Lines of Force

Hi, everyone. Welcome back after a long weekend. Hope everyone had a good time spent with family and/or friends. I managed to do both.

Nothing too fancy to post this time; I'm going to try to go back to a (mostly) chronological posting of what I've drawn. That'll last probably as long as I don't find something else to put up, or something comes along of more interest to me.

Anyway, this was just a simple exercise I did a while back. Since one of my many weaknesses when drawing comic characters is their complete rigidity (talk about a stick up the-), I like to try to goof around every now and again with loosening up the posing, and just look for something dynamic, regardless of things like anatomy, look, or anything like that. This was such a thing.

There are actually a number of books on the market addressing such things as force and motion in drawing. I have a few of them, but haven't found/made time for them yet. However, this is a little like what you'd see in those books, except very poorly rendered. I threw in a couple sets of lines in here, to show what I think is the 'skeleton' of the figure (where the limbs will go, how they're posed, etc.), and to show the sense of motion I'm going for. A good artist can make a perfectly static image look like it's about to leap off the page. I'm not such an artist, but I did enjoy doing this. If only he had someone to hit...

That's about it for now. I'll probably have something up again either Friday or next week...

Oh hell, let's be honest: it'll be up when it's up.

Music: "Time and Motion" - Rush

Service

Last weekend was, in its way, Memorial Day for me and my family. We spent the weekend remembering Dad, in three different, but appropriate ways.

Saturday-

We got up early Saturday (early for Emily, at least) and packed Mom, my sister Bobbi, and my niece Emily into the van and took a road trip to Maryland. Not normally the kind of thing we'd do (I like sleeping in as much as the next person), but this was a little bit special. We were headed down to the Hilltop Fruit Market. Nothing fancy about it, just a roadside market, but it was a place Dad used to take Mom (and Bobbi and Emily from time to time) as an excuse to take a nice leisurely drive through some wonderful country. It was about the journey, not the destination. I'd known they used to take drives down to this place, but had never gone with them, so I didn't know where it was or how to get there. Mom couldn't remember the name of the place, but gave a really good description of it. I found out through a friend where it was, then found some directions for it. Instead of taking those, I took a look at a map and asked myself, "Which way would Dad go?" Well, knowing him, there were probably at least 3 different ways to go, with another 5 in reserve. I picked the most obvious one, and off we went.

I wasn't sure what the drive would be like, especially for Mom. Would it be sad for her? Bittersweet? As we drove down, I imagine all of our thoughts drifted to thoughts of Dad from time to time- 'what would it have been like to come with them?' 'I remember the last time we came down' 'I remember the first time we saw that place, all those years ago'... but it never felt like those thoughts were oppressing, or taking the enjoyment out of the trip. Instead, it felt like he was there with us, or maybe in the next car over. We talked about things they'd seen on different trips with Dad down there, about the scenery, the towns, or whatever- it was just another family trip. Partway down, they talked about seeing Nemacolin, a fancypants resort, one time. I was pretty sure we wouldn't see it; I felt bad, since I wanted to take them the way Dad would, I wanted it to be like when he drove.

I shouldn't have worried; sure enough we passed Nemacolin about 20 minutes later. The rest of the day was a lot of fun. We passed a horse and wagon train- I don't know what else to call it; it was in celebration of Pike Days or something like that. Plenty of people on horseback and in horse-drawn carts, some of them authentic, some of them looking like giant-sized Radio Flyers. We got to the Hilltop Fruit Market (after asking directions from a nice kid who essentially pointed and said 'look that way') and loaded up on an insane amount of bulk candy (my sweet tooth is genetic, thank you) and some veggies and sundry other stuff. We stopped for lunch at that quintessentially American site, McDonalds. And we took a drive through Nemacolin on the way back (though I drove through kind of fast before they could figure out the Dodge Caravan didn't fit in with the Hummers and BMWs...). It was a great time, fun and relaxing, spent with the family.

Sunday-

Saturday was about our family remembering Dad and what he did for us. Sunday was about remembering and honoring what he did for others, and for his country.

After chuch, we drove over to Harmarville for a memorial service hosted by CORE. CORE is the Center for Organ Recovery & Education- they are a non-profit group dedicated to helping promote organ donation and transplants. They get involved whenever someone needs a transplant- they help find donors for those in need, and help make people aware of the tremendous good that can come from signing up to be a donor.

We first learned about CORE shortly after Dad passed. Someone from their offices contacted us to let us know that they might be able to use some organs or tissue from Dad's body, and would we be willing to make that donation? Mom and Bobbi didn't even hesitate: "If your Dad can still help someone, then he will." We were surprised they even contacted us, actually; Dad was 78 years old, and in very poor shape.

Days passed, and we would occasionally wonder what had come of that phone call. Had they just decided they couldn't do anything, and didn't want to tell us? What had happened? About a week or so later, we received a letter in the mail: CORE had in fact been able to use tissue from Dad's body. It made perfect sense. Why would something like Death stop him from helping someone?

And so, almost a year later, we found ourselves at 'A Special Place' Ceremony. It's not so much a Memorial as a Celebration, for all those donors and their families, whose tragedies were instead turned into triumphs for so many others.

I wasn't sure what to expect; I figured maybe a couple hundred people would be there. Instead, what seemed like thousands were there- I had no idea so many would attend. And I learned that it wasn't just the donor's families who'd showed up; there were many recipients who'd also shown up. There were speeches from CORE members, thanking the families for the donations, for giving that gift to save lives. There was a speech from a man who looked through the grief of losing his only child to help others, and from a man who, thanks to two donors, was able to see again. Finally, two people spoke about the impact donation had on their lives: a woman's sister died in a fall, and her liver was donated to save the life of a man. Some years later, the families decided they wanted to meet because, as the woman put it, "she just wanted to make sure he was okay."

At the end of the ceremony, there was a balloon release, one balloon for each of the donors:

The next picture was a few seconds later. The circle you see towards the top of the picture is a circular rainbow; it was around the sun for almost the entire time of the ceremony:

As we were sitting, waiting for the crowds to thin, a woman walked up to us and said "Thank you for your donation. Because of someone like you, I got a kidney transplant. That was 21 years ago." That simple statement made me so thankful, and so proud.

Our next trip was to the local American Legion, Post 980. They have a Memorial Day service every year, to honor those Legion members lost in the past year. They have it a week before Memorial Day because, as they said "We want people to remember the reason for Memorial Day." It was a great service, as I would expect nothing less from these men- they were there for Dad to pay tribute at the funeral home and at the cemetery. One of the men at the service read the names of those who'd died in the past year- sadly, it took all too long. Near the end of the ceremony, the honor guard fired a salute:

I looked around at these old men, and the young men and women, and listened to what they had to say, about duty, and honor, and America, and comradeship, and love. I was filled with such pride- not just for Dad, and his humble sacrifice- but for all of these people, who gave so much not only for their families and friends, but for their entire country. To know that, even in these cynical and jaded times, there are those who will stand and fight for our country- for the ideals our country represents, for the flaws in our country, for the hope that we can rise above those flaws-

It was an honor to be in the company of such people. It is an honor to know my Father was such a person.

That was Sunday.

This weekend, as you kick back and enjoy the idea of not working, eating hot dogs, and the idea of the Penguins continuing their winning ways, please take a moment or two to think about those who serve- not just in the military, but all those people who serve others, by teaching, by protecting, by healing, by parenting, by supporting, and those who serve, and save, even though they're gone.

Moonlight Madness

One more Dracula picture. I originally sketched this late one night at Mom's place, when I had a hankering to sketch something, but not really go into much detail. I found an old card left over from the 'Dracula' trading card series back for this movie. The original card was painted by Mark Chiarello, a fantastic painter who does most of his work behind the scenes at DC Comics nowadays. I best know him for painting a team-up book of Batman and Harry Houdini, of all people.

My favorite part of drawing this was using a heavy leaded pencil- you get such thick, black lines out of it, it gives whatever you're drawing a lot of weight and power. It also leaves less room for goofing around with the pencil, thus making the work itself a little more deliberate. It gives me the feeling of almost working in ink, as it doesn't take much extra work to make a fully-rendered picture.

Then I put it in Photoshop and hid all the lines. I was originally going with a more watercolor, faded look, but then I saw how good it looked with solid black in lieu of the pencils, I decided to mess around with the colors and textures more. I'm very pleased with it, as it's a solid picture, but I colored it in a much looser fashion. Sure, it's mostly inside the lines, but there's a bit more going on in the face than just one tone. I had a lot of fun with this one, not least because it's the first really creative work I've done in PS in a while. Hopefully this'll continue.

And no, it's not secretly Alan Moore.

Music: "Panic Switch" - Silversun Pickups

America's Artist, and The Habah

This past weekend, Kelly and I took a long weekend and drove up to Massachusetts so I could finally fulfill a wish of mine: to visit the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge, MA. We filled out the trip (going to the NRM was absolutely my only goal for the weekend. I could've turned around and driven back that day and been happy). It was a pretty amazing time all around- there's nothing quite like going on vacation with only a vague idea of what you want to do. Then when you're headed back home, thinking about how fantastic the trip was, the realization that most of those great moments came about through no planning, hits you and makes you see how wonderful spontaneity can be. Yeah, it was a good time.

I've been a fan of Norman Rockwell for a long time, but mostly without realizing it. I'd seen his paintings all over the place for years: old magazines, pictures in doctors' offices, books, and the like. I'd always admired them- there's no denying the... reality of the pictures. But my obsession with comic books and comic book art sort of kept Rockwell out of the spotlight for me throughout most of my 20's, or came in behind the ever-popular fraternal twins of Arts Nouveau and Deco. However, as I left the 20's and crashed into the 30's, my tastes and appreciations broadened considerably, and I began to pay closer attention to those artists I've always known, but never paid close attention to (Maxfield Parrish, Andrew Wyeth, and Edward Hopper also fall into this category). It certainly didn't hurt that Joey and Sean were branching out as well, or at least cluing me in to their own favorites.

I found a few Rockwell books in the used bookstores down around Frederick, and it was through those I began to really understand the power and depth of Rockwell's ability. Norman Rockwell's covers to The Saturday Evening Post told stories; simple stories, stories familiar to anyone, but with such skill and thought and life, it's impossible not to feel something when viewing them. The people populating his pictures nearly seem to live and breathe, and it's impossible not to know exactly what's happening to each person in the painting. You can practically read their thoughts written on their faces. Regardless of the setting of the painting, you can't help but feel understanding for the subjects. You will laugh, or sigh, or nod in agreement to the painting in front of you. You will feel something.

I thought I'd grasped his mastery of understanding both people and paint, but I really had no understanding of his ability until we went to the museum. The first one I saw, Strictly a Sharpshooter, left me a bit dazed. I'd only seen this in one book in the past, and compared to the real thing, the print was a pale, pale imitator. What in print looks nearly like a gray tonal painting, in real life was rich with shades and hints of color- just look at the woman. The red of her flower draws you to her- then you take a closer look, and you think she's more photo than painting. You can see how upset she is, while the ragged boxer is shouting at her, most likely in disbelief. Apparently she's drawn a crowd- look how she's gotten the attention of the other boxing fans?

Then, of course, there are The Four Freedoms. I've seen these before, probably a lot of folks have. Norman Rockwell painted them in response to FDR's 1941 speech outlining the Four Freedoms: Freedom to Worship, Freedom of Speech, Freedom from Want, and Freedom from Fear. Four basic yet fundamental freedoms all people want and should strive towards. The four paintings were printed in the Post, and then again and again by the government. I'd seen them in so many books myself, I'd mostly forgotten what they meant.

Until I saw them with my own eyes.

They're situated in a gallery of their own in the center of the building, across from each other in each corner of the room, rather than on the walls. It was a good time to be there; there was no one in the gallery when I walked in, so I could have a minute to take it in on my own. Without realizing it, I was taking deeper and deeper breaths, nearly gasping. Goosebumps ran along my arms, and I actually felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I was nearly in tears, and I'd only just walked into the room. What was it about those paintings that had such an effect on me? A thought flashed through my mind as I stood there: This must be what they mean by 'religious experience', though it went beyond the idea of religion. I think it was just the idea of these simple ideas, - such amazing ideas pared down to their essence and so exactly and perfectly rendered into these paintings- I think that's what struck me so deeply. That's really the only way I can put it to words.

It was just amazing to see with my own eyes so many of his paintings, which I'd only seen previously in books and magazines. As I told Kelly later, I almost didn't want to bother looking at the prints they had for sale, since having seen the originals, they couldn't hope to compare. But I bought some anyway.

So that was my pilgrimage to the Norman Rockwell Museum.

Boston was wicked good, by the way.

A Gentle Reminder

My Sister-in-Law, Linda, is quite talented.

Not only is she a very good nurse (that's her 'day' job), she's a phenomenal seamstress. For as long as I've known her, she's made all manner of fantastic creations out of fabric, thread, and what I imagine must be an incredible amount of patience. Back in the mid-80's, she made me a jumpsuit for Halloween so I could go as one of my favorite movie characters back then, the Ghostbusters. It zipped up, just like theirs did, and had silver thread stitched on it to make all the 'pockets' of their jumpsuits. It went quite well with my cardboard-box-backpack and broomhandle/tissue box particle thrower. I wore the hell out of that thing, often wearing it around the house to play in. Later, when we got our first computer (the venerable Apple IIc), she made a heavy-duty dust cover to fit snugly over the monitor and computer when not in use (remember back in the day, when people worried about such things as getting dust in the computer?). She's made all sorts of cool, clever, and sweet things throughout the years.

And then she made this.

Linda started making these bears a few years ago, to give to the parents of newborns who never made it out of the hospital. Then, when her own father passed away, she took one of his favorite shirts and made a bear for her mother and for herself. These bears, made of fabric and memories, became lasting reminders of those gone from our daily lives, but gone from our hearts and minds. She's made several for us- this one was the one I asked her to make.

The original shirt was a polo shirt made out of a football-jersey type of material, kind of like a mesh. The Cummins logo was on the left breast. Linda makes the entire bear (sans stuffing) using only the shirt; the bear's eyes and nose come from the buttons for the neck and collar. Since the fabric is like mesh, the stuffing actually pokes out a little bit- so he's a fuzzy bear (funnily enough, Dad always liked Fozzie Bear from the Muppets). As you can see, she put the logo on his leg, so everyone knows where he came from. Best of all, Linda put the tag on his back. The shirt was made by Champion. It reads:

It Takes a Little More to Make a Champion

Very appropriate, I think.

I always keep Dad close to my heart, and talk to him often. Now I have the Bear around, and I sometimes talk to him, too. He doesn't answer, but sometimes, he gets this look in his eyes...

Thanks, Linda.

---

Sorry for the missed Wednesday posting- there was a computer meltdown, but we're feeling much better now. Hopefully back with more newness early next week.

Cheers.

From the Crypt, 16: More Heavy Metal

9/6/92.

Lo! There shall be an ending!!!

To this run of retro, at least. This was the end of this sketchbook, so it's a good time to stop and take a breather. This was a team-up of two popular 90's characters, one you already know (Deathlok) and one you've not seen before (Death's Head). Both very popular, both with pretty bad names, and a good indicator of what the 90's were like. It was a very violent time in comics, with the words 'Blood', 'Death', or some other nasty name popping up more often than rude drivers in Maryland. It was all so over-the-top, though, none of it really seemed to stick. Although it was the time of 'grim 'n' gritty' in comic books, it was still far enough removed from 'realism' that none of it seemed very serious. But, typical action poses, typical oddly-shaped guns, typical avoidance of drawing detailed hands or feet. Still, there are a few things I really liked out of these last few drawings.

Probably going to post some new stuff in the next post or so, along with some pictures I think. We'll see.

Hope all is well.

Music: "Big Guns" - AC/DC

Men At Work

When you call and tell them you need help, and they don't ask 'why?', but ask 'what can I do to help you?', you can't really just call them friends.

Thanks, Brothers.

The cookies are on the way!

Music: "I Wanna Be Sedated" - The Ramones

From the Crypt, 15: Heavy Metal... *sigh*

8/30/92.

Deathlok and Cable. One's a brave and honorable man trapped in a mechanical death machine, the other's a cyborg sent back from the future to save mankind. In other words, it's Robocop and the Terminator.

These were two of the more popular characters from Marvel back in the day... Hell, Cable was one of the most popular characters around back then. Things have changed somewhat... for one thing, shoulder pads are OUT.

Anyway, this was one drawing I recall being particularly proud of, if only for actually getting more than one character on the page. I always liked the way Deathlok looked in this shot- the turned head was quite an accomplishment for me back in the day (which is funny, as nowadays that's almost all I draw). More overexaggerated muscles, and guns that seem to be random assortments of rectangles. All good fun.

That's it. One more picture and this book is done, I believe.

Music: "More Human Than Human" - White Zombie

From the Crypt, 14: The Main Man

8/21/92.

Oh, you whacky 90's, you... The only excess was excess itself. Nothing exemplified the idea of over-the-top 90's comic book sensibilities better than The Main Man himself, Lobo. I'm not sure where he started out in the DC comics' universe (not entirely true- Omega Men 9, I think, off the top of my head), but this definition defining "Anti-Hero" really came into his own in the early 90's with a series of hyperviolent, dementedly funny miniseries. Lobo was the last survivor of his race (having killed them off himself) and an intergalactic bounty hunter for hire. I really couldn't tell you what any of the stories were about, aside from as much violence, sex, and bad humor as a 'mature readers' comic would allow. Nowadays, I'm not even sure if the books would get any kind of label at all.

This picture probably looks ridiculous and over the top; for Lobo, that's about right. I remember having a lot of fun making up the drawing, coming up with all of the little gun details and other details in general. Also, I like the foreshortening of his arms- one of the few times it actually looks pretty good. Also, I remember being afraid of what Dad would say when he looked at it (not Lobo's hands, and the rings on them). He said nothing, but I think he shook his head...

Anyway, that's it for now. Two more pictures to go from this first sketchbook...

Music: "Outshined" - Soundgarden

From the Crypt, 13: Guns, with Occasional Spandex

8/18/92.

This is another character from the 'big idea' I mentioned for a team a few posts ago. No idea what his backstory was at this point, but he sure did love guns. Back then, I did to- drawing them, at least. It was a cinch- draw some shapes, make one end look like something fires out of it, and you're done. Nowadays, it's all about realism and perspective and logic... Booorring.

Looking at this again, though, I notice a recurring motif throughout my years of drawing: the funky half-hood/half-mask. I'm not sure where it came from, but I've used it probably literally dozens of times. Anyway, taking a look again, all I can say about the design aesthetic, and the drawing itself, is: hey, it was the 90s...

Alright, that's it for now. I'm having considerable heartburn right now ('heart? since when?') so I'm headed to the medicine cabinet then bed. See you Mondayish.

Music: "Everything About You" - Ugly Kid Joe

From the Crypt, 12: Marvel Team-Ups

July 15, 1992.

And it started out so promising, too...

Just a quick comment or two here (yeah, I hear you saying "Thank God", too). Looks like I was planning some kind of super-hero team-up for this one, and got pretty far along, too. However, if nothing else, this picture highlights 1) I REALLY suck at drawing legs (and feet) and 2) you can always tell when I start running out of enthusiasm for a picture. As in, did you SEE The Beast there, at the bottom of the picture? Looks like I smudged it to hide something criminal about it, it's so blurry. Spider-Man and Daredevil actually started out halfway decent (check out the foreshortening on DD's left arm!), but rapidly fell apart when it came to the legs. I'd like to say it's intentional, but it's not. It's funny, but looking through these drawings, I've really learned how much future grief I'd save myself if I'd just take a second look at a picture- or better yet, as was taught to me by Joey and Sean- turn the paper over and look at it backwards. Many pictures reveal their mistakes by forcing you to look at it from a new perspective. Ah well. Also, once again, my pseudo-super-hero anatomy is on display.

How much of this would be cleared up through the judicious use of an eraser. However, I would work so hard on the most minute details, I'd be so afraid to erase what I'd done for fear of being unable to reproduce the work, so the pictures would often be unnaturally or poorly completed just for the sake of those details. It's something I still struggle with.

Alright, enough already.

Something else on Friday, then maybe something new on Monday.

Sorry for the delays, but you know me, etc., etc., etc...

Music: "Better Man" - Pearl Jam

From the Crypt, 11: It's Not Death If You Refuse It

7/11/92... Happy Birthday to me! Good to see I was out celebra... oh, wait, I was home drawing...

Well, this is good ol' Eric, otherwise known as The Crow. You've seen him on this blog before, though it's been some time. This particular version of him is based on the comic series that, like The Evil Dead and Sandman, was a gateway for teenagers into whole new worlds of fiction beyond those boring old superheroes.

Driven to create the comic in the wake of his girlfriend's tragic death, James O'Barr created a haunting, lyrical, disturbing and beautiful work of art about love, death, revenge and redemption...

Or at least that's how I saw it then. To be honest, I've not read it in many a year- part of me is afraid to, fearing that, like so much of the past, it won't stand up to the harsh light of time. Perhaps I'll take it off the shelf and give it a read through sometime soon. Who knows, it might still have some of the impact it had then.

This picture was heavily influenced by O'Barr's drawing style- his Crow was drawn as though he were almost sculpted, but with a fluidity to the character itself that always reminded me of a dancer or gymnast. I tried my best to bring some of that to my version here, though as with most of my characters, it can't help but look stiff and poorly posed. Not to mention all the anatomical errors (I've just now noticed how out of proportion it is). Damned little hands, too. I also just now remembered all the hell I used to give myself when it came to drawing the boots. They were always just supposed to be combat boots, coming to below the calf. However, with my drawing, they always seemed way too big... I've only now realized it's because I was drawing with the 'superhero' proportions (at least 8 heads high) rather than a more realistic height- so his legs were always too long to look right. Ah well. Anyway, that's that. I've done more than a few Crow pictures throughout the sketchbooks; it was a big influence back then. I'm pretty sure it will turn up again before long.

MMMMMmmmmaybe something Friday. We'll see.

Music: "Dead Souls" - nine inch nails

From the Crypt, 10: Bat Attitude

June 10, 1992.

Batman was one of the first DC heroes I really liked. I was a die-hard Marvelite (or Marvel Zombie, if you like) from my earliest days; it wasn't until I got back into reading comics in the late '80's that I found the DC heroes. I can't remember which issue of Batman or Detective I first picked up, but I remember well the craziness of "A Death in the Family", the famous story-arc/publicity stunt whereby readers were given a 900-number to vote on the fate of Robin. They killed him. I gravitated to Batman because, like a lot of kids, I thought Batman was cooler because he was 'dark and grim'- it would take a number of years for me to first realize a) 'dark and grim' can kind of wear on a person and b) a good writer can make ANY character cooler than any other character- there have been a number of comics showcasing Superman (often the less-favored of the two characters- too much a boy scout), showing just how fantastic a character he can be.

But that's now, this was then- Batman ruled.

Nothing fancy about this one, either- just a picture of Batman leaping through the air. Possibly from a great height. Note that, for one thing, I didn't muck around with the costume, as I (and many, many other comic fans) would in the future... Chris Nolan's armored Dark Knight, and even the more armored-looking Keaton Batman, are a few years away. I'm not too sure about the mechanics of the muscles here, either- I'd not really spent any time looking at anatomy or reference books, other than comic books. And, as I recall, overly-musclebound heroes were the rage back then. I do still like how the hands were drawn, though. Hands and feet, tougher than anything else to draw.

So there's ze Batman; he'll turn up here again before too long, I'm sure.
---
Obviously, not a new picture. This weekend turned into one mildly productive, so I set aside plans to work on the new picture. I think I should get it fixed and posted this week, though... but you know me, don't you? Something will show up again soon, either something new, or something... not.

Music: "The End is the Beginning is the End" - Smashing Pumpkins

From the Crypt, 9: The Times, They Are A-Changin'

June 4, 1992.

Oh 1990's, how I miss you so... cyberpunk-styled cyborgs were such the rage back then- undoubtedly some type of latent self-mutilation/body modification, cry-for-help-or-at-least-attention. Cyborgs were all over the place back then, certainly in comic books, or at least godawfully huge machine-wearing people were with guns as big as small cars- you know who you are- yes you with no pupils and tiny feet, you know I'm talking about you. The whole latent image problem business could just be so much bunk, but the big cyborg thing was very real, and I bought into it wholeheartedly. Couldn't even tell you why, really, other than I was a big fan of Robocop and a big fan of rampant technology in general. Also, it looked cool.

These two were my first attempt at an idea that's been with me ever since- like the best ideas (or like a Hollywood producer), I came up with the name first, then the rest sorted itself out. I won't spoil the name just yet- the concept evolved from this first idea, that of a group of 'highly-trained operatives, with state of the art cyber-enhancements' doing massive amounts of property damage, into something less... '90's, and into something I think is a big more interesting, or at least copywrightable.

Nothing much to say regarding the drawing itself, other than it was plenty of fun to draw at the time, I got a kick out of coming up with the crazy weapons and tech, and man, she's got a really small hand... and I just noticed, they apparently have the same sized waist... jeez...

Okay, that's all for now. I think next week I might just post something new, to break up the monotony of all these flashbacks.

Cheers.

Music: "Demolition Man" - Sting (yes, originally done by The Police, but this is the specific version I'm thinking of)

From the Crypt, 8: Groovy

June 2, 1992.

Ah yes, to be a teen and exposed to movies.

I think every teen finds a movie, or set of movies, that becomes a bit of a touchstone for their age- something revelatory, stretching their boundaries and ideas of what can be done in film, or something profoundly in-the-moment, something that will always draw their memory to a time or place, something that will always say to them, 'you were doing this at this time when you saw this' and open a floodgate of memories. For some people, one can become the other- those eye-opening moments of 'wow, there's a lot of stuff out in the world' can become a half-wistful, half-chagrined walk down memory lane, thinking back to the idea that a movie really could change a person's life. Of course, for just as many people, those movies get locked in time, put in a place of importance, and relevance, beyond all reason. It's all a matter of perspective, of course- one man's Clerks is another man's Citizen Kane... If you're of the former thoughts, you all know someone like I'm describing. If you're of the latter, chances are you really have no idea you're like that. I'm sorry, but while Reservoir Dogs was a great movie, it was hardly the greatest film put to celluloid. Nor was Highlander. Or Clerks. Or, for that matter, The Evil Dead.

But we're speaking of then, not now. And for the then-me, The Evil Dead was damn near the best thing ever filmed. Specifically, Evil Dead II. The first movie (the one without the 'II', of course) was an ultra-low budget horror movie directed by some guy named Sam Raimi, who would go on to eventually direct Spider-Man. Back then, pretty much a nobody. The movie was a genuine horror movie though, with plenty of scares and gross-outs... but also a pretty wicked sense of humor, and a knack for the left-turn into the bizarre that seems to cater to teenage boys everywhere. Nothing highlights this quite so much as when, in Evil Dead II, the main character Ash (played by champion to nerds and Old Spice fans everywhere, Bruce Campbell (a guy awesome enough to teens that friends of mine wrote a song about him back then)) cut off his hand when it went bad... and replaced it with a chainsaw. That, my friends, is cinematic gold. Then the third movie came out and dumped the character into medieval times... and not the restaurant. I can certainly look back on those movies quite fondly- and honestly, they still hold up pretty well for what they were- but mostly, I look back at them and realize how many more great movies (and not so great ones) I've been exposed to because, once I found the joy of Ash and the Deadites, I wanted to know "what else is out there to watch?"

This picture is essentially a swipe/homage to the original poster to the first movie... or at least a poster for the first one...

See you around- sorry about the randomness of the posts, but a number of illnesses and a trip to the hospital have left me with some serious catching up to do. Hopefully Friday, but don't hold me to that.

Music: "Man in the Box" - Alice in Chains

P.S. If someone comes up to me and seriously tries to compare Clerks to Citizen Kane, they get punched in the face.

From the Crypt, 7: Do You See What You Hear?

May 29, 1992.

It was near the end of the school year, and our English Class had pretty much wrapped up by that point, so it was essentially a free period to do whatever. So naturally, I had out pencil and sketchbook. I popped Nirvana's "Nevermind" into the tape player, turned it up, and drew. "Breed" was the song that was on, and essentially made me draw what you see above. I had no idea what to draw until I actually heard the music playing- this is what came out. Sure, it's pretty typical of what I was drawing at the time, but I really liked the energy that came along with the music when I was drawing this. Nothing fancy, but pretty enjoyable.

This is one of the earliest pictures I can find that links my enjoyment of music with my love of drawing. I've drawn to music since then, but this rests most clearly in my mind. Since then, I've taken to thinking of music much more visually- not just in terms of how the music makes me want to draw, but actually drawing based on what I'm listening to- both in terms of the lyrics and the music (which can sometimes compliment, sometimes contradict, each other). One of many incomplete projects I've got on my plate is a number of pieces based around music. Some folks have helped with with ideas over the years, and I hope to get around to working on it. Time, Skill, and Energy willing, of course.

Next time- a surprise! (I forgot to look ahead)

Music: "Breed" - Nirvana

From The Crypt, 6: ...Bring Me a Dream...

So it looks like this one was done around April 9, 1992, and this must've been around the time I picked up the fourth trade of Neil Gaiman's genre-defining magnum opus (I could write copy for movie posters, I swear), Sandman. When I first picked up the original two trades (at a comic show in the old Holiday Inn in Monroeville, back when they were locally run and filled a small room), I had no idea what to expect. I'd heard plenty of good things about it, but I wasn't sure I was ready for it- no costumed heroes, for one, although the skinny pale guy dressed all in black, so that was something. I tore through those first two trades, as fast as I could, then re-read them- not just because they were amazingly written, but because there was so much more going on than what would be seen from a single reading.

Sandman is like nothing I'd read before, and to this date still stands apart from all that have come since then. It was a comic with no real action in it (although Morpheus faces down the legions of Hell in the first story arc), but was as gripping as anything I'd ever read. Breaking down social, sexual, religious and storytelling boundaries from page one, it redefined what comics were capable of being, and elevated the art to true literature - though surely not single-handedly; Watchmen came first, of course, but this broke down the boundaries of acceptability. Goth kids everywhere found a new hero. It was the first comic book to win the prestigious Hugo Award (first and only- they changed the rules after it won), and the author, Neil Gaiman, has gone on to critical and public success with a number of novels and stories.

Anyway, one of the great things about the series was that it used a number of comic artists, with wildly varying styles- so if you didn't like one guy, wait a few months, and someone else would show. This particular version of Morpheus was heavily influenced by the great Kelley Jones. He used heavy, heavy blacks and wildly stylistic characters to define the Sandman for many people. The cloak is all Jones.

There's a good chance that you'll see more of Morpheus as time goes by- each time I would pick up a new volume, I'd invariably return to drawing the character.

For folks who aren't into superhero books, but aren't adverse to trying something different, I can't recommend Sandman highly enough.

Music: "Enter Sandman" - Metallica

"Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes?"

In honor of this weekend's viewing of Watchmen, I thought I'd post a picture of one of my favorite characters, Nite Owl (II). And, in honor of the fact that it takes place in 1985, I thought I'd do it up a little retro. I drew this entirely with the line tool (except the moon, obviously), which is how I used to draw on the computer way back in the day (1987-1988) with my Apple IIc. I guess to be really retro, I should've done this in greenscale, but you can't have everything.

And yes, I think I'll be writing some thoughts on the movie, but not until I've seen it at least once more. But yes, it is good.

Music: "Hallelujah" - Leonard Cohen

From the Crypt, 5: It's Uncanny!

Man, it was great to collect comics in the 90's. Books were routinely selling over 1 million copies an issue, there were multiple covers for all your favorite books, and just about every character had their own comic (actually, it was really just great to sell comics in the 90's). And no one was bigger than the X-Men. The biggest artist in American comics at that time, Jim Lee, was drawing the biggest comic in world, X-Men, written by one of the most popular writers of the day, Chris Claremont. The X-Men was everything good in comics...

And everything bad.

Convoluted plots that went on and on, only to go nowhere, badly-written dialogue, and yeah, the art was great, but spawned (inside pun there) so many bad knock-off styles that, after a surprisingly short period of time, seeing any hatchmarks to indicate shadow (or worse yet, to indicate hatchmarks) drove me to twitching.

But all that was in the future. At the time of this piece of unfinished business, I was completely in love with Jim Lee's art, and the X-Men comic in general. Though I'd never be able to draw like Jim (though I've done a decent knock-off-- excuse me, homage-- in my day), I loved the action and dynamics he brought to his characters, not to mention the cool as hell poses, so I did my best to mimic that here. As near as I can recall, these aren't based on any specific poses he did- but the poses are so generic, it's hard to say that for certain (Joey, maybe you can correct me on that). Regardless, it was fun to draw, no doubt. And of course, not finish. I remember having plans for the rest of the picture (as you can see, two characters- Rogue and Psylocke- are missing, as is the logo), but not why I never finished. Probably because drawing women is tough. Was then, is now.

This picture is a great example of how my 'style', such as it is, has changed through the years. I always found a great deal to like in the dominant style of the day, whatever day that was, but I never did a great job of taking it to heart. This is probably as close as I would get to that painted-on, well-defined muscle-bound superhero look- as defined by the clean lines of Jim Lee (before the hatching, obviously)... actually, this isn't the most well-defined muscle look I've ever done- that's coming up later on, and we'll get to it, but this is probably the most super-hero style I've ever done. In some ways, I wish I could return back to this style, if only to apply what I've learned since then in anatomy and composition, with the dynamism and cleanliness of what I've done here. Clean lines, without being cartoony (as I tend to veer into nowadays).

Anyway, there's a new bit of look-back for you. More to come later this week. If I'd paid attention, I could tell you what's next... but I didn't.

Cheers.

Music: "International Bright Young Thing" - Jesus Jones

Ashes

I went to Ash Wednesday services today. For those uninitiated, this is the day Catholics get dirt on their foreheads. It's been oh... twenty years since I last went to a service. I can't really say what actually had me going back after all this time- I guess it's a combination of things, events of the past year catching up, the comfort of ritual, and the sense of community, amongst others. The need to belong, in short. Those who've known me for a long time are no doubt scratching their heads at this, since I've hardly kept quiet my general disdain for religion. But, what can I say? Time has a way of changing you. Don't get me wrong- there's still plenty of things I don't like about religion (all religion, not just one), but I'm starting to see some of the, dare I say it, positive aspects of it. One of the things I've really noticed about church-going recently (since I've come back home, in fact) is my perspective on what's done and said in mass (en masse, also, as it were). Having been gone so long, I have a different point of view on it- I find myself listening more closely to the words, particularly during the sermon, and not just going through the motions (ironic, since I find some comfort in ritual and rote). This was the first time at the 'local' church. Not a bad place- lots of color. One thing going against it though- the Crucifix hanging above the altar? The nails are through the statue's palms, rather than the historically- and physically-accurate wrists. On the other, they rang a little bell during the part of mass when the priest blesses the Host- something the old church stopped years ago. An interesting hour.

So, I went to church, where they stuck dirt on my head, then came home and had fish for dinner. Mom would be so proud.

'Normal' posts will presumably resume on Friday. Or Monday.