Wednesday, September 5, 2007
I have had a lot of time to think this past month. The opportunites have been abundant-- while I watch Mythbusters on the Discovery channel in the morning (those two guys are hot), waiting for the mail (is it eleven yet?), on my morning bike rides (is that a branch or a dead snake?), making my little-girl bed, doing dishes, trolling CL for rooms and jobs, hanging out with my parents, thrifting, reading (aesthetics for its nutritive value and food writing for its entertainment qualities), sewing for the Zinefest and doing the dishes. I have come up with nothing. No ideas for the Submarine, no plots for Fat Camille, no innovative messenger bag designs, no get-rich-quick schemes, no career ideas, no grad school illuminations. Are they lurking behind the curtains, waiting for their cue, have they fled the building, is there something I forgot? Thinking requires more than time and mind-numbing activities. As I stare at my fat and flabby brain, lolling indolently on the laz-e-boy, I am deeply chagrined and at a loss. What else can I do? I am waiting for my fingerprints to come through so I can sub in the City. I am diligently looking for things (tho' I am succeeding more in the clothing department than I am in the job hunt). Is it because I don't have a desk? Is a desk a necessary accessory for thought? Pressure? Deadlines? I am hoping a job will come soon and rescue me.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Things I must have at the table in Ought-Eight! A button machine. All the cool kids have one, and I am going to drag my little sister next year so she can run it! Something Silk Screened. Always the Trouble with Color. My crummy little printer does stripes on things and getting stuff done at the photo place is spendy, so this year I am going to spend the big bucks and get a silk screening set up (because why save money when you can spend more!) The H, nuff said. More Fat Camilles! With silk screened covers! with lots of color, color color color! Art Prints! Of what, I don't know. Maybe small ones on nice all-cotton paper.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Saturday, April 14, 2007
The bugs have been drawn but they need something to say. A few are in comprimising positions. I need to come up with some witty, risque, naughty things for them to say. My brain is out of ideas. I should take these over to the Blue Bonnet Sports Bar (open at 6 a.m.!) and gather some suggestions.
I just wrapped up two intense comic workshops with the Small Set. In the morning I had the fourth to seventh graders and in the afternoon I had the second and third graders. Quite a few kids have taken the class before (serial offenders or fan club members, depending on one's perspective). Both groups were great. I have found that nearly all the kids take the class because they want to take it, and as a result, their behavior and attitude is stellar. The class has no pretensions to fine art, high class or something that a neurotic parent would push their children into. I never have parents reminding me that their child's Ivy League education is resting on my shoulders or anxiously asking me if their toddler has "talent". Au Contraire It is the cool parents who sign their kids up for my class, the ones who think childhood is for fun and exploration. I love being a catalyst for healthy projects. Ezekiel and Dave Ezekiel and Dave appeared on the page last spring, as yet another pedegological sample (like Fat Camille). In fact, they predate her. I was trying to show the students that writing legibly was very important-- nearly as important as content. (Not to be confused with the nefarious content issues that plague adult book artists). There is a reference to them in Camille's Eye Balls. I have started a few other ED stories, but never got around to finishing them. The characters are rather dense and pathetic, and there already is so much of the underdog aesthetic in the indy comic world that I hesitate to even put any more energy into them. Usually the students say they don't get them, but that they are funny. I suspect they add the "funny" statement to protect my feelings. Action Packed Tacos That is indeed a penguin. The story revolves around an evil, trident-wielding mouse, a magic taco and a penguin who just wants "a refill." The artist is 8, and male. To see more kids stuff, come to the table, I'll be shamelessly selling them.
We are at table 274, on the Mezzanine. I don't know how it works, but they always put us there. Its a cool spot, with 360 degree visibility. I am thinking about having some kind of food there to entice the hungry. Or maybe not. What is not up for debate is the huge Fat Camille that will be floating behind my head.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Friday, April 6, 2007
Its slowly dawning on me that this handmade, low capital format has severe limitations. If I want to keep doing this, I am going to have to start taking it a bit more seriously (which is something El Caballero has been saying for months) or at least convincing someone like a publisher to take it seriously. Its still fuzzy in my mind what exactly wooing a publisher would actually entail. I keep waiting for an angel to come down and give me a Word.
Calculus and the Modern Girl
I took the proofs to the usual place. My favorite xeroxer was there but she was busy, so a new guy helped me out. He was very nice and thoughtful and did some complicated math to make sure I could get as many copies of the book out of the $50 gift certificate that Seaweed Girl gave me.
Me: how many copies do I need to make to get the lower price?
Him: (after a long, thoughtful silence) Vell, ve vould have to do a derivative first...
I couldn't tell if he was joking, but for an instant I could see him in a white lab coat, standing in front of a large blackboard.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Monday, April 2, 2007
Friday, March 23, 2007
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Sunday, March 4, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
I was in a bit of a tither earlier today. I was working on the next Fat Camille and all sorts of critical words kept popping into my mind. Nasty words orbited around my head like mean little asteroids. It got so bad, that I started incorporating them into the story, as if I had Tourette's, where the more I wanted to ignore them, the more impossible it became. Then I felt even more retarded. This wasn't a part of the story. I didn't want this here. 'Cuz its My Fucking Praxis Usually when I am working, its Deep Camilleland, and my voice is the only one I am hearing. I create a safe bubble where things can crawl out, do their funny dance and leave their little tracings on my pad. Then later, when I am editing, photoshopping, or wielding the mighty white-out, I can be critical, brutal and be concerned about larger issues of flow and coherence. I have gone through The Artist's Way about a half dozen times over the past six years. I used to always skip the part where she asks the reader to list out all the critical things that have been said, that have created a "block." After twelve years of pursuing my art, I have developed a rather thick skin, and outside criticism hasn't been much of a hindrance (not to say there aren't plenty of other internal hindrances). I was feeling guilty for the first time and so crummy that I thought briefly about scrapping the whole book. Locus of Control I had forgotten about the Rule of Silence-- the idea that while a project is in its proverbial infancy, it shouldn't be exposed to the harsh florescent light of judgment. It should have a nice warm place to gestate. Otherwise, the artist will start picking on warts that aren't even there, and there won't be anything left of the original idea, and it will, actually, be lame. PS Hey H, I want to see this in book form at APE. Let me know if you want some scans, or the original.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Fortunately, we have much time, little Happygoaters, to get the paperwork in order, for now, To your Drafting Tables!
Monday, February 12, 2007
I'm thinking I might make books of art therapy directives. Or I will publish scribble drawings. Or other fabulous things I have ideas for but little time to execute. Next week is vacation, I will get those things done next week! YES! I MUST! I WILL! Wait... I have vignettes to write up next week... Maybe I'll publish a book of my students drawings.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
1) I can draw hair
2) In spite of drawing in a cartoony fashion, I can also draw people who don't all look the same.
I saw this guy in the Valley. I am not sure that he was really French, unless I actually heard him speak that language, which I don't remember.
This guy really exists! See him in Big Shaft. I dare you!
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
I drew in Muttonham last night for the first time in a few months. I was delighted that another one of my favorite models was there. Beautiful Conundrums The model was so beautiful that he was difficult to draw. Artists often prefer drawing ugly things because then no one is going go judge us for failing at some standard of beauty. We love the fat, the rolls, the dimples, the hair and the scars. No inner voices are going to accuse us of misrepresenting that mound of flesh. But when we have something beautiful, all of a sudden, it is Eric Satie falling at the Altar of Beauty. Auguste is staring over our shoulders snorting derisively. Not only am I uncomfortable joining the worshipers, but I have enough doubts about my own skills. The horror of coming up short is something that can't even be looked at in the face. Just think of all the terrible, hack portraits of beautiful women floating around, at the garage sales, behind people's couches, on the walls of adolescent boy's rooms-- its a ring of Art Hell that should remain unspoken. Muttonham Beauty When I drew him in April of '05, I didn't even try to transcend. There was no way to get around it, so I embraced being an awkward 12 year old girl, overtaken by swoony, day-glo, heart-dotted waves. I couldn't take the situation seriously. Not only did he look like he was chiseled out of caramel, but he was bald! All he needed was some rose petals and the rapturous vision would have been complete. Nearly two years have passed since the last time, and last night I was able to avoid putting hearts all over the paper. I have graduated to some hack homo-erotic level. The reasons to never do erotic art just keep piling up. A few years ago, I was vaguely tempted by the whole genre, but my native inertia and the fear of dying too early to destroy all the evidence in case it fell into the wrong hands prevented anything coming to fruition. NB Notice I am not blaming the model for being beautiful? The ridiculous situations I am relating here took place entirely in my head.
Saturday, February 3, 2007
Life drawing is a collaboration between the model and the artist. The model is putting on a performance with their body, just like an actor. Unfortunately, sometimes they just sit, and the artist has to compensate with her imagination. That is how fat camille's body was born. I was drawing a bored, overweight model. She was not engaged at all, and for hour after hour, she sat, lumpen, in the middle of the room. Her head got smaller and smaller as her body reached enormous proportions, and soon I was drawing the fat camille body, complete with the featureless face and buns. These drawings, on the other hand, are of Paul. I have drawn him a couple of times over the years, and one time I actually hired him to come to Flip Flop. He always brings a bag of toys. The contents vary. Sometimes he's got a phone or a ray gun. This time he had a cigarette, a turban and a toy pistol. He makes faces. He tells stories. I hadn't seen these drawings since I did them, and it was a pleasant surprise to see Paul gracing the pages of my book. Wisteria For the last few months, my private student and I have been drawing the trunks of old Muttonham wisteria vines. She is 14, and embraces the dynamic membranes of the twisting plant with unselfconscious gusto. We usually draw together, and this is one of mine.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Hey there. My name is Mike. I will be sharing a table at Alternative Press Expo with the infamous Art teachers. I have no idea how they put up with me. Also, I have been given free reign to edit this blog to suit my needs. I feel compelled to expel the word "fabulous" from the top header like a menacing phantom. It's an uncomfortable word full of Hollywood sheen. Speaking of sheen, I have a blog you could check out. It has a random assortment of comix for your reading pleasure. Here's a sketch I did for those happy folks lucky enough to celebrate V day: Hey, thanks for reading. Maybe I'll see you at APE. I'm the one with the glasses. - Mike
Monday, January 29, 2007
Friday, January 26, 2007
I just finished this last night, on my newly cleaned drafting table. I started it one afternoon, drinking coffee in Cafe Perg with El Cab. He was busy writing theology, so I bummed some notebook paper off him. It was a rare day when the cafe was staffed by quiet baristas, so I wasn't distracted by anything.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
I am deeply unhappy with my drafting table. In fact, its chronic creakiness is keeping me from even sitting down at it. My head is bursting with comics. Fat Camille is bursting to get out, but she is only half-formed and embryonic. The Submariners are cranky and uncommunicative. I am thinking about petitioning Procurement for a new one. Is this a true artist block, or just a flimsy excuse?
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Hey Happygoaters! I could just email you both, but why bother with that old millenial communication form when I can make this a post? I sent the paperwork in (but the check hasn't cleared), and they replied with a strange form having to do with seller's permits. Fear not, it will immediately go into the pile labelled "pronto!"
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Mike and I have been discussing whether or not this is going to be a sketch blog or what. I have been arguing that it should be germane to what we are going to have on our table. I am thinking about doing photo post cards again. They are very expensive produce, and they hardly sell, but they make great gifts for my aunts. I might do some mass-produced holgagraphy, because everyone will want some square postcards that will require first class postage, right? I think my attitude about the postcards is terrible, but my ego desperately needs to see some of my photography highlighted.
Friday, January 19, 2007
I am not ready to think about the Submarine Files yet. The submariners are not talking to me. They are out of radio range under the Arctic ice shelf doing their secret stuff. I have been talking to Rockland Gainsborough, the admiral, but as usual, he is very private about his projects. We usually just talk about the weather, his golf game and other harmless topics.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Mike did these on a trip he took to Australia. This example illustrates his ability to bend and twist the illusion of space in addition to his complex composition.