illustration friday night: special moustache
Monday, June 11, 2007, 08:53 PM - Art/Design, Illustration, Illustration Friday Night
We thought we had him, but he got away into the night...
illustration friday: suit
Sunday, June 10, 2007, 09:59 PM - Art/Design, Illustration, Illustration Friday
Does it suit me being heartless?
illustration friday night: I think we're alone now
Tuesday, June 5, 2007, 09:35 PM - Illustration
Quick, bumpy, train from Lille to Paris drawing that will probably evolve into something more.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007, 07:30 PM - Animals, Art/Design, Illustration
I GOT IT!
The French got off their butts and decided to deliver some of that mail I was / am waiting for, still two to go... but I haven't given up hope yet.
That is Howiezine: Myths and Legends closed and how it is when you first open it. It is really beautiful, although I haven't looked at all of them really closely yet.
This is the site I see now whenever I am home. Large "fat ball" on the left sat out through the whole of winter without being touched. In March, I bought a flowering quince, I put it on the balcony, it doubled in size... the birds noticed it, came to see, noticed the birdy ball, and now are feasting on it like madmen. We have chicks and everything. We haven't managed to snap the wren and her babies yet... it is cool.
Illustration Friday Night: A book I'll always remember: Ern Malley: The Darkening Elyptic
Monday, May 28, 2007, 06:58 PM - Art/Design, Illustration, Illustration Friday Night
That rabbit’s foot I carried in my left pocket
Has worn a haemorrhage in the lining
The bunch of keys I carry with it
Jingles like fate in my omphagic ear
And when I stepped clear of the solid basalt
The introverted obelisk of night
I seized upon this Traumdeutung as a sword
To hew a passage to my love.
And now out of life, permanent revenant
I assert: the caterpillar feet
Of these predictions lead nowhere,
It is necessary to understand
That a poet may not exist, that his writings
Are the incomplete circle and straight drop
Of a question mark
And yet I know I shall be raised up
On the vertical banners of praise.
The rabbit’s foot of fur and claw
Taps on the drain-pipe. In the alley
The children throw a ball against
Their future walls. The evening
Settles down like a brooding bird
Over streets that divide our life like a trauma
Would it be strange now to meet
The figure that strode hell swinging
His head by the hair
On Princess Street?