Spreeee.

And what it's like to work in many colors.

Exacto.

Everything nice.

Snakes and snails.

A little cut 'n paste experimentation that had me verging dangerously on Scrapbookland.

Artful Chaos.

I was directed to turn this image around, and now my sense of linearity is completely thrown. To me she is moving backwards. Unbreaking that glass. Unswirling that jelly.

Immortal Waitress pt. 1

Cat's Affection

Thank you, Ennui, for the lovely gift of snuggles and dead baby rabbit.

All the pages of our life.

Great idea from a really cool-sounding couple.

Revisionist Folklore.

...and the Journeyman bard that loves him.

Bookplate 1

Playing an ode to Ti-Jean. Trickster and hero and diminutive farmer.

Queue.

Wait your turn.

Getting a move on.

Prequel.

Back when hats were befeathered and toes were kept under wraps.

At her royal highness's bidding.

Master Sergeant Plug of Her Majesty's Second Infantry Division

Look again. It's only the mildest of glamours. The trick is to start with the feet and work your way up. Even the least of Her servants has learned the art of stillness under scrutiny, but this particular fellow has a peculiar sensitivity about his toes. Peer extra hard and he will start to fidget. Lean in and you'll see the telltale blurring around the edges. The rest of him can be tickled out and cloven from his shade. But there's no predicting his mood, and a sullen Plug tends to spit.

Answer.

Last of the armored guard.

Lonely? No. Mostly I just go around relieved there's no one near to observe the witless shit I do all day.

Subterranean by design.

Slipping through the cracks.

Loftier purposes.

A simpler riff on an older pic.

You really DO always come back!!!

Droooool.

DeNotes

Before you wreck'em.

An eye-opening campaign from Canisius (Roswell supported) had me raising an eyebrow at a less than impressive mascot. Felt he needed a little improving.

Non G-rated version hidden under a stack of orchestra mice.

Lord, but the things I've done to rodents these past weeks.

home

Making my due sacrifices to Hephaestus and getting reacquainted with my slippers.

Von Boyage.

Well, in a few days.

Pterodactyl-sized butterflies whomping around in the pit. Strange for someone who clearly has no guts.

Oh, lord. Do I bring my pillow?