Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Friday, November 30, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Knees have turned uniformly black after last week's tumble.
Adding brocoli to the lunchly mac n cheese for a pep turns my pasta greeeen. With envy.
Seeing red on the couches--spilled red wine and bulldog ooze-face. The wine comes off, the ooze does not.
Sworn off the Raw Sienna 552 that's commandeered every brush I own.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
And so exhaled their concerns--as much for themselves as for her. For if a king's strength is enough to inflame his people, there was the thought that his madness might be enough to infect them.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
The elements plotted against us.
How shall we punish these two sillies caught out at dusk?
Yes, that will do!
It was a gentle suffocation, to be sure--caught between falling night and the pleasantly perspiring earth. Perfectly poetic. But all I could think of was our stone colored dresses, and our clay-stiff hands and how no one would find us here washed onto and into the rock. The lookouts from the castle had been sharp-eyed once--two generations back. The flocks of sparrows were notoriously careless and cruel--if they even remembered us in the morning, it would be with a snicker. The mountain himself might have noticed--but at the moment was cozying up with a floozy cumulonimbus, settling in for the night, curling us into oblivion with his littlest finger.
Just us and the False Folk. And that thought is enough to make a person cry out in terror. But the closing dark left no room for even a squawk, and our muteness worked against us. So the wordless spaces filled with dark eyes and pale fingers and wide mouths that knew neither song nor rhyme, and we despaired of any rescue.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
He only moves within the fringes of sight, and there his face is blurred by fear. Your own.
In the way of all of Those Who Follow, if you look back, you'll have trapped him. If you run without acknowledgement, it will be the reverse.
For the seat is not for him, you see.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Headed south (Western PA, WV, NC): Ripley, Starbuck, Tesla Road, Amity, a few Lykan Buslines. Brutish, practical, no nonsense. Perhaps not surprising from the land of Hi-Tech corridors and the GITRDUN license plate.
Going east (Eastern PA, NYC area, Connecticut, Massachusettes): Ichabod Road, Hamlin (as in the Pied Piper of), Cheshire, Buckland Street (LOTR), Peter Pan Buslines. Charming and relatively fresh-faced in the realm of story. All bouncing off one another like so many pins and balls rumbling through the Hudson River hills.
Northward bound (New Hampshire, VT): Glastonbury, Boreas Road, Milton, Minerva. No messing around here. Between bear sign and the steely-eyed locals, there's clearly no room for whimsy. Only contracts signed with Old World gods will save you from being frozen out.
Back home: The Hyde Collection, Moreau (The Island of Doctor), Leatherstocking Region. We're New Yorkers. If we're dealing in fictions or folktales, we want them bound, packaged, and preferably in novel form. Nothing if not neat expediency. And don't forget the tight confederacy of NY city-states (Utica, Syracuse, Ithaca, Homer, Ilion, Rome). The perfect welcome back to the pen weilding, regimented traveller.
Monday, September 24, 2007
The other side of the Seven Ravens. From where I sit, things are looking more sparrow than crow, but the metamorphosis isn't complete, and it's not quite October.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
I arrived to find her in the kitchen, grinning, berobed, and tucking away at an entire lemon meringue pie.
Me (panting, not a little sweaty): "--Grandma?"
Grandma (winking and gesturing with her spoon at the half-finished pie): "Want some Chinese food?"
Friday, September 14, 2007
And then wind, flame, dance, song cohered in a great swirling, leaping, dancing, single sphere.
..."What was that?"
..."The birth of a star.""
--from A Wind in the Door,
Madeleine L'Engle (November 29, 1918-September 6, 2007)
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Sometimes not. Last night at Barnes&Noble, I'd seen myself off to the back aisles. Nothing so comforting as the serene ballroom progression from L's to M's in Sci-Fi/Fantasy. Le Guinn... McCaffrey... McKinley... and two-two-three, and three-two-three and bow. I blindly struck out a finger at the first spine, and withdrew--of all things--a retelling of The Seven Ravens.
Those odds? A little troubling.
Monday, September 03, 2007
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
--where she paints her cheeks and hennas her hair, and slows her paces long enough so that darkness pools in her footprints. And she sends her pale hounds away and calls her red hounds to heel. And the bear is caught dangling in a net, while the scorpion falls beneath a dozen angry snouts. And she waits throughout, in a knit of shadows that stains her pale dress. And then bends, with her pack, to a hideous feast.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Friday, August 17, 2007
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
A thunderous clap would have been nice, though--to herald The Tempest.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Check out the headers. The idea to use handwriting was an Alex original, and I think it was well done--softens the antiseptic bent, livens things up. Though I'm not convinced that the standard cast of fineline piggies and frogs really gels with my psychopathic script.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Monday, August 06, 2007
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
The Snow Queen
It's no secret that Andersen hated children and the aristocracy, but apparently his disapproval extended to skeptics, actors, and, seemingly, number theorists.
Friday, July 13, 2007
And when the seas receded, they left a seed which sprouted and grew tall. And the birds would dart like minnows through its hair while the sweet, sensitive deer schooled in its shadows. And it mocked the desert summers with a submarine grace and chided the winters with whalesong. And when the simple townsfolk ventured out, they would croon and bow and garland it with sage. And they called it Lan-yir, Messenger of the Waves, and tended it with great care.
And generations passed, and in the fifth and twentieth year of King Meshna the Forthright, Lan-Yir was consumed with trembling and its heavy pods burst with effort and poured forth from themselves wondrous clouds of--
--WEBFOOTED SOULSNATCHERS FROM THE DEEPS!
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Monday, July 09, 2007
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
And grappling with the timeless 'blank page' issue. Drawing an open book presents the illustrator with a very real dilemma. To fill or not to fill. Theoretically the attempt at script should always be made--but the problems of precision and content are immediate and daunting. Should the artist take a stab at what is really the author's job and cross the line between illustration and documentation?
On the other hand, an unfilled page is glaring--potentially suggests indifference, lack of inspiration, or (god forbid) craftlessness.
I go back and forth. And am never quite satisfied with either result.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
There's been a recent trend dealing in the debunking of fairy tales. I'd go so far as to say that the modern writer considers it his duty to participate in the demystification of myth. And while there are a few commendable reasons for doing so (historicism, humor, feminism), the market has been overrun with retellings--some with premises so superreal as to be mundane. Bookstore aisles are swirling with narcoleptic Sleeping Beauties, compulsive Cinderellas, and wicked witch chem majors. I read a version of "Tam Lin" set at a college where the beloved was captured by study, and a modern day "Red Riding Hood" where the wolf was merely a predatory man.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Friday, June 15, 2007
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Amongst a smattering of Washington, Texas and Georgia(eh?) locales, my number one came up Olympia, Washington. Predictable enough, considering a lifelong goal of moving back.
Perhaps even less suprising were Alex's top two results.
Thassalotta frequent flier miles.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Recently purchased a copy of Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable. $5.35 at Milwaukee's best used book store. Now, I'm not posing it as a Dictionary Game replacement, but perhaps as potential alternative...?
Friday, June 01, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
And the crow led little Gerda to the back door, which stood ajar (whoops).
More from The Snow Queen's--
-Bustling back entrance.
Obligatory bird standing by--aid to my suspicion that crows are the ancestral chroniclers of all things Faery. Seriously. Take a flip through ten children's books. I'm willing to bet that in seven you'll find a crow skirting the verge in some illustration. Blinking at the audience. Documenting quietly into the underbellies of leaves. I'll stand by those numbers.
And sometimes bees.Though this particular crow is serving multiple purposes. In multiple skits. There's a pointy-chinned king in there. A pauper dressed as a prince. A goosegirl. Two arguing nuns. A tailor with a wagonload of invisible thread. And what looks to be a geisha buying (or is it selling?) lamps. A little gratuitous perhaps, but why not use one bird to kill, well...a couple of stories?
Monday, May 21, 2007
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Friday, May 18, 2007
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
--From Hans Christian Andersen's The Snow QueenI was lost for ideas and thought to seek stimulus from the personal favorite of a personal favorite. I'd never read The Snow Queen. It's fantastic--despite my fears that approaching it with agendum would wither its effects. Seems I work well through second-hand inspiration.
That being said, I'll hold off my ramblings on The Differences Between Art and Illustration for another day.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Needing a refresh in materials.
There are only so many times you can cut your india ink before it starts to lose its grip.