tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80827502976990766662024-03-13T09:05:27.885-07:00Art by Amy DuarteA collection of drawings, stories, and thoughts by Amy Duarte.Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-81654494280588724522015-07-09T15:00:00.004-07:002015-07-09T15:00:49.698-07:00Pole Dancer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_W32wet2azOGJAjAOkDX83nt5BBshqqcDi6170dYeJchiBOqGBqgKfI3SJGtouj7Ce2zU06ooXVhHfIMS0xzap9uJvRMj4jSErLaGO5UWkgTIHXhw05cv9UxwAyPDB1PxPyAlhe_ZRY0/s1600/Sheilalicis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_W32wet2azOGJAjAOkDX83nt5BBshqqcDi6170dYeJchiBOqGBqgKfI3SJGtouj7Ce2zU06ooXVhHfIMS0xzap9uJvRMj4jSErLaGO5UWkgTIHXhw05cv9UxwAyPDB1PxPyAlhe_ZRY0/s640/Sheilalicis.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">My
mother used to drop me off at school very early on her way to work.
Being the strange child I was, I actually loved that whole hour of quiet
and solitude on the empty campus (with a few staff members present). <br /> <br />
Then one day, I noticed I wasn’t the first student on campus anymore. I
saw a girl dancing in the courtyard, so I came closer to take a look
who it was. It was a schoolmate, Sheila. <span class="text_exposed_show">
As time went by, it became an unspoken competition between us – who
would be the first to arrive on campus? I got up earlier and earlier
each day, determined to beat her.<br /> <br /> But no matter how early I
arrived to school, there she was -- Her long legs wrapped around the
pole, dancing, and silently mocking me. <br /> <br /> Damnnnn youuuuu, Sheila!! (shaking my fist).</span></span></span>Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-81211449264720735872015-07-09T14:59:00.001-07:002015-07-09T14:59:57.920-07:00Gym Uniforms <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVykjTFhIR-kg60Yrx6hyphenhyphenYUNRSLpjoeVgmI0wNCe9ebAeOON9zIm_BP2_6EYjCnwy-F2m2Dl-Hh2VgsR0e1XjkU9zrNz1ZBQixVHpDtBEDvdpVvC4QKx4sDv4BbXPH7-p_YdpYbAV-qOs/s1600/gymuniforms2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="331" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVykjTFhIR-kg60Yrx6hyphenhyphenYUNRSLpjoeVgmI0wNCe9ebAeOON9zIm_BP2_6EYjCnwy-F2m2Dl-Hh2VgsR0e1XjkU9zrNz1ZBQixVHpDtBEDvdpVvC4QKx4sDv4BbXPH7-p_YdpYbAV-qOs/s400/gymuniforms2.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">When
I was in school, the girls in my class designed a gym uniform for us to
wear. The design was simple: to have our individual names printed on
our t-shirts (oh, how original). But, since we were given the liberty
to do this, we were so excited! Our own personalized gym tshirts!
Wooohooo! What a novelty!<br /> <br /> We submitted a list of the girls’
names on a piece of paper to the local tshirt maker. When the finished
tshirts came back… instead of seeing each personalized names on each
tshirt, we saw the entire list of names printed in a single row. Eh??<br /> <br /> We had to wear those tshirts for the entire year.</span></span> </div>
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<br />Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-37002371397721015792015-07-09T14:58:00.002-07:002015-07-09T14:58:36.695-07:00Peep Show<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmy_dNHGCvcz6smWLtfneY4PEVkvNJTHMkYQMiEfgJoiYOqcN6iEsGBJKwnSS4vMGW5WdacFycCkXAkMj3oYkzIjgAbZxjSIKKi6Hm3iQJV1NOtMpdyFTHHLa_tIrTIC_3nNCfKLNR6w/s1600/pepboys3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmy_dNHGCvcz6smWLtfneY4PEVkvNJTHMkYQMiEfgJoiYOqcN6iEsGBJKwnSS4vMGW5WdacFycCkXAkMj3oYkzIjgAbZxjSIKKi6Hm3iQJV1NOtMpdyFTHHLa_tIrTIC_3nNCfKLNR6w/s640/pepboys3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">One
evening my mother came home from work saying that we must be living in a
“questionable neighborhood” because she saw a “questionable business”
close by to our home. (Back story: we had just moved to Los Angeles,
California). My brother asked her, “What questionable business are you
referring to?”<br /> Mom: There is a business down the street named Pep Boys!<br /> Brother: What’s wrong with Pep Boys?<br /> Mom: That’s where, you know, men look at scantily clad women through keyholes!<br /> Brother: Huh?<br /> My brother finally figured out that my mother innocently thought PEP BOYS was a PEEP SHOW business.</span></span>Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-87109252208515227502015-07-09T14:57:00.001-07:002015-07-09T14:57:49.545-07:00Charlotte's Dream<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4PAbcln7lfLR8LV4SUx6354VFAcDWnSwYd2Iehv8PLZuBQDBZa8UwEy3xwQLDleDZG3Ay032Vmvbk0YRXY5BLGpnP1783oCpU1HQwklsf9lAbwpqeCAtiyixKqg343Ya95XRHUXAfigg/s1600/charlottesdream2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4PAbcln7lfLR8LV4SUx6354VFAcDWnSwYd2Iehv8PLZuBQDBZa8UwEy3xwQLDleDZG3Ay032Vmvbk0YRXY5BLGpnP1783oCpU1HQwklsf9lAbwpqeCAtiyixKqg343Ya95XRHUXAfigg/s640/charlottesdream2.jpg" width="640" /> </a></div>
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">My
husband and I welcomed a healthy, beautiful baby girl two months ago.
This image kept popping in my head and I wanted to draw this.<br /> My
daughter is wearing a dress, a cashmere sweater, and standing next to a
John Deere tractor. A rather strange imagery, one would say. My
interpretation is as follows:<br /> It is my dreams that she can enjoy the finer things in life, symbolized by the cashmere sweater/<span class="text_exposed_show">pretty
dress. But she is also not afraid to roll up her sleeves and handle a
manly equipment (the tractor). The tractor symbolizes the realities of
life – the hard work, dedication, and perseverance required to make it
far. The vast farmland symbolizes my desire to raise my children in a
big, safe open space where they can run and explore. Most people would
associate the thunderstorm with scary, negative feelings. For me, it is
quite the opposite. I find thunderstorms to be soothing, relaxing, and
the perfect time to curl up inside a house with a good book. I want our
daughter to know that she can retreat into the safety of her home and
her family whenever she needs to.</span></span></span>Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-33770804737922659402015-07-09T14:56:00.002-07:002015-07-09T14:56:34.698-07:00Ahead of her time...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuKkw5N1TnHpEChAkwyrE2ej_ZVsjnX87iGDpKM72iqFcfhbTwYM_VSGONQjteuK1Jiqzh7pfdh5yvRanvlMoc-NoJT0agfpCaRq3_bAidqBg_0E3LFmK4IIA_xx-4coRG4gqwTM3Nteo/s1600/grandma_cleavage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="443" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuKkw5N1TnHpEChAkwyrE2ej_ZVsjnX87iGDpKM72iqFcfhbTwYM_VSGONQjteuK1Jiqzh7pfdh5yvRanvlMoc-NoJT0agfpCaRq3_bAidqBg_0E3LFmK4IIA_xx-4coRG4gqwTM3Nteo/s640/grandma_cleavage.jpg" width="640" /> </a></div>
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">This
was one of my mother's favorite stories about her mother (my
grandmother): As a schoolgirl attending a predominantly Chinese school
in Indonesia back in the 1950's, it was common to see her classmates'
immigrant Chinese mothers wearing their traditional (dull) grey/blue
outfits. My grandmother, on the other hand, was raised under colonial
Dutch rule in Indonesia. She would pick my mother up<span class="text_exposed_show">
at school wearing lipstick, full make up, and a beautiful dress that
showed a hint of cleavage. My mother recalls being embarrassed and
wishing her mother would dress like her peers' mothers. I think it's
actually awesome that my grandmother stood out so beautifully.
Cleavage? Whoo hoo! Way to go, grandma!</span></span></span> </div>
<br />Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-44787762369324698912015-07-09T14:53:00.001-07:002015-07-09T14:53:32.897-07:00Paper Cut Artwork - Sofia & Eva<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDFvBgGVtdIrZdp__ac9wnrK1GIepd03skPQbcSqfv-5Y6Spkulpz81L3kyKZnd8LzHAK7BtzsQwF7I2Bezx8aOXPJY16J0UEIHLJmzOvG6VA_8gqBk33fUQMZTR1PJENGkZiSpTwPf20/s1600/amyduarte_sopfiaeva.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDFvBgGVtdIrZdp__ac9wnrK1GIepd03skPQbcSqfv-5Y6Spkulpz81L3kyKZnd8LzHAK7BtzsQwF7I2Bezx8aOXPJY16J0UEIHLJmzOvG6VA_8gqBk33fUQMZTR1PJENGkZiSpTwPf20/s640/amyduarte_sopfiaeva.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">Another
paper art work! I combined the client's two little girls into one
design. The photo on the left is the concept sketch, the middle photo
is a close-up for details, and the right photo is the finished product.
If you are interested in having one made for your child, please private
message me.</span></span>Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-73598475196537370682015-07-09T14:52:00.003-07:002015-07-09T14:52:24.552-07:00Farrah Fawcett Afro<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0WLM8kVk3Gih8ywQTjRN4f4w44Gly5izs5AC0OizWzrQ6kAs0BNB01OJ1cgQ1jq8TLdG4_UaB3xBwn3toJr7hiDZWkOtyjaM-FaXW1ylY5lNjs_zieXpWXhE3CWqdRQM7V1CI1N1wr3U/s1600/amy_duarte_salon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0WLM8kVk3Gih8ywQTjRN4f4w44Gly5izs5AC0OizWzrQ6kAs0BNB01OJ1cgQ1jq8TLdG4_UaB3xBwn3toJr7hiDZWkOtyjaM-FaXW1ylY5lNjs_zieXpWXhE3CWqdRQM7V1CI1N1wr3U/s400/amy_duarte_salon.jpg" width="316" /> </a></div>
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">Salon
story continued since the last post... At this same salon, I swear the
owner must have hired untrained people off the street to work on her
customers. My mother came in asking for a Farrah Fawcett hairstyle (she
even brought in a photo of the actress) -- and they ended up giving her
an Afro. What. The. Hell? I don't know how that place gets any business
at all.</span></span>Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-1622110139320502172015-07-09T14:51:00.003-07:002015-07-09T14:51:42.277-07:00Gossip gossip gossipy ladies!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyj2McI2whFJGj9aO43pLyMzk6PvQ9PHXo9de0bNLQUasVp_Rdgb17SloI-xfuHqLVDOUfnRLe3X8U-qeRkFUjbSbdk5oCwHlM4ZWToq40kDZ5icRqMe0JztkQC8ulGB9phNC2bKuKzGY/s1600/amy_duarte_salon2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyj2McI2whFJGj9aO43pLyMzk6PvQ9PHXo9de0bNLQUasVp_Rdgb17SloI-xfuHqLVDOUfnRLe3X8U-qeRkFUjbSbdk5oCwHlM4ZWToq40kDZ5icRqMe0JztkQC8ulGB9phNC2bKuKzGY/s640/amy_duarte_salon2.jpg" width="640" /> </a></div>
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">When
I was a child, my mother went to this beauty salon to get her hair
done. I noticed that place was so FULL of ladies who gossiped the entire
time. Good heavens, what shameless busybodies! They gossiped on who
was dating who, why Miss-so-and-so was still single, and so on. As much
as I hated that place, I thought it was still fun to draw the memory of
those ladies chatting up a storm.</span></span> </div>
<br />Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-16430180891179340572015-07-09T14:49:00.000-07:002015-07-09T14:49:31.329-07:00Beauty and the Beast<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh817pb3fYnmYV78E9K_SApSZicYnyKqARsud_NRpVvykNlmKvfI7bFX08INeoLlLQaTKMcxb8nEzsAoJ5febT0Fw3fr8IAYkS-MbfSuT1GBHQKRiHesr5qQkHQad0P8CbuyH1C_xdcZFE/s1600/amy_duarte_beauty_and_the_beast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh817pb3fYnmYV78E9K_SApSZicYnyKqARsud_NRpVvykNlmKvfI7bFX08INeoLlLQaTKMcxb8nEzsAoJ5febT0Fw3fr8IAYkS-MbfSuT1GBHQKRiHesr5qQkHQad0P8CbuyH1C_xdcZFE/s640/amy_duarte_beauty_and_the_beast.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
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<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_559eec435b9b09747241477">
As
a child, my mother would tell me stories by drawing them – in the same
manner I draw/tell stories on this forum. The time she told the story
of “Beauty and the Beast,” she did not draw on that day (I think it was
because she could not find a piece of paper around the house). Without
any visual aid, I thought she said, “Beauty and the BEACH,” so I went
on a totally different tangent. In my i<span class="text_exposed_show">magination,
the ‘beast’ was a handsome, tall man made out of ocean waves and sea
foam. When he was in a good mood, the water was warm and full of light.
But when his mood darkened, the water would churn, fill with sea
monsters, and the winds would howl.<br /> <br /> (Now, I think this could have made a new, interesting story...).</span></div>
Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-13058557567320510092015-07-09T14:46:00.003-07:002015-07-09T14:46:19.444-07:00Paper Art <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4XG-qlWED22acZNuJxYQl7mjaseNIL2llN4IiSW3to6AvJYUN_NmdxzrDy-qjrsczLAqJiGglyLhxoqTiYqCu2PFfbMepyFQPek0lFP8tmAHKT4mv0LgWbJB-gidIHMVk7LzIA1KC1iY/s1600/amyduarte_Thomas_WIP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4XG-qlWED22acZNuJxYQl7mjaseNIL2llN4IiSW3to6AvJYUN_NmdxzrDy-qjrsczLAqJiGglyLhxoqTiYqCu2PFfbMepyFQPek0lFP8tmAHKT4mv0LgWbJB-gidIHMVk7LzIA1KC1iY/s320/amyduarte_Thomas_WIP.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="_5pbx userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">
While
working on this project for a client last week, I decided to
photo-document the steps to show my work process. (1) My original
concept of the boy in a ship, surrounded by waves/clouds. (2) I
establish the background environment first, making sure every layer is
in their place before gluing anything down. (3) In my original sketch, I
noticed the boy's head was too close to the banner where his name will
be. Uh oh. Not good. So I changed his position/pose in my second
sketch. (4) Checking again, to make sure nothing is out of place before I
add the boy's name. (5) The finished product. Voila...<br />
If you are interested in having something like this done for your child, please private message me.</div>
Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-55697919959544706792015-07-09T14:44:00.002-07:002015-07-09T14:44:41.980-07:00Victoria's Secret<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgP9PfWR1ZKY7z5qPnTah0avpbIGjYO0QsZL8ttP8rdPunEg6TrrGTiOGy4S-zWZDTcgn3aZgq1wQT5ks6hVcuQXIKWZh1jQx9jUda2iZZEH4GDyGy3KrltsRtAGjfccujb5qVvYygO4s/s1600/amyduarte_vsgirls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgP9PfWR1ZKY7z5qPnTah0avpbIGjYO0QsZL8ttP8rdPunEg6TrrGTiOGy4S-zWZDTcgn3aZgq1wQT5ks6hVcuQXIKWZh1jQx9jUda2iZZEH4GDyGy3KrltsRtAGjfccujb5qVvYygO4s/s320/amyduarte_vsgirls.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Some quick watercolor sketches I did of the Victoria’s Secret Fashion
Show. Their costumes are so outlandish, impractical, yet so fun to draw.
Years ago I met Adriana Lima (second chick from the left) and she was
even more gorgeous in person – not to mention extremely friendly and
nice, too. Everything about her looked perfect, and I, as a mere mortal
standing next to her, was shaking my head at how beautiful she looked.<br /> I swear, she must not be human.Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-54821966649222135512015-07-09T14:43:00.001-07:002015-07-09T14:43:26.244-07:00Women's Championship Tournament - Polo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC1YC9q7jReviuSA0YXjsyRv-kdd1X6nNnrqZszJMhwYLvQpSP84aT7kIk63OEABKs2k4zJBopC1cz0iSSF9GDgGS-iGuxw6qL93P40Q_zI6VV2UdKAd7lWXwqXeJdTAKdpMiIrtmTxtk/s1600/wct_babes_v2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC1YC9q7jReviuSA0YXjsyRv-kdd1X6nNnrqZszJMhwYLvQpSP84aT7kIk63OEABKs2k4zJBopC1cz0iSSF9GDgGS-iGuxw6qL93P40Q_zI6VV2UdKAd7lWXwqXeJdTAKdpMiIrtmTxtk/s320/wct_babes_v2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The latest promo I did for the Women's Championship Tournament! (I want
to jokingly say: Wanna watch the biggest, baddest women battle for
championship? Come to this event! MEOOWWRRRR!).<br />Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-80891980245472323772015-07-09T14:39:00.000-07:002015-07-09T14:39:40.574-07:00California Polo Club<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9K7XEmNWt1GjEAGe6oDJvfudBaWtyPjgmbR8bxyX5fsq7kgTHgzIkrVVMC7-J9NxuAbqkL5vxowbzQUwglh0Avqs_q790L79bKmtALx1C5nQ5eTFhEFkIQDizTRL9OfSBruCVWS0umm0/s1600/street_sign_polo_02a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9K7XEmNWt1GjEAGe6oDJvfudBaWtyPjgmbR8bxyX5fsq7kgTHgzIkrVVMC7-J9NxuAbqkL5vxowbzQUwglh0Avqs_q790L79bKmtALx1C5nQ5eTFhEFkIQDizTRL9OfSBruCVWS0umm0/s320/street_sign_polo_02a.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I was commissioned by the California Polo Club to design this
promotional poster. Women now represent the fastest growing sector of
this sport. Viva ladies! <i class="_4-k1 img sp_fM-mz8spZ1b sx_5371b4"><u>smile emoticon</u></i> <a href="http://www.californiapoloclub.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">www.californiapoloclub.com</a>Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-40743008517840235092014-09-23T16:05:00.003-07:002014-09-23T16:05:54.060-07:00Dancing to Matlock theme song<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCewaeNApDUAtMV0T5ron_UGNcS9Llh5ASQS4HhD2t3uBsrNg8P4J2Mp-9h2Enp2sy6vbVNpkadIrwsZO9Ez3BVJIyyMEa8BTjP6en7nz9wXjghRNTvDAj1HTHqexj0w49XwKVeSHkmi4/s1600/amy_duarte_matlock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCewaeNApDUAtMV0T5ron_UGNcS9Llh5ASQS4HhD2t3uBsrNg8P4J2Mp-9h2Enp2sy6vbVNpkadIrwsZO9Ez3BVJIyyMEa8BTjP6en7nz9wXjghRNTvDAj1HTHqexj0w49XwKVeSHkmi4/s1600/amy_duarte_matlock.jpg" height="112" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="userContent">While in college, I loved coming home on the
weekends to visit my grandma. Not only she made me pancakes and shared
her life stories with me, but she also would patiently watch me -- my
clumsy self -- practice ballet in the family living r<span class="text_exposed_show">oom.
At one point, she hummed a little ditty. She even waved her hands in
the air, as if conducting an imaginary orchestra. I was thrilled! I
danced along to her tune and when she was done, I asked her if that was
from Swan Lake.<br /> “No. It’s (the theme song from) Matlock,” she responded, her eyes twinkling.<br /> Oh, grandma.</span></span>Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-20929345519159638912014-08-25T15:34:00.000-07:002014-08-25T15:34:04.951-07:00Coppelia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEWd4GfbEogExZTEHiOYwCiyivSDkEmh9AeG1P23YHhhpN_fMNnH5PL9kzwK0xyvzEyxu-_-SF4yKg75rI21BCfja1Rdg7m1rSaXtE5TgHwYUYavgPzNdEhBz-E1Qp6CRJ0EdMV0mBpJE/s1600/amy_duarte_coppelia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEWd4GfbEogExZTEHiOYwCiyivSDkEmh9AeG1P23YHhhpN_fMNnH5PL9kzwK0xyvzEyxu-_-SF4yKg75rI21BCfja1Rdg7m1rSaXtE5TgHwYUYavgPzNdEhBz-E1Qp6CRJ0EdMV0mBpJE/s1600/amy_duarte_coppelia.jpg" height="149" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="userContent"> Coppélia has always been one of my favorite
ballet operas. It tells the story of a mysterious citizen named Dr.
Coppelius and his strange, beautiful daughter, Coppélia, who sits at the
balcony all day long, reading a book, and never greeti<span class="text_exposed_show">ng
the onlookers. Swanhilda is a village maiden who gets jealous of
Coppélia when she catches her lover, Franz, blowing kisses to the girl
on the balcony. Deciding to confront Coppélia herself, Swanhilda breaks
into Dr. Coppelius’ cottage when the old man is out. Swanhilda is
stunned to find Coppélia as a lifeless, lifelike doll behind the
curtains. She learns that Dr. Coppelius is a diabolical inventor who
dreams of bringing Coppélia to life. Trapped inside the house when Dr.
Coppelius returns for the evening, Swanhilda trades places with the doll
and pretends to be Coppélia come to life. Fooled into thinking his
magic worked, Dr. Coppelius dances and celebrates along with her.<br />
Franz breaks into the house on the same evening, wanting to meet
Coppélia. Dr. Coppelius decides to drug Franz and suck the life out of
him, to make his beloved Coppélia alive eternally. Swanhilda saves
Franz’ life and they make for a daring escape. At the end, Swanhilda
forgives Franz for his folly, and they both marry. The entire town
celebrates by dancing – and TRALALA -- it's a rather typical ballet
ending.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span>Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-5884743747908803082014-06-24T15:05:00.002-07:002014-06-24T15:05:20.325-07:00Quebec forest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-gdsty91m9p2rHiObAnZkXx4GOQnOPb5YK8AaA8pw5sGHDOS9ZCv1eJO9qjYUs9tbLTb5MktPAY2LVMRj4tKOlJRImjdW60DZIHMls4RdCmlWFCPial7vwYeQ_F2mkz1SQNHpb6X9XMk/s1600/amy_duarte_lisa_rope.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-gdsty91m9p2rHiObAnZkXx4GOQnOPb5YK8AaA8pw5sGHDOS9ZCv1eJO9qjYUs9tbLTb5MktPAY2LVMRj4tKOlJRImjdW60DZIHMls4RdCmlWFCPial7vwYeQ_F2mkz1SQNHpb6X9XMk/s1600/amy_duarte_lisa_rope.jpg" height="205" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="userContent">As a sixth grader in Montreal, Quebec, my
classmates and I hiked through the woods. We came upon a grassy knoll
where we had to swing on a rope from one dock to another. Lisa – with
her big glasses, red pigtails, and a squeaky voice – was <span class="text_exposed_show">the last one to swing on the rope. She said:<br /> “I am scared.”<br />
We all egged her on. She tried, and boy did she try. While in
mid-air, she let go of the rope way too early and landed under the dock.
Thank goodness she was not seriously hurt. I am not one to laugh at
her mishap, but there was something so endearingly cute about her – I
wanted to draw this memory.</span></span><br />Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-38766259570012984102014-06-06T14:42:00.001-07:002014-06-06T14:43:52.713-07:00Brazil - Rio de Janeiro<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE30ZhNTanVC5Rtt5eSMs16JZRa9c5RLHeQq_MI195SaIKGuCBzcwffvTlI_V-cbAPfVVAsbYB_swNBqehufAv_9UYK-7mp7niydRC-ZwQABenzMWduf-wtd8mcpsoe0URGzFVyCe_uzo/s1600/amy_duarte_ipanema.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE30ZhNTanVC5Rtt5eSMs16JZRa9c5RLHeQq_MI195SaIKGuCBzcwffvTlI_V-cbAPfVVAsbYB_swNBqehufAv_9UYK-7mp7niydRC-ZwQABenzMWduf-wtd8mcpsoe0URGzFVyCe_uzo/s1600/amy_duarte_ipanema.jpg" height="123" width="320" /></a></div>
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One of my favorite cities to visit is Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. In the heart of the Ipanema section is a street filled with shops and cafes. I love to sketch people as they browse the stores, nibble on "sanduiches" and sip"cafezinhos." It is one of the rare countries where I felt truly at home! <br />
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There is a Brazilian saying: "<span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="pt"><span class="hps">Eu sou americana</span><span class="">, mas</span> <span class="hps">meu coração</span> <span class="hps">é brasileiro" -- which translates to "I am American but my heart is Brazilian." </span></span>Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-7406739847473197762014-04-18T11:00:00.002-07:002014-04-18T11:00:43.247-07:00Angel's Kiss<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6991azZ7Q1ny9onSTdi1a_EUCeu2kNCIXbRsrWmwolyf1OW3zqnTC_WEmaOzqAZ78299_gZcQy1uyF8KrIFrZmBcPT4GlijtpAb88pbz5-VdP5uZIvdlbFBP4efbODV0qCvDsV0ylMFY/s1600/amy_duarte_angelskiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6991azZ7Q1ny9onSTdi1a_EUCeu2kNCIXbRsrWmwolyf1OW3zqnTC_WEmaOzqAZ78299_gZcQy1uyF8KrIFrZmBcPT4GlijtpAb88pbz5-VdP5uZIvdlbFBP4efbODV0qCvDsV0ylMFY/s1600/amy_duarte_angelskiss.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="userContent">Our baby son has a cute little freckle behind
his right ear. Our friend Laurie told me, "Oh, that is an Angel's Kiss!"
I close my eyes and imagine this scenario taking place before our son
was born:<br /> <br /> MAX: (to his angels) Okay, you guys. It<span class="text_exposed_show">'s my time to be born - I better get ready!<br /> <br /> ANGEL: Wait, wait, I want to give you a kiss.<br /> <br /> MAX: Okay, but please hurry up, will you? I have a mother waiting for me on earth.<br /> <br /> ANGEL: (kisses him) Enjoy your journey, Max. We'll be guiding you the whole time.<br /> <br />
If I allow my imagination to take me even further, I wonder who his
angel(s) are. Is it someone my son shared a past lifetime with? Did
they have fun playing together in another "dimension" -- before he was
born? I just love to ponder the possibilities!</span></span>Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-86232913851381846912014-04-02T16:09:00.002-07:002014-04-02T16:11:17.870-07:00Barn Robins<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpgeKkntivf7q70Yn39v7ypNkn9Y_XF32LvXEhENpQTs7BihuDqN-RP8kyDZYuTgufCC1Bm70RfvxpSCC3qV2SaaJ6lea2eTgCzUSdldB5RJ8F3vpxcmoiXAdYiy4LWa9PHnAuLRVfwd4/s1600/amy-duarte-barn-robins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpgeKkntivf7q70Yn39v7ypNkn9Y_XF32LvXEhENpQTs7BihuDqN-RP8kyDZYuTgufCC1Bm70RfvxpSCC3qV2SaaJ6lea2eTgCzUSdldB5RJ8F3vpxcmoiXAdYiy4LWa9PHnAuLRVfwd4/s1600/amy-duarte-barn-robins.jpg" height="174" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="userContent">A baby robin had fallen out of its nest at the
polo club. It was a poor, helpless little thing - still featherless and
blind. We quickly scooped it up before it became the barn cats'
dinner(!). My husband got a ladder and I gently placed it back <span class="text_exposed_show">in
the nest - and I saw there were two other siblings, also featherless
and blind. A few weeks later, my husband hears some chirping -- we both look up
and see three little feathered faces looking at us. I almost wept with
joy. (Yup, call me overly sensitive but I can't help it!).</span></span>Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-62267758592889475242014-04-01T09:30:00.001-07:002014-04-02T16:09:55.044-07:00ABILITY Magazine ArticleA while back I was featured in ABILITY magazine. This magazine
highlights the abilities of people with disabilities. I am humbled and
proud that they chose to feature a story on me! To read the full story, please go here:<br />
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<a href="http://www.amyduarte.com/ability_01.html" target="_blank">http://www.amyduarte.com/ability_01.html</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3KjfXKtGqNypxJ24BTguGs044W4r2BPV_eWWfu7P2vOykBtbMvpIYuWygZ1udJeDKV7_N-fldx8cka1cYrakZbKxh1TZbzC4hpWj8WZlOkAeERB_6al34P_stDkfx_m7Zhyxsnc0qt74/s1600/amy-duarte-ability_page_01a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3KjfXKtGqNypxJ24BTguGs044W4r2BPV_eWWfu7P2vOykBtbMvpIYuWygZ1udJeDKV7_N-fldx8cka1cYrakZbKxh1TZbzC4hpWj8WZlOkAeERB_6al34P_stDkfx_m7Zhyxsnc0qt74/s1600/amy-duarte-ability_page_01a.jpg" height="234" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-88913572603509175192014-03-30T16:18:00.001-07:002014-03-30T16:19:30.222-07:00Czardas - Hungarian DanceI took ballet for many years since childhood (Whether I succeeded in mastering ballet or not, is another whole story...). A part of our curriculum was to study dances from different parts of the world. I have always loved watching the Hungarian <i>Czardas</i>. From their colorful costumes, the well-choreographed dance steps, and their catchy music -- the <i>Czardas</i> is always fun to watch.<br />
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Bonus: I found an old, black and white photo of my mother in her younger days when she was a ballet student - and she was performing the <i>Czardas </i>as well! <br />
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Here is my illustration to honor the beauty of the Hungarian culture/dance.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvLYUzj0cd-8q318t6WZLklsL_moRTmav4Ux-TPpM7JHxT1pIlLI71VJr0xeLAa8W7-H17dgL0fgShf5bn8gerZPKs-NRS49d4DVqP_XJp9Datn4l_2m8YeWMsJchyphenhyphenEps0NUCHZEGga_Y/s1600/amy-duarte-czardas-dance-hungary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvLYUzj0cd-8q318t6WZLklsL_moRTmav4Ux-TPpM7JHxT1pIlLI71VJr0xeLAa8W7-H17dgL0fgShf5bn8gerZPKs-NRS49d4DVqP_XJp9Datn4l_2m8YeWMsJchyphenhyphenEps0NUCHZEGga_Y/s1600/amy-duarte-czardas-dance-hungary.jpg" height="217" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-17697894113565830572014-03-28T10:59:00.005-07:002014-03-28T10:59:54.510-07:00Merry Go AroundI was inspired by It's a Small World to draw this Merry Go Around. I love drawing our international friends and their native pets!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-y6dk_4QFvQsMNU8DxlPefOHdTZP30E7nf2ChyXrrz9HqThY0FrmF3_UPyq2w3zp4bNWhvJlPTGN_J9kewes0hGMHTXFVOnWy9wdXwJQhyqMPuL6gnTIvvosViKxntNugCdlW4q9Njx0/s1600/amyduarte_carousel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-y6dk_4QFvQsMNU8DxlPefOHdTZP30E7nf2ChyXrrz9HqThY0FrmF3_UPyq2w3zp4bNWhvJlPTGN_J9kewes0hGMHTXFVOnWy9wdXwJQhyqMPuL6gnTIvvosViKxntNugCdlW4q9Njx0/s1600/amyduarte_carousel.jpg" height="218" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-5060276736862890902014-03-28T10:57:00.000-07:002014-03-28T10:57:07.992-07:00Second Drama Queen... Here is the second set of the Drama Queen series... the Queen of Diamonds.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSZvQZsdSdjFCMXQLMObQCY7QTANJk9loYCD9UMfbuCnI4D7xURcyfevCjl2t7NrAh2cuRlejPV-mazNTK3LYHsf3iWhVPLtFVid0I_y-WtvHqmXFNtrXhOusU0HofN_AARa4WtZxOB0k/s1600/amyduarte_queenofdiamonds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSZvQZsdSdjFCMXQLMObQCY7QTANJk9loYCD9UMfbuCnI4D7xURcyfevCjl2t7NrAh2cuRlejPV-mazNTK3LYHsf3iWhVPLtFVid0I_y-WtvHqmXFNtrXhOusU0HofN_AARa4WtZxOB0k/s1600/amyduarte_queenofdiamonds.jpg" height="320" width="206" /></a></div>
<br />Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-11173103135200986602014-03-28T10:52:00.002-07:002014-03-28T10:53:12.252-07:00Drama Queens! Presenting the first queen of the series...<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">A
fun twist to the traditionally stoic (and somewhat boring) queen in the
classic deck of cards. I wondered what it'd be like if I added a bit of
drama into it... making them "Drama Queens" instead of just queens.
Please stay tuned for the next queen (there are four of them, after all)
in the series!</span></span><br />
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Amy Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13244048568925546284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082750297699076666.post-6633862133485732762014-03-28T10:49:00.000-07:002014-03-28T10:49:45.459-07:00Eating alone in public? No problem!<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">Several
people have shared with me that they never want to be seen eating alone
in restaurants. I actually don’t mind eating alone in restaurants.
Don’t get me wrong – I love company and always welcome company. But on
some days when I am by myself – I am perfectly fine (and happy) with
that, too! <br /> I see it as a wonderful opportunity to bring my
sketchbook or dive into a novel I’ve been wanting to read for a long
time. Now, excuse me while I enjoy this cold glass of lemonade…</span></span><br />
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