New Pieces

Two new works for this week, Ronin and Phoenix.



Not 100% happy with either. Ronin is so Japalophilic it hurts, too much over-spray and the dripping doesn't quite fit. Phoenix I'm happier with than I expected to be, it was mostly an experiment in drip and splatter effects.

Still, nice to be playing around. Both put together, start to finish in the one evening.

The New Scum Show #2 Exhibition

Made a shy return to the Brisbane art show last week with The New Scum Show #2.



The original New Scum Show being an exhibition the same two artists and I did in October 2009 at The Fort.

It was a really fun opening night, with three pieces selling. Which possibly means that I've come back stronger after a nearly 3 year hiatus.



I'm back, baby.

You know who else hates collectors? Commander Shepard. So there's that.

There's been a recurring argument in my life recently that I'd like to address. The art of blasphemous fuck all. If you have a bottle of Foster's Light Ice hanging around, yeah I can understand letting it go to waste. But let's say you have a bottle of Mountain Goat Cross Bread IPA? Let's crack that fucker and drink to our health.

This goes back to an old hate for collectors. People who own outstanding categories of their class for the expressed purpose of not using them. This is utterly deplorable. Booze is for drinking. Guns are for shooting. Guitars are for playing.

I tried this once. A favourite writer of mine (Neil Gaiman) did a two issue run on Batman. I bought the issues as they came out along with alternate covers, then later bought the hardcover collection of the two. So I already had two copies of each issue, figure I'll read one and keep the other for mint value, right? Sure, good plan. Yet over time this went a bit Tell-Tale Heart. There was a comic in my house, one that I knew was exceptional, that hadn't been read. The minute that thought entered my mind I cracked the plastic sealing and revisited the story.

I also have a tidy vinyl collection, All of which I spin regularly. Neil Gaiman's signiture is in my house at least twice. As is his wife's, who happens to be my favourite musician. As well as Kevin Conroy's (my favourite actor of Batman). If I decided not to read these books, not to listen to this music, not to watch these performances, am I viewing it as the Fosters or the Mountain Goat?

I'm Seeing Dinosaurs

A few days before new years I found myself at a music festival watching a friend graffiti a caravan as part of an art show there. The man curating the event recognised me from an exhibition a few years back and invited me to have a paint on one of the other trailers. I had absolutely nothing.

I feel like there should be something I can draw under any circumstances. Be it nervous, put on the spot, or even just drunk. As such, I've resolved that 2011 will be the year I become awesome at drawing dinosaurs.



Giganotosaurus. Like a T-rex, but bigger, with capable arms and hunted in packs.



Triceratops. Recently found to just be the adolescent stage of another breed of dinosaur altogether.



Velociraptor. Drawn for Tegan, who's recently made a point of letting people know that she fucks raptors in the form of a badge campaign.

This started out as a fairly silly project, but I'd actually recommend that other artists try it. Their anatomy is so completely different to people that it's nothing like life drawing and can be a nice little challenge for hand and brain.

And a Blessing of Spirit

I love my job.

I've never had any illusions about this creative career business. It won't sustain itself. Best case scenario is that I have a lifetime of people asking when I'm going to write a 'real' book.

I will always have the other job, and this one is sweet. It's involves all the things that were never meant to be in bar work because they would be too amazing. But these ~60 hour weeks are burning me out.

These next few days will be different.

I won't be at work.
I won't be anywhere near work.
I won't see anyone I know from work.
I won't think about work.

I will get out of town.
I will drink wine and smoke cigars with my mum.
I will get a new tattoo.
I will write. My word, shall I write.

Then I will return, and I will love my job again, but remember how to have time for the other loves.

Commissioned Piece Vs Cobwebs

Recently my brain broke I decided it was a good idea to do a commissioned piece for one of my bosses. One that he wanted to give to his brother as a wedding present no less. I have four bosses, so the chances of all of them thinking messing this up was worth instant dismissal aren't great, but I'd still never hear the end of it.



I'm happy enough with it. It's a smaller piece (12" x 16") so it was always going to be tricky and the woman's lips turned out a bit warped but the eyes seem to take the focus.

I suppose the main reason I took this up was to get me out of a creative lull. My lightbox broke over a month ago and I only got around to fixing it in order to do this.Hopefully I'll be able to put aside the time for more work soon, now's not the time to fall off the camel.

Fucking camels.

Amanda Fucking Palmer

I had the pleasure of seeing my greatest Muse perform last night, and even got a vinyl signed for my trouble:



The last time I saw her she was with Zoe Keating, David Davidson, and the Danger Ensumble (four actors from Zen Zen Zo). It was a very theatrical performance and finally dethroned Tool as the best live show of my life. This time around had a more improvised street theatre feel to it. Like something I'd find in a random, dark tent while wandering around Woodford Folk Festival close to midnight. Which is no bad thing.

In other news I'm currently ankle deep in a rising sea of sketch paper working on a short comic for Phatsville as well as a small mural for The Mana Bar. Simply put, I could be gone a while.