artist, I cordially invite you to pick up a pencil and take a whack at elaborating actual real skill. Instead of pushing the notion that everyone can be an artist, we should present the idea that being an artist requires as much work as anything else and that hard dedicated effort pays off. Trivializing what artists do is insulting and helps nothing. 

     Some people ask, “Why is your work so expensive?” It’s not – not by a long shot. If your idea of expensive art is twenty-dollar paintings seen at the flea market, then I’m the motherfucking Louvre. The price that I place on my original work isn’t something I’ve arrived at willy-nilly. Besides the cost of my materials, my education, knowledge, years of experience, and skill level all determine the price of my work. Is it expensive, perhaps? Is it fair? It absolutely is. I’m often gobsmacked by how little the general public understands such things. When you buy work from me, you’re getting art created with skills perfected over decades. Beyond that, you’re getting something that is unique, and that has singular value.

      The surface of my work is alive with human involvement and thought. The image I’ve brought forth results from a long series of decisions – I have thought about every detail. I do this over and over until I am satisfied with my composition. All my choices are evident on the surface of the original you buy from me. In the digital age, you don’t have that tactile dimension. Instead, you have things like the newly minted NFTs that people use to validate ownership of digital files. I skeptically watch at a distance as people pay exorbitant amounts of money for the right to be declared the official owner of a digital file. A digital file is not an original piece of work. You cannot touch its surface and feel the paint or ink with your fingertips. In my era, you had copyright – artists still have copyright. It’s something that happens automatically upon completion of a work of visual art. If someone wants to own the copyright in addition to owning my original, they will pay for a complete buyout upon purchase. Desiring this can often triple the price of a piece of work; hey, if you want my copyright and the bragging rights of being the owner of my original, then you’re going to have to pay steeply for it.

     As you can see, all kinds of things are happening when it comes to making art. More than ever, artists must know who they are and what type of work they want to do. They should have a reason for making art beyond making money, creating a product, or creating content. Along with a strong sense of self, they should also have a robust set of skills that they have mastered. If you can go to art school, go. If the school is in a major city, you’ll also get an education outside the classroom. Experiencing culture firsthand is one of the best things that you can do. Growing as a person is just as essential as growing as an artist. Learning from the best in your field of study will advance your skills by leaps and bounds. There’s nothing like in-person technique demonstrations. 

     I know, I know, art school isn’t affordable for everyone. I get it; it’s expensive – more now than ever. There are other alternatives: community colleges seem to offer a much higher level of education in the visual arts than in the past. You can save money by starting there and then transferring. You can also choose to be an autodidact. This route is much trickier as it requires double the drive you usually need to become a professional. If you’re hell-bent on succeeding, you can do it, but those who triumph by taking this route are the exception, not the rule. Lastly, there are online courses and YouTube. Choosing this would be my last choice unless you’re already a professional with experience. If you’re a novice who’s just beginning, I would be aware. You can teach certain basics via video, but that’s limited. You cannot learn to draw the human figure on a computer – you have to be there; otherwise, it doesn’t work. Lastly, teaching art via video has become a cottage industry where any Joe Blow can proclaim to be an artist. If you’re not careful, these slick, wheeler dealers will reel you in and take your money. If the person teaching me isn’t solid in basic skills like drawing and painting, why would I want them to teach me? If you’re a hobbyist, these types of things could be beneficial, but if you’re serious-minded and wish to become a professional, I urge you to sign up at your local community college. The worst thing you can be as an artist is ignorant. Master the basics, learn about the history of your particular discipline, and understand where you come from and what you’re doing. Above all, realize that making art professionally is no free ride. You either put the work in, or you don’t. Finally, stay away from people that believe that everyone can be an artist. They’ll never truly value your work.

 

Illustrations used in this blog post.

Renee. 2010. approx 9’X12″. Pencil, pen, ink, and gouache on paper.

  1. I love drawing portraits that reveal something about the subject of the drawing – a small personal detail that adds a deeper level to the artwork. My friend Renee has unique features that I felt would make a wonderful drawing. She graciously agreed to pose for a series of pictures that I snapped while visiting family in Southern California. As always, I take numerous shots so that I can cherry-pick the best ones. It’s not too hard to find good shots when you have someone with wonderful features like Renee. As I snapped my photos and we chatted, she told me that she was of Indonesian descent. I was automatically intrigued and wanted to find a way to convey that fact in my drawing.  Anyway, I started with a preliminary done in red pencil. At the time, I thought that using a color underneath my inkwork might give it a little more depth, but for some reason, I didn’t follow through with my idea. I honestly don’t remember why, but maybe I’ll go back and give it a shot.
  2. The most important thing to me at the beginning of any drawing is getting a solid pencil preliminary done. I cannot emphasize enough how important it is to do this as you begin your drawing. Everything has to be worked out at this stage: proportions, facial features, likeness, details such as hair, etcetera. If these things are not worked out here, you risk making time-wasting mistakes later on. At this stage, I was still trying to figure out how to incorporate my friend’s Indonesian heritage into my design.
  3. Here you have the finished article. As you can see, I incorporated a repeating Indonesian pattern in the background. It was this detail that brought everything together for me. I’m well pleased with my drawing; without it, it would be just another nice pen and ink drawing that says nothing. Interestingly, my desire to give my portraits personal depth has not ceased since I did this drawing; instead, it has increased. I find myself more interested than ever in doing drawings that reveal personal stories.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Death, Art, and The Universe

Posted by Salvador Castío

     My father-in-law is nearing the end of his life, and his passing in the coming days will tear our family asunder. The heartbreak is palpable in the thick, hot desert air that blows around us. Saying goodbye is never easy, and there’s never a perfect time to do it. It’s something that no one likes to do but that we all have to accept. All we can do is try our best to navigate the heartache.

    My father-in-law passed away five days ago, on July 3, 202. The past week has been brutal, to say the least – especially for my wife. It was barely a year ago that we lost my mother-in-law, and now my father-in-law is gone as well. It feels so unfair. You’re supposed to have time to finish grieving before having to say goodbye again. My heart aches for my wife, and I wish I could make things different for her, but I can’t. I lost my mom years ago, but I’m not entirely free from the hurt of her loss. It’s always there, lurking in the background, waiting for situations like the one I’m currently going through to assail me. Dealing with death is fucking hard – there’s no other way to say it. Each of us finds a way to deal with it as best we can – that’s all we can do.

     Today, I find myself standing on Ocean Beach in San Francisco. I haven’t been here in thirty years, and it feels good to be back. My wife has gone to walk down the shore by herself – I don’t mind. She needs some alone time to think about her dad. I, too, need some alone time to ruminate over things that have been stealing my sleep at night lately. As my feet sink into the soft, wet sand, I look to the horizon and feel myself gazing into infinity and connecting with God and the universe. As I stand transfixed, a plethora of thoughts come rushing to mind as the cool ocean breeze blows across my face and the sun bounces off my Ray-Bans. It’s impossible not to recall my art school days of the late eighties when I would come to Ocean Beach to drink and waste time with my college friends. Those halcyon days were a magical time that will always hold a special place in my heart. They were some of the best times of my life, but they were not my best days – those have yet to come. More than anything, it’s the promise of those days yet to come that looms large in my mind as I stand gazing into infinity. The talent that was so obvious at the time got honed over the past three decades, and through good times and bad times, I fulfilled that promise. Now, it’s time to move on to the next phase. That next phase is what’s occupying my thoughts on this wind-swept San Francisco day. 

      The next phase in my journey will be about creating things that say something about me and that matter to me. Storytelling will be important to my work once again after many years of being almost non-existent.  I will add my love of music, books, documentaries, food, and traveling to the pot to thicken and enrich the stories I tell so that I can leave you with a satisfying feeling of satiety. If I’m going to give you an honest portrayal of what I do, I need to write honestly about that. After thirty-five years of making art, you better bet that I have an opinion about things. I believe that an artist’s work speaks for itself. If you have indeed acquired real skill, then your work will show that without the need for any hyperbole or explanation. We live in a world where people confuse social media likes for knowledge. For most people, the difference between a hobbyist and a professional continues to be a conundrum.

     For those who may be offended by my directness, you should be aware – my opinion isn’t always the popular opinion, but it will always be the honest opinion.   

Illustrations used in this post.

  1. Gitana Morisca. A sketchbook spread from 2020 with ideas and notes for a series of decorative panneaux based on flamenco. I was inspired to celebrate my love for flamenco after watching a documentary on the genius flamenco dancer Sara Barras. The passion and elegance in flamenco dancing are undeniable, and this powerful combination is something that has to exist on paper. These sketchbook pages are the beginning of an idea; the coming months shall see these rough ideas worked out and refined. 
  2. Revenge. When I was in art school in the late 80s, I majored in illustration and was ingrained with all manner of illustrative formulas and ways of doing things. Because illustrators work for magazines, they must complete their work quickly, so their original art size must be manageable. This practice has stuck with me for decades, and I want to break free of it, so I have decided to produce a series of much larger drawings than my usual size. I have a long list of ideas that I’ve kept intending to execute in a larger format – it seems as though that time has come. The content of these larger works will be a lot different than what I usually do; not only will these ideas be larger, they’ll also be a lot more personal in content; I look forward to the challenge that I’ve given myself.
  3. Dr. Nina Ansary. Dr. Ansary is an Iranian-American historian and author best known for her work on women’s equity in Iran. Dr. Ansary’s research has notably countered conventional assumptions of the progress of women in Iran while continuing to advocate for complete emancipation. In recent years I had started to feel that my blog posts had begun to look and sound cliched and that they did not offer any insight into who I am as an artist to my readers. My worldview and interests were not very visible in what I was writing, which needed to change. The world is full of interesting people such as Dr. Ansary and Sara Barras; they are precisely the type of people that I wish to fill the pages of my sketchbook with and who I want to write and draw about in my blog posts as I move forward. 

      

An Introduction

Posted by Salvador Castío

Things have not changed.

   Even after all this time, making art is still a thrill; the creative flame burns more intensely than ever, and I continue to be susceptible to that spontaneous surge of inspiration that will keep me up drawing all night. Drawing remains a complete pleasure for me. Being the best at what I do still drives me relentlessly, and I continue to expect the best from myself. I’m as hungry and cocky as ever, and I’m still hell-bent on achieving the remainder of my goals. As I write this, I remain on the path I chose for myself all those years ago. In the beginning, I wanted to go to art school, I wanted to become a professional artist, and I wanted to achieve an exceptional level of skill. Over the past thirty-five years, I have chased these goals ceaselessly. There has never been a Plan B because failure has never been an option. I went to art school, I became a professional artist, and I have achieved an exceptional level of skill, but I haven’t finished yet; there’s still more to accomplish – a lot more.

   I have been blogging about my daily exploits since 2008 when art blogs were all the rage. At the time, people like France Belleville-Van Stone and Andrea Joseph were leading the pack and setting a standard through their art blogs. I was the new kid on the block. In the beginning, writing about my sketchbook musings seemed like a good way of giving people an idea about what I experience daily as an artist, so I started my first blog, Cubist Comix. Initially, I enjoyed the whole “this is what I drew today in my sketchbook” aspect, but as time went on, I began to feel like something was missing; I felt like I wasn’t telling the whole story. I was posting regularly, but I didn’t feel like I was saying much about being a working professional. By 2010 it became apparent to me that I needed a new space where I could write more authentically about my day-to-day adventures in the creative trenches.

      I said goodbye to Cubist Comix and created my eponymously-named second blog, Salvador Castío. That blog was also short-lived. It didn’t take long to realize that it wouldn’t satisfy my urge to have space where I could write more authentically and a place where I could house all of my ongoing work. This unfulfilled yearning led me to create my website, salvadorcastio.com – my home on the internet for the past decade. Several years would go by before I found my authentic voice and developed a vision of what I wanted for myself. Things began to change in earnest by 2016; by then, it was clear to me that the direction of this blog had to change. Giving people a more accurate view of what I do requires a very different approach.

   In late 2018 I began to incorporate more meaningful and diverse subject matter into my blog posts. Along with anecdotes about my daily exploits, my worldview must also be present in what I write to give you a complete image of my life as an artist. It’s easy to overlook what is going on around us when we’re so focused on our own story. Ana Kriégle was murdered outside Dublin in 2018 by two teenage boys who lured her to a remote location via social media. She was fourteen years old; her name is important, and you need to know it. There are many things and people in the world that are significant and whose stories deserve to be known. In 2019, for the better part of six months, I heard the anguished cries of an older woman who was living in a care center behind my house. Hearing her cry out every day was unnerving and heartbreaking. I could only imagine the mental hell that she was experiencing in her anguish. One day, the screams stopped, and I never heard them again. The silence was deafening. Her story deserves attention. These are the types of things that matter to me. They’re the things that will give you a more nuanced understanding of what I do and who I am as a person.

   The day-to-day routine of a professional artist is something largely unknown to the general public. It’s entirely different from what most people imagine it to be. I don’t spend my days painting happy little trees for a living; I’ll leave that to the Bob Ross’s of the world. The idea that I’m always happy when I make art is grossly erroneous. I experience occasional moments of great joy, but those moments are certainly not a daily occurrence. The only people who understand this are my fellow professionals who, like me, have been at it for decades. This life isn’t for everyone — there is no instant gratification when you play the long game. There are no free rides when it comes to making art professionally. You either put in the work, or you don’t.

     Over the last three-plus decades, all sorts of things have happened to me. You may be wondering what some of those things might be, so I’ll happily provide you with a few juicy tidbits that you can look forward to in future posts. I’ll tell you stories of people approaching me about making me famous, and I’ll share art school exploits about me and The Night Stalker in Los Angeles; if that isn’t enough, I’ll also tell you about being in London to show menu designs in the early 2000s during the mad cow outbreak. Finally, I’ll address some of the brain-numbing questions that people continue to ask me. All these things are infinitely more interesting to write about than confessional self-portraits or drawings of coffee-swilling patrons.

     Let’s start with some of those brain-numbing questions about me and my work, shall we?

          “Have you been working on your art?”

     No, Karen. It’s easier for me to hire a team of drunken monkeys to fling paint at blank canvases than to develop actual skill.

          “Have you been selling work?”

     Kyle, if you were an actual supporter of the arts, you wouldn’t have to ask me this.

And finally, the mother of all questions –

     “Do you still draw?”

You know Joyce, I feel for you, I do. It must be hard.

     These are the sorts of things that have driven me to write more honestly about my life as an artist. I can’t make this stuff up, and I refuse to sugarcoat it. It’s these types of things that will give you, dear reader, an insight into what goes into making art full time that’s far more profound than sketches of half-eaten sandwiches.

     My exploits are not unique. All working professionals go through similar things in one way or another. We’re all brothers in arms with individual stories decades in the making. It’s this that drives me to want to write; it’s what I know, and it’s the life that I’ve lived. There’s no hyperbole; there’s only my truth. A truth formed over more than thirty-five years of trials and tribulations, ups and downs, triumphs, failures, heartbreaking loss, and anything and everything you can imagine along the way.

     As I move forward, this blog is going to reflect all these things and more. I will share down-and-dirty anecdotes of five hundred dollar hand-made watercolor brushes along with lurid tales of dried-out gouache, cheap crappy kneaded erasers, and the clueless general public. Along with all this, I will also happily tell you why supplies from Michaels and Aaron Brothers suck and how to hang an exhibition properly. I shall pull no punches nor feign anything. Please join me – the best is yet to come.

Notes about the images in this post:

  1. Maria Aguado, Duchess of Montmorency (After Franz Winterhalter). 2021. Study. Pencil in sketchbook. A study for a drawing that needs to be enlarged and have more details added before being drawn in pen and ink.
  2. Flamenco (Bulería). Idea for panneaux. 2020. Pencil, pen, and ink in sketchbook. The first in a series of decorative panneaux based on various flamenco styles. This is but a start; it’s going to require many many hours of solid work before this idea can crystalize and come to fruition.
  3. The Non-Noetic Beast. 2021. Graphic story idea. Pencil, pen, ink, in sketchbook. An idea for a graphic story that will address the anti-intellectual atitude that has been unleashed upon the world via the internet, social media, and smartphones. We’ve created our own Frankenstein monster and now we have to deal with it.