The Boxer

There is a place I go mentally in between projects; it is a place of escapism and guttural hope. In this place of mixed emotions I often observe characters too wild or cunning for me to capture. So I observe. The figure I know only as "the boxer" - pictured above - is one such character. On a bitter winter day of ice and wind and brittle nerves I saw him. The boxer was warm lying there, surrounded by putrid trash. It was the warmth of a body ripe for death. When he died I watched as his soul, a molten fever dream of vengeful strength, floated into the bitter night air. His was the soul of a fighter. As he faded into the gilded skies of memory, I noticed his eyes. The boxer had none.


See you next Year!

In between times

Since my last post I've been engulfed in - what at times feels like - a swarm of projects and holiday travel. I will share more on these projects in January 09, so until then here is a little piece of whimsy to hold you over.



I hope to post once more before the end of the year so until then...

Death and Marla

A couple weeks ago, my wife and I journeyed several hours south to see My Brightest Diamond perform. We were almost dumb struck by the venue...a little vintage playhouse in the center of what appeared to be a sleepy Midwestern town square. The performance itself was full of musical intimacy, childish whimsy and an energy that made the small crowd of about 30 feel like a subdued 300. The drawing pictured above is from my sketch book or journal or doodle book or whatever you'd like to call it.

The illustration below is just some I came up with not along ago when I was bored and day dreaming. Why does "Death" always have to be ugly?

That thing called hope...

On a Hill Far Away...
Pen and Ink - 9 X11.5



Last Thursday the winds changed. Every year at the changing of the seasons, there is a period of time where the old and new engage in a tug of war. Two years ago it seemed as if Autumn had held off Winter's brittle chill until the very last possible moment. Turns out, Winter had been saving her strength. I thought of that image last week as I went for a run during what would prove to be one of the last warm days of Autumn. It was a day of fatigue and hope, one where I could feel the rope of the seasons slipping through the bleeding skin of my palms, still griping the rope of the past.

And when we finally let go of the rope, our hands bloody and rough, a melancholic euphoria ferments inside our imagination and births hope.

Dreams
Pen and Ink and Brush 9 x 11.5

Kansas City Journals

Dinner Conversation - Said's first day of school

Strange Cargo - The Irony of Holloween Travel

Old Man Snores-a-lot

At any given moment, someone somewhere is complaining about where they live. For some their complaints stem from poor housing conditions, a lack of necessary food, a dead end job, or the poor city planning of their current residence. Last week at this time I was in Kansas City. Those who know me are all too familiar with my venomous rantings and nonsensical ravings about Fort Wayne's many problems - the city I currently reside in. Going to Kansas City put things quite drastically into perspective. Like Fort Wayne, Kansas City is a place struggling to find an identity amidst the urban sprawl and neglect that has for so long nibbled away at these city's very quaint central areas. Even when eating in a newly revitalized area of downtown, I couldn't help but feel the wafting resonence of despair.





However, the trip was not without some great moments Such as the bald man snoring in front of me on the plane, the insecure model being hit on by a business traveler, or the human eye that was being transported on to the plane. Just the journey....

In Columbus

This past weekend I was in Columbus working on a project with illustrator extraordinaire Wes Ruv. During some of our down time we sketched in a neighborhood coffee house. This is one of the drawings that came out of it. It's an absurd and whimsical take on inspiration and life through death. I'll be posting more on the project in the coming months.

In Flames

He could not die say for their lack of belief and so he burned. The people of the world hated him so strongly that they could not accept non-belief, could not understand turning their hearts and minds away from this man-god. So they trapped the hero and bound him to the earth. He was their servant, their god unable to defy the will of the masses and so he laid down upon the pyre of their hatred. The roar of the flames danced within the chants of "burn, burn, burn" and deafened his heart to the people he existed for. He did not die, only burned until the flames could burn him no more leaving the man-god a deformed shell of his former glory.
And still they refused to stop believing.

In a gust of wind...

The Autumn chill had yet to visit itself upon the tall grass of nowhere town. Far above their underground sidewalks and boroughs and birds nests and graveyards stood Alexi, tall and gaunt and hairless as an unborn baby; he stood on the grassy rooftops of their underground nowhere town watching the heavens. Nothing, no rain or wind or clouds or birds or sun or moon. Above the land of nowhere town there was nothing.

And then he felt it, a twitch of air cool and refreshing. In his mind's eye he caught the breeze between his fingertips and held it close passing his own life into the breeze. Three times he caressed the lamp of his life into the breeze until he could hold it no more. Alexi filled with excitement hurled the autumn breeze into the cloudless sky. At once he could see it change. Swirls of air and tendrils of clouds danced like an oceans surf above him and the simple people of nowhere town. Atoms moved, pressure changed, and the fibers of life swelled into one another like the pregnant belly of a mother come to term. Alexi breathed one long anticipatory breath and then he saw it. For some it was just a whirlwind of little consequence, yet for Alexi it was a being of change.

Violent Things

"And gerry created Adam in his own image..."
"But Adam and his kind were just the result of bad left over takeout.
So gerry died and they called him god... and it was good."

The Majority vote



...


Death and His Pals (Ironically, they are alive)

Bird Children and Other Nonesense

"Are you my mother?"

That guy, you know the one.

More tomorrow

It has buggered my mind

It's been several weeks now of this fear mongering about the state of financial affairs. Some of this fear has manifested itself in loss of money and financial stability for some organizations. While I love to learn more about such things, I can't stand it when such blind fear and trust over take our collective judgement. I say all this because the little comic in this post has been swimming in my head all day as a sort of mental temper tantrum.

Obama, War, McCain, Money...This has nothing to do with that.

Pen Ink and other Art tools 9 x 12

Chicago doodles

Aimee, Josef, and Allyson at Earwax in Wicker Park

This post has almost nothing to do with Chicago. I simply doodled/sketched these while there.

because it has been too long

Rock School (or Song bird)
Pen and Ink and brush

Stone boy

Pen and Ink with watercolor wash

Voices

Pen and Ink doodle

Radio-heads - Pen and Ink, Gray Brush pen

Strange days

This started as a poster doodle for a upcoming one night only art show featuring my wife and several of our friends, but quickly ran away with itself and became it's own stand alone piece.

And another...

Angels and Demons

The original design of this tattoo stemmed from the mythology of an angel or angelic being fighting demonic creatures. The first image is based off of wings that would wrap around the arm/shoulder. The final version of the piece is edited so that the demons faces are more ambiguous and less literally stereotypical demonic. In the end I was glad to make the edit because it took the focus off of the demons gruesome features and back to the wings.

Both versions were created using pen and ink, brush pen, and shades of red and gray.

Luck of the...

Earlier this week I was asked by a good friend of mine to come up with a tattoo design inspired by the Celtic tree image. What I came up with was something less connected and more organic in nature implying the circle as well as only having trace hints of "life" in the tree of life. This is important because while the imagery of the tree implies life, truthfully such a mythological tree could be strangled and weathered and even broken under the strain of true life. While it still blooms, its form is now bent in such a way that its horrible truth is also its beauty.

Weekend Drawing

Bookstore

Josef

Killing innocence

The holes through time.

From my drawing desk across the street.

Picture Novel Part 2

Two weeks ago I was reading artist/author Craig Thompson's blog and he made an interesting statement about the projects we undertake. More or less he said that it's not the projects that we start, but the one's we finish that are truly substantial. When I read that it made me chuckle  for two reasons. The first is because my first unpublished and unfinished graphic novel (or more accurately novella) was inspired by his narrative style. One day I hope to go back and re-write the whole damn thing...just not today.  The second is because a year and a half ago I had someone make a nasty comment about me - not knowing I was in the room - saying "I don't think he has the professionalism to see this project through to completion."

I say all this because it's all true, every last word and yet despite the unpleasant truth that we as artists will leave our creations unfinished at times, the things we truly value will brought to fruition.

As I would go from script to thumbnail to illustration, there was always only one rule: be true to the story.  

There were moments when my original thumbnail sketches and even the initial illustration strayed from that narrative and into vain creative surrealism. While surrealism is a wonderful tool to use in showing emotional depth, I didn't need to straddle it so religiously. In the above picture you see simplistic illustration that was originally much more simple, but the added waves of the night sky give a peaceful movement that wouldn't have existed if I would've stayed true to the original. The illustration bellow is one where I just let loose to show how the memories of Alabaster continue to haunt him even as he tries to salvage what's left of his faded innocence.  

Picture Novel pt 1

Last Thursday, beneath the noise of neighbors shouting at one another from their porch/rooftops and rush hour traffic speeding past my apartment I completed the novel I've been working on for the last 9 months: The Final Transformation of Alabaster Johns. Clocking in at over 230 pages (half illustrations, half text) completing the project was exhausting but wonderful.

This post is the first in a two part post about the process of going from script to illustration especially when there is no literal description of the image.


After going through several drafts of the script to the point where I feel (and others who have read it) that it represents not only the narrative flow, but also the emotional tone of the story I begin to draw out thumbnail ideas. I do this on the script for two reasons: 1. it allows me to see the flow of images with text side by side 2. if a line does not work with the image or a line of text strays from the narrative tone then I can cut it right there and re write.

Writing and illustrating a picture novel is like making a movie in a way being that it follows one importoant principal: show them first, tell them if you must. For a story that is very emotion driven - almost like illustrated poetry or lyrics - this is even more important.

Next post I'll conclude this will showing some final images and write about being ok with cutting a chunk out of the story.

Kaboom!

Over Memorial Day weekend during some of my "down time" I doodled a couple of random funny strips. Above, is one of the doodles. I'll post the other later this week.

Doodles

Back in late March I took a trip....a long road trip to Florida for a wedding. Between my audio books, sleeping, and gaping at the immense volume of "adult" road signs in northern Florida I did some drawing, nothing profound, just doodles to keep my mind active.

Pen and Ink - note book

Pen and Ink on Note Book Paper

Alabaster gets a cover...

Over the past three days I've found myself in the midst of a paradox of exhaustion and intense energy. I've officially crossed the 50 illustrations marker on this project (though I still have over 60 yet to complete) and am more than a little tired after several months of work. Sunday afternoon I decided to take a break from the inside of the book and try my hand at the cover art...an idea that I've been reluctant to even touch. However, after several hours of experimenting I took the plunge and the I couldn't be more excited at the final product thus far.

Watercolor, Pen and ink

I hope to add some slight color hints digitally later on, that will bring out some of the hidden color.

Looking back

Several days ago, a friend e-mailed me about some of drawings I created a number of years ago during and around my weekend visits to Chicago. I haven't taken time to look back over all of these drawings and reflect their significance in my development as an artist, storyteller, and overall individual.

These drawings as a whole are at their center a map of a time of my life and the things I observed and struggled to comprehend. They are a story in and of them self.

God Is Sleeping 1- 5

As promised, here are the first 5 pages from part 2 of God is Sleeping, written and illustrated by myself and a team of arctic gnomes that blackmailed me into assassinating the queen of the trolls...

Page 1

Page 2

Page 3

Page 4


Page 5