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Saturday March 31st 2012, 3:12 pm
We’re at home now. It’s later, early evening and the light is dim and cool. We’re trying to do something in the kitchen but I can’t tell what exactly. I happen to bump into the cat dishes, knocking the food bowl over, creating a wet sloppy mess. Crouching down to assess the damage, what to clean, I notice something odd in the other bowl. In the sloshing water bowl, I can see two large iridescent green creatures, like fat worms with tiny fin like appendages, and fish tails. Their skin is sort of bumpy and shiny, the green shimmers beautifully as they toss around in the deeper than I remember water bowl. Then I notice something even stranger, they both have these long stretching necks with no apparent heads or eyes. The end of the undulating neck shapes are perfectly round mouths rimmed with insidious long needle like teeth, the maws opening and closing voraciously. Something about these things feel dark, I don’t know how else to describe the feelings I get off them.
I hastily stand up, jolted and unnerved. And in doing that, my foot catches the underside of the bowl’s lip, toppling it over. The water splashes onto the floor, dumping the alien creatures with it. They squirm and hiss, the painful looking mouths stretching outward looking for an enemy, me! Wendy is trying to see what is happening. I’m a bit panicked, not knowing what to do, as sensations of an evil presence wash over me. Its like they’re trying to infect me psychically. Wendy is trying to calm me down with words I don’t understand, and I refuse, beseeching her to look at these wicked parasitic vile things that I found in our cat’s water dish. She exclaims not to harm them, but I point out to her that the things are tracking our every move, hunting, as if ready to strike and attack much like a deadly snake would.
“They’re evil! Can’t you feel that?”
I quickly lean over to a cabinet drawer, boldly opening it to grab a large carving knife. I stab one of the creepy beasts, slashing away it’s thick jelly like flesh, revealing a tiny little pinkish grey brain. It’s making an ungodly screeching noise, I jab the knife into the brain’s center. Now it’s dead. But I feel no relief in this.
“So evil, it was so evil.” I mutter.
Then an overwhelming sadness take me over. I sit perched on my knees, pants drenched in a mire of water and catfood, sullied knife in hand, I begin weeping.
Then Wendy says, “Wait, where’s the other one? I can’t find the other one!”
Time and space warp and shifts. I find myself in some old vinyl record shop, sifting through bins of scuffed used record albums. I come across some that seem rare, oddities from bands I’ve adored, I think. I set them aside, and keep sifting through the colorful and strange LP covers. After a short time of this, some balding man steps up to me, maybe in his sixties. He’s wearing all grey clothes, he looks as though he stepped out of some very old dusty factory of a bygone era. His face looks leathery and reddish, with deep wrinkle lines running from his jaw to his eyes, which are crystal blue. He starts telling me it’s time to close the doors, I’ve only a few minutes. But he sort of rambles on about needing to make sure I get whatever it is I want now, because it will all be gone tomorrow. I start flipping through the little stack of obscure but somehow familiar records I’ve picked out, knowing I can’t possibly get all of them today. But like the man said, they won’t be here tomorrow. I feel a bit flustered, as I cant decide what the right choices are.
Sleeping Visions From Another Dimension 2
March 31st 2012
Friday March 30th 2012, 9:25 pm
We’re terrified and cowering in a shadowed closet, a very poor shelter from the horrors outside that I instinctually seem to know are there. I step out as quietly as possible. I gesture to Wendy to stay put. Gazing around the place, I don’t recognize where we are, some strange house. It’s about mid afternoon judging from the level of light coming in from a nearby window. Needing to assess the situation, I very discreetly shove the frail pale lime green curtain aside to peak out. Oh god, oh god! They’re everywhere, we’re surrounded, no way out of here. My throat chokes up with fear. Startled, I hear a noise, and turn to see another couple flopping themselves on a worn down dirty gold color couch, the type you might’ve seen commonly 20 years ago. This couple are wrestling around making all kinds of racket. The woman, maybe in her early fifties, has dark hair and dark eyes, laughing a slightly drunken sneer. She wears simple jeans and a dark long sleeve knit shirt. The man she’s playfully roughing it with seems younger, with short brown hair, shirtless, ratty old jeans, and he too, is laughing. They’re both acting as if nothing is wrong, when death lurks just outside the door. I tell them to keep it down, we’ll be heard. They laugh some more. I take another quick look past the curtain, noting the window is smudged, the afternoon golden white sunlight glares across the grime adding some obscurity to my vision. Looking outward, in the immediate greenery yard area, are numerous walking grotesques, dead people reanimated somehow. Oh shit, one of them is only a few feet away from the window, eyes black as rot, but I don’t think it sees me. The thing’s blank expression, disturbing in it’s lack of coherency. Some of staggering dead have gaping wounds caked with blood and gore, while other others barely have faces left, their skin, whats left of it, blue spotted grey. They stumble around somewhat aimlessly. I can hear muffled sounds of moaning, and gnashing of teeth.
Looking up past them to the near roofs of this run down neighborhood. I see something even stranger and possibly more horrifying. There are maybe five dozen or so, what looks to be, giant spiders. They’re hairy like tarantulas, but with much longer thinner legs. They’re all in a wide variety of colors, some are pale browns, some whites, while others are grey with black spot patterns like a leopard. It feels as if they’re stalking the once human, zombified things. They all face downward toward the yard areas, motionless. Their positions, crouched, give the impression that they’re waiting for some signal or command, about to launch an assault.
Another laugh grabs my attention. Turning to face the strangers, acting as if they’re on some drug, I notice more of the room. The walls are an off pale yellow with large stained areas. There are dirty dishes with crusted on food laying around on the floor, along with colorful children’s toys, and a pile of soiled clothes. The carpet looks old and grey, has worn patches in it where you can see the marred cement foundation. I find it odd that there are no flies, considering the terrible odor in here. For some reason I’ve got the notion that these strange people don’t live here either. Its as if someone had abandoned the place suddenly. How did we all get here? How come I can’t remember anything? The couple continue rustling around, cackling more loudly. My frustration and fear rises, my blood rushes, I can feel my face flushing with heat. I vehemently tell them to knock it off, we’ll be heard for certain. They ignore me. So I say it again more earnestly, “Shut the hell up!”. They stop and look at me for moment, not saying or doing anything, just these haunted stares with grinning teeth. Then the laughing starts up again even louder.
Suddenly, time and space warp and shift. We’re now in a car, Wendy and I, driving down an ordinary city street, with businesses and fast-food restaurants to either side. Its still daytime. Up ahead of us is a red convertible with the top down. And the strange man and woman from the disheveled filthy house are in the sporty red car, both having turned around to flip us off, laughing as they haphazardly turn a corner. I grimace in anger and panic.
Sleeping Visions From Another Dimension
March 30th 2012
Thursday March 29th 2012, 8:30 pm
Marred and scuffed, decrepit. Abused quite a bit, banged against for years by the neighborhood kids roughhousing it, playing street football. Etched with wide swaths of scratches and smudge marks, like its lived a full life and every experience has been recorded on it’s flat aged surface, a suburban texture. Wearily screeching when moved, it lifts up difficultly now. At one time it was a light fine grey with a perfect pattern of steel beveled squares, I’m sure it had been pristine and shined with a proud newness. But its become very tired, its appearance very rickety and feeble. Something about it went off kilter some months back and we just couldn’t get it straightened out. You never really think about these things until they quit working, so easy to take them for granted. I’m sure if I’d known anything about how to take better care, we’d be well and good, it might not have withered and worn until much later. But alas, its going to have to go. So today we broke down and ordered a new one, a different style and color but complimentary to our humble abode. Now we have to wait for it to arrive before seeing the change. Its going to make the house look so different, a bit of a cosmetic sprucing up.
The Old Garage Door Needs A Rest
March 29th 2012
Wednesday March 28th 2012, 8:35 pm
Rows and rows of fantastic vividness, realities of all kinds, just waiting for me to pull off the shelf. I’d like to believe they’re made just for me, but that is far from the truth. I know, because making these four color tales, I know I really make them for myself. More of my selfishness, although I very much appreciate everyone who is willing to spend their hard earned money on my measly works. I lose my mind a little bit every wednesday, new shipment day, if I can make it into the shop. There is a certain kind of rush I get approaching the entrance. Dare I say its an addictive reaction? Eager to see what is waiting for me get all giddy over, to see what has been squirreled away in my pull list bag. Every week there are things I have to pass on, but so want to tuck under my arm, laying claim. I hate that the most, having to let go of what could be a good find, but money versus everything else means making scrutinizing choices. Trust me, I probably spend too much on this stuff already. I find that I lose all sense of the day whenever I’m in the shop, Time beats me so easily here. Quickly lost in all of the cover art and geeky conversations… “oh they’ve done what?”…”No way! I can’t believe it!”…”so and so is doing so and so”…nerd gossip-gasms! Ultimately I feel like such a heel, a derelict, when I realize hours have zoomed by, got things that need doing. Like I said, Time easily defeats me when it comes to comics.
Not So Hard Being A Comicbook Junkie
March 28th 2012
Tuesday March 27th 2012, 7:40 pm
Below is the cover to Batwoman 10, in basic stages.
The very rough sketch for concept approval…
The black and white version, I decided to keep most of the rendering techniques out of this one excluding on Batwoman herself. As I wanted to get a different effect than previous Batwoman covers I’ve done…
The goal was to keep things almost monochrome, or a limited palette. Placing all of the focus on Batwoman through color use. And on the encircling villains I used only simple grey textures, just enough to darken the image, while retaining the graphic quality of that portion of the cover. And then by leaving the background white and digitally painting white fades over the edges of the villains gives this very nice tunnel effect, Batwoman emerging from the light into the threatening darkness…
The logo and text application needed to service the design much more than usual. Reinforcing the circular aspects of the image…
Tuesday March 27th 2012, 7:12 pm
Stacks and stacks of vivid fantastical worlds of all kinds, just waiting for me and only me. Or so I like to believe when I’m immersing my fevered brain into the coolness of it all. Every week they multiply, grow and grow. Tales of all sorts, because I can never be satisfied with one type of thing, I’m selfish that way. However, I tend to get a little overboard and obsessive, and it all easily gets out of control. So many four color stories to read, and the black and whites too, but time is limited. My war with Time continues well into my enjoyment of entertainment. I need to find a way to streamline, simplify my piles of nerdy goodness that I covet into the house. I guess I like too many things. Some for being highbrow, while others for their pop, and some because they’re cheesetastic. I so relish the discovery of new stories and characters, making tough choices of where to focus my attention. As my attention seems to be easily diverted and scattered to such a degree that I have a runaway collection.
Hard Being A Comicbook Junkie
March 27th 2012
Monday March 26th 2012, 9:09 pm
Awkward looking stroked textures. Done in impure tones, sort of an icky green is applied, and a very midnight blue on the garments. Slightly pale pinkish tones for the wall, and very blah earth tones depicting the floor. There are pops of haphazard purplish reds indicating roses. Dirty pinks and greens for a potted plant that seems to bloom carnations. To one side in the upper right corner there is a blocky abstract shape done in a more primary blue and bright red. We’ve stared at that corner for years now, still unable to decipher it. There is an oddly stiff mermaid, no water in sight of her. Her face is a bit pudgy but long, with very level eyes. Her expression blank but not necessarily lifeless, lips crimson red, as she sits propped up on the very bland floor next to the potted plant, her attire the murkiest of color that seems to blend right into the broad flat tail of her aquatic slightly chubby lower body. She also has what appears to be a pulled back wedding veil in off whites, ringed by those purplish red roses. She holds a drab bouquet of white and yellow flowers in one hand, but not held up with pride, but rather sort of depressingly flat against her lap. It all seems to evoke a vague Mediterranean cultural feeling for some reason, Spanish, or maybe more westerly, Mexican. Quite crudely applied, but yet somehow engrossing, captivating and charming at the same time. This, along with the slightly surreal aspect, draws in perplexity, so wanting to know the story behind it. It was a secondhand purchase acquired quite some time ago, for its intriguing haunting quality. Not knowing a thing about it, but pulled into it just the same. Its quite at home here in our eclectic little house.
A Strange Mermaid Painting From Another World
March 26th 2012
Sunday March 25th 2012, 8:28 pm
A symbolic connection in the form of a platinum package, shiny, gleaming, and enticing, like a gift on Christmas morn. Inside are little gems of color wrapped squares, making crinkle noises when opening them up. We are happy with anticipation of nipping at the harmoniously concocted confections that grab at our sense of desired treats. Milky robust trickles of creamy candied dreams dance along, sugary and sticky morsels of caramel, mint, and dark cocoa. Edible trinkets handed by gracious demeanor. An easy simple thing that swells our hearts with gratitude. A present and token given to us from a place of thoughtful sweetness.
Chocolates From Gina
March 25th 2012
Sunday March 25th 2012, 1:53 pm
Haden and I just found out that our work on Batwoman has won this year’s coveted GLAAD award for the comics category. This is extremely gratifying, because we’ve been working very hard to make this character multifaceted and someone to believe in, while showing her develop realistic personal relationships over time. So the recognition from the GLAAD awards bolsters us greatly. And thank you for all of the support the series has been getting from you all, the comics readership community.
Sunday March 25th 2012, 1:33 am
Having gotten off to such a late start last night, led to a very grumbly morning for Wendy and I, but mostly due to very little rest from a very bad hotel/motel situation. Not our choice really, beware of nice looking room photos when choosing a place to stay overnight, deceptions. Our mood a bit gruesome while loading the car back up in a heavy dreary drizzle. Tired and extremely hungry we made our way over to what turned out to be a very great diner. Taking a seat at a window facing counter, we haggardly try to ease into a positive mental state for the day ahead. You know a place willing to serve filet mignon with eggs benedict must be pretty amazing indeed. Our eyes glossing over to an oozing gliding melting swath of buttery goodness floating across a perfect golden brown surface full of blueberry delicious tongue pleasing sweetness, heavenly. Sitting alongside are three thick strips of bacon of a surprising long cut, cooked to an exquisitely balanced savory texture, and favorable portions of lushly set scrambled eggs, scrumptious. Numerous servings of coffee perk our numbed senses into a more human semblance of existence. My eyes blinking heavily as I’m waking more to fully enjoy the company of my lovely wife. Sipping away and taking in our pancake perfection, bite by sigh inducing bite, we voyeuristically watch out the window. Rain pours down in a hypnotizing effect, as many passerby with interesting array of umbrella patterns come to and fro, a tight beige plaid or tweed here, a red and white striped there, a bright polk dot, but more often, just a simple black. A little charcoal gray pigeon struts along bobbing his head, weaving in and out of empty courtyard iron seating, looking quite purposeful, as if it were making regularly scheduled daily rounds through the little cove of eateries. All leisurely happening while noting that this is probably the best damn pancakes we’ve ever had. Such a satisfying meal for such a weepy day.
Warm Breakfast, Drenched City
March 24th 2012
Friday March 23rd 2012, 3:56 pm
Tomorrow will be the signing event at Blue Moon Comics. Haden, Wendy, and I will be there. We hope to see some of you sweet people if you can make it. We’ll be bringing art for show and tell, and copies of the sketchbooks from the online store with us too. It’s a two pronged event, day and night, details are on the Blue Moon site.
Friday March 23rd 2012, 3:04 pm
Nervously getting things organized, and still trying to defeat time. We’re having to make last minute preparations for a signing event tomorrow, but need to leave like last hour! I always get wacky when getting ready for these things. I think part of it is that I never know how well they’ll go. I’ve had plenty of good ones, but every now and then we’ll get a clunker, and I’m kind of sitting around waiting. Or someone very strange shows up, we’ve had some very odd encounters over the years. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate anyone who shows up wanting my silly little autograph for their book. But like I was saying, sometimes we’ll get someone coming through the door who is a little…unhinged. The other part that makes me get nervous is making sure I don’t say anything kinda stupid, make a good impression and all that. I always want to treat the readers with the utmost kindness, but these events can sometimes be a whirlwind and cause some oblivious behavior by being a little scattered in my thought process. I’ve never handled myself the best in front of the public, social ineptitude, anxiety. I’m sure it’ll be fine, just me being my usual nervous ninny self.
Trepidatious Events
March 23rd 2012
Thursday March 22nd 2012, 9:34 pm
Oog, oOg. Me am BRAIN-FRIED! Me LooPy heAd now. Ug UHg. Me reVert To CavE man. Me VERy HunGRY. Must fiNd fOOd…then Go to Nite niiTe…OohGa. Ugoh ThortHY MirklthtW b Lpoo Oog. Lif Boo t Ful. qqRN Me DamllTt. Aagh! gooGooG…
uGH!
MercHhh 22ceNd 20tElv
Wednesday March 21st 2012, 10:19 pm
Rushing, or at least the sensation of it. Too much to do. Antsy and heart jumping, makes me edgy. Trying to get everything done, but seconds have turned into hours, zooming past. I can’t seem to catch up. Things lag, I lag, no… lagging is no good. Frustration settles in, but I diligently march on. Argh, March is two thirds over already! The clock won’t slow down for me, its in super-fast express mode, its become my opponent and it’s winning. I have to stop glancing at the damn clock, I hate living by a clock. Just stay focused, I still have so much to do before the end of the week! Time is whizzing by. Stupid time! Wait…whats that I see from the corner of my eye? A wicked leering Time-Man, dressed in a slick black suit, a bow-tie, and a top hat, pompously smirking and taunting me right now, and leaning over my shoulder making crude gestures.
Mister Time Is Flipping Me Off
March 21st 2012
Tuesday March 20th 2012, 8:59 pm
Tossed and wrapped in discomfort. Hot then cold then hot then cold. Kinked up neck, my head shoved in awkwardly, can’t breathe right. My foot won’t settle, twitch twitch twitch, my mind won’t power down, itch itch itch. Twisting in on my self, contorting, seeking a calming position. It feels like an eternity. Tightening my eyes only for them to spring open unwanted. Glaring at me, mocking, the glowing clock digits flip in slow motion. Been having this go on a lot more in the last couple months. Clenching my teeth, so I take a deep breath, let it out gently. Drifting in and out, feeling loopy, but relief is elusively toying with me. Flop toss flop. My stomach is acidic. Grumble grumble grumble. Hell, even the damn covers are agitating. Grumble.
Another Sleepless Drag
March 20th 2012
Monday March 19th 2012, 7:46 pm
Syllables, sounding them out in my head, into coherent words, and eventually forming sentences that we can live with. Sifting through paragraphs, looking to make sure the right meaning is in there. While bringing out the language of story that is entertaining, and still engaging on multiple surfaces. Subtext is always key. The patterns and placement so very specific, the right order has to be garnered. Dare I say there can be tedium in this process? I hate to think that, but it can be true. It crunches the mind in such a unique way that words cannot describe the feeling properly, there is irony in that. The third draft being simply catching bumps and blips, with a few notes to resolve questions or problems. The stage is set, the final wrap always takes place with a phone conversation, smoothing out the rough edges.
A New Script Being Born
March 19th 2012
Sunday March 18th 2012, 8:58 pm
The white golden light grows ominously dim, adding another layer of dreariness to my already groggy head, as dark nebulous billows begin to overtake the cerulean horizon. Shadowing the far hilltops in deep dull grays, as if the very color of the nearby countryside were being soaked up and absorbed. The duskiness blots out the last remnants of warmth, and gales rise and fall. Invisibly dancing through the corridor space between the fence and our back house wall, knocking wind-chimes we have stationed around the perimeter of the yard. They’re singing sweetly a random incoherent song that feels like home. The rushes of gusting air blow off petals from the tiny white blossoms of our plum trees giving the faint impression of soft snow fluttering along and eventually coming to rest on root filled soil. Then, without warning, thousands of round icy little meteors crash down, breaking the serene feeling with a pelting blanket of raucousness. There is always something quite enrapturing about stormy weather to me.
Hailstorms In A Small Town
March 18th 2012
Saturday March 17th 2012, 6:38 pm
Electric, sizzle, and epic, full of voracious grabs for mind and heart. Filling me up with bold vivid vibrations that make me succumb to the whims of it’s fervent energy, placing my consciousness into an ecstatic rhythm of a grand rock’n’roll imagining. Although there is an intensity that is somewhat unrelenting, there is also moments of sweetness, honied voices beckoning to follow along with the lyrical verses of higher thought. I am mesmerized and lifted, I am deepened and overwhelmed. There is genius at work here, but I shouldn’t be surprised by my feelings listening to this new piece, as I’ve always been drawn in by the lush almost metaphysical sounds of any of the Archdrude’s opuses.
Julian Cope’s Psychedelic Revolution
March 17th 2012
Saturday March 17th 2012, 2:23 am
Birthing celebrations and honoring dear friendships that are close to our hearts in our frantic lives. Laughs over cocktails and steaks, rambling on about comics and films. How they’re made and how they turn out in the final product, passions of what makes us tick like walking bombs of creativity. As always, conversation turns toward the crazy politics in America for a bit, before turning our oh so insightful sarcastic gaze toward random fun junk. Nutty TV shows that are highly intriguing. There is this one we’ve been stuck on since it’s first episode, endlessly captivating for so many paranoid psychological reasons, deeply thought provoking. “Doomsday Preppers” anyone? Who knew the end of the world was something so many lived by for their daily routine, no offense. Awaking to “Awake”, another fascinating show of interest, about a guy who is living two realities but can’t figure out which one is actually a dream, excellent character acting. His life changed forever by the death of his wife in one reality, and the death of his son in the other, gotta see it. And as the night meanders on into lighthearted silliness, munching on shamrock shaped sugar cookies for St. Patty’s Day, we find ourselves temporarily obsessed over medical issues via smart phone access, ailments galore fest…Web Md can be scary to surf. Name your symptom!
Fun With A Little Apocalyptic Hypochondria
March 16th 2012
Thursday March 15th 2012, 8:00 pm
With bold strokes of my brush I attempt to bring forth new life to an enigmatic engaging character. To show a different kind of vitality than what I’ve done before. I’ve rarely had opportunity to tackle this persona, especially in this way, and wish to bring a simple direct but powerful style. One of purity that symbolizes the ideal of them appropriately. Knowing full well the primary colors of this hero will come into play vividly interacting with the line, their attractive curves and strong sovereign personality. So I remove all of the shadows. There is a certain respect I feel must be represented with the decision in my stylistic approach, but yet reflect in subliminal ways a cultural significance as well. I must do them justice.
Icons In Ink
March 15th 2012
Wednesday March 14th 2012, 5:33 pm
Fluid roundness of thick black confidence splashed with supple embellishments. A perfect balance of shadow and light that exudes pure wondrousness to behold. The unadulterated majesty of composition certainly makes me envious. Adoring the retro-cool sensation I get from the perfectly primed images without feeling old or uninspired leaves nothing but a fresh breath of air. It would be criminal for any shelf or prized long boxes holding comics to not have a fine sample of his works. I will never tire of the impeccable display of talent involved in every illustration, easily getting lost in the lush craftsmanship of a true master’s touch.
The Steve Rude Experience
March 14th 2012
Wednesday March 14th 2012, 11:41 am
Today sees the release of Batwoman issue 7. Our second installment of an unorthodox espionage plot. This second arc is a tricky one. We felt that there a lot of different things happening over different amounts of time. And that each element’s time progression and length for the event being focused on starts in different places but all end up around the same moment roughly. As example, the reveal of Maro’s schemes shows that he has been at this well before the events in issue 1. We’ve read plenty of espionage plots for comics before, that are released as periodicals, this type of plot can move very dryly when read in installments over several months. Mainly because the juiciest action climax stuff will be in the last chapter. So we thought it might be interesting to remix this by using different pieces, moving through time at different rates of speed all bookended each month by part of the climax. Yes, each story segment takes place at different times, but each also moves forward in linear fashion leading up to the climax point in time, and allowing for specific reveals to happen in a different way, helping to make the smaller and bigger moments sort of interact narratively. We knew going in, this would be a risky idea, but Batwoman has been about risk from the beginning, even in Elegy there was manipulation of time and story, taking chances is what stories about this character have always been doing.
This second chapter of arc 2 is visually brought to us from the talented Amy Reeder. Its unfortunate that she is moving on after only three issues, but bittersweetly we have this week’s issue 7, and later issue 8 from from her to go. Below is her cover to #7…
Tuesday March 13th 2012, 6:04 pm
Thinking things through. Choosing the right context and metaphors to present a verse like paragraph can be daunting, and somewhat self-incriminating. I guess what I mean by that is sometimes these little works of mine are a bit melodramatic, but a lot of the times its the melodrama that can get the mind moving and the heart feeling. At least for me anyway. I also want to sort of test on how far to push phrasing, breaking down verbal expectations. I find experimenting with what is termed purpleness to be a strong mental exercise in understanding language flow. Sometimes the effect can be over the top, but quite often when it goes that direction, that was what I was after. I also find the literary criticism of saying something is too flowery a bit ludicrous, I’d much rather read something with a more poetic or esoteric mindset than not. I like the challenge of that notion, and like the way it forces a different form of thinking. Sometimes in these daily musings I’m attempting to evoke an atmosphere that goes beyond the subject I’m addressing, word paintings, and as result the verbosity gets intense. A lot of these posts are not thought out ahead of time. But instead, written from my gut, a more immediate jotting down of an idea or feeling on something from the day while exploring what makes up the reality around me. I also like going after words that sometimes have to be looked up. The english language has a large vocabulary and I like to find new words, so I try to use them. I feel since they exist, give them purpose to do so. Speaking of words, I find that occasionally I become subliminally obsessed with a word, and it will crop up often without meaning to keep using it. Sometimes I don’t realize I’ve repeated a word in that way until going back a ways into several days of writing to analyze what went down. I find this repeated word occurring curious from an analytical perspective. It raises questions in my mind: Are some words caught within our personal vocabularies for psychological reasons? Or is there some outside influence bringing it forth in regular patterns? Or is it there because our subconscious mind is trying to draw connections to disparate ideas? Or is the word coming from an inner voice that wants us to learn something from it through some form of very obscure presentation? Its this exploration that I’m after as well in these odd little posts I’m doing daily.
Choice Words For The Short Term
March 13th 2012
Monday March 12th 2012, 10:06 pm
There is a certain kind mental pressure that takes place when working on an illustration, a page for comics. Its hard to put into words properly, but everything I draw always feels like there is a form of risk to it. Its like living with an uncertainty at work everyday. Part of it comes from never fully knowing if what is sporadicly flowing from my mind through my hand and onto the paper is any damn good or not. There is a constant worry that it might suck. Even more so, when I know deep down a portion of the drawing is just plain wrong, and nothing I’m doing to improve it is working. That happens more often than you can imagine. The intensity of trying to draw a story in a compelling manner, the importance to attempt progress upon what was drawn the day before, can be very overwhelming. At least it is for me. There is an undeniable assertion to propel forward, to never feel like I’m sliding backwards. The strain of inner conflict of mind exertion that becomes so profound that it raises stress. I know, it sounds strange to use the word “stress” when talking about illustrating. But it is indeed there, primarily because I know it has to be a good drawing, I have to perform (another word I don’t like) regardless of how I feel, and especially when doing comics, while trying to push boundaries of what is expected. The undertaking can be exhausting actually. Some days nothing wants to work right, or it takes much longer than anticipated, time is priceless in this business, one bad day can throw off an entire month sometimes. There is just never enough time. Yes this is a dream job, but its like any other job, its not stress free. Thats how it is for me anyway. You may find that the most surprising thing about this, after what I just explained, is that I still love and enjoy what I do.
Drawing Lines Of Tension Across A Flat Surface
March 12th 2012
Sunday March 11th 2012, 7:45 pm
This afternoon shows we’re fast approaching the time of year when the weather is optimum for us to pick up on one of our favorite things. Throwing on shorts and tying laces, Wendy and I tread out into the open world of sublime fresh air. The crisp subtle rubbery clack of our shoes against the pavement, striding down the street, waving hello to neighbors watering their yards. Moving past fields of short lush greens, plants starting to bloom, we head toward the outskirts of our little suburban community. Its late in the day, and there is a peaceful vibe. There is something pleasing and easing in the sound of pebbles crunching softly under foot. Flocks of birds having conversations as they flutter in and out of the trees ecstatically. Buzzing insects zipping past our faces as we too have our own conversations, deliberating and deciphering meaning from this past week’s events in our lives, sharing swigs of water. A squirrel or two scampers to find a safe distance. We stop at a little makeshift memorial along the road where someone must’ve died from an accident or some other tragedy. There was a small collection of candles with images of saints, along with crosses and other trinkets signifying to passerby that this person mattered. We paused with a thought or two noting the sadness of family and friends this person has left behind, clearly loved. We move on, silent for a few moments. Its still a little bit chilly, but this will change soon, you can see it in the way the light has elegantly altered the direction of the shadows cast from the surrounding buildings. There is an arresting warm orange glow to the highlights on low level shrubs, and rustic fences, bringing a vibrancy to purple flowering dangling branches. This is beauty.
A Walk With The Looming Sunset
March 11th 2012