Portfolio Critique, French Bulldog Sketches

April 25, 2008September 10, 2019 / still a dreamer / 12 Comments

At the end of my workday, I decided to tool around some web sites and be inspired by other artists’ and illustrators’ work. This coming Monday I’ll be attending my first Illustrators’ Conference ever. I am truly excited.

I’m looking forward to having my current portfolio reviewed, and receiving advice as to how to properly make it a children’s book illustration portfolio. Also, to hear what art directors and agents have to say about the current market, what they’re looking for, how to get there, etc.

So then, after looking at these fabulous web sites, I’m wondering why I don’t have more of my own latest work on my own web site and/or blog. OK – one reason? The shoemaker’s kids are always the last to get shoes. I do everyone else’s work most days and am really over by the end of the long days. Other days, I focus more on my writing. Additions to my blog are more often on the writing side of my talent. Time to present myself more as the artist I am! So ….

Below are 3 recent French Bulldog sketches, featuring the subject matter of much of my artwork … Frenchies. You can also buy a great assortment of French Bulldog cards and prints on my web site, with new items added periodically. Just click the link and look!

I particularly was looking to do images of the faces resting on the floor so you could see how those little jowls spread out and how sweet they looked.

Some of my French Bulldog sketches are in preparation for illustrating one or more of my current children’s book stories which feature Frenchies as characters.

Other times they are in preparation of my artwork which is featured quarterly in Just Frenchies magazine. Hope you enjoy these little munchkins.

Find French Bulldog cards and art here.

Please note: All illustrations, drawings and photographs on this site are © Jeanne Balsam and may not be reproduced in any format without written permission. Thank you!

Requiem for A Featherweight

January 2, 2008September 9, 2009 / still a dreamer / 4 Comments

She was a tiny little thing, and I’d really grown so very fond of her. Sadly, Stripes is no more and I sure do miss her.

People always find me when they have a problem with an animal, and so it was a few nights ago that my neighbor across the street had knocked on my door. She said she’d just come home and saw a cat in the road hit by a car … it looked like my next door neighbor’s. I grabbed my coat and ran out to find Stripes lying there, bleeding, still warm, the life knocked out of her limp body.

Stripes did indeed belong to the folks next door, and had two young girls that loved her. Stripes and Pumpkin, half siblings, are/were primarily outdoor cats with shelter in their garage at night, all up to date with shots, neutered, etc. Her life with me was somewhat tangential, I guess you could say, but I loved her nonetheless. I saw her daily, fed her a “snack/meal” almost every day, and sat outside with her whenever I could.

With big green eyes and so very sweet and affectionate, Stripes was a little heartbreaker, and I say little – she couldn’t have been more than 5 pounds. I’d sit out on my porch to journal with my feet up on another chair so she could fall asleep on my legs. After eating, Pumpkin was off to whatever he had next on his schedule, but Stripes would have cuddled as long as the cuddles were coming. She patiently allowed me to remove the burrs from her fur acquired from her gallivanting all over the neighborhood, where she was a disturbingly good huntress. It’s no coincidence, I think, that there was a dead mouse about 2 feet from where her body lay in the road.

I miss those hopeful green eyes looking up at me through my back door screen … for a bite to eat or perhaps some snuggling … she loved any and all attention. Mine are my indoor cats; Stripes and Pumpkin had become my part-time, outdoor cats. It doesn’t matter that she wasn’t “mine.” She found a comfortable spot in my heart, and that’s where Stripes sleeps tonight.

Sweet dreams, little one.

My Very Best Friend

September 13, 2007April 14, 2013 / still a dreamer

Growing up in a house with a very anxious mother wasn’t easy. It affected everything and everybody. While I understand as an adult why things were the way they were, it was difficult as a child living with someone who needed to control just about everything. I didn’t consciously know it then, but I longed for someone in the house I could just `be’ with … without intrusion, always accepting, always comforting, and who’d never give up a secret. And my dog became that someone.

When I was 5, my brother 9, our parents decided we were old enough to have a dog, so at Christmas they gave us a beautiful Boxer puppy. I don’t think either of us quite `got’ the concept of having a dog at Christmas when there were still so many other exciting presents to open and play with. But Tinkerbell, as she was named, was not to stay with us very long. Within a few months she developed epilepsy. I don’t remember seeing the seizures my mother described Tink having on the kitchen floor, with blood and foam spewed all over the room, or perhaps I willed myself to forget. But as there were no cures for epilepsy back then, Tinkerbell’s only option was to be returned to spirit. I was so young, and hadn’t become very attached to her yet, I don’t think I really understood what had happened.

Then our parents got another dog. She was sold to them as a Boxer, 6 months old, and I recall my mother being so happy she didn’t drool because her face wasn’t pushed in like other Boxers. There was a reason for that … she wasn’t really a Boxer. At best, she was a Boxer, pit bull terrier mix; my obedience trainer, when he looked at my childhood photos of her, told me that she was pure, and that was how they bred American Pit Bull Terriers back then. It didn’t matter … she quickly became the best friend and confidante I longed for. Her name was Dutchess. Dutchess Von Wiggles was how my mom had `officially’ named her because she had a butt that was constantly in happy motion.

Dutch couldn’t sleep with me as she wasn’t allowed on the second floor, so I slept with her downstairs. We watched TV together, me resting my head gently on her side; and we curled up in sleep on the living room floor. She learned all the tricks a dog learns, and loved to go for walks or play outside in the yard. I can honestly say, in a way that only a dog or animal lover would understand, she was everything to me … she was my best friend. I had a human best friend, of course – happily, I always had friends — and I had my big brother to play with and taunt, but Dutchess was different. She was just what I needed – another soul in the house that simply loved me straight out no matter what. And I adored her for that.

When I was little, my parents would cover her eyes and ears and I would hide. Then they’d let her go … “Find Jeanne!!” And Dutchess would search every nook and cranny downstairs to see where I was hiding, just bursting into wiggling, wagging joy when she found me. What child doesn’t live for those moments? She made me feel safe in a childhood where feeling emotionally safe wasn’t easy. Dutch was the heart, soul and embodiment of unconditional love. She was both my rock and my wings, my compass and stars; she was my comfort and confidante. She was one little girl’s very best friend.

Box in the Road

August 30, 2007July 11, 2012 / still a dreamer

What’s better than spending a weekend with your oldest friend in the world? Spending a weekend with your oldest friend in the world AND helping an animal survive!
The day was getting late, and our plan to head on over to the local farmstand looked like it might not happen. Then I remembered they had that wonderful little deal that you can actually still find in places like this – a secure lock box! A testimony to faith in human nature, a secured box for payment of roadside fruit and veggies so customers can come at odd hours to purchase them still amazes me. Customers are trusted to pay the right amount for the produce they choose and to not steal whatever cash is currently in the box, (or the box itself), until the farm owners come out and remove it. That’s one of the reasons why I like living in the country. But that’s not the box I’m writing about.

We left for the farm – about a 3 or 4 mile drive, and about what it takes to get to any decent thing you want to get to out here. As we drove down the two-lane blacktop, I noticed something in the opposite lane. It looked like a large rock, but not really. When animals occupy such a large portion of one’s brain, red flags go up fairly often. `Did you see that?’ I asked, already wondering at its odd shape. Kathy, on the passenger side, hadn’t gotten any better look, so we agreed to check on the way back.
After getting a small stash of seasonal goodies, we turned back to go home and whoosh! we watched the car ahead of us whiz down the lane, straddling the not-so-likely rock. Shortly after, we did the same, and I wasn’t convinced a rock had gotten in exactly that spot. So finding a safe area, I turned the car around once again.

On the return trip, I pulled alongside and rolled down my window for a better look, and my suspicions were correct – the `rock’ was a box turtle. Probably had a big idea to cross the road, and with just enough cars, became petrified to go further. Luckily, there’s not a whole lot of traffic on that road and he was smack in the middle of the lane. I pulled over.
My partner in rescue jumped out and picked up the stranded box turtle, who peeked out at her briefly before slamming his shell and plastron shut. But she’d noted which way he was headed, and walked him into the brush a good 10 feet and far enough away from danger. Hopefully, that was his direction and he continued on into the woods to his home.

One of the best feelings there is … whether the beneficiary be animal or human … is saving a life. And we both smiled a good long time after our turtle rescue. Good luck, little guy!

Need professional illustration? I can help!

The Gift

August 21, 2007January 19, 2012 / still a dreamer / 2 Comments

Not long ago I received a gift. No, it wasn’t John Beresford Tipton with a check for a million dollars and my future security. It was a gift for my heart … two gifts, actually.
The first was an e-mail from someone who adopted a rescue dog from me many years ago. Larry wrote that he and his wife Jeannie had searched me out on the web to tell me that Deuce had passed away and to thank me for “the best dog they ever had”. In quiet tears, I responded … to thank them for letting me know, and indeed, what a wonderful dog Deuce had been. I was so grateful that Larry and his family had adopted him.
It wasn’t but three weeks later that the second gift arrived … another e-mail. Jon and Diane also searched me out on the web to let me know that Spike had just passed away at 13, also to thank me for “the best dog they ever had”. Again, I responded in kind.
For ten years I ran a rescue for, I believe, the most difficult dog to place – the American Pit Bull Terrier. I placed Deuce and Spike well over 12 years ago when they were just youngsters, and before e-mail. Although we kept in touch, it wasn’t easy when one’s lives were consumed with multiple jobs and, in my case, a demanding rescue on top of it. But the best thing about placing Deuce, Spike, and all the other `pits’ I placed, was I never had to look back. I knew, through my extensive screening, breed education and adoption requirements, that these pups were now set for life. (Ask any of my adopters – they were grilled!)
Rescuing `pits’ presented tremendous challenges – they are truly misunderstood dogs. Their history, their true temperament, their genuine love of people – what the public needed to know was not what they heard. Instead, they were slammed with horrific, isolated incidents where unstable and undoubtedly abused pit bull terriers attacked humans. As if there were no other news going on in the world.
Pit bull terriers were … and are … horribly abused, tortured, made insane and killed — for not being good enough fighters. Imagine the worst … they suffered much more. Some, still alive, were simply wrapped up in plastic bags and dropped in the garbage. Just not good enough.
My heart was broken more times than I can tell in saving these dogs’ lives. So many were, and are, stable, loving and kind dogs, euthanized nonetheless for simply being born the wrong breed and being bred to excess.
Yet, as a rescue, I received so many gifts. I was truly blessed with people who came forward to help me save this wonderful dog no one wanted. Vets, trainers, foster homes, experienced rescue people to guide me in effectively screening … all appeared. The pit bull terriers I had the fortune to know and help were themselves gifts I will never forget. But perhaps the greatest gifts, for both the dogs and me, were the truly caring and devoted people who took them in.
These rescue dogs lived long, healthy lives, and then I received one more gift.
An e-mail to let me know.

Note: This article was published in the July 2007 issue of The Animal Companion. Although I have not actively operated my APBT rescue for over 7 years, these wonderful people contacting me inspired me to write about one of my many experiences in rescue and with the breed.