The Little Prince

Waiting for Water Colors to Dry

Occupy

Kelly Thomas

From Life, really.

Steampunk. That is All.

High School Project, Jus Cus

The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Photograph of the Syrian revolution I had cut out and taped into my old sketchbook. Yesterday, the government shut the internet down. This photograph was taken some time in August.

I have a habit of rescuing broken statues. This cutie was hiding in some bushes in the Bottom of philly.

I was given a tiny notebook, about 2 by 3 inches. It works out, walking around constantly for my job. I watched a documentary on the Toynbee tiles and took notes to look for them around philly. Sure enough, my last day on the job, I finally found a few

The road by white clay.

I played with his kitten as he told me about Move House in Philly. Later, when I was working in philly, I finally came across the street.

After I was jumped the state recommended I see a counselor. Victims of violent crimes tend to be a little off-kilter after the event. Plus, the therapist would be paid for by the assailants. I was just tired of the nightmares. After a few sessions, with a $20 co-pay each, I learned I have the ability to explain exactly what I am thinking, exactly as I feel it. This, according to the lady with the dark hair, who looked over her glasses at me, who was kind enough not to take notes, who smiled calmly, who watched my eyes move across her floor as I recounted memories, this was a talent. "I'm afraid of deep water. Where it's so dark I can't see what's below me. I'm afraid of cramped dark spaces. I'm afraid of long hallways. I guess that means I'm afraid of the unknown." "You are very intuitive. Most people never figure that out." And thus I realized I can know exactly what I am afraid of, put it into a logical box of why I am afraid of it, and yet still be afraid. Fat lot of help reason and rationalization do me. A new fear has been creeping over me for some time. Back when my DCCA show was taken down. Or, maybe before when that guy in NYC asked me to illustrate a comic book for him as a dramatic ruse to get in my pants. Or, after, when I tried to draw my friend and it looked nothing like him. I'm afraid of forgetting how to create art. I'm afraid of forgetting how to draw hands so perfectly. I'm afraid of relatives asking "You were such a talented artist. Why don't you draw anymore?" I'm afraid of being 50 and regretting art so much I can never walk into a museum. I'm at that age where my female hormones begin to scream "MAKE BABIES! FURTHER THE HUMAN RACE WITH YOUR WOMB GODDAMNIT!" I'm still on the pill. That isn't going to change. What has changed is I've caught myself thinking, "It doesn't matter if you are never a famous artist if your kid is president." And my abstract fear of the unknown has turned into a very real fear of loosing my art to life.

I need to work on drawing eyes. I need to work on drawing people as they objectively look, not as they subjectively look to me. I need to work on actually talking to people at parties, as opposed to drunkenly sketching them.

Oh, crap. I forgot how to draw feet.

Another Frida-inspired work.

When other women say feminism doesn't exist, and I get all butt-hurt about it because I'm standing in a room full of men who laugh and applaud them...

Oh, look, colored pencils.

Another Madison Drive

Waiting in Wilmington. Saw a Car. It Needed to be Drawn.

This page feels really blank with no writing around the image. Ah, well. So it goes.

I Can Draw Like the Badass I am.

Once in a while I try to break from the sentimental and the beautiful to express how I really feel.

I Really Need to Break the Habit of Drawing People with Such a Serious Yet Dazed Look

Reminder: Do Not Shit Where You Eat. That is all.

An Update...

I once had a show, and an angry old man took it down. So I started a petition. "Whereas, humans, since the dawn of civilization, have created art. Whereas, for centuries the debate over what is considered "high" art has created a hierarchy of creativity. Whereas, this is the 21st century. Whereas, we, the undersigned, are no longer confined by the traditional notions of the past, feel the need to end this archaic kafuffle. Whereas, personal preference of a select few will no longer negate the importance of individual expression, nor determine the value of such. Therefore, we, the undersigned, agree that all creativity, of whatever genre, medium, content, or concept, is ART." Yes, I understand I used the Americanized "KAfuffle" instead of the traditional "Kerfuffle." Oh, well.

He asked for a Skull with a bullet hole

For one of my bartenders. For all those free shots & booze.

A Wrinkle In Time

I know... It had multiple eyes & feathers. This was just what it made me think of after I drew it.

There, in front of me... MARKERS!

A Veteran and a Lady

In the near future, I might be moving to Oakland with this lovely lady. Apart from my parents, only two other people know. I feel it's safe to mention here because, well, no one looks at my blogspot. I'd just rather skip the drama.

Bradley Manning

Old New Blue... Sexy

Another old one I found from when I was 19. I try not to imagine my nudes as sexual. This one, I still can't get past.

Kid at Heartburn, Bouncer at Mojo Main

Heartburn this year was equal to and better than the last. On some random sofa in the back tent I came across the former. He was very polite and stayed still in the five mins it took to sketch him out. The latter I've seen around, but never really knew.

Valley Garden

Buddy, Finally Looking like Buddy

He kept moving his arms. I couldn't keep up with his hands, so I just went with it.

Hazy Daze

Fat Cat

Thank you, Frida

There were other artists at the rave. I opened my notebook and pushed it against the edge of a painting. I had to sit against a wall while it dried. Kahlo used to drop paint in her notebooks, close the pages & open them again like a ink Rorschach test, then make an image for the end result. My attempt at the same.

Raver

There's nothing like being locked in a Baltimore warehouse for 5 hours. Hundreds of people, one room, blasting dubstep. Standing below the dj booth, I propped my notebook against the stage and drew this awesome chick. I'm pretty sure she was a hired dancer. Overall, a badass.