Douglas Squirrel, Pen and Ink.

I timed my process on this piece.

I was ask once on a webinar how long did it take to do a pen and ink. I wasn’t sure. I rarely take time to complete a piece in one sitting. The process for me is usually broken down into segments done when I have time to draw. This time I wrote down my time as I completed different segments. Here’s how it broke out.

Pencil work took 20 minutes.
Brush pen work 10 minutes. The .3 to .8 ink pen took 20 minutes. The brush pen was a Kuretake 50. I highly recomend this pen.
The fine line of the squirrel work was 1 hour and 45 minutes. The fine line work on the limb was another 2 hours. A .05 pen was used for the fine lines. Staedtler Pigment liners were used for the line work.
The black background shading was done in 1 hour 15 minutes. I used the brush pen and a Copic Wide 110. I spent 10 minutes of finishing work.

The final time was 6 hours and 15 minutes. It was done over approximately 10 sessions averaging 37 minutes each. I drew during lunch breaks, while waiting a doctor appointments, sitting at road construction and in the evening at home. It was not efficient and I probably could have done it in 4 hours without interuption. I draw when I can.

Here’s Doug in his natural habitat.

Douglas Squirrels, (Tamiasciurus douglasii) are small squirrels. They’re smaller than gray squirrels and larger than chipmunks. John Muir described them thus, “He is, without exception, the wildest animal I ever saw,—a fiery, sputtering little bolt of life, luxuriating in quick oxygen and the woods’ best juices.” I think of them as the security alarm of the forest. When one is disturbed it sounds it’s loud chirping alarm and it doesn’t care whether it’s alarming on a person, deer or bear. Once they start, they won’t stop until you leave.

This is his home sweet home.

Back In The Groove

I’ve barely posted the last few years because my computer had become quite geriatric. Most of my posts the last couple of years were from my iPad. The mobile app just doesn’t have all the bells and whistle that the PC has. Now I have a new laptop and it’s time to get more active again. This year has been particularly challenging, but I think getting back to art will be very cathardic.

I had to go to the coast this week. There are hours long construction delays as they work on damage causes by the Monument Fire. There was no cell phone connection, so it gave me a little drawing time.

Traditionally, I haven’t been very good a promoting my art or books. I’m going to try to change that, so here is a link to m Fine Art America site. Please check it out.

They’re running Holiday specials right now for all types of products.

On a side note, while I was in Arcata I went into a local restuarant for a cup of coffee. When I came out there was a murder of crows on my truck. They finally left when I went to got in it. Then a seagull landed on it. I had to look around for Alfred Hitchcock! I thought I was in the movie Birds. Although, the only attack was when the crows pooped all over my truck!

A murder of crow pooping all over my truck.
Begone crows!
Now what?!?

Thank You For Your Service

Lloyd Livingston, as a young marine serving in the Pacific Theater during WWII.

I would like to thank all the veterans for there service to our great nation. We owe you so much. I particularly want to call out my father Lloyd Livingston, USMC Pacific Theater WWII, Walter Matthew, Army Pacific Theater WWII, my uncle David Norcross, USMC Korea, my Uncle Daniel Norcross, Army, my sons Christopher and Stephen Livingston both USAF, Iraq and Afghanistan, and lastly, my nephew David Livingston, Army Afghanistan.

Both my Dad and Walter served on Anti-Aircraft batteries that used guns like the one pictured here.

The Standoff

This is a true story of an encounter I had with a bear one day. Written and illustrated by Tim Livingston. 

black bear, bear
“This one sized me up trying to decide if I was on his menu.”

The deep impressions in the skid trail were unmistakably that of a large black bear. He had walked this trail so many times that his footsteps had created permanent depressions in the earth. Bears often walk in their same footsteps on their favorite paths. It’s quieter that way. A quiet bear is a well fed bear. This trail hadn’t been used for skidding logs for forty or fifty years judging by the trees growing there. The Bear owned the trail now. 

I came up the trail for the same reason as the bear. I too was hunting. I carried my bow with an arrow nocked at the ready. Trying to be as silent as I could, I stepped where the bear stepped. It was so dry in the August woods that everything cracked and snapped under my feet. I moved along the edge of a steep ravine. Pausing every few steps to listen to the sounds of the forest. Suddenly, crashing sounded through the brush, and then a loud whooshing huff came from across the ravine. There was another huff and then another.  I’d been made.  It was the alarm sound of three black-tail deer.  Deer were what I came for, but my element of surprise was lost.  I couldn’t see any of them through the dense forest of Douglas-fir, pine and oak.  I hoped they might move into an opening so I could. I sat down on the edge of the trail to quietly wait for things to settle down. 

The huffing gradually subsided. The group of deer moved off never once revealing themselves to me. I waited a few more minutes hoping for a straggler.  Then another huff sounded far up the draw. It seemed odd that this new deer would have detected me at that distance.  The huff was followed by more huffing along with crashing in the brush. The crashing didn’t seem like deer. Quickly and quietly, I got to my feet and looked up toward the sound. Soon, a black bear foraging down the ravine came into view. I could tell by its size it was a big boar.


I couldn’t legally hunt this bear because my bear tag had been filled a week before. I didn’t want him to know I was here.  His reaction would alert other deer in the area to my presence. Searching around, there was no way out of the ravine that wouldn’t attract the bear’s attention. Climbing the steep slopes through the leaves and duff would have been very noisy. I waited hoping he might go off on another trail, but he didn’t. He kept coming. I was downwind so he couldn’t smell me. Finally, when our encounter was inevitable, I had to alert the bear to my presence. I picked up a baseball sized rock and hurled it yelling, “Get outta here bear!” My throw missed, and the bear froze in his tracks about fifteen yards away.

When most black bears encounter people they run away fast, but boars in August are different. They are the most dangerous. They’re famished and will attack people, especially in the back country. This one sized me up trying to decide if I was on his menu. He didn’t know what to make of me dressed in camouflage and full face paint. I kept yelling at the bear. Telling him to leave, threatening him and even cussing his mother failed to move him along. The bear tipped his head back and with lips curled out, tried to find my scent on the breeze. Fortunately, the wind was in my favor. The bear was uncertain. Seconds ticked by and then minutes, but the bear wouldn’t budge.  I moved slowly to my right past some tree branches. Now I had a clear shot at him. I knew at this range I wouldn’t miss him, but he could easily reach me before I could nock the next arrow. At that moment my arrow just seemed like a pointy little stick. I didn’t dare turn my back. 

I was down to one last desperate bluff to convince the bear to leave. I raised my bow up as high as I could without taking my finger off the trigger. Then with a guttural yell I lunged toward him. Mama bears often bluff charge people or other bears to make them back off. Any bear should instinctively understand. He didn’t move. I repeated the lunge. Again, the bear didn’t move. He didn’t even twitch. We were now only ten yards apart. What had seemed like an okay idea at the time was suddenly feeling like a really dumb idea. Drawing my bow for what was to come next, I was ready to fire if he took one step in my direction. The seconds slowly ticked by as we stared each other down.  Abruptly, the bear turned and bolted up slope away from me. Then, just as quickly turned back around and sat down. We were now at the more comfortable distance of thirty yards apart and still staring each other down.

Taking a chance, I laid my bow on the ground with the arrow still knocked. Then, slipping the pack off my back, I pulled out my camera. My eyes never left the bear. I took pictures until he moved.  The bear circled to my right behind the cover of some bushes, but kept his distance. I had pushed my luck, so I stowed the camera and put my pack back on. 

The bear was now sitting on a small ridge above me and I had to pass right below him to go on my way. I faced him as I moved slowly past with my bow at the ready. Immediately ahead was another ravine. It was small but deep. I kept looking back to see if the bear had moved. He had not. As I was trying to sort out how to cross the ravine with a big black bear looking down on me, there was loud crashing. I wheeled around to find the bear was gone. He had run down the other side of the ridge.

Seizing the moment, I scrambled through the ravine and quickly moved along the trail. After a short distance I stopped to listen. I could hear the bear on the slope below. He had finally gotten downwind to scent me. I wondered if he would follow now that he knew what he was following. As I went on my way, I stopped to listen every so often. My hunting partner was waiting for me down the trail and she had a bear tag. If the bear followed it would be at his own peril. I would lead the bear to her.

Every little noise after that seemed like it could be the bear, but I never saw him again that day. In seasons to come I’ll return to those mountains and probably to that same ravine. The bear will likely still be around and I may see him again. Hopefully next time he’ll be the hunted.

Wild Wednesday … Downy Woodpecker

I drew this pen and ink while Mary and I were sitting in a ground hunting blind two deer seasons ago. It’s of a female downy woodpecker that I photographed earlier that season. I took it when we were in another blind. If you consider that I completed the drawing while waiting for deer you can probably deduce that no deer were harmed during the drawing of that picture. We always do most of our shooting with a camera.

Downy woodpecker

Downy woodpecker.

Forestry Friday … Headed Out Loaded

pen and ink, log truck, loggers, logging

A loaded log truck heading to town.

This pen and ink was inspired when I was headed to a logging job near Trinity Lake in Northern California. It appeared in the children’s book Timber In The Working Forest, by Mary A Livingston and illustrated by yours truly.