Jack and Sara. That boy is a monster…
Where’d her wings go? That’s probably a side effect of having your heart eaten. Even if she continued to move autonomously after the fact. Maybe she’ll grow a new one, or maybe she’ll just continue living with a hole where her heart should be…
Oh Mom, the dreams are not so bad
It’s just that there’s so much to do
And I’m tired of sleeping
Oh Mom, that man he ripped out his lining
He tore out a piece of his body
To show us his “clean quilted heart”
Oh Mom, the bird on the string is hanging
Her bones are twisting and dancing
She’s fighting for her small life
Oh Mom, I wonder when I’ll be waking
It’s just that there’s so much to do
And I’m tired of sleeping
Drawn with a mouse. It’s much easier to accept something as imperfect when your process and tools themselves are imperfect…
haven’t been feeling real well lately.
Some of you may have noticed a lack of updates, recently. I’ve been drawing, but whatever little bug in the back of my head has been telling me nothing is good enough to even save, let alone post. So here’s some Norman Rockwell.
This painting is from 1938, but the sentiment is rather timeless, don’t you think? It’s called “Artist Facing Blank Canvas (Deadline)”. I picked up a Rockwell wall calendar for 2010, and this image is the selection for March. Hopefully it’s not an omen of my life continuing to imitate art…
Not forgotten; simply unremembered…
…if only we could tell ourselves what not to remember, if only we knew what kind of havoc that memory would wreak, what sort of things we’d be spared from. If only I knew to forget before I knew I’d remember…
you laughed a wicked laugh and said “come here let me clip your wings”
Just call me angel of the morning
Then slowly turn away from me
Step 1: Find photo of gymnast in awkward pose. Step 2: Crop. Step 3: Draw! This is from a photo of Olympic medalist Nastia Liukin.
I could eat negative space for breakfast. delicious.
Is it a shroud, or is it a reflection of what’s within?
more playing with shapes, colors, and textures. and yes, another self-portrait with a photograph underneath.
though I’m still trapped in the desert for now, it is as they say… even if you took me out of it, I doubt it could be extracted from me.
Matters of the heart meeting matters of the mind; the interconnectedness of human lives.
Are they inherently complex, or do we make them so? Is it in our nature to make mountains out of molehills, do we need to understand things so deeply that we must invent levels to explore?
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