The Frisbee/Beer Toss

Katie and I are working on an 8-page minicomic that she wrote and I'm illustrating.
Huzzah!
It's a little one shot short story exercise in dysfunctional relationships.
My specialty!

I'll be working on that over the long weekend/week off in the hours I might be sober.
Thankfully vacation is almost here. I can use some time worshiping the sun in my new girl bathing suit and cowboy hat sipping some hard iced tea. Have you heard of this new Frisbee game? Basically you balance an empty beer bottle on the top of a thin post and the goal of the game is to knock the bottle off the post. First team to 21 wins. Teams of two. There's a post set up at either end of the Frisbee pitch --about the distance of a horseshoe toss, and it's 3 points if you knock the bottle off directly and 2 if you hit the post and the bottle falls off. If the opposite team catches the bottle (remember it's glass) than it's one less point for the scoring team.

I tried to find a youtube video of this but to no avail. It's really quite fun.
Ive got to work on my Frisbee aim.

More Pictures

A few more pictures of some of the rooms in this place.

Now, I know it's not what you expect from a mansion. There are no garishly large televisions (says the girl who owns a garishly large television). There are no in-your-face-elements or overwhelmingly poor choices in modern design. There is nothing that shouts money money money anywhere in this place (unless you're looking very hard). There is however, a slight sea breeze and plenty of light. Italian tile and uneven floorboards. There are ancient, almost threadbare rugs and travel books vying for space between the cookbooks in the built in bookcases.

These pictures are probably a bit dull. I took them at about 6 this morning.

You cannot believe the quiet here. No, it's not quiet. It's life. The terns and plovers warbling, and the crickets chirping, the rabbit's waffling their noses at the smells of Eric making dinner. It is the sound; not far off at all actually, of the ocean lapping at the shore. It's the smell of saltwater New England and the occasional diesel truck chugging it's way along in the sand. It's my new home away from home.

Be Jealous

I am all moved in!

Or mostly anyway.

If you asked me what I'm doing I'd say "Just living the dream, brother. Just living the dream." and smile at'cha.

And I think in very real way I AM living most artists' dream. I have my very own beautiful , spacious, sunny home, on a private island (islet, actually) for the entire summer. Where I can paint and walk the dog and think and write and run. And play the piano! I just signed up for lessons today. I think it is going to be an incredible summer.

Swing on by if you're in the area.

One more something

Not a big post today.
It's a slow Monday.
Here are a few prelims for Dean, Duck's older brother.

And if you're curious about what that slightly balding, very likeable Craig Thompson is up to see his latest stuff here. That boy can draw. And like him, I tend toward the very long publications. Although this piddling little book is a far cry from 900 pages! Good luck Monsieur Thompson.

Dusting my pants off.

my 5 minute invincible sketch.
the goggles are wonky, i know... i know.
(but it's only a sketch)

Well, I officially didn't get the grant I applied for. Fearing rejection I waited, well... quite a long time before opening it. But, well, now it's official.

I want to say something about rejection.

Yesterday morning I went looking through all my old art stock for charcoal pencils and the like to bring to the place I'll be staying for the summer. Along the way I unearthed a beautiful wooden box my dad made for me when I graduated college. It's roughly the size and shape of a briefcase, latches and all, and although I should know what type of wood it's made from, I don't. It was covered in about an inch of dust and after wiping it clean I felt a bit sad, like I should be using this more.

The purpose of the box is artistic portability. Inside there are compartments for pens and pencils and brushes and all sorts of anything you might need or want to create with. On the top there is a slat perfect for storing paper or thin canvas and the whole thing closes up exactly like a briefcase for the artist on the go. We had seen one made of flimsy wood and glue in the Art Store just before I graduated, and my dad asked me if I liked it. I told him that I liked the design but it looked cheesy and breakable and that the stuff he made was much better. So he went home and made one for me the following week.

On the top shelf of this wooden briefcase there was a fancy hand-made paper bag. In it were all sorts of letters and napkin poetry circa 2002. As I was unfolding this stuff it felt like I was unfolding myself, but a rougher, angrier me. I must've packed up this time capsule of self as Amy and I were having our falling out because among the personal miscellany are quotes like “Aim, I love you but don’t fucking trust you.” –tana and a blurb from g--- about running through a hotel stealing ice and filling up the sink and how we absolutely have to try it that ends in “-but I was also on a lot of meth then, too.”

6 years is a long time.

In the middle of everything were some notes I had scribbled about a book I wanted to write about a community of lesbians living in Boston…

6 years is a very long time.

Robert Kirkman, the man responsible for Invincible (today’s sketch) and some of the freshest, most excellent comics on the market today said that people will occasionally come up to him at conventions and say I have been working on this amazing project for like, eleven years and if you want I will tell you all about it and you can use my awesome idea! And Robert’s response to these guys is to say, listen jackass, if you have been working on the same “awesome” project for eleven years all that tells me is that you can’t finish anything or you’re lazy.

So which one am I?

Today, I am neither.

Rejection is fine as long as you don’t let it cripple you. The application I sent was an unfinished hodgepodge of pasted ideas and character sketches-- Nothing like a polished project. The book as it is today is a far cry from the one that was reviewed and, when it comes time for the next review session I will be ready.

Remember that saying “If at first you don’t succeed try, try, again.”? Well, I’m pasting that up on my desk right beside “Anything worth doing is worth doing right.” I’m not known for my optimism, as anyone who knows me will tell you, but after opening the time capsule of my old self it’s remarkable and somewhat inspiring (if I do say so myself) to see just how far I’ve come.

Rejection isn’t the last thing, it’s the least thing.

Gallery

What I should do is set up a full gallery of my work. Pin-ups, and illustrations and sequential so that you don't have to go scrolling through all my old posts which probably gets annoying. I'll dust off my dreamweaver skills and get crackin' on that.

Or maybe I'll just link to a Picassa account.

The Guillotine has fallen

For those of you living in the Boston area, it's GAY PRIDE weekend!
Hooray!
My lame friends are threatening to avoid the uber-commercialized festivities and attend only the block parties. Such is the fate of the married, which -Oh my goodness!-transitions nicely into this weeks post. For Duck the guillotine has fallen. How will she pick up? How will she move on?

As my good friend Kristen observed earlier this week "Married is just so... married."
Well said Kristen.

The First Three

The first three pages of Duck! all polished.

We're in the process of picking the nits now. Mostly it's little tweaks here and there; a word balloon moved, a slight alteration in the narrative- that kind of thing. It's not nearly as grueling as actually drawing the stuff. I wonder if all artists labor quite so much.

I'm guessing they do.
They must.