Getting the lead out with some Cable doodles.
Seattle, February 2019.
Managed to carve out some time to fiddle around at the art desk today. I’m rusty as hell, but still had some fun.
Anthony Bourdain, graphite, by me 2018.
Putting the finishing touches on these fine gents. Had to rush the last session with Dracula and the Creature, but still had some fun bringing these guys to life.
Got a bit more time with these fine gents today.
WIP: Seasonal Chalkboard update, inspired by Monster Squad. Mummy, Dracula, and Creature from the Black Lagoon to follow.
Islington, London. 6.2018.
Doodles at Treehouse Point following a much needed respite.
Fulton River District, Chicago
“And now we are all scattered; and for many a long day lone-liness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings. Lucy lies in the tomb of her kin, a lordly death-house hi a lonely church-yard, away from teeming London; where the air is fresh, and the sun rises over Hampstead Hill, and where wild flowers grow of their own accord.”
-Bram Stoker, 1897
Adventures in the West.
Daily Doodles (w/pony sticker accent by my daughter).
Going through some old sketchbooks and ran across this doodle from a while back. It’s one of those pieces that never really materialized, and didn’t reflect my mindset and preferences at the time it was created.
Dad + Daughter Doodle. 80′s Storm for the win. Yes, I’m still absolutely aping Jim Lee.
Obligatory Sunday Hellboy Sketch?
This is a piece I was commissioned to do for @LbrtyMsJustice and their Twitter personas. Liberty is a 20-ish hot mess mom, and MissJustice is a 40-ish bigcity glam girl. I wanted to create an animated look that was timeless and still had some character to the line work, while still looking clean and modern, with some inspiration from the master Bruce Timm. All line-work was originally done in graphite on paper, with digital inks and colors.
Hope ya’ll enjoy.
“Big man, pig manHa, ha, charade you are”
Quick warm up sketch this morning while working on other projects. When doing portraiture, I find it’s often difficult to capture the subject as I see them, with my eyes, rather than how I view them, in my mind. In this case, I feel I’ve accurately captured the essence of the man, while keeping my own personal beliefs and philosophies at bay, ensuring a true and honest representation of the subject, his character, and persona.
Water soluble pastel & graphite on paper.
(Inspired while listening to Pink Floyd’s Animals this morning, specifically Pigs (Three Different Ones)).
Conference Call Monster-Doodling.
The adrift and awakened mindRestlessly surging forward into endless etherIn the nebulous grey, uncertainty reignsAnd truth is subservient to the weighted voicesWhich curdle and drone of prospects and profits and progress but reek positively of self-service and feverish greedy grabbing of landThis unbearable constant questioning with so little to show and so very little to askThis miming of shape and form and familiar illusions to typecast and provide belongingBut never ownership for the futureAnd never hope, for manyAs we bore more deeply into the entrenched to discover only what was written on the walls by those before usBut never looking upward, outward, inward for the truths known to each otherNever spoken
Words for the day by me, 2016.
Seattle, WA 5.22.16
Dry Land (Grief-sick and Sober)
Water soluble pastels, crayon, w/digital finishes. By me, 2016.
Design Commission - March 2016
Here’s a piece I was commissioned to design, partially inspired by the trash polka design aesthetic, though clearly not adhering to the rules associated with that style. The client was looking for a design that incorporated a particular vibe, and included a skull and a vinyl record. I incorporated the dahlia flower as a link to the customer’s heritage (Dahlia being the national flower of Mexico), as well as a sound wave form from a favorite artist to help link the flow of the piece. I had a great time putting this together - hope you can dig it!
Check out more face meltingly rad art at http://www.selfrecyclable.com.
Sunday doodles (dried & dead sharpie edition).
Chalkboard update: Drunk Santa edition.
Turns out Kris Kringle - better known to the public as Santa Claus the toy manufacturing mogul and philanthropist - had a history of chemical dependency, including a lifelong struggle with MDMA and absinthe abuse dating back to his early teens as a struggling children’s toy designer. Beneath his jolly and jiggling facade lay a man torn asunder by his rabid & insatiable addictions.
“How A Relaxing Sunday Afternoon Can End in the Total Entropy of Self”, 2015, Graphite/Ink on paper.
back on the circumstances in my first encounter with Sue, it’s a miracle she
learned to embrace me as a member of the Beres family at all, let alone marry
her only daughter.
my account, it was a gloomy and blusterous evening in the fall of 2005. Leanne
and I had recently begun our mutual courtship of one another, and we had
ventured into the Beres’ Indianola home late into the evening. One thing I have
learned about Sue: she’s an incredibly light sleeper, and when her sleep is
interrupted, she awakes with a visceral, instinctual fight or flight response –
as a lioness that has abruptly been awaked from a nap in the sun. As Leanne and
I noiselessly careened past the Beres bedroom and towards Leanne’s room, I was
startled by the swift cracking of the Beres bedroom door and found myself face
to face with Sue, whom I had never met previously, just inches away. Needless
to say, this was not how I had imagined meeting Leanne’s mother for the first
time. Awkwardly, I said “hello” and continued my pursuit of Leanne down the
bedroom, hoping Leanne would intercede and somehow evaporate the heavy air that
had settled into the room. She didn’t.
it’s easy enough for young lovers to look past such awkwardness and become
entrenched once again in one another. Unfortunately, we may have been a bit too
ambitious in our discovery and found our necking soon interrupted, again by
Sue, who patiently stated that I should probably leave. It was, after all, late into the early
morning, and Sue, unaware of my reputable status as a kind-hearted and caring
Barista living in a small closet in Des Moines, was right to err on the side of
caution when it came to matters involving her lovely daughter.
alone, I collected my things, said my farewells, and entered out into the quiet
gloom of the Indianola morning. A heavy fog had rolled in during the hours of
my visit, effectively obscuring the treacherous and infamous angles of the
Beres driveway. Legend holds that a great many brave souls had attempted to
court the angles of the driveway, and only a small few had emerged unscathed-
and most on a clear and well-lit day. With a dry mouth and heavy eyes, I placed
the gears of my Outback in reverse and slowly released my foot from the brake.
As my descent was initiated, the glow of my taillights reflected back harshly
against the Indianola fog, and I quickly lost bearing on the true angle of my
descent. Slowly, I adjusted, and checked both rear and side view mirrors. I
continued in this fashion for seemingly several minutes, adjusting my view,
brake pressure, and speed – all the while attempting to regain my view of the
vile and ghastly Beres walk. Minutes seemingly slipped by, knuckles gripped
tightly to the steering wheel, eyes darting from mirror to mirror, until my
descent came to an abrupt, grating cessation, as the wailing cacophony of my
rear bumper ricocheted out into the calm crisp air of the early morning. With
horror, my heart pounding inside my chest, I realized my vehicle had impacted
the small rockery that lined the Beres driveway, it’s rocky teeth mauling the
fiberglass siding of the vehicle, groaning like some progeny of Malebolge
himself. With panicked eyes I quickly jumped out from the wounded vehicle to
assess the damage – cursing myself for having fallen victim to such stupidity. As
I approached the rear of my beloved Subaru, I imagined it’s siding crumpled
inward, having toppled a great portion of the rockery itself, and pictured the
long days of my sentencing to come spent rebuilding the rockery to it’s
original state. Or perhaps they didn’t hear? Perhaps I could right the rockery
before daylight and never have to face the piercing gaze of my muse’s parents
while I confessed the damage sustained to their property – all before even
having a proper introduction? As I rounded the vehicles body, I knelt down in
the foggy air to view my fate: the vehicle had sustained some minor aesthetic
gouging across the rear bumper, but the rockery appeared to be mostly intact! In
the diffused light of the taillights, I ran my fingers across the surface of
the rocks, and could see some markings giving evidence of what occurred. But
surely those would be overlooked, I thought. In a panic, my eyes darted back up
to the Beres bedroom. No lights had been turned on, no noises emanating from
the house. Inaptly suited for the surely awkward discussions that may lay ahead,
I jumped back into the vehicle, righted my angle, and was quickly at the bottom
of the drive rolling gently through Indianola, adrenaline still pulsing through
my tightly gripped fingers, thanking whatever gods had delivered me relatively
unscathed from the perils of the Beres driveway. They hadn’t heard, I told
myself. No one will notice a thing.
it turns out, they did hear and were well aware of my navigational failings -
all too aware, in fact, of my panicked motions as I assessed the damage to both
vehicle and rockery. Despite this, and the other disastrous events that
occurred on that fateful evening, Sue managed to open her heart and home to me
and welcome my woeful self as a prospected suitor for her daughter. She
extended truly extraordinary hospitality to me – accompanied by family dinners
with packaged leftovers to go, grocery shopping, and small token gifts, but
mostly the positive stewardship needed to help nurture newfound love. She encouraged
and supported the things I cared for – my art and my music. She even stomached
my obsession with the Beatles, and worse yet John Lennon. She endured my
eccentricities, sarcasm, and curmudgeon perspective. She did all this, I hope,
because she could see how much love I had for her daughter. As a true mother,
the love Sue has for her children is unwavering and unfaltering. It is the
essence of motherhood – fierce and passionate. Even in the beginning, she
extended a small portion of that to me, and it made me feel I belonged, and had
the months and years went on, I began to understand that. And I soon realized
why she awakens the way she does- as a lioness who has awakened from a nap in
the sun, overseeing her cubs, as she now does for a second generation.
Birthday Sue! We love you.
Leanne, and Margot