It Is Bitter

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And He ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter - bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."

- Stephen Crane

This is a pencil rough of a poem interpretation project for one of my classes. It is a bit over the top, but so is the poem. What do you think? What should I change?

My Dopplegang

Friday has gone, and now I am in the middle stretch of a disappearing Saturday. This is what happens when I go to work. Of course, it happens when I don't work as well. I guess if I'm sitting on my ass all day, I might as well get paid thirty bucks for it. I'd like to get all pissy about not painting or whatever at home, but we all know that I'm not that hyper-motivated guy anyway. There are some of those types in my illustration classes and I like to spit on them. There is a one who I hang out with every now and then. We'll call him "Jeff." When I first met him, I hated him. He is loud, opinionated, haughty, vain (in a Goodwill kind of way), and a twin. In other words, he is me. (I’m not a twin, but the next step down.) He says things I might say, and I think, "what an ass." I am way too self-critical, and therefore, by extension, judgmental towards people who display similar attributes to mine. I can imagine in a world populated by Steve Haske's, I would be one miserable bastard. But "Jeff" has grown on me. I can talk with him about many a subject and it is like we knew each other from many a year past. We talk about such boring subjects as religious politics, insect anatomy, Photoshop tricks, and loss of innocence as if we both cared. (All except that last one - I really don't care about that.) Now that I have warmed up to "Jeff" there is another me, this time in female form. We'll call her "Miranda." Her, I hate. She is totally loud, opinionated, haughty, vain (in a Goodwill kind of way), and a probably a twin. She’s most likely at home sitting on her ass right now, eating Cheetos for lunch. What a slob. I’m not inviting her to my Game Night party tonight.

Pesky Hostages

This is a portrait of Vlad Putin, no name jokes please, gettin all iron grip on people. It was inspired by, or would illustrate this article featured in the finest of news sources, The Onion. I did it completely in photoshop, which is the first time I've done such a thing seriously. It took awhile to find the right pictures to use as textures. I'm sure all the searches and downloads of piles of dead bodies for the suit put me on some government watchlist. Remember the days of the encyclopedia? It always took me years to find the entry I wanted because I would get distracted by all the interesting articles on the way. Well, I'm that way on this new fangled intranet as well. I can't just look up Auschwitz pictures without reading about it as well. Not pleasant reading, my e-friend.

1) I got a painting into a Illustration group show on campus! It is my Switch-A-Roo piece. I would post it but I didn't document it before handing it over. I think the show goes up in two weeks or so. It would be really great if someone decided to buy it. I have never sold a piece to a stranger before. Also, making a few extra hundreds would be alright.

2) I just got a copy of Andrew Bird's new Album "The Mysterious Production of Eggs" put out on Feb. 8 by Ani Difranco's label. I don't love it right off. But maybe I will with more listens. I hope it doesn't disappoint me in the long run like Tom Waits' Real Gone has.

3) This is a great interview with Seth MacFarlane by The Onion. I am excited about American Dad; a great reason to watch TV superbowl night.

4) Marigold and I finally saw The Life Aquatic. William DaFoe was really, really awesome in it. In fact, so was everything. The only thing that gets me is that the story line and characters (and actors for that matter) were very similar to The Royal Tenenbaums. I couldn't help but compare Gene Hackman's charming asshole father figure to Bill Murray's charming asshole father figure. Wes Anderson's father must really be an asshole.

Love Machine

The only kind of robot I can get behind is a ho-bot.

Spin

Somebody who has in their possession my name, my wife's name, my address, and glove size has signed me up for Spin Magazine. Is this some sort of Ka-Raizzzzy Ka-Risssssmas gift? Or maybe a fellow friend who happened upon a free-subscription-for-all-their-third-cousins type deal? I suspect Justin. Although, I always suspect Justin, so maybe is someone posing as Justin. Just some Justin wannabe (Alicia). Anyway, This person has given me the gift of pop culture fodder. This and my obligatory four hours of television a day will make me a pop genius. A Genius! Ask me about The Killers. Ask me about Bright Eyes. Ask me about Desperate Housewives. I dare you.

An academic benefit of receiving this rag monthly is that I would see some new illustrations living in their natural habitat. I counted three used in this month's edition, which is not nearly enough in my opinion, but still better than many other magazines. Like Yachting Magazine. (Why is yachting spelled like that? Is it the Ka-Raizzzzy Dutch?)

SLC Punk

Fred, our upstairs neighbor, let us borrow us SLC Punk a few weeks ago. We finally watched it the other night. This would have been an all-time best movie ever if I had seen it when I was 21 or 22. As it is, I am almost 28 now and the subject matter wasn't as profound any more. It is such a Target Audience movie, and I am sad to report that I have slipped out. I look at kids in the mall with their pajamas and pacifiers, Trucker hats, really short skirts, bad music, and bad John-Hughes-rip-off movies and I shake my head. I wonder if I was ever that unaware of myself, while at the same time being so self-conscious. Of course, I was, but I don’t like to admit it. But I don’t want to give the impression that I feel old now at the hip-breaking age of the mid-late twenties. I still get amazed that I am 27 going on 28 in February. How did all that time pass? And why am I not a successful gynecologist/motivational speaker yet? Maybe I wasted too much time doing Target Audience things like going to bad movies and playing video games. Of course, I’m still doing this. Spiderman 2 and National Treasure were movies that I got excited about. So I guess my point is -- I’m a total poser. Fuck you.

"Concept" Art

I came across this Jon Foster piece in one of the Illustration annuals. It struck me. It is a good example of making an otherwise normal composition exciting by tilting the subject matter. That crow seems to really be irking that Robot where he is almost leaning or falling away. So I looked Jonny boy up. Unfortunately, this was the only piece that I liked. Sure, he's got skills, but the rest of his work is ho-hum fantasy illustration.

Now, I grew up a Star Wars geek, so I still have an affinity towards this style, like a long gone first love. But it disappoints me so much when I see people monkey it over and over again (Like Anime or Dungeons and Dragons. Can you honestly tell that shit apart?). This brand of illustration is inappropriately called Concept Art. The "concept" comes from the fact the ideas presented gets used later in a film or video game. However, it is not conceptual. In fact, very little thought goes into the piece other than the formal elements, or gadgetry. Often, not even the formal elements, but only the gadgets. Or only the giant breasts on the nearly naked warrior girl.

Anyway, SCAD now has a representative from this realm of the illustration world, Michael Phillippi. I am excited to learn how he uses Photoshop only for his pieces. I tend to think that makes really fake-looking art, but he makes it work for him. (At this point I think of Photoshop as a pre or post production tool rather than the only one.) He still suffers from the tendencies to draw dragons and dwarves over and over again, but I guess that makes money for him. I can think of worse jobs than painting the same "bad ass" elves, or whatnot, repeatedly. It's those people that get to work on Lord of the Rings and Matrix movies. I can think of a lot of worse jobs than that.

Tentacle Girl

We have a student club here at SCAD - The Society of Illustrators. Not The Society of Illustrators, but still a society. From here on out we will refer to them as The Society.

The Society is hosting a student show with the theme of "Switcharoo." I was excited that this might mean students would illustrate another student's idea, or thumbnail, without any conferencing between the originator and executioner of the idea. Each piece would have to be attributed to the two artists. Alas, it is not so. I get the feeling most people wouldn't really like that idea, as they couldn't take sole credit for the final product.

Anyway, Switcharoo in this case means that within the composition we should replace one thing with another, unexpected, thing. Like Rene Margritte. I should have been working on my piece during the previous five week break. Fortunately, I watched TV instead, so that I can do it now along with other school projects. The Tentacle Girl isn't what I'm doing, but I liked the little sketch, especially all DaVinci'd up in Photoshop. Remember Day of The Tentacle? That was fun. Bye.

Admiral Boom

I watched Mary Poppins for the first time last night with Marigold. Everyone is always shocked that I had never seen the movie before, so I guess I had to do it. Marigold thought that I would like because I like nonsense/silly movies/music. First off, I knew what it was generally about - a British nanny who magically teaches some rich kids how to shirk their work, but I didn't know that that was it. For a five-hour movie, I was constantly surprised that there was scene after scene of inconsequential frivolity. Oh, here's another three-hour scene involving ugly children floating for no reason! Big Fish was really the same kind of movie as Mary Poppins - whimsical, fantastic and sentimental, but not eight and a half hours.

However, I did learn a few things. 1) The British can’t say "two pence" properly. I had to ask Marigold what a "tapends" was. 2) London, even romantically painted, is one dirty, dreadful place. Maybe that is why people on the street have no problem shaking a chimney sweep's hand. 3) Based on all the Mary Poppins fans out there, it is proof that a twelve-hour movie is, in fact, not too long for popular consumption. 4) Dick Van Dyke has always specialized in lame faces. (Diagnosis Murder rules!) 5) Penguin waiters are nothing but talk. 6) Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon doesn't work playing over the movie. It gets very repetitive after twenty plus hours. 7) Even after the fiftieth time, the wooden leg joke isn't funny.

The only scene that actually made me smile was the sacking scene. I liked how shocking turning out Mr. Bank's umbrella, and punching a hole in his hat was.

Welcome to the Future

It is now 2005 and according all the sci-fi books I read as a kid we really should be floating in space now. Or have a colony on Mars. We are only ten years away from all the majesty of Robert Zemeckis' 2015. We really need to get cracking on all those wacky gadgets they promised - realistic, artificial plants; personal robots; tiny, mobile communication devices; a vast, interconnected virtual porn looker-upper; at-home laminating machines.

We tried to go out on New Years Eve, Marigold and I. We walked all the way down town to be with the other people with no real plans. When we got to the edge of the crowds, the back of the beer lines, we got scared. We suddenly, shockingly, realized we were fuddy-duddies. We didn't belong. We decided that next year we would get a cheap bottle of champagne, stay home and hump.

So to prove we still got the grove we went out last night to The Bar Bar (with much less of a crowd) and we danced, brother . . . we danced. I'm here to report large-breasted, blond ladies love to freak with me. And then walk away awkwardly as my wife points and laughs.