Tag Archives: Art

The Best Things in Life Are Free, You Can Keep ‘Em

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I uncovered even more jobs I did (mostly) for money, including, Big Face Records in 2012, a rap label that never took off.

Wish Slap from 2010, a truly terrible idea for a TV show where you paid money to have someone slap your favorite celebrity.

The cover (actually used) for the 2014 fantasy noir anthology, Fae Fatales, where I was first published.

And finally, Li’l Dicky from a Bush Administration parody comic I pitched to the Unemployed Philosopher’s in 2004, rejected because “There’s no way Bush will ever get a second term.” This is the worst reason I was rejected.

i did a lot more commissioned work than I realize. There’s more to come.

To Draw or Not to Draw

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Back when I wanted to make action comics, I had a little vigilante with no name. His original story was five issues, based on Hamlet. I wrote the first five scripts, but they are lost to history (Newcastle destroyed my laptop), and my attempt to make a novel of it failed when I couldn’t make five issues drag on for more than 20,000 words. The book would have been called Tantalus. I modeled the character after Bruce Lee, and I gave him a cane he never needed when he was fighting or doing parkour (symbolism) as well as a scarf that would have been a good visual. The book was always intended to be in black and white. I decided, after fifteen years, to draw the character again, and I went a little more stark than he had been in the past. It would have been called Tantalus.

Here is the one I just did.

Here is one of my earlier sketches from 2002.

A more dynamic one from 2003 I would like to have used as a cover:

As well as a couple of dynamic pictures from 2008.

I think I’m done with this character, but I loved his look, and he’s fun to draw. The one I just did didn’t turn out great, but I should give it another shot.

He Works Hard for His Money

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It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes people hear I’m an artist, and they think they could get a custom logo for their businesses. They rarely ever used my art because my style doesn’t necessarily have that clip-art, professional je ne sais quoi that makes it look corporate. What they needed was a graphic designer, but they still paid me, and it is some of my best work. Here’s eight examples.

First was for a post-apocalyptic novel series that I think the author did actually use. It’s a pretty good logo, in my opinion.

Second and third are for a Southern barbecue restaurant that never took off. This guy was never satisfied with anything I turned in, but some of the sketches turned out well regardless.

A friend wanted to write a kids book about a misbehaving kitten, and I mocked up a couple of character sheets, fourth and fifth, and some pages, but the book was never written.

I can’t remember what the sixth one was called, but it was for an indy publisher. This was the one ultimately used on the only book he published, but it took a couple of tries to get it right.

The seventh one came about when a roller derby team asked me to make a figure for their flyers. My style would have been a great match, but they didn’t like my first draft because apparently this is something you’re never supposed to do in the ‘derb.

And finally, the owner of the salon I used to frequent asked me to help with a warning label. The figure chosen from the sixth picture would have the circle/slash signifying “no.” They liked the idea, but it wasn’t slick enough.

Of course, I used to do work for PPC Hero, but my art was never clip-arty enough, and they eventually let me go. The blog no longer exists. That’ll teach them.

I’m happy to be doing my thing these days, with no hope of making money. I may turn in some fantastic work, but it’s usually not good enough for what the client has in mind. As I said, I’m not a graphic designer. Even the ones that used my ideas tended to replace them as soon as something better came along, which is what happened with the comic I wasted 2004 working on, The Book of Jesse. The one I am good enough for is myself. There was a long period of about four to five years ago when I wasn’t, and my art was bad (even my birthday self-portraits), when I was doing it at all (my birthday self-portraits). My renaissance began with a pushy coworker demanding a portrait, but once I shook the rust off, I’ve been amusing myself, and if I can’t do that, then what’s the point?

Justice Stinks!

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In west-central New Mexico there is a humble city. Maybe not that humble. Anyway, this city was a magnet for evildoers, and wherever and whenever crime, mayhem, and naughtiness struck, its humble (or not) citizens would cry out for the fragrant justice of their hometown champions!

            When he was a child, young Barry fell into a radioactive sewer and gained the power and abilities of that sewer! From that day forth, he dedicated himself to the protection of Gallup, New Mexico as Sewerboy!

When he was a child, young Eugene sat down on a radioactive cactus and gained the power and abilities of that cactus! His idol, Sewerboy took him under his wing, and he fought by his side as the Kactus Kid!

Over the years, they developed quite the rogue’s gallery, including The Nitpicker (“You’re going to jail, Nitpicker!” “How can I be going to jail if I’m standing right here?”) …

The Passive-Aggressive Giant (“I guess I could go to jail. I feel bad about my mom, though, who has a bad back and can’t do any of the yardwork.”) …

And Irwin, God of Cannabis (“Perhaps we shouldn’t, uh, talk about Irwin.”)

But never was evil more powerful than with the caffeinated villainy of Major Jitters, who drank a radioactive cup of coffee and gained the power and ability of that coffee, and she chose to use it for nefarious ends. All it takes to unleash her awesome gifts is a wholesome mug full of Joe.

With her army of café-themed goons, she has cut a swath through the innocent (?) city of Gallup.

But when it comes to muscle, none can defeat the Percolator.

When evil is afoot, when all seems lost, you’ll hear the battle cry of Sewerboy and know you’re in safe hands.

“Justice Stinks!”

Does Whatever a Mortal Can

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I love drawing comics. The comic book I’m working on, the second chapter of Best Fiends Forever, is not my first comic book. The first chapter of Best Fiends Forever was not my first comic book. The one I worked on nineteen years ago for those smug dudes in New York who badmouthed me after I quit was not my first comic book. My first comic book was MortalMan, in 2003, and I dug up some of my sketches from back then.

You probably don’t know this if you’ve picked up comic reading in the past twenty-five-to-thirty years, but once upon a time, issues were self-contained, and the only thing you needed to know was in a one- or two-sentence summary near the logo. For example: “When Peter Parker was bitten by a radioactive spider, he developed abilities of a spider and learned that with great power comes great responsibility.” From there, you’d pretty quickly catch up on Spider-Man’s specific powers and enemies, usually through narration.

For MortalMan, the banner was: “When Joe Branford was bitten by a radioactive spider, he had a rash for three weeks and learned that with no power comes no responsibility.” Joe (first pic) was a good-natured teenager who watched TV and read comics perhaps a little too much. However, this prepared him for some of the weird shit to hit Gallup, New Mexico. For example, he was not fazed when he met a talking dog named Pete, figuring he was just bilingual. Pete is a goth. He sees the world as gray and bleak, he writes dark poetry, and he attempts suicide in the first issue (if I were going to write this again, I’d probably change that last bit). He and Joe hit it off, and they hang out at the mall.

This is Kgnydjll and Fphihln (pronounced “Nigel” and “Phil”) emissaries for the Galactic Empire who come to Earth in the first issue to welcome us to the fold. Unfortunately, they arrive in time for a Science Fiction Convention, and no one believes they’re aliens.

I had a lot of big plans for MortalMan, and I wrote a lot of scripts, but I never followed through with them. Joe and Pete were going to run afoul of a pair of John-Woo-inspired super spies and a mob of Tarantino-esque gangsters at a Mafia Convention being held in Gallup, and they were going to rediscover the long-retired superhero guardians of Gallup, Sewerboy and the Kactus Kid.

One of their rogues’ gallery was Irwin the God of Cannabis.

More on Sewerboy et al on a separate post.

At one point, Joe was going to get sucked into hell and would escape when a pair of little boys, attempting to tunnel to China, dig a hole in Perdition’s walls, leaving Joe stranded in Hastings, Nebraska. On his way home, he’d run into my most ambitious creation, M: the scourge of I-80, based on my dear friend, Emilie. With her sidekick, Pixie (based on our friend Abby), she leaps from car to car and liberates the change from drivers’ ashtrays. To pull her off, I’d have to learn how to draw a lot of cars and some very kinetic poses. Twenty years ago, I knew I had it in me. Now, I’m a little more humble.

I still have the original art for the comic, sans word balloons, but I don’t have the script, nor the scripts for future issues because Newcastle liked to sit on my laptop, and 18 years ago, he was much heavier and broke my hard drive.

And yet, I am starting to look for a projects after I’m finished with Best Fiends Forever…

Call It A Draw

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I’ve been prepping for a while now, and I have one more pre-production task to do, but this weekend, I’m going to start working on my third comic (technically my seventh, but the other four were done roughly two decades ago). I’m looking forward to this. I’ve got a script that’s been broken into pages and panels, and a lot of the obnoxious stuff has been edited out. All I need to do is finish layouts before I pull out the Bristol boards.

I learned some lessons from the last two comics I did, and I want to incorporate them into this one:

  1. Don’t rush. I’m not on a deadline, and no one is clamoring to see it. I need to take my time on each page.
  2. Don’t settle. I have an eraser, and I can use it as much as I need to. I’m never happy with the art I finish because I’m frustrated or I just want to get it over with.
  3. Watch the eraser. I’ve come to realize that the larger erasers I’ve been using are smearing the paper. I need one I can control.
  4. Backgrounds, backgrounds, backgrounds. I need to put as much work into those as into what I’d rather be drawing. A good background is invisible, and an over-simplified or missing background is glaring.
  5. Most importantly, practice. If I don’t know how to draw something, I shouldn’t learn on the page.

On the last point, the first page of my new comic focuses on children. When you’re used to drawing adults, it’s tough to remember that they’re not miniature adults. Take this panel from acclaimed comic artist, John Byrne. These are toddlers.

Mindful of this, I gave it a try for myself (while also practicing how to do a playground and mountains, both which also feature on page 1). I did way better than acclaimed comic artist, John Byrne.

On the left is Max Fuentes, Criminal Mastermind of the Third Grade. To the right is his enforcer, Lisa Green.

Another problem I have is likenesses. My former neighbor, the eccentric bombshell Cleo, guest stard, so I gave that a shot (while also working on backgrounds). I still need to do her roommate, Brandyn, who also puts in an appearance, but I have plenty of time to practice until I get there.

No more excuses. Time for layouts so I can get started. Wish me luck!

And Another Thing

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One more point on the reason I hate AI so much and why it’s not art: What’s the point? If you can produce a professional-looking image or a coherent novel or even a movie just by filling in some Mad-Libs, why would you even bother?

It’s frustrating that my art doesn’t look like it does in my head or that I’ll never illustrate those action comics I used to fantasize about walking home from the PATH train. It’s disappointing that I’m not going to finish the last comic I started working on. But look at what I’ve done in the past 25 years. I can crank out a full-color drawing in about a day, and it’s hard. And yet I take pride in my poses. I savor filling in the details. I can’t do that by typing in a box.

I’ve written over 30 novels, plus several unfinished, and with each one I fell in love with the characters, and I learned who they were with every page. Whether you’re a plotter or a pantser, piecing together a story is a rewarding challenge, and one I hope to get back to someday.

I’ve even made 2 movies in my life, one in French, and I don’t even remember the finished project. I don’t even remember the titles–wait. They were The Rat and Rambo et Juliet. What I do remember clearly is hanging out with my friends and traveling all over town and being goofballs and how Max simulated the sound of someone falling off of a balcony (he stomped on a small branch behind the camera).

I’m never going to be a famous artist or writer or a filmmaker. My stuff will never be as polished as what some of these AI engines have produced, and I don’t care. It’s not sampled from other art (I use a lot of references, though, and some swiping) and writing and movies, it’s mine.

One day soon, all of our popular movies, books, and graphic images may be produced by AIs, but it won’t be art. And I, for one, and really smug about that.

Or, to put it another way, I bought this from an MOC site.

After spending an hour with it, I had this.

Another hour later, this:

I could have scoured the internet and found a Short Circuit action figure and put it on a shelf and forgot about it immediately, or I could have spent my drawing time this morning enjoying it, feeling it in my hand, guessing which iconic part of the robot I was constructing next, and building a scale replica of a memory from my childhood from a couple bags of plastic. I feel accomplished, and on a day I had Artist’s Block, I passed the time (somewhat) productively.

Some things shouldn’t be easy—not because it’s hard for me, but because it’s good for the soul.

Ginger Rap: A Eulogy

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It is with a heavy heart that I must announce that I’m putting my current comic, Ginger Rap, on hiatus. It’s not that I don’t have time, it’s not because I lost an interest in drawing, it’s not because it sucks. (Pages 1, 2, and 5 are really good, but it’s not working.) And it’s not because someone read my first color comic, “Haute,” and realized what a genius I was. It’s because it wasn’t doing what it was supposed to.

I decided to illustrate this comic for two reasons. First, I wanted to make a comic. This was not my first comic, and I really enjoyed it. In fact, about a year ago, before my renaissance, I remember thinking that it would be fun to do another comic. Too bad I didn’t draw anymore. Here I am, with fifty sheets of Bristol board, ready to have some fun. The second was that if I drew a lot and a lot of the same characters, over and over, I’d be a better artist.

So here I am, treating the comic as a duty, and wanting to draw bigger pictures, while not enjoying the quality of art I was putting out. I like simple comic art. It’s the reason The Kindly Ones has always been my favorite Sandman story, and why I will buy anything Matt Wagner illustrates. However, my art has been oversimple, unlike the art in my sketchbooks. I had forgotten everything I had just learned about anatomy when I penciled and inked the pages, and I did it because I was rushing. My comic book art has been getting worse.

It’s time to step away and do a post-mortem. Even though each page had been penciled, painted, and inked, they look like sketches. Meanwhile, my sketchbooks have hardly any sketches, rather complete pieces of art. I’ve been treating the whole page like the medium, when I should be making each panel art.

In addition, I’ve been learning a few things, I bought a hand model (first thing I did was flip the cats off because I am a child) and a book on anatomy and a book on perspective. I’m experimenting on some tricks to give my characters more depth.  

So I’m not quitting. But if I spent some time away just practicing and learning, it would be really jarring for the art quality to leap like that between pages 8 and 9. Is it time to put Ginger Rap to rest and move on? I’m really looking forward to the last page, though. That’s why I said hiatus and not canceled.

But you see what I’ve been doing, right? Totally worth it.

Create Expectations

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When I started writing again after a long hiatus, I was working at The Container Store, which is the most on-the-nose name for a place of commerce since I hung out at The Coffee House in Lincoln the summer of 1996. My shifts were typically six hours, and they could be at any time the store was open or closed, which meant overnights or every Thursday at 5:00 a.m. I was itching to write, but I could only pull it off if my shifts were in the afternoon and evening, as after work, I had no energy or focus.

I didn’t want to be one of those writers who talks about writing but never writes. Writing isn’t work to me or a duty or something I have to do; it’s a process that brings me joy. Every day I couldn’t do it left me frustrated and depressed, leading me into deep planning mode. I noted that, because I’m crashing from my day, the only thing I do in the evening is watch TV or scroll slack-jawed through the internet. My solution was this: hack off that part of the day and gift it to myself on the other end when I have the energy.

Now, at four in the morning, I wake up and get ready, and by 4:30 (I’m a boy), I sit down at my desk or on my stoop, weather permitting, and this was my time to write, every day. I could write a lot or a little, as long as I was writing. I could scribble, “I got nothing” in a notebook for two hours, and it would count as writing. Several months ago, I started drawing, which crowded the writing from my schedule. Now, at 6:30, when I usually need a break, I hop the train to work and draw at my desk until I clock in at eight. The hour at my desk is important because I use my time in the ungodly early hours of the morning to illustrate my comic, which I can’t and shouldn’t bring with me to work. That leaves me with an hour plus lunch with my sketchbook and no restraints. As much fun as the comic is, it’s nice to branch out and play around a little.

I put a lot of time into being creative, so you’ll understand why a man with a lot to worry about is still pretty content.

Unfortunately, I’m entering a bit of a depressive period. I don’t mean depressed like sad, or even the kind of depression that turns my world into black and white and freezes my joints. Aside from concern over Newcastle, I’m actually doing quite well. The problem is, food doesn’t taste good to me anymore. Music doesn’t sound good to me anymore. The new Guardians of the Galaxy is out, and is apparently pretty good, and I couldn’t give less of a fuck. And yet, even this numb is better than the alternative.

Another sign that I’m on a downswing is that my artistic output goes down. I still work during the aforementioned mornings, but I’m more likely to wrap up early or get pulled into the movie I have on in the background. I’m still cranking out pages—I just filed page 6—but I’m less satisfied with the work I’m producing than I’d be if I were level. I’m still drawing in the morning, but I’ve been setting up my drawing gear for lunch when I’ve changed my mind and skipped it altogether to eat while I work.

It’ll come back, it always does. It’s hardly worth mentioning. Except that Newcastle has been extraordinarily clingy lately, and I don’t want to miss any time with him, so I’m probably not finishing page 7 by Sunday evening. Up until just now, I was cranking out two, maybe three pages a week, but between my inspiration drying up and my muse being such a narcissistic asshole, I’m not finding a lot of time to work on my project.

But my reason for creating art is so I can take pleasure in the craftsmanship, from watching a plot unfold before me to scribbling a circle to stand in for a head while the body takes shape. I got to letter in the word “diarrhea” today, with an accompanying facial expression and pose that really sold the dialogue. If I’m not having fun, there’s no point in doing it, so I’m going to have to take it slow for a while.

And if it means I have to be even slower for the sake of my cat, then I will gladly take my sweet time. Doing it amateur means no deadlines.