Tuesday January 31st 2012, 10:39 pm

Pressures deep inside, sensations of unwanted physical turbulent throbbing. Twinges of riled nerve shocks through tightening complaining flesh. Taxed. Tired. Stretched. Yet, unhindered. Frigid down through to the centers of wiggling appendages. Feels like thousands of little glacial particles cloistered to the walls of my veins. Tingling and no warmth to be gained, regardless of the layers. Just one of those days that nothing seems to work a relief from either temporary affliction. It’d be so mundane if it weren’t so damn distracting.

Achy Hand And Cold Feet
January 31st 2012


Monday January 30th 2012, 7:56 pm

Breathing in only shades of black, grays and whites, but yet vividly bright. Colorful layers will come, but not this day. Swathes of boldness interplaying with delicate subtle supple tone. Full of complexity, full of living, moving in and out of reality but never “unreal”, some days more clearly than others, as if flirting with me. Engaging me deftly, without mercy, but I’ve committed myself to see this through, the good and the bad. Interlocking steps to be taken, one in front of the other, slightly out of order, but in sequence within my mind. Some dances learned, while others will forever have flaws. This is my place for now, but other dreams wave from the far shadowed horizon, calling to meet me. This is my challenge.

Working On Batwoman 12
January 30th 2012


Sunday January 29th 2012, 7:24 pm

Standing tall with lush reddish earthy tones and part of a pair, but yet only one of many that lives steadily in this house. Crammed within its embrace tightly, are probably a hundreds of fantasies to be had, from generations of timeless imaginations, but somewhat overwrought with dusty crevices as these worlds are only explored so often. It lifts and provides for denizens of all types of color and various textures. Some sophisticated and matured, while others are certainly childish but nostalgic by fond memories and daydreams. Its protection of these numerous adoptive manufactured lives has been made difficult from being overburdened, squared apartments not quite large enough to contain all that need a fine home. Therefore, stacks are packed forcibly into cramped spaces, causing some tales to hang on for dear safety by very slim margins. But all that it cuddles within it’s rigid walls matter, and adored. So it does the job proudly as best as it can. Ready to deliver any one of these imprinted progeny to the loving willing hands of a patron of exquisitely drafted arts.

A Bookshelf In My Living Room
January 29th 2012


Saturday January 28th 2012, 7:50 pm

Sitting for the past hour or so with a plain white paper drink cup in my hands, filled with foamy steamy brewed stimulating goodness, my elixir vice of choice. The atmosphere of the place is simplistic, rudimentary, and direct. Thats not to say its not without style, just slightly bohemian. Wooden tables and chairs of basic designs, local art displayed, that sort of thing. The people working are all very friendly and it seems the same can be said for the customers sitting out front in the fresh air too, strangers asking me about my unfinished tattoo work. The rest of the time is spent, discussing with a relatively new friend, internet theories and various forms of usage. On how advancement of application could be garnered for creative and exploration purposes, especially for comics. Pretty far out for my mode of thinking, but fascinating. I feel challenged by the discussion, in the fact I know so little about just how much the world wide web hasn’t come close to reaching full potentials. Enlightening information on this relatively mundane day. The feel of the conversation is fresh and intelligent, while vaguely noting the music drifting along in the background recesses of other chatter. I don’t quite have a sense of comfort here yet, its still so new to me. I’ve been uncertain in unfamiliar surroundings of late, it puts me off kilter. Thinking about this just now, I find it kind of strange, I don’t remember feeling this way years ago. Maybe its my age setting in, the world moving so rapidly by comparison to myself. The sun is begging to vanish over the far westerly mountaintops as I unlock my car door, about to head back to my homey contentment. However, I will never tire of the deep rich flavor of discovery.

This Afternoon At Coffee Bandits
January 28th 2012


Saturday January 28th 2012, 12:57 am

Putting my brushes, pens and inks aside for a little while, I set out to have myself a little treat, a small common adventure. Something I rarely get to do these days. Driving over to the other side of our humble town to meet up with dear friends of ours, smiles and hugs. We make our purchase from the clerk, walk through the perfectly polished glass doors and glance across posters of fun possibilities to come. Meandering down the hall, along a red old carpet, which cleverly hides its wear and stains due to it’s patterns. Passing through the entrance and coming out a narrow dark corridor, we scan the room to find our places. Tall ceilings with cheap faux deco motifs and poor recessed lighting are all the room really has for decor. From the numerous rows before us we choose our seats, plush and cushy. They unfold rather awkwardly, making the slightest metallic spring squeak. We settle down with sweets in hand, feeling internally giddy with excitement. A black curtain draws open, the lights go dim, and a giant screen bursts to life with vivid eye candy graphics, booming sounds of fast whooshes flood our ears. The anticipation is short but honeyed as the “ride” rushes forward. The titles roll and characters jump to life. The angle stylings, bold colors, finest details, and uniquely crafted musical accompaniment, mesmerize. It begins with a quiet easy visual in an off the beaten path diner, then explodes with a hot cup of coffee in the face. And from that moment on we’re all riveted! Becoming lost for a brief time in a story loaded with intrigue and deviously choreographed action that has to be seen to be believed, all handled with stupendous aplomb.

Going To The Theatre To See Haywire
January 27th 2012


Thursday January 26th 2012, 9:10 pm

Silky smooth, like the creamiest milk. Lushly smokey and loaded with deep passions. Spinning a woven wrap of warmness, it can make you melt inside with inspired romanticism, and a subtle bittersweet sensation of an imagined grand tumultuous love affair. It swells the heart to bursting and creates bountiful feelings of pure joy. A voice that resonates in perfect union within beauteous musical arrangements that intricately and delicately hum into the atmosphere. At Last, it makes me just want to hold my love closer in a soft embracing dance, a small celebration of our lives together. In honor of one of the greatest singers, who sadly has gone away, but will always sing in our souls.

Listening To The Incomparable Etta James
January 26th 2012


Wednesday January 25th 2012, 11:06 pm

Shakes and aches, toils and foils. Torturous on occasion, some days are much worse than others. Like some vile succubus draining energy from my very limbs. Fingers will not respond to commands, the wrist will jolt. It is my inherited mortal enemy. And the frustration of enduring it’s numerous assaults while attempting to fulfill my work can be overwhelming beyond properly conveyed descriptions. Sometimes it feels like my insides want to scratch through and leap out of sundered flesh. It fatigues rapidly, and muscles tighten and strain. It slows my progress to agonizing lengths of passage. My own personal never-ending battle. A war that I can never fully win, but I will also never surrender.

The Tremor
January 25th 2012


Tuesday January 24th 2012, 8:35 pm

Matte finished gray, and hard molded plastic, meant to emulate steel but it just looks cheap with it’s little decorative dots of faux rivets running down each side of the bevelled face. Its always present and I’m supposed to pay attention to it, as it sits above my cherrywood platform of creation, delicately fastened to the textured off white walls of my workspace. Large black rigid lines forming numbers that change on a screen, encased in a semi-clear window, it counts and blinks. Its there to mark the day’s movement through my little world, but its all fluid and relative for me, it never feels like it gives me the right answer whenever I happen gaze up at it. My grasp of time certainly isn’t tightly real. I find that it slips away rather easily or trudges ever so slowly, but yet I assume it stays consistent on its own digital precision. Thinking about it at this very moment, it becomes sort of comforting knowing that its there, but ultimately, in few minutes I won’t really care anymore. I refuse to live by it.

The Office Clock
January 24th 2012

New Batwoman Pages Sale Date

Monday January 23rd 2012, 9:02 pm

Issue 3 of Batwoman art will go up for sale this Saturday, January 28th at noon pacific. For your enticement…

Batwoman 3 pg 1
Batwoman 3 pg 2 and 3
Batwoman 3 pg 4 and 5
Batwoman 3 pg 15


Monday January 23rd 2012, 8:43 pm

A taste that knows no boundaries of time, its origins being noted as far into history as the Egyptian Abbasid period. It travels across worlds, across divided nations and customs of cultural significance. It tracks upward through civilization and can embody all that is healthy for spirit and mind. Varieties exotic, but yet simplicity in its making. It feels smooth and creamy, and primally good. One can imagine that this is what gods would eat. Perfectly satisfying day or night. Partaking of it connects us subliminally to all of mankind, as if its very substance is the historical story of the known and unknown world.

January 23rd 2012


Sunday January 22nd 2012, 2:53 pm

Another quiet Sunday, thick gloomy rain clouds permeate the sky overhead like a puffy blanket of dreamy haze. The light breeze shuffles leaves around, the air feels fresh. Sadly there was a dead magpie in the road, theres been a turf war between gangs of birds, the crows demanding their territory. Smartly dressed people we love dearly visited from out of town today, only here for a couple of hours, sharing their joyful nature with us. We went out for brunch at a little downtown diner, stepping into another world full of americana greasy goodness, the sort of place that makes you sigh with comfort. Cozy, and a little bit old and weathered, dark green beaten dinged countertops with rows of maple syrup pitchers and plastic menus waiting for our attention, the place has a lost in time vibe. Drinking coffee, and taking in the pleasant company in front of us. Warm perfectly scrambled eggs and buttery wheat toast in my belly, a perfect breakfast for a day like this. Talking about travel, tiki bars, and the art of trapeze, all to briefly though, but we’re just happy to see them. We don’t get too many moments like these with any of the people we cherish, our lives seem so taken up by busy busy these days. So we relish these simple times.

Midday At The Cinema Cafe
January 22nd 2012

The Alphabet From Todd’s World

Sunday January 22nd 2012, 2:23 pm

I thought I’d take a moment to direct everyone over to Todd Klein’s website. Some of you already know, and some may not, that Todd has been producing limited edition prints designed by him and collaborated with other artist friend’s of his. The most recent print being with Dave Gibbons. The fun thing about these is that they are all based on the alphabet, and he is now up to the letter “I”, such a cool idea. The other fun thing about this project is that each print design is always a pleasant surprise, you never know what direction will be taken, they’ve all been quite different so far, building a unique collection as a result. When the entire project gets finished, it’ll be such an interesting piece of art. I highly recommend that everyone go check it out if you haven’t been aware of these already…

Todd’s blog
Todd’s prints


Saturday January 21st 2012, 9:42 pm

Long moist streaks cross the flatness of the reddish grain texture, like some dry wooden desert. “Hhsss” goes the steamy voice of the meticulously designed contraption. Sleekly aerodynamic steel, tall with a rounded grasping hold to push off against, sending it forward it broad swooshing motions. Midway down the arm sits a plastic hollowed oval tank. Slish, slosh goes the liquid inside, as the device sways back and forth from the command of my sweating limbs. Jutting outward, then back to me, again and again. With the wide clothed base, it speedily soaks up grime and gunky residue of hundreds of walked steps by man and animal. Spots of grayish mirk disappear, scuffs absorb away, while millions of microscopic worlds must be torn asunder by the hot wet breath it blows. But I’m sure some escape the destruction of the giant machine god larger than a bacteria’s heavens. The floor can be claimed as clean, fit to be seen.

Using The Steam Mop
January 21st 2012


Friday January 20th 2012, 9:49 pm

Jet sheen, light shines off revealing elegant ripples of sinewy strength. Leaping and jumping, no barrier can hold against. Sleek and intimidating, moving silently like a true hunter, a warrior not to be trifled with. Ruling from above, lethal, baring a mouth full of daggers. Stalking proud, always watching with gleaming eyes of yellowed flecked jade. Tall pointed ears perk, no sound escapes attention. The deepest shadows engulf, vanishing like a ghost, becoming invisible in the dark of night. I am lord of this domain and master of many, of lands vast, filled with concrete, trees and tall dried grasses. I claim this all. Be it burning hot, sleet, or rain, I will prowl, I will guard. I am King, The Mouse-Killer, Friend to giants.

Bhangra The Cat
January 20th 2012


Thursday January 19th 2012, 9:41 pm

Words and vibrations, lyrics with textured music that floats along like a fine flower’s scent. A soft lilting voice but not without strength, and loaded with conviction. A true poet’s heart willing to share the deepest sincere thoughts of a life lived, told through metaphor of semi-fictional personal stories. A reverence for the past while still keeping things in the here and now. Artful tales of the sadly deceased and missing become ruminations on the power of mortal death, although the bleakness of it somehow transforms into beauty, an unfolding bloom of vitality. Even in it’s acceptance of the fate we all will share, it remains defiant, and emboldens the feeling of life. The album is magnificent and glorious.

Listening To David J’s Not Long For This World
January 19th 2012

Churilla and DB

Thursday January 19th 2012, 1:03 pm

Being offered for order this month from Diamond and Oni Press is a new series by my friend Brian Churilla. Its called The Secret History Of DB Cooper, and Brian’s work on this, as always, is tremendous. I love what he does, it has so much punch, vitality, and fun in it. I was very humbled when he asked me to do a variant cover his new series, I had to say yes. Below is that cover along with Brian’s. I love his work so much that I found it a challenge to NOT try to draw it like he would, I couldn’t picture it any other way than his. But I managed to come up with something inspired by the design sensibility he was showing me, rather than just emulate what he was doing, put my spin on his unique surrealistic perspective for the visuals to this series. The book is loaded with fun stuff: inter-dimensional travel, intrigue, otherworldly monsters, a wicked little teddy bear. Order this book, you won’t be disappointed!

Churilla’s brilliant issue number one cover…

J H variant issue number one cover…

More info to be had at his site…


Thursday January 19th 2012, 12:34 pm

We just found out that Batwoman has been nominated for the next round of the Glaad Media Awards. This is so important for the work to be recognized in this manner. Details and other nominees can be found here…



Wednesday January 18th 2012, 11:47 pm

Pushing through the steel and glass door is always such a pure rush of pleasure. Visual senses explode with vibrant colors that emanate and jump from black wooden shelves. Simple four color folded stapled paper drawn together from draftsmanship of various techniques and attitudes. Rows and rows of dreams for sale, adventures to be bad, tales that fall into familiar periodical comfort. Grasped in our hands like private little treasures of poppy candied gems. Some new and refreshing, awaiting mindful exploration, while others are like dear compatriots of a lifetime. Bombastic conversations over this and that, what grabs attention, what doesn’t. Round table sizzle and excitement of passions shared over this love of the medium that we all gather to partake in. Our combined energy practically crackles through the air like some sort of cosmic union of giddiness and serious debate. It pleases to no end, and is one of the most endearing things in the world to me. Love of friendships, and love of comics.

Previews Night At Red Sky Comics
January 18th 2012


Tuesday January 17th 2012, 9:49 pm

A little bit dry, and a little bit corse. Parts are smooth and soft. Other parts get knotted and tangled. Semi-long spiraling strands group together to form corkscrew ringlets, like zigzagging tiny fine wires, that manage to unite like a choreographed perfomance to form a single bold and classic shape that hugs and extends outward all at once. Grays, browns, salt and pepper, the colors are distinguished I think, giving a unique sense of self. It fits me just right, my personality. It always tries to grow unevenly, making me fret, but I won’t ever get rid of it. Some mornings I wake up and it sits sideways, or splits in the middle awkwardly, it can make me quite goofy looking. Like it taunts my seriousness, visually saying to me from the mirror “What, you think you’re cool? Look what I can do.” Then it gets tamed for the day. I find that I unconsciously run my fingers through the thick bristly forest, like some sort of stereotypical book character, that thinks they’re wise or something. I can’t imagine myself without having it with me anymore though. I guess we have a relationship. Maybe I’ll let it get longer, enter into contests.

My Beard
January 17th 2012


Monday January 16th 2012, 9:54 pm

Gooey goodness, bringing up feelings of childhood retro nostalgia. Kid dreams of sweet fantasy wonderlands. Dense and thick, I’m a sucker for this kind of stuff. The outside of it, a thinly layered crumbly messy milky melt in your mouth sensation. The little bits get everywhere! The silky layers surround a long rectangular bar shape made up of something tough and chewy, but in a delicious way. Almost as if a marshmallow married a caramel toffee, thats the texture of it. Reminding me of boyhood long sunny summers of lounging, riding bikes, and reading comicbooks from the local 7-11 store from where I grew up in San Jose. Yum yumminess. What is this thing made out of anyway?

Chocolate Flavored Charleston Chew
January 16th 2012


Sunday January 15th 2012, 5:44 pm

Puffs and swirls, deep and gray. Softly textured as if daubed gingerly by a master painter’s broad brush. Spontaneous flourishes of delicate powdery blue-whites. It fills my entire vision as I stare upward toward dizzying heights. I watch a flock of little black triangular specks darting gracefully across southward. My vision only broken by a roof edge jutting into view. The air is chilled and I take in a deep gust of freshness. Then without warning, suddenly the puffy milky grey whites bleed away in one section, as if some mythical god blew it’s breath to gently punch a hole through the muted clouds, revealing a purest of blues just for my me. I move to continue my chore. Clasping the weathered “clickety” black steel latch to the side gate, it sticks as always, a little game it likes to play with me regularly. I use a little more force, a familiar scrape of wood against wood, it releases it’s grip. I step through, taking note of the relatively new tree in the far corner we had planted last summer, its gotten pretty big now. I turn to my left and grab a handle, it feels rugged and scarred in my hand, I think we’ve been using it for about 8 years now. I slowly ease the big plastic sun-beaten and faded green clunky wheeled bin down the cemented driveway toward the street. The path cracked in a place or two and slightly lifted awkwardly in a section, there is an old oil stain that refuses to ever dissipate. Along the sidewalk edge, the street gutter is littered with tiny browned and yellowed leaves, they rustle around from a slight breeze. I place the bin on our little spot of the shared cul de sac and wave to a neighbor down the road who is doing the same routine as me. Sunday, quiet and peaceful.

Setting The Garbage Cans Out
January 15th 2012


Saturday January 14th 2012, 6:26 pm

Rising up from rooted glass, and stones of russets, striped grays, blues and spotted browns. The watery bed, like a tiny lake. The top rocky edge of the surface partly wet and parched at the same time. Little spindly curling vines tuck and roll between the rounded smooth layers of stone, dipping well below the water’s edge, extending to the very bottom of the tall and oval shaped glass. Packed neatly, like hundreds of little hugging unmoving worms.. Arising from this stable edifice are 12 long weaving sinewy stalks in perfect union. Six dart back and forth that way, six others this way, forming a majestic lattice that seems to defy nature, tempered gently into shape. All bound at their meeting points by fine bands of twisted gold. Its as if this organic living thing has agreed to be controlled, it seems to relish the unnatural structure, becoming something artful, something to be admired. It has lush greens broken only by the finest of little tan ridges every few inches or so, they encircle the circumference of each validation of life. Causing my eyes to follow the paths of the stalks upward, vaguely reminding me of ladders. I visually climb to it’s heights, where the very tops, standing strong and prideful, are giant spear-tip shaped appendages. They are flat, but slightly curved with subtle ripples along each edge, unfolding outward gloriously, like a chorus demanding attention. It adds comfort to this room full of hard edges and scattered tools.

The Bamboo Plant That Lives In My Studio
January 14th 2012


Friday January 13th 2012, 7:16 pm

Gliding across a brightly bleached plain, dozens of long dark strands taper downward to a very fine tip. An instrument powerful enough to harness all of the universe’s imagination into combinations of strokes. Stroking, building, slightly thick stygian liquid oozes gently from its pinpoint sharpness, but runs softly, deliciously. Ebon shapes form another dimension. Dark, shiny and sleek, tightly rounded, with a fiery red edged metallic barrel, reaching down from high above, like some heavenly metaphysical finger of creation. Alternate lives spring forth slowly but assuredly. Glimpses of realities being born, thriving within the minds and hearts of this one. Brought to us through the simplicity of applied ink to paper.

My Inking Brush
January 13th 2012


Thursday January 12th 2012, 6:50 pm

Thump! Umph. Like an anvil slugging. Thump! Light bleeds, hurts. Pound! Black ink lines blur, double up, vibrate. Thump! The whiteness of the paper is blinding. Feel like I can’t see. Thump! Can’t think. My brain is trying ooze its way out of my head, trying desperately to escape. Pound! Feel like I’m going to vomit. Pound! Meds aren’t working, work, don’t think I’ll finish work today. Thump! Thump! Pound! Umph.

January 12th 2012


Wednesday January 11th 2012, 3:24 pm

A face of metal buttons, a tray of a mouth, and knobby turning eyes. A little round glass forehead with numbers and a tiny golden metallic arm that swings from left to right, right to left. Depending on the position, dusty notes of good or bad vibrations emanate. Wooden deco and metal, with small surprise hidden compartments. The top pops, to reveal a circular spinning platform. To one side of this, there is a needled silvery arm that gently slides toward the black heavy grooved disc that I’ve laid on the platform. It touches down ever so softly, with a little “klak” and a “ssss.” On either side, it’s corners rounded with embedded cloth and brass grates. Beauty bursts forth from here, an invisible wave of sound and majestic drama, that sends colors crashing inside my brain. I sit back in my purple chair and take in the air filled notes that dance around me, they intoxicate and demand my attention. It’s a wondrous thing.

My New Record Player
January 11th 2012