Illustration friday night: Pop Song
Tuesday, July 24, 2007, 07:49 PM - Art/Design, Illustration, Illustration Friday Night, , Lomography
Last Boat Leaving Elvis Costello (Spike)
I have piles of these Gocco prints all over my desk, in different stages of finish, as the screen had strange imperfections. But, me being a form of perfectionist, I had to hand retouch them all, one by one...
I am happy! Can you believe it?
So to explain myself: this is one of those pieces of mine that come from music. I am not sure you would call it a "pop song" but it is a song, yes. I love that album, it would be one of my favourites. Although, recently I got mp3s of the album (as my vinyl version is sitting in a garage in Australia) and there is a ring-in track... it just can't do, I removed it. Sorry Declan, but it broke the mood of the end of the record that I was used to.
I have another image brewing in my head from this album.
This item is for sale, finished of course, in my Etsy Store
illustration friday night: mistake
Thursday, July 19, 2007, 07:01 AM - Art/Design, Illustration, Illustration Friday Night
He looks pretty happy for the "mistake he just made.
I need to blog about some stuff, but I just don't seem to have time.
illustration friday night: Holes and other superficialities
Tuesday, July 3, 2007, 09:24 PM - Art/Design, Illustration, Illustration Friday Night
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 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?