Push And Pull

Valentine Evolution Gif

2012-03-06T09:35:00.000-05:00

Fellow artist, friend and all around awesome guy, Ben Thompson (not to be confused with the author of the same name), saved me the horror of having to conjure anything too deep to say today (and saved you from having to read it) by being generous enough to generate an animated gif of Valentine. Unsolicited, Ben sent along the fruit of his efforts via electronic mail just moments after I'd first mentioned the idea, yesterday. Were I a wealthy man, I'd provide Ben with some recompense for his efforts. A small yacht, perhaps. As I am not a wealthy man, I can only give him my profuse thanks and offer to buy him a drink the next time we meet, which I'm hoping isn't too far down the road.

Anyway, without further ado, here's the gif:

So, there you go. Thanks again, Ben!

Valentine Final

2012-03-05T10:51:00.000-05:00

Here's the final image. It took a while to dry, almost a full day to scan, retouch, and color correct, and at the moment seems like it took forever to complete. But, it's done, and I'm well into the next couple jobs I have due. This painting will be one of several pieces making their debut at Spectrum Live in May, and will hopefully help fill the walls nicely. Hopefully.

So, as usual it's oil on paper on hardboard. It measures 16" x 20" and palette-wise is one of the lighter pieces I've worked on in quite some time. Can't exactly say that about its tone, though.

What would be cool is if I went back and created an animated gif of the painting coming together. Yeah — all twelve steps in one image. That would be sweet. But right now that's just not going to happen. I've got too much on my plate. Instead, you'll just have to flip through the dozen previous posts really quickly and pretend. Sorry.

You know, not having this piece to talk about will be a bit of a letdown now. I'm going to have to dig a bit deeper than I've had to the last couple weeks to provide content. Hopefully whatever ends up filling the void will be worthwhile content, but who's to say?

Anyway, I should get back to work. I've still got 9 out of 11 pieces to go, all due at the end of the month, and as much as I'd like them to, they won't finish themselves... which is why I need a helper monkey. Unfortunately, said monkey would probably just throw stuff around and make a mess. I doubt a whole lot would actually get done as the monkey would obviously be hurling things about while I chased after it, cleaning up as I went. No painting or drawing getting done there. So I guess a helper monkey is a bad idea. At the very least, it's certain that I'd have virtually no time to babble on like this. I mean, even if it worked out just think how long it would take to train the monkey. I'm sure it would come partially trained, but I'd have to teach it the nuances of how I work, and such. Even were the monkey a patient one, I'm sure I'd stretch that patience to its very limits (as I often due with humans) and I'm pretty sure that that would still end with me wiping the walls and scrubbing the carpet. So yeah. I need to just accept the helper monkey thing as being ill advised and move forward with getting the work done, myself.

Right. On with it then.

Valentine: Day 12

2012-02-29T12:35:00.000-05:00

A dozen days into the festivities, I found myself at the very end. My major decisions had all been made and it was time to cover what ground remained. The laundry list looked like this:

1. The birds. They were just vaguely blocked in and needed to be finalized.
2. The background. I needed to decide on the intensity of those colors once and for all.
3. The weeds. One more pass to solidify them.
4. The sword. It needed another look in order to make sure I didn't lose the edge against the busyness of the worm.

One by one, I checked the items off.

I have an annoying habit of actually resting my hand on the painting's surface from time to time. When I work on canvas, I do this rarely as the give of the fabric reminds me not to, but the firm surface of paper on hardboard allows my often absent mind to have its way. I know that maul sticks exist for this purpose, and on larger pieces I use one, but I've always found them to be too unwieldy for smaller work. So, I've kind of just accepted that it's going to happen, and all I can do is mitigate the damage done. In order to do this, and because I'm left-handed, I often work from right to left whenever possible. And so, the birds were completed in keeping with that as you can see in the progress shot below.

I continued in this fashion until I reached the sword. At that point, I went ahead and dealt with the blade as necessary then returned to painting the birds. In order to break up the monotony, of painting bird after bird, I did some more work on the weeds. Once I'd managed to burn through that, I dutifully went back to painting birds until there were none left to paint.

At this point, I walked away from the piece. I needed a bit of a breather and wanted to train my eyes on something else for a little while in order to come back to the painting with a fresher eye. I watched a bit of television while doing thumbnail sketches for another job and pretended Valentine didn't exist for a stretch. When I finally came back to the painting, I looked it over and quickly decided to gamble a bit with the sky color and boost its vibrancy. I went with a glaze that consisted primarily of Indian Yellow and Magenta, with the thinking that if I didn't like it I could simply wipe it off. Turns out I liked it, so it got to stay.

I photographed the piece, and emailed it to my cabal of illustrators to get their impressions. I had the luxury of one more day and wanted their feedback. I already had Amy's. She felt the ill-advised bird in the upper left hand corner was... well, ill-advised. You'll note when seeing the final that it is no longer there. Happily, the other critiques came quickly thereafter and were either minor enough to address or ignore as necessary. I agreed with all of the nits my friends chose to pick but only had time to address a few of them effectively given the issues of drying and the proximity of the deadline. That's when I wrote yesterday's post. And while the fifteen minutes of work I suggested it would take to complete the painting turned out to take a half hour, it was still completed and Valentine currently drying quietly in the corner.

As soon as the piece is scanned, color corrected, etc., I'll have it up here. In the meantime, I'm going to get back to my scribbling.

Valentine: Days 10 and 11

2012-02-28T10:56:00.001-05:00

Three days of silence. Days, believe it or not, that were pretty full of work. Hence the silence. One can always tell how under the gun I am by how communicative I happen to be, and how unshaven I've become. The closer to the end of a job, the more slovenly my appearance becomes. An obsession with completing the job begins to well up within me, and a chant begins inside my head that has been known to escape my lips: I can't wait until this job is done.

Mind you, it's not the kind of obsession I grew up around — my mother, a consummate cleaner and champion of order, used to follow me around with the vacuum cleaner, and was more than ready to wipe down every doorknob and light switch I touched in my travels. She could not rest until everything was cleaned to her satisfaction. As there were three children in the house, as well as three cats, and a dog who occasionally found himself inside (much to his chagrin), my mother did not rest often.

No, it's not an all consuming obsession. I suppose it's more of a mild preoccupation that repeatedly bubbles up to the surface. With the end of the job in sight, a sense that it's time to move on takes hold and quickly evolves into anticipation for the next project.

And so, over the weekend, I toiled away at the piece in an effort to put it to bed. Though I wasn't completely successful, I got it to within easy striking distance and am now but fifteen minute's worth of work from it's completion.

Day 10 found me tightening the worm a bit more, while darkening the overall value and killing the blue of the maw a bit. I did another pass on the background and did some more work on the snow being plowed. I also began to flip-flop on whether or not I wanted to keep the edge of the snowbank Valentine is leaning into all the way to the edge of the painting. Day 9's post shows the edge disappearing, and I brought it back on Day 10. I ended up thinking it was better on Day 9.

Day 10 wrapped up with me realizing that I had once again avoided making some major decisions. How much of the worm's interior structure should I show? How detailed should the worm's surface be? The best way to answer these things was to fuss around with the piece in Photoshop. I decided to take that task on the next morning.

Day 11 began with me sitting down at the computer to do some digital painting. As I was about to plug in my tablet, I received an email from another illustrator about the piece. Attached to the email was a digital paint over he'd done that addressed the very issues I was about to tackle.

Now, over the years, I have been reticent to show my work to my peers in progress or even to get crits from them after the fact. I drifted in and out of several small clutches of illustrators with whom I shared my work, and always felt an unease about it. I think the root of the problem was self-esteem related. While I was brutally honest during critiques in college, and could take as good as I gave, there was a security blanket there in that it was okay to fail. There were no real repercussions to falling short at something. You just did better the next time.

After becoming a professional, I became more guarded. For whatever reason, failure was something I began to fear. I didn't like the idea that the lesser pieces were out there for all to see, and the last thing I wanted was to have one of my peers point them out to me. In retrospect, I can see how I got to that thinking, but the fallacy of it is pretty obvious. While there are some out there who will gloat about the work that came up short, for the most part my fellow illustrators were more than willing to help me. And so, over the last year things have changed. I have found a group of folks who I respect and trust and have somehow managed to keep pretty tight with them. There was never some dramatic moment where we sat down around a table writing up bylaws and making formal declarations. We just started consulting one another. I'm not sure if it's made my work better or not but it's a pretty awesome security blanket, and the fact that one of them took it upon themselves to do a digital paint over on the Valentine piece for my benefit makes it clear how fortunate I am.

Paint over in hand, I began to systematically finish the painting. I added the vaguest indication of the worm's throat, began to give form to the worm's skin, and added some saliva for good measure. I made another pass on the sword, threw in some additional rocks, and finally started painting in the weeds poking through the snow. The plowed snow, too, got another pass, all of the final steps became clear. I just needed to commit and do them.

A note about the photographs. Despite my attempts to color correct them, they've consistently skewed the painting's palette. The blues all appear much grayer than in real life. Part of this is to do with the light in the room, and part of this is to do with how I've got the camera set. I suspect that once the piece is scanned it will be a bit of a surprise to some of you. Or not.

I think I've got one more post left about the process, and then should have the finished piece for you all shortly thereafter. In the meantime, I'm going to put the last 15 minutes into this thing, then get on to the next project.

Valentine: Day 9

2012-02-24T09:19:00.000-05:00

The second maquette I built for the worm was less elaborate. The first one was a thing of beauty. Oh, you should have seen it. Articulated teeth, nice texture. It was almost perfect. But then it got crushed before I could photograph it. Brings a tear to my eye. The second? Well, it's nothing special. It was quicker and dirtier, and done in frustration. Nevertheless, it had all the things necessary for me to move forward on the worm with more confidence. Let's take a look, shall we?

The worm's design is based on the drawings inside the comic. If you want to take a look at those, I highly recommend you flip through the comic (the worm is probably best seen in #5). There are a couple really nice drawings from several different angles and I did my best to be in keeping with that design. I then placed it in the same location around the same time of day as the reference of me in costume, and got about the same light as a result.

While I agree it's kind of an artistic travesty, the maquette does help inform me of where light falls. I know how much light gets to the right side of the jaw. I know how much light the underside of the upper lip gets. I even get an idea of how much light passes down the back of the throat. For my purposes, the planes are fairly well defined, and I have an idea of the structure and shapes I need to start bringing into the painting.

Now, maquettes are something I spoke briefly about in a series of posts I wrote a while back about reference. I even included a picture of a few others I've sculpted. They're not always brilliant, they're not always beautiful, and they're almost always supplemented with photo reference. While this seems like a lot to wrap your head around, to me it's always better to have too much information than not enough. You can always ignore what you don't need.

For the most part, my maquettes are usually constructed using Sculpy, paper, cardboard, and tape. Sometimes a little hot glue if I'm feeling saucy. Rare is it that I end up baking the maquettes to harden them, as I prefer to be able to scrap them and build new ones as necessary. Some I've kept over the years. Others I immediately flattened upon the jobs completion. But whatever their lifespan, I've found them to be really useful for certain things. Sometimes they're good for architecture, sometimes for bizarre creatures, and sometimes they're good for really nailing a character's likeness (something that is particularly useful if you have to depict said character more than once). The point is, even a weak sculpture like this worm, lit properly, provides more information than nothing, and it can really help the believability of a piece, as well as the illusion of three-dimensionality.

So, worm maquette built, lit and photographed, I proceeded to take on the biggest blank space in the piece. Finally, structure and form were added to the worm. It's only a first pass, but it's finally taking shape. There are certainly concerns. I don't buy the blue of the worm's shadows, for example. I don't buy its value structure. I'm also thinking I need to skew the worm's angle more than I have. It feels like it's gotten more upright. Still, the addition of real structure to the piece is beginning to give it a more finished feel.

Anyway, it's about time for me to climb back into the old painting chair and commence the day's work. With a little luck, the worm will progress nicely, and I'll be able to push a few other things further along. Perhaps I'll begin throwing in the weeds sticking out of the snow in the foreground or some such. We shall see.

Valentine: Day 8

2012-02-23T11:45:00.000-05:00

Another day, another pass over the piece. Once more, I've gone back into the background, I've done another pass over the figure and fiddled with some details, I've blocked the sword in and begun to add some rocks in the foreground, and, I've gone ahead and made the correction suggested by Daarken, which I mentioned yesterday.

The change to the sword arm was a bit tricky. As soon as I added a more solidified blade, and that line cut across the arm so sharply, the problem called attention to itself immediately. I pushed the forearm this way and that in order to keep the upper arm from feeling too long. I'd get it to the point where it felt about right, only to realize that I'd made the upper arm too short, then I'd revisit it only to over correct and make it feel too long again. Eventually, I think I managed it (though I'm sure Daarken will speak up if he disagrees).

For some reason, I decided on pine tree silhouettes in the background. I have since rejected this idea as I think leafless deciduous trees are clearly the way to go as they are far more stark and moody. It doesn't hurt that it's also in keeping with what is depicted within the story itself. So, those will need to change.

Still present is the color in the sky. In fact, I've added to it and I think I'm warming to its presence, but I still feel that the worm may impact the final decision. Speaking of the worm, the mushy, complete lack of definition has now reached critical mass. The maquette needs to be completed (for the second time — the first one having been crushed by the weight of the board it was stuck to after falling off the table), and photographed.

Leaving such a large element of the composition so undefined for so long is something I don't recommend and is probably a mistake on my part. Waiting to paint until I'd gathered ALL of my necessary reference would definitely have cut down on the painting time and would have been far more efficient. Typically, I would have done a lot more preparation on the front end, and I really have no excuse or explanation as to why I've dealt with this painting in such a piecemeal way. The only upside seems to be that I have more steps and thus more blog posts to show for it. To be sure, with 11 paintings due over the next five weeks, my efficiency is about to skyrocket.

Despite being really close to completion, I've noticed a detail on the figure that I will need to correct: the bands on the portion of the fur-lined jacket to our right should not be stretched taught, but rather be flapping freely as they are what is secured around the buttons in order to close the jacket. A very minor thing — especially given the bigger problems I'm facing with the structureless background worm — but something I can easily correct and will do so.

To be sure, the worm is the key to moving forward, and that is what I will concentrate on. The sword and the ravens need another pass, which likely won't happen until the worm is done. The more distant background elements need another pass as well, but again — worm first! Outside of that, a few foreground elements remain to be added, the snow being plowed needs some additional definition, and then I get to do one of my favorite parts of any painting: push and pull. Push elements back as necessary with a glaze or two; pull elements forward by increasing contrast, popping highlights, etc. These are the finishing touches, and they'll be here before I know it.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. First: the worm.

Valentine: Day 7

2012-02-22T11:39:00.000-05:00

Chiseling away at the uniform has been pretty interesting and a bit time consuming, but it's finally coming to a close. Since I started working in the fantasy genre, I've seen all manor of uniforms and outfits represented in the various worlds I've gotten to play in, and it's pretty rare that they are more outlandish than some of those actually worn by real people throughout history. Truth be told, this particular uniform is pretty tame. While there's a lot going on in it, there's still some that I've not included. Take the hat for example, which is tall, resembles a bucket with a brim, and features a fair bit of ornamentation, a puffball, and a very tall plume. The uniform feels on some level like it would be quite at home in many fantasy worlds out there. It's familiar, yet somehow alien. At the very least, it's a far cry from anything we see today... Well, anything we see today outside of Fashion Week.

I can't say that I'm too upset that the hat's inclusion wasn't requested, as the challenge of pulling it off might be beyond my skills. But hats are hard in general. Unless it's a fedora. Everyone looks cool in a fedora. Someone really ought to bring those back...

Okay, back to the painting.

I've made some clear progress on the uniform, done some tweaks on the face and head as per the author's notes, blocked in the hands, and started figuring out the sword. Also new to the scene are the ravens, and believe it or not I've done another quick pass on the background.

The color in the far background is something I added for the heck of it. I wanted to see if it would work, and if it added anything to the piece. It was inspired by the sky I saw one morning last week as I drove my wife to the train station. There was a shocking slash of pink that was extremely finite and graphic due to a storm front passing over. I'm still not completely sold on it in the painting, but I don't think it's a bad way to go. I like the color it adds to the piece, but I'm a little afraid that it kills the mood. I'll toy with it a bit more, but will likely not make up my mind until the worm is closer to completion.

Adding things to a piece or subtracting them is something I'll often do. I like experimenting a bit as i go. The key to doing this successfully is to make sure that the elements being toyed with serve the piece as a whole and do not cause the piece to veer too far from the sketch approved by the client. It's also extremely important to not be too married to the experimentation. While these whims may pay off big, they can just as easily blow up in my face, and I have to be honest with myself about that. For, just as a surgeon may have to amputate a leg to save a person, I might be forced to paint over or wipe away those elements I've been fiddling with.

In the case of this painting, I am tossing color around primarily to keep the piece from feeling to bland. Despite all the color in the snow, the uniform, and what will eventually be the worm, there's a part of my brain that worries that the piece as a whole is getting too dull. Personally, I like extremely limited color palettes, and were there no commercial aspect to this piece my instincts would drive it to a point that would make Saving Private Ryan's palette look like that of the Wizard of Oz. While there are times I get to let those instincts run wild, a book cover is not really the appropriate place for that. A series of gray and brown smears doesn't exactly jump off the shelf, and is hardly appropriate for Valentine. And so, I'll be experimenting with the piece on some level until the very end. All the while, I'll be striving to achieve a point where the color and tonal aspects of the piece are in balance with the overall intended mood, and are in keeping with the book itself and the client's wishes.

Yesterday, Daarken was nice enough to give me a quick crit on the image. He pointed something out that I happened to be working on at the time, which is that the upper part of the sword arm feels a bit long. What you should see is how I've changed things. But, you won't until tomorrow. As I write this, I'm a day ahead of what I'm posting. Due to the likelihood that I will get nothing accomplished tomorrow, I figured I'd pad the posts by a day so as to maintain a regular schedule of things. Come Friday, I will be in sync with my actual progress.

Tomorrow, I'll be giving another update on the piece and will be adding my thoughts and any other bits of cheese as necessary. Friday, I'll chat a bit about maquettes and show you the one I did for this piece. It's really not special, I assure you, but it's part of the process so I guess it's worth mentioning. Hopefully you will see the payoff for making the maquette, and with a little luck, the piece will quickly come to a close over the weekend (though it's likely I'll skip the weekend posts so as to give myself some extra time to do things like my taxes and such).

For now, I'm off to paint.

Valentine: Day 6

2012-02-21T12:03:00.004-05:00

Here's yesterday's checklist:

1. Start dealing with the whole of the piece.
2. Correct the anatomical issues in the hip area.
3. Start finishing up that uniform.
4. Have Valentine visit a head shrinker.

Yup. I think I've dealt with the lot. Not that there isn't room for improvement on any of them, but I think we're on our way.

After the Day 4 post, I received an email from the author with some notes on the piece. I know what some of you reading this might be thinking. Uh oh. Yeah, I left myself open for that. I'm doing this series of posts as I'm working, before the job is due. That means the client is free to pick all kinds of nits. But like I said, I knew what I was doing, which means that I deserve what I get. That being said, the notes were very helpful, and I really don't take issue with any of it. They're not the kind of thing that require a complete overhaul, and I'll be incorporating them as best I can as I progress.

To be sure, notes from the client aren't the only danger when doing this kind of thing. Exposing your process is a little like ruining the magic. For some, the finished project being born from the ether is what's important. Finding out how something came to be can take the luster off of that. Also, you can open yourself up to criticism of your process in general. There might be some step you take that someone may disagree with or may know a shortcut for. Talking about the "how" of it all invariably opens you up to the various "why's". Why aren't you covering more ground each day? Why did you paint that thing that color? Why aren't you treating the piece more wholistically? These may be valid criticisms, but they can throw you off your game in the middle of things if you don't know how to take them.

I think the important thing to keep in mind is that your process is just that: yours. I think it's the quirks of how we go about things that can help define our work sometimes. For example, I paint a lot on dry paint. I know that other people reject such a thing because they are hardcore about only painting wet on wet. But my process works for me. It's part of the reason my work looks the way it does. Painting wet on wet is part of the reason their work looks the way it does. Is one better than the other? Is one more valid? I don't really know. But I see it this way: we each do what we have to do to get the job done. Still, all that being said, it's equally important to be open to new ideas and ways of working. It can change your world for the better.

Okay, so where do we stand? What's next?

I'm going to try and get the figure a little closer to finish, do another pass on the background, and block in the crows. They're an important part of the composition and value structure, so the sooner they appear the better, I think. I think I'll also need to supplement my reference again to help with the snow being plowed by the worm in the background, and am considering doing a quick and dirty maquette of the worm itself to make sure the lighting plan for it in my head is accurate and to correct that plan if it is not.

Now, off to work with me!

Valentine: Day 5

2012-02-20T14:00:00.001-05:00

To be sure, the pace of this job is slower than I usually work. I know it's moving along at a crawl and like I said, I'm juggling a bunch of other things right now. I've got ten black and white pieces to finish, a job I really can't say much about, and a personal piece I've been doing legwork on in order to have if for Spectrum Live, in May. Add to this the fact that I'm still dealing with the residual affects of the move (buying carpets, laying said carpets down, rearranging furniture, spending time addressing the mice in the walls, etc.), and you've got a very distracted Steve. This week will see another major distraction as Amy and I will spend a day signing the piles of paperwork it will take to finally get rid of our old apartment in Queens. It's bittersweet, it takes me away from my work, but it's also very necessary.

Between then and now, I should be able to make some pretty serious progress on the piece, and hopefully it'll be interesting to you all.

"So," you might ask yourself, "what's changed?"

Good question. There have been a few subtle changes made to the face, the coat is getting a bit closer to completion, and I've started to decide on the layout of some of the various details of the uniform. What I haven't done somehow seems to be more important.

Though I've added some additional tone to the background, I have not done anything more substantial than that. I'm still not addressing the piece as a whole, and Valentine has nothing to relate to in the real world. In my head, I have a plan, but it's not one that's easily typed out.

Still feeling a bit dodgy, the hip area has yet to be corrected. I have, however, had additional reference taken to help solidify that issue and will endeavor to hammer out the issues I'm having.

Finally, I still feel like the head is a bit too large for the body. I think it requires only a slight fix, but it's certainly something that I feel needs doing.

So, the checklist for today is as follows:

1. Start dealing with the whole of the piece.
2. Correct the anatomical issues in the hip area.
3. Start finishing up that uniform.
4. Have Valentine visit a head shrinker.

I think that about covers things. Checklist in hand, I shall now get to work.

Valentine: Day 4

2012-02-17T13:18:00.000-05:00

The progress between days three and four once again seems pretty minor. I've done a bit more work on the face, though it's admittedly very subtle, and I've begun work on the uniform. Overall, I'm trying to keep the uniform's hues intact, but skew them a bit cooler to keep with my overall planned palette.

The jacket's color presents an interesting challenge. Wool fabric of the type such uniforms were made absorbs a great deal of light, so even the lightest highlights tend to look rather dark. Keeping the jacket reading as green and keeping the darks from going to black too quickly is proving to be an interesting challenge. One final pass should get me there, but we'll see.

The jacket will be lined with fur and there's a bit of a debate going on in my mind as to what color to make that fur. Depending on the reference, it is depicted as either black or a medium brown. I've looked up lieutenant uniforms for other Hussar units to see if I could find something more definitive, and it looks like more information points towards black than anything else. I'll deal with that tomorrow and will for now leave the lined cuffs, collar, etc. unfinished.

The red pants are a also proving to be a bit of a challenge. In fact, the color red in general has always been something that I've struggled with. My issues primarily revolve around the colors of highlights and shadows. I always find cool highlights on red objects to ring oddly false, even when they're accurate, and this case is no different. I'm also struggling with how intense I want the pants to be. In real life, they'd be very brilliant. That is, of course, if they were new. With this piece, we're dealing with a soldier who is struggling through a Russian winter. I'm guessing they're not quite pristine. But that's beside the point. More important than all of that is what best serves the piece. I'm going to have to keep aware of whether or not the red becomes distracting. It think I could push it a bit brighter, as it's easier to kill it later on than bring the purer red back.

It's at this point that I start becoming a bit concerned with anatomical issues like the fact that the head feels a little big for the body and that the hip area feels a little wonky somehow. Neither of these issues are too difficult to fix, but it wasn't until I started to solidify the figure in any real way that they became noticeable. I've never been entirely sure why this has always been the case for me, but my brain tends to overlook some issues when it comes to sketches. Issues that turn around and become problems once the finish is underway. I'm thinking some additional drawing and perhaps another reference shot or two will help me remedy some of the issues. This time, perhaps, the reference will be done without a jacket so as to allow the hip area to be more visible.

It's also at this point that I begin to come to the realization that I'm not entirely comfortable with how much Valentine is just floating in the ether. He's not relating to a whole lot right now, because he's the only thing present. I'm going to have to start dropping real tones into the piece soon, and start addressing the background in some meaningful way.

Today I will do another pass on the face, and begin to bring the uniform home, then I'll begin blocking in some background tones...or something.

As an aside, I've been on a podcast kick of late. Thus far, this piece has been painted while listening to the Smartest Man in the World with Greg Proops, the Nerdist Podcast with Chris Hardwick, and the WTF Podcast with Marc Maron. Curiously, I've found a lot of issues and stories that have been shared by the comedians on these shows to be similar to ones I've heard from illustrators. It's kind of weird actually. The really nice thing is that while I am, in fact, alone in my studio, in another sense I'm really not.

Until next time...

Valentine: Day 3

2012-02-16T11:01:00.000-05:00

So really quickly, I'm going to show you what some of the home brew reference looks like. These shots were taken by my wife on our porch. I went with this location for a couple of reasons. First, it's open and we have a lot of room to move around. Second, the light was from the right direction and was diffused to about the degree I was going for. It was overcast outside and given that I'm doing a snow scene, I thought that to be appropriate. I suspect that in the future, I'll be shooting quite a bit of reference in this space. It seemed to work out rather nicely.

©Amy Belledin

These are just a couple of several dozen shots taken (thank goodness for digital photography as doing this with film would be cost prohibitive). The number of photos taken can vary greatly from piece to piece and is usually related to how many figures are involved or how difficult it is to hold a given pose. This one turned out to be pretty difficult, and so no single image represents the pose in its entirety. To deal with situations where this is the case, some illustrators will use Photoshop to create a Frankensteined master image comprised of all the various parts that make up the finished pose. The left arm from this picture, the torso and right arm from that one, the head from a third, and so on. This technique is especially helpful when dealing with poses that are physically impossible, but look cool. While I completely see this technique as valuable, I don't actually use it myself. Instead, I rename the various photographs with appropriate titles indicating their respective value and switch between them as necessary. Admittedly, this technique is a little less efficient, but I enjoy the mental math of it all and I find that it helps keep the process interesting.

So, as far as the props and costume go, I am wearing a replica of a Union Army private's uniform from the American Civil War. While this is not authentic to the Napoleonic era, it is a lot closer than jeans and a t-shirt. At the very least, the uniform is made of wool, and thus will drape similarly to the Hussar uniform. Additionally, in order to replicate the various elements on the Hussar uniform, I used copious amounts of masking tape. Absolutely not authentic at all, but it does provide me good reference points to keep things feeling natural. For a sash, I used a winter scarf and am ignoring the excess which hangs down in the back. As you can see, I'm leaning on a stool, and holding a dowel. Originally I was weilding a sword, but being as athletically disinclined as I am, it proved too awkward and heavy for holding the pose for any prolonged period of time. Valentine, I am clearly not. If I had an assistant, or a powerful fan, the jacket would be blowing about appropriately. As I have neither, I will just be forced to once again do some mental math.

Alright. On to the painting.

Again, not tons of progress, but true to my word, I concentrated on the face. I'm not sure I'm completely sold on it quite yet, but I think the majority of the ground work has been done. The difficulty with this particular face has to do with the fact that I am trying to interpret comic line drawings and translate them with my own sensibilities. In case no one has taken a look at the character, here's an example of what our hero looks like:

There's a decent amount of information to go with there. I know he's got a strong chin, I know his general coloration and I can glean the overall shape of his face, cheek bone structure, etc. So, it's my job to reinterpret that and bring it into my own visual language. This is a challenge to say the least.

Were this a novel, and I was being asked to depict the main character for the cover, there'd be a little less legwork. I mean, there isn't any art, just words. I'd absorb the description as best I can, then try and depict it as accurately as possible. If someone subsequently read the book and felt that I'd missed the mark, they could just brush it off as "that's not how I imagined them." Here, I have something to live up to. If I've missed the mark, someone can point to a given page or panel and say, "look, idiot! Here is proof that you suck at this!" ...or something to that effect.

Adding to the challenge is that I've been asked to make him a bit more historically accurate for the cover (which requires changes in the hair, changes in the uniform, etc.), thus taking him further away from the pages of the book. What I'm left with is an attempt to strike a balance between two Valentines. I must figure out a way to reference what is in the book, but still adhere to the demands of the art order.

To get a visage that accomplishes this, I started by ignoring my own face in the reference as much as possible. I kept the lighting in mind and some of the coloration, but the structure needed to be thrown out. I then started digging up additional reference of models and photos of my friends that were a lot closer to looking like Valentine. I looked for people with strong chins and similar facial structures to the comic. I took these various images, put all of them into my mental blender, start painting, and hoped for the best. Admittedly, there are still elements in the face that feel a bit too similar to my own, but I've used the faces of a couple models and few friends pretty liberally (I'd prove this with photos, but none of them are mine to show). I've had to do a bit of age regression, but I feel like it's pretty close to what I wanted it to be. I think.

Anyway, up next for me is starting to work out the pose, the uniform, etc. Then, I'll likely go on a background bender. I'll be sweet. You'll see.

Valentine: Day 2

2012-02-15T12:37:00.000-05:00

As I've done in the past, I turned the sketch into a monochrome image (this one was blue), then printed it onto 90 lb. Arches watercolor paper using my trusty Epson Stylus Photo R1900. I then paste this down onto a piece of Ampersand hardboard, which is a pretty hardy material that doesn't bow too much, if at all... unless you put your painting in the oven. Then you find yourself in your father-in-law's basement gluing one by twos onto the back of the board to cradle the piece after the fact. But I digress.

The board I chose is 16 x 20, which presents a slight problem given that the printer's capacity is only 13 inches wide. How did I get around this? Simple: I folded the paper back an inch and half on either side of the sheet to get it down to the correct width. Believe it or not, the printer has no issues with this, and I've yet to have a paper jam.

Now, there are two drawbacks to folding the paper. First, you don't get the entire sketch printed out, just the center 13 inches (or 12 and three quarters to be more precise). This wasn't a problem for me as the meat of the sketch is straight down the center. But, if that weren't the case, I could just fold the paper differently to print a different section of the sketch instead. Additionally, if you've got a sketch that involves tonal regions, there will obviously be a pretty hard line where the tone cuts out. I get around this by putting an acrylic wash down that matches the color as close as possible. I'll do several layers if necessary, but there's usually no need to go too nuts as I paint pretty opaquely to begin with.

The second drawback is that the creases can become raised when the piece is pasted down. How I deal with this is pretty straightforward. After printing the sketch, I immediately unfold the sides. I then take the sketch to a clean, flat surface and using a bone paper folder (or like substance), I try and force out as much of each crease as possible. While it doesn't flatten the paper out perfectly, it does mitigate some of the issue. After pasting the image down, the vertical lines will sometimes still be noticeable and the surface will be raised above the folds. Given that I already coat the surface liberally with acrylic matte medium to begin with, I just do a couple more coats. Then, after it's dry, I sand the surface down using increasingly fine grades of sandpaper, and ending with a Scotch-Brite pad to buff it out. While sanding, I pay special attention to where the creases are, and have gotten to the point where I can usually make them relatively invisible. Unfortunately, I'm never entirely sure just how visible they'll end up being until the final varnish is put on the painting. All that shine brings serious attention to surface flaws.

Granted, what is listed above is not always how things go down. Sometimes I go out and get my stuff printed large format without any creases. It's just that this time I've got a lot going on, and because I've only lived here a month or so, I'm not quite sure yet where I'd go for that kind of thing.

Anyway, after I'm happy with the surface, I give it a final wipe with water and let it dry. I don't touch the piece again until there isn't even so much as a hint of dampness. Then I start painting.

I know what you're thinking: I hardly got anything done. I blocked the figure in and that's it. You're kind of right if that's what you're thinking — like I said before, I've got two other projects going on — but there actually is a fair bit of work done here. The fact that the paint has dulled hides a lot of what I've been up to, but I assure you that the value structure has been hammered out. Next time, I'll oil the piece up before shooting it.

Here's a larger shot of the figure:

So, why jump into the figure? Do I always start that way? No. It's a weird answer, but I start on whatever interests me at the time. Getting started on a piece is always the most difficult part for me, so I kind of need something fun to initiate things. In this case, the figure is the most important element and I needed to make sure that I had his palette correct. I also needed to start pushing him toward the photo reference, which I'll show tomorrow, as I'll have far less to talk about.

Anyway, that's where it stands. Today I plan to focus primarily on the face and then work out from there. So, I guess I should get to it...

Valentine... Day 1

2012-02-14T15:36:00.000-05:00

I teased this about a year ago but then, as projects sometimes do, it was postponed. Then, after clearing my schedule in preparation for the move, it reared its head again. And now, I bring it to you. The project in question is a cover painting for the print version of volume 1 of an online comic called Valentine, which was written by Alex de Campi and drawn by Christine Larsen. You can read the comic here and check out the official website here.

Over the coming days, I'm going to post progress pictures right here on the blog and talk a bit about the process as I work on the painting. I can't promise quality images, or even quality painting, but you should get some idea of how a piece — well, this piece — comes together. But today, I'm going to go over a bit of the story behind the job and show you all some sketches.

This job came out of the blue for me, not unlike the Badass books. Unlike the Badass books, the job happened because another artist was kind enough to give the writer, Alex de Campi, my name. Now, it's been my personal experience that artists recommending other artists for jobs is a bit rare. And while I've experienced it only once or twice, I know from the illustration grapevine that it does happen a fair bit. Such a thing can be a risky proposition, to be sure. Should the artist being recommended drop the ball, both the recommended artist and the recommending artist look like jerks. So, it usually happens between folks who can trust one another. That is certainly the case on the occasions I've passed along names of other artists to art directors, and I think was the case here.

Anyway, I got the initial email from Alex, and I agreed to do the job. After we batted around ideas, we settled on the primary elements that needed to be in the image: our hero, Valentine, snow, and a giant worm comprised of the corpses of fallen soldiers. Valentine needed to be wielding a sword and his uniform needed to be accurate. Now, given that the comic is set during the Napoleonic War, and given that Valentine is a member of the 7th Hussars, there was some pretty specific reference involved, much of which Alex was nice enough to provide. I supplemented this reference via a couple books I have (I'm a bit of a war book junkie), and Google Images. As I don't own the copyright to any of these images, and as I don't have the time to ask permission to use them, I'm not going to post this reference (I play by the rules, sue me). What I will do is give you this link so you can check out the kind of thing I'm talking about if you're interested. Finally, specific to the character was a period hairstyle which involved braids on either side of the head. This is clear in a lot of the reference, and I'm almost positive is present on Keith Carradine in the underrated and under-watched Ridley Scott film, The Duelists.

So, I took all the comprised reference, ran with it, mixed in some ravens which appear repeatedly throughout the story and produced a couple of sketches for Alex's consideration:

In the top sketch, I wanted to have something that was more design and montage oriented (note the zombies in the lower right). I wanted to give her something that was less a straightforward image. I don't think I was entirely successful, but I do feel like there's something promising in the overall design, and I think with some tweaks, some back and forth with Alex, and a little more effort, I could have hammered out a sketch that worked. But it turns out I didn't need to, because sketch number two existed.

The second sketch is a far more direct, straight to the jugular image. It's Valentine, man of action, struggling against the elements as the worm bears down on him from behind, obscured by the snow. The sword is obscenely long, but aside from that I think works pretty well and hits all the notes. Alex seemed to agree and I was given the green light.

But that was a year ago. And like I said, things happened. Still, it all worked out, because here we are again. The piece now sits on my easel, ready for paint. Hopefully it'll come together nicely.

So, like I said, I'll be posting progress shots as I go. I don't know that there will always be amazing amounts of work done on the job each day, as I'm currently working on two other projects, but there will certainly be a lot of ground covered at times, so be sure. After all, this thing is due soon, so I guess I better get to it!

Hinterland Hermit, Hinterland Scourge

2012-02-09T13:48:00.000-05:00

Like many of the other artists who worked on the Innistrad Magic block, I got the opportunity to paint a werewolf. Also like many of those other artists, I got to do so for a double-sided card, which meant two pieces, a before and an after. Man and... wolfman.

If I'm honest, I don't really have any insight into how the double-sided cards came about. I only know that the idea was being batted around by Research and Development while I was at Wizards of the Coast working on the concept art. Being a former player of the game, I was a little taken aback when I heard the idea mentioned, but I got the feeling that there were smarter people than I working on things and that any kinks would get ironed out. Still, I was pretty curious to see the things come to fruition, and given that I still haven't gotten my hands on one, my curiosity hasn't been completely sated, but I know it's only a matter of time.

Anyway, on to the art...

For this particular assignment, I got the following descriptions:

ART ID: 139794    title: [Hinterland Scourge]
SIZE: 2 1/16" (52mm) wide X 1 1/2" (38mm) tall

ART DESCRIPTION:
Color: Red creature
Location: In a mountain hamlet. There's a full moon in the sky.
Action: Show the older man from [Hinterland Hermit] transformed into a gray-furred werewolf. Show him lunging at the camera, bloody fangs bared. He's got torn cloth snagged on his claws and teeth from his previous kill. Maybe show the parish church in the background.
Focus: The werewolf
Mood: A predatory killer with no regrets or human emotion.
Notes: LINK to [Hinterland Hermit]
=====================================================

ART ID: 139796    title: [Hinterland Hermit]
SIZE: 2 1/16" (52mm) wide X 1 1/2" (38mm) tall

ART DESCRIPTION:
Color: Red creature
Location: On the outskirts of a mountain hamlet at dusk
Action: Show an older gray-haired man crouched beneath a pine tree watching something in the distance. He's the mountain-man type, a scary loner who avoids civilization. He's dressed in furs and leather with a gray beard and long gray hair. It's a full moon tonight, he knows he's a werewolf, and he's really hungry. See styleguide p. 50B for tone of clothing.
Focus: The man
Mood: An unseen killer waiting for the right moment to strike
Notes: LINK to [Hinterland Scourge]

Now, I had nothing to do with the werewolf designs. That was all Steve Prescott with contributions from Daarken and Wizards' own Richard Whitters. But, I had helped a fair bit with the human concepting; their wardrobe, architecture and whatnot. Given that I had those things more in mind, I addressed the hermit first.

©Wizards of the Coast

In essence, I was going for exactly what the description above indicates: a man who observed civilization, yet avoided it. I chose a moment where he's been startled while looking down upon the town. It's a pretty straightforward, moody image and it was an instant sell as far as the folks at Wizards were concerned. In fact, the only change requested was to partially obscure the moon with clouds. Simple enough.

The werewolf was a different story altogether. I really struggled with him. I suspect that werewolves may not be in my wheelhouse, but I consider it a good thing that I was pushed in a direction that I'm not entirely comfortable with. After many iterations, I finally settled on this:

©Wizards of the Coast

One of the advantages of having both images be on the same card is that there was no need to go over the top to tie the two images together. By this I mean, I wasn't forced to basically paint the same piece twice with only the figure being different. Indeed, I tried to keep the palettes similar and I tried to keep the moon placement about the same (though scale and emphasis did change), but I didn't feel like I had to slavishly reproduce the composition of the hermit piece. Still, I did attempt to reference one in the other, and hopefully they do feel like they belong together, but I'm kind of okay with them feeling quite separate, as well. Either way, the fine folks at Wizards seemed to be cool with my instincts as the only complaint was that the thumbs on the hands felt too human. Steve Prescott had designed a really awesome hand for the werewolves that was more paw-like and I apparently hadn't gotten the memo. So, the thumbs became more like wolf dewclaws, and I was good to go.

As you can see both sketches were digital. While they started out in pencil, only the hermit has anything that resembles a decent drawing. As is typical when I do digitally painted sketches, I turned them into monochrome images in Photoshop (I think they may have been violet), then pasted those images down onto the boards. After that, I pulled out my brushes and went to town. Here's how they ended up:

©Wizards of the Coast

Both are oil on paper on hardboard and measure 14" x 11".

A story about the hermit piece: As I painted the hermit's face, I noticed that he began to resemble artist Larry Elmore. It occurred to me that it might be fun to turn the piece into a portrait of one of my childhood heroes, so I went with it. The problem was that I found Mr. Elmore's face to be jarringly inconsistent with the vibe I was going for. It was too soft, too kind. So, in order to keep the piece pointed in the right direction, I was forced to abandon the idea and push the hermit back in the direction the sketch had indicated. I wish I'd made it work somehow, but it was out of reach and I didn't want to sink the piece on the basis of a whim.

©Wizards of the Coast

Aside from not being able to make the portrait stick, I'm pretty happy with how the pieces turned out. However, I oddly prefer the sketches to the finishes somehow. Perhaps it's their rawness, perhaps it has to do with their mood, and perhaps it's to do with the fact that so many of the horror films I grew up with and dug most as a kid were black and white. I don't know. What I do know is that I feel like the paintings lost something that is present in the sketches, and I wish that that something had translated a bit better.

©Wizards of the Coast

That being said, upon revisiting these pieces to write this post, I'm still pleased with the Hinterland Hermit as well as the Hinterland Scourge which, as it turns out, is the one and only werewolf I've ever painted.

Geralf's Mind Crusher

2012-02-01T10:15:00.001-05:00

In the long list of pieces that I will invariably be stuck with for the rest of my life, we can add Geralf's Mind Crusher. What can I say about the piece? Well, it started with the following description:

ART ID: 139875 title: [Maddening Zombie]

ART DESCRIPTION:
Color: Blue creature
Location: Your choice
Action: Show a huge zombie whose head and neck are covered with many eyes of different sizes and colors. It's at least seven feet tall with a stitched-up misshapen body and muscular limbs. Blue-aligned zombies are created by alchemists. They are stitched together parts from multiple corpses and stitches should be visible on its body.
Focus: The zombie
Mood: Just the sight of it induces madness

Simple enough, right? So I went and did this sketch:

©Wizards of the Coast

I'm not sure what exactly I was thinking when it came to design. I know that I dug the idea of a layered torso, which lead to the overlapping (and I assume extra) ribcage. It's got the required stitches, and all those extra eyes make it clear that he's been manipulated in some way and is not just your average, wake-from-the-dead zombie. This is one of those Frankenstein's monster undead types — alive because someone made it so.

Whether or not he's maddening, I can't say. I suppose if you saw something like him in real life you might go a bit mad... at least temporarily. But the bottom line is he was approved as is, and I painted him up thusly:

©Wizards of the Coast

As usual, he's oil on paper on hardboard and measures 12" x 9".

I wanted the piece to feel very noir-ish and wanted also to insinuate that the creature had been stumbled upon whilst creeping through the village one night. So, I lit him in a way that gives the impression that there's a streetlamp or someone with a lantern just off to the right. This light has caused the creature to begin emerging from his hiding spot, which means that given his final title, mind crushing is likely about to happen.

As far as other details, I made the stitches irritated and fresh. Perhaps there's some infection going on there, as well. In addition, I included some metallic pieces sticking out of his back, the visible parts of the armature I imagine helps keep him together, and also contains various tubes and hoses that deliver the necessary chemicals which keep him animated.

©Wizards of the Coast

If you reread the above paragraphs, you'll see that I've tried to inject some story into the piece. I could have taken the description above in a hundred different directions. It could have been a more menacing piece, or one that was more overtly terrifying. I chose a story that made the most sense to me given the creature, the world, and the piece. I like to think that the stories we try and tell are what makes each artist's images unique. Sure, there are the obvious aesthetic differences, but beyond those are the tales we tell and the sensibilities of those tales. What stories we tell do matter (the tonality needs to be consistent with the job, after all), but more important is that we try and tell stories to begin with.

It was the story of Innistrad, the world that this card set takes place in, that drove much of the design. It was the context that helped shape things and bring the horror tropes into synch with one another. While I intend to talk a lot more in depth about the experience of helping bring this world to life, I did want to touch on the monsters like the one above. While I didn't really have a hand in fleshing out the straight-up brain-eating zombies, I did have a hand in the creation of these guys. The blue zombies. Those that had been manipulated and brought to life by alchemists.

What little insight I can provide is that I imagined them to be not unlike living sculptures. I figured that they had metal armatures around which everything was based. I did a bit of leg work on injection systems for alchemical liquids into the zombies, and the like. I put some thought into how runes may play a part. You know, the usual. At the other end of the spectrum was Daarken, who (unconcerned with these things at first) began putting together a variety of silhouettes and overall designs. Nothing either of us did excluded the work of the other, and I think, when combined, our efforts made for an interesting and rather open ended concept for other artists to follow.

The Frankenstein's monster inspired creatures weren't something I ended up pursuing to the end. In fact, Daarken and Richard Whitters were largely responsible for their final look. Still, this is one of the few pieces that I got to paint that depict a facet of the Innistrad world that I actually helped create. It's also a really weird one, and like I said, is likely to be taking up space in my flat files for years to come.

2012 — Wait, What?

2012-01-27T18:08:00.000-05:00

I've been missing in action. Last seen in the Boston area, but not a word for months. What has become of our middling illustrator hero?

In my time away, the holidays happened, the year changed, and we left Massachusetts behind. We broke down everything in our house, had it transported to New Jersey, and have begun to rebuild anew. We've spent some time getting our bearings, experimenting with the drive into New York City, visiting the many malls the area has to offer, and frantically pulling my Spectrum entry together. We've tried new restaurants, and visited places previously associated with only bad memories in the hope that we can build happier ones.

The net result of our efforts is that this weekend will see the finishing touches of the studio put into place, followed by the rude awakening that will be Monday when I will have to begin digging into the mound of sketches and paintings that I have been forced to neglect in favor of relocating. Last year's move had an impact that lasted about three months. This move's effects will likely last about the same amount of time — especially given the fact that I have at least one personal piece to put together for Spectrum Live, this spring.

How will this affect the blog? Will my entries continue to be as sparse as they've been the last four months? In a word: no. I once again have control of the computer. Amy has relinquished the thing in favor of doing a figurative fan dance in an attempt to turn the nibbles of interest she's had into full on, adult-sized bites. It's worth noting, too, that the interest she's had has been more plentiful in the couple weeks we've been in the New York area than the four months she spent unemployed in Massachusetts, so it looks as though her career may get back on track soon, and it confirms that our move back to the New York area was a good idea. At least for now.

Anyway, my intention will be to begin editing and finishing some of the entries I've already started, and to add to those from time to time. Will it be more than an entry a week? Can't say. But I'll certainly try. Even so, an entry a week would be huge compared to the virtual silence this blog has suffered for the last few months.

In the meantime, here's a piece for your consideration. It's from the new Magic: the Gathering, Dark Ascension set, and is called Gravecrawler. First the sketch:

©Wizards of the Coast

The sketch is pretty straightforward. The working title of the piece was Relentless Zombie, and in the description I was asked to portray a zombie who despite having no legs has not given up his quest for what is kept in your cranium. I decided that he needed to not just be legless, but needed to leave a trail, as well. I could have pushed it to an even grosser level, but I decided this was gross enough and stopped at the trail.

Anyway, the finish:

©Wizards of the Coast

Obviously, given the horror theme of the Innistrad block, you'll notice that the work I'll be showing you in the near future will be in keeping with that. Not sure I'd ever have painted most of what I'll be showing you on my own, but I was happy to oblige Wizards' requests.

Anyway, this piece is oil on hardboard and measures 12"x9". Fun features to note are the pools of water in the holes left by missing or broken cobblestones, as well as the nail marks across the stones as he drags himself forward. Normally I wouldn't toot my own horn over stuff like that, but I enjoyed the heck out of those little nuggets for some reason, and now feel obliged to share them in case you'd missed them.

This was a pretty easy piece for me, which is something I rarely say. I knew what I was going to do with it off the bat, with the exception of whether it was going to be a mostly cool piece with a warm glow from behind or how it ended up, which is the reverse of that. I went this way because I really liked the warmth on the decrepit flesh. It played well to me, though I think it could easily have worked just as well had I gone the other path. Either way, it resulted in a relatively limited palette (which I'm always a sucker for), and I'm pretty happy with the results.

Given the subject matter and its handling, I suspect I'll be stuck with this piece for a long time to come. I'm cool with that, though I think it'd make a perfect gift for a kid's birthday or a housewarming!

That was a joke.

Alright. I'm going to wrap this up now. I'm going to attempt to recover from that joke, and I'll definitely have a new post next week with even more new art for your perusal. Cheers!

A Quick Hello

2011-11-28T11:22:00.000-05:00

So... I haven't been around in a while.

You got me. I've been slacking. Just been sitting around on my giant, cushy chair, popping bonbons in my mouth and watching the world go by. That's how I roll.

Actually, I don't own a cushy chair and I'm pretty sure I have never eaten a bonbon. And I haven't been watching the world go by, though I have been utterly amazed as I've watched the time do so. Anyway, here's what's been going on:

As I mentioned previously, Amy's been out of a job. After settling into being home all day, she immediately began creating a website, updating her portfolio, and applying for new positions. These activities wouldn't have much of an affect on me and this blog if we had more than one computer. But we don't, and so I have deferred to her needs, which are greater than my own. After all, I can print all my reference out as necessary and do whatever else I need to do in order to open up the computer for her use.

This sacrifice, unfortunately, has included giving up on updating this blog nearly as regularly. In fact, it's been an embarrassingly long time since last I typed anything up and published it. But, in my defense, I've been busy and without a computer to call my own. Not to mention all the stress.

What stress you ask? Simple. During the job search, it became clear early on that there was nothing in the Boston Metro Area for Amy. Not even so much as a freelance job. There being no means of keeping us afloat otherwise, she was forced to begin searching outside of Boston for employment. This meant that we would be moving. Again. But where and when became a huge mystery, and trying to figure out how that would impact my deadline-ruled life began to become an issue.

The good news is that after a few months of leg work and interviews the possibilities are beginning to narrow. We're very close now to answering those two questions and the stress of not knowing has been replaced with the stress of the impending reality. While moving isn't the end of the world, it does cause me a bit more stress than it does Amy. Whereas she gets to escape the sea of boxes during the day and go to work, I am forced to live among them and hammer a studio back into some serviceable condition before I can even begin to relax.

Of course, much of what I just spoke about is irrelevant and has no bearings on the blog. At least I thought it didn't. But it turns out that my stressed mind doesn't always think straight, is flustered easily, and is far less efficient at editing text. Plus, the case remains that I am still sharing a computer — in fact, I was only able to put this post together while Amy was out having the car inspected.

So when's this all going to end and correct itself? Soon, I hope. Certainly by the end of January. In the meantime I hope to hammer a couple of articles begun a while back into some sort of shape that's worth reading. Plus, once I've gotten a chance to get my personal piece fixed up and photographed, I'll have the daily progress shots for you all to check out and heckle. It's important to note, though, that I haven't burned out on my blog or run out of ideas. In fact, I have a bunch of stuff I want to write about, and I shall endeavor to do my best to get back into the swing of things and make that happen.

For now, I'm just going to have to be content with a life full of painting, very little writing, and no bonbons.

Ann Bonny and A Foray Into Digital Painting

2011-10-21T14:26:00.000-04:00

I have painted the female pirate, Ann Bonny, seven times now. The first five were for a card game called Anachronism, published by Triking Games. That game has since vanished from the shelves of your local game store, but the images I did for that game have drummed up more work than any other images I have thus far produced. To boot, I get requests to use to one image in particular come regularly — around two to three a year. This is that image:

©MK3 International

As much as I'd like to sell the use of this image to the various companies and individuals that have requested it, I simply don't own the copyright. The parent company of the publisher does, for this was a piece done as work-for-hire.

At this point, I could take the opportunity to step into the work-for-hire debate. It's a worthy debate, indeed, and one about which I have mixed feelings. For those not in the know, work-for-hire is when all copyright (and in some cases even the original, if one exists) are purchased from the artist. This prevents the artist from selling additional printing rights to other clients down the road, and in some cases even restricts how the artist themselves can utilize the image (be it in self-promotion or the manufacturing of prints). While this might seem like an okay thing provided that the monetary exchange is advantageous to the artist, the truth of the matter is that more often than not the rates offered are far below what organizations like the Graphic Artists Guild consider to be fair.

Now, having gone through the trouble of bringing everyone up to speed, I'm not going to delve any deeper into the work-for-hire topic. Instead, I'll leave you with the pertinent information regarding the piece above. I needed the work, Triking was my highest paying client at the time, and work-for-hire is fairly common practice in the fantasy, gaming industry. Unfortunately, being work-for-hire and not owning the copyright myself, I now miss two to three opportunities each year to make additional monies on a piece for little to no additional effort on my part.

Thus was the case a month ago when I was once again approached about using the image. This time, however, I put some effort into sleuthing. You see, despite the fact that I don't own the image, I thought it worth trying to hunt down those who do — either the folks at MK3 or (if they'd been dissolved) whoever may have bought the assets from them. After doing a bit of research, I was unable to confirm whether or not MK3, as an entity, even continues to exist. Nor was I able to find out if they'd been bought, or folded into a new company. I made a go of contacting the folks who used to run the company and had limited success.

What was my end game for all the legwork? Simple. Admittedly, it seemed pretty unlikely that I would get any money out of the deal, but I could at the very least gain exposure. I figured at the very least, someone could make a couple bucks and my work could see the light of day and reach a new audience.

Despite doing my due diligence, as fate would have it, my search had a rather anticlimactic end. I never managed to track down anyone who could tell me anything useful. There was no one to point this new client to and have them work out a deal. Even in the month since, I have been unable to confirm or refute any of the conjecture I've heard, nor have I gotten a reply from those who would definitely know something. In short, I had nothing to tell my potential new client.

So that's it, right? Another opportunity lost. Well.... not exactly. Like I said, I've painted Ann Bonny seven times. While five of those pieces are out of bounds, I do own the rights to the other two. In an attempt to salvage the situation, I offered up usage to either of those versions.

Immediately the client was dismissive of one of the images. It was the image of Ann Bonny from the original Badass book cover (link). I completely understood. It's part of a larger piece and really didn't work for them out of context. The second image was a black and white painting of Ann, done for the interior of the same book.

While this image intrigued them, the fact that it was black and white was kind of deal breaker. Still, I thought I could help them, so I did the obvious thing: I asked them if they'd be interested if I colorized the black and white piece digitally.

They were a little leery. I don't blame them. My portfolio isn't exactly brimming with digital work. In fact, there are zero digital pieces in my portfolio. Still, I assumed that between my own limited experience, and my wife's far more vast Photoshop knowledge, we'd be able to give them something useful. To allay their fears, I offered to give them a progress shot within a couple of hours and based on that, they could run with it or kill the whole thing. They agreed and I went to work.

The short story is that I painted over the original oil painting in Photoshop. CS5 if you must know. I turned the oil painting into a brown monochrome image, converted the whole thing into RGB, and painted on top of that in a new layer. It's mostly just the paint brush and smudge tools. Nothing fancy. About as straightforward as my oil painting, really.

I started with the head and hands and worked out from there. Once everything above the waist was complete, I blocked in the rest and submitted the half-finished work. They liked it enough to ask me to complete it and I did. A couple hours of work, an extra couple bucks made, and a lot of lessons learned. Not a bad way to spend the afternoon. Anyway, here's how it came out:

Admittedly, I am still new to the whole digital painting thing, and I can't say that I'm in love with it as a whole. Painting with actual paint is an experience. There is a smell of oil in the air. You can feel the painting's surface through the brush much as you can feel the road through the steering wheel of a car. All that unevenness creates all kinds of happy accidents along the way. You can move the paint around with your fingers or a paper towel, or any number of other implements that they haven't yet managed to simulate digitally.

Digital painting lacks a lot of this. There is no smell. The physical surface is smooth and even. The stylus is more a fat pencil than a brush. It's a little colder to me. A little less exciting. As a result, I have resisted the industry's trend toward all things digital.

However, I do recognize that it's just another tool. A tool that, used properly, can do great things. I can't say as I'm to that point yet, but I've finally started giving it a real try. My toes have been dipped, and I've even finished off a couple of assignments digitally (mostly because it allowed me to easily give more than one option to my art directors). Whether I'll ever get to the point where I'm doing a piece from start to finish without ever using so much as a pencil... well... I'm really not sure. For me, having the painting as an artifact — having that physical embodiment of my labor — is still important. But, without a doubt, in this instance digital painting saved me and salvaged a situation that could have easily fallen apart. It allowed me to do something I simply could not have accomplished with oils in the time I had to do it. And to me, there's not a whole lot to dislike about that.

Of Anniversaries and Other Holidays

2011-10-14T13:49:00.000-04:00

I'm way behind. I was hoping to get a few posts in recently, but both of our schedules (mine and Amy's) have conspired to keep me from having more than a few random moments' peace and I've chosen to utilize that peace for things other than this blog. Namely making some headway on prep work for a personal piece which would create more interesting (hopefully) content for this here blog of mine.

The point is I've been a little out of touch and I chose today to write for a couple of reasons.

The first and most important reason is because this is my eleventh wedding anniversary. Amy and I have been together for close to fifteen years total and this date, while not a round number, feels pretty important. Our lives are in a fair bit of turmoil to be sure (what with Amy being out of work and all), and despite the stresses and chaos surrounding everything I must confess that we're still incredibly happy. I like to think that I'm Amy's biggest cheerleader and I can say with authority that she's certainly mine, so it should be no surprise that we've settled into a fairly low level of worry which is buttressed by routine and an ever growing search for our next step. Still, I feel it worth noting that I'm insanely lucky that someone would be daft enough to put up with my outbursts, generally grumpy disposition, impending baldness and occasional need for reassurance to stick with me for so long. Either Amy sees much that many do not, or she's projecting a lot that isn't there. Time will reveal all, I'm sure.

I'd continue on about how awesome Amy is and how great things are, but all that has an audience of one and I've got a bit bigger a theme to talk about.

Back in college, I had an illustration professor who assured me that at some point birthdays, anniversaries, and all the major holidays (including but not limited to personal, discretionary, bank and federal) would become meaningless. He was of the opinion that the things that typically tie a person's schedule together (the days of the week and whatnot) begin to blur together in such a way that even those days which stand out will eventually become moot to illustrators as we are enslaved to the deadline. In his mind, before long we would work through Christmas, sleep an all-nighter off on our birthday, be busy making revisions on our anniversaries and never notice.

Ten years into my career, I must confess that I have certainly painted on Christmas. I have slept off a hard work of week on my birthday. And I will be pushing paint today on my anniversary. But as I am now my professor's age at the time he shared this opinion with me, I am happy to say that such a fate has not befallen me.

What my professor spoke of was the danger of being an illustrator. It is a possibility of what may happen, but I believe that it needn't come to fruition. While I have certainly put in many hours on such days, they have never stopped meaning something to me. And because I continue to cherish them, missing some of those days can hurt quite a bit. But if I wanted my life to be pain-free and easy, I would have chosen a profession other than freelance illustrator. (Of course, which other profession I might pursue is an impossible thing to say as so many professions seem to share this problem nowadays).

So how does one avoid those standout days from eroding into the background of our daily grind? I think it helps to account for them as much as possible, and to accomplish that I think the key is balance. Easy to type, difficult to achieve. The work doesn't go away and the deadline still looms, but so do these important days. How different illustrators deal with this issue varies. Some just always keep a six day work week with one mandatory day off. Others will just sacrifice when necessary, take the time off and do the all-nighter to make up for the lost hours if need be. Still others keep vampiric schedules where they work while others sleep, sleeping little themselves.

Personally, I don't have a lot of answers. My schedule while seemingly regular, varies in unpredictable ways. Even if it were regular, paintings can sometimes unravel, last minute changes can be requested, and plans can be ruined. It's one of the biggest downsides of the business. Still, I try and adjust my schedule as much as possible, take the days off that I can, then deal with the fallout as it happens. But I'm lucky — I have Amy's understanding and support. If things fall apart, we'll arrange alternate days off and celebrate later if need be. The dates begin to mean less, but the days themselves never become meaningless... if that makes any sense.

Though I can't honestly say that I've achieved true balance, I continue to strive for it. And striving is necessary. Otherwise, I'll never even get close. Still, I know a lot of folks out there struggle with this kind of thing. My biggest hope is that they find a system that works for them, and I hope they get the support they need while trying to find it.

Finally, I hope that you all — even in some small way — feel as lucky as I do right now.

More Sensory Deprivation

2011-09-28T12:00:00.000-04:00

As I said in my original post about Sensory Deprivation, the image of someone with their eyes and mouth sewn shut is hardly a new idea. For proof of this fact, I was pointed to another image by writer, Magic player, and sometimes reader of this blog, John Dale Beety.

©Wizards of the Coast

The image above is that of a card from a game once known as "Jyhad," but which changed its name (for what I think are obvious reasons) to "Vampire: the Eternal Struggle."

What strikes one off the bat is that the name of the card is exactly the same. So is the concept behind the image. If you look at the bottom of the card, you'll notice that it has a copyright of 1995, and that the copyright is held by none other than Wizards of the Coast, the company which produces "Magic: The Gathering" (for which I produced the aforementioned Sensory Deprivation image).

©Wizards of the Coast

So. You've got the same company. The same name. And the same concept. Naturally, what Mr. Beety wanted to know was whether or not there was a connection. Was this some weird callback to a game from sixteen years ago? Did the fine folks at Wizards gravitate toward the sketch for this image for some meta reason?

As much as the answer "yes" might make for a good story, I'm afraid that the answer is no. I went ahead and spoke to the art director, Jeremy Jarvis, regarding this image and he assures me that there was no conscious attempt at referencing the old image. Nor was he aware of anyone working on the team (writers, concepters, etc.) who had also worked on Jyhad/Vampire. It's also worth noting that the working title of the image wasn't even "Sensory Deprivation" to begin with, it was "Dead Senses." Not a far stretch, but I think it further proof of there being no intended reference.

Of course, all this begs the follow up question of whether or not I was the one attempting the reference. Again, the answer is no. I've never played Jyhad/Vampire. In fact, I've only seen cards from the game a few times. And I hadn't seen this one until Mr. Beety sent me an image.

Why, then, are the two so similar? Well, personally, I think it's mostly due to tropes.

I have no idea what Richard Thomas' art order looked like nor do I have any idea what his art director was looking for in the image. Still, I think it's clear that both Richard and I were likely batting in the same ballpark. The entire game he was working on was based on the tropes of horror, and that is what the Innistrad expansion set (which my Sensory Deprivation is part of) happens to be about, as well. In fact, Innistrad is a virtual checklist of horror tropes. Everything from werewolves, Frankenstein monsters, zombies and even the mobs of angry villagers are accounted for. And the moment you have a bunch of these concepts at play, with all the stitched beasts and medieval torture that buttresses such things, I think it was only a matter of time before someone broached this idea — especially because the concept works so well with the game mechanics and also because the idea itself is not fictional, which in turn perhaps makes it all the more horrifying.

Given all that, I think it's pretty safe to say that Richard Thomas and I were not only shooting for the same kind of Gothic atmosphere common in such horror tropes, but we were likely both trying to find the most horrifying way of depicting what is clearly the same concept.

Despite all this, there are some key differences that I think are obvious, but worth noting. Whereas I stopped at the sewn eyes and mouth, Richard pushed the idea even further with sewn ears and nostrils. If I'm honest, I got really hung up on the visceral tugging of the mouth and eyelids and just never took the next leap. Part of me wishes I'd thought to. Also, my image has more of a mid-struggle approach, whereas Mr. Thomas' image leaves one with quite a different vibe. There's still struggle — the tension is clear as day — but with everything so sewn shut completely, there's an air of finality, of futility, which depending on the kind of person you are may be even more disturbing.

What strikes me about all this is just how similar the pieces ended up being in palette and composition. The fleshtones are a little pallid with hints of pink, the hair in both is fairly dark — even the backgrounds have a bluish hue! Also similar is the scale. We both went for closeups of the face for a good, clear shot. These similarities can't just be coincidence, can they?

I'm betting they're not. I looked at the idea of someone in such a condition and figured that they wouldn't get out much. Hence the pallor. The pinkish bits are born of the blush of frustration and tension. And I chose blue for the background because it sits well and because it would offer up opportunities to pull that color into the face in fun (for me) ways. Composition was mostly due to a factoring in of reduction. I had to make sure that everything read clearly when shrunk down. It's entirely possible that Richard Thomas' decisions were made in a similar fashion for similar reasons. Or, it could be that we've both seen the same image at some point — be it from a movie or an old painting somewhere — that stepped forward subconsciously to help guide the reins.

Either that or Richard Thomas and I are the same person.

We're not the same person.

Sensory Deprivation

2011-09-22T12:16:00.000-04:00

Up front, I'm going to warn everyone reading this that it contains an image that is easily among the more disturbing that I've ever painted. Some might find it pretty hard to look at and if you're not into looking at what is essentially torture, then I suppose you might want to skip this post and catch up with me later. That being said, it's a new image and I thought it worth sharing.

So, this is the last image I have to show for the new Magic: The Gathering, Innistrad expansion set. It's called Sensory Deprivation, and it began its life with this description:

ART DESCRIPTION:
Color: Blue spell
Location: Unimportant
Action: This is an abstract piece representing the loss of a person's senses. Show an extreme close-up of a man or woman whose eyes and mouth have been replaced by wrought-iron bars like the windows of a prison. His/her mouth is open as if he/she is screaming, but there are bars in front of the dark, toothless mouth. His/her pupils are gone, and bars cover the eyeless sockets.
Focus: The victim
Mood: My senses are dead to me.

There are a lot of images that flashed through my mind upon reading the above, and in a way, it's more than a little disturbing that the wealth of ideas that did come came so freely. But it's the nature of my personality, my influences, the books I read, the films I watch, and the genre I've been neck deep in for the last decade. It's also the partially the result of all the horror flicks I've been forced to watch over the years by my wife and friends (I'm personally not a fan).

Here then, are the top three images I tossed the way of Wizards for their consideration. They are done initially in pencil and then very sloppily added to with digital paint. While they are among some of the worst sketches I've ever handed in, their frantic nature belied the vibe I was going for, so I went with it.

©Wizards of the Coast

First up we have the literal interpretation of the image described. I'm not going to lie, this was also my least favorite. In fact, I felt like I might have seen the image before, but they asked for just such a thing and I thought it wise to give it to them. Still, I wanted to try to add my own spin, so back to the drawing board it was. Here's where that exploration took me:

©Wizards of the Coast

Given that we were dealing with more of a metaphorical image to begin with, I thought it might be interesting if the bars weren't just a fixture in the various sockets, but rather a fully realized physical entity that the face had somehow intersected and grown around, much the same way that a tree will begin to grow into a chain link fence only to eventually envelope it.

The main problem I had with this image was that it smacked of Terminator 2, but since the entire set of Innistrad was about horror tropes, the image being familiar wasn't necessarily a problem. What bothered me was that it fell short of how visceral I wanted the image to be. There is less room for struggle in it than I wanted. It somehow needed to be more about struggle and the physicality of that struggle. So I took it into a new direction with less a metaphorical twist and more a realistic one.

©Wizards of the Coast

Let's face it, sewing a mouth and eyes shut is hardly a new idea. But, it was the perfect way to get across the struggle and victimization that I wanted to really nail. This is, after all, something that has been done to someone. Bars in the eyes and mouth just don't have that same feel.

Now, on a business note I think it worth stating that under normal circumstances, when handing in multiple sketches, more often than not, the client will decide to go with the image the illustrator is least interested in fully realizing. This has happened to me on many occasion, but somehow didn't happen with this go around. They saw the third version, and decided that sewing was better than bars. So off to work I went.

The first thing I did, as usual, was to hunt down reference to bolster the concept as much as possible. Then, I added to that some rather embarrassing reference photos of me struggling on the floor that my wife took. Upon seeing these photos, I decided that the opportunity to turn this piece into a self-portrait was too good to pass up.

Once everything was collected, it was all about the paint, and let me tell you this painting went FAST. It now holds the record for the fastest Magic piece I've ever painted clocking in at a tiny bit over 17 hours. It's not quite as visceral as I'd like it to be, but it's far looser than I typically work and was a lot more fun than most. And here it is:

©Wizards of the Coast

It's 12"x9" oil on hardboard. And here it is in card form:

©Wizards of the Coast

Curiously, the image being a self-portrait turned out to be kind of prophetic. In truth, I feel about as bound as that image depicts. As I write this, I am going through one of the worst bouts of creative block I've ever been through. Thankfully, my professional work hasn't suffered. Unfortunately, my personal work has. I'm completely and totally lost in my attempts to pull together a personal piece or two that I am hoping to show at IlluxCon this year. I have spent the last week trying to cobble together something that I actually want to paint. Figure out some though or feeling that I want to convey. Thus far, I just can't seem to get anything off the ground. Not with any sort of confidence, anyway.

I have thrown out two ideas that I'd put a fair amount of work into, and the one I like still feels half baked enough for me to set it aside for a while. I like the image, but I want to do it right and I know that my head space just isn't right for it just yet. All the cogs have not clicked into place.

The overall problem may be that I have thought about this all too much. Or perhaps too little. I have no idea. What I may try is to go in without any plan at all and see what happens. It's entirely possible that I'll need to be as blind as this self-portrait to see my way out of things.

The Grimoire

2011-09-19T12:06:00.001-04:00

So, I've been off the radar for a little while due to a variety of issues ranging from the distractions of work to now having to share our household's sole computer with someone trying to build a website for herself in the name of finding a new job. For the next couple weeks this spotty posting will likely continue, but I do have some interesting tidbits planned — some of which I will unabashedly hint at in this very post.

But I digress.

So, Magic's expansion set of Innistrad has been revealed and along with it a couple new pieces of art. The one I'm going to talk about to day is the Grimoire of the Dead. What's a grimoire? It's a book of magic. So it's a book of the dead. A magic book of the dead. Never heard of that one before, have you? You have? Oh. Well this is one of those. Here's the art order I received:

ART DESCRIPTION:
Color: None (artifact)
Location: Unimportant
Action: Show a large tome bound in human skin with finger bones along the spine. Show it on a creepy pedestal. Maybe there are demon heads carved into the pedestal.
Focus: The evil book
Mood: Check this book out. Go on, I dare you.

Pretty straightforward stuff for a book of the dead. Well, standard if you read and watch a lot of horror. The first thing I did was went through the shelves of books I own. Several of said books are very old — early 20th Century old. While not ancient, they have a well-used feel to them and they're leather bound. It was a good start.

So I start drawing various versions of the book. I ruled out early on having a clear face on the cover of the book as that's been done with so many previous necronimcons (necronomica?). Still, I wanted to have a clear bit of humanity in there to drive home that it was bound with human skin. It needed to be instantly identifiable. In the end, I though it would be nice to reference the finger bones on the spine of the book and have a clear hand on the cover. But just the skin of the hand, of course.

I added a clasp for the book carved from a jawbone with the teeth slipping just over the front cover, designed a pedestal, then drew it all up and sent it off. This was the sketch:

©Wizards of the Coast

As suggested, I put some demon and devil heads into the pedestal design. In truth, it makes for a pretty bland sketch and if I'm honest, I was worried about the finished piece being equally bland. Still I had a few tricks up my sleeve: lighting and mood.

So, I shot reference of one of my older books in my creepy basement, then went online to start a search that undoubtedly landed me on some sort of watch list: I began to look for images of human leather. I was actually kind of happy to find a relative lack of imagery on the subject, but what I did find was... helpful.

Once the collection of reference was complete, I went to paint. This is the finish:

©Wizards of the Coast

It's 12"x9", oil on hardboard. And here it is in card form:

©Wizards of the Coast

As you can see, they've cropped in a bit on the image for clarity's sake. This is something I generally don't care much about. They have to do what's best for their product and generally make pretty decent choices.

Now, one of the questions that comes up frequently is how I know what things are supposed to look like in these pieces. For example, how did I know what the devils on the pedestal looked like? While I should probably have addressed this as a frequently asked question sometime earlier, I'll give you all the short answer I give at appearances now, but I must confess that I had a pretty good idea to begin with.

For each expansion set, a book is created called a style guide. It's a visual bible for each Magic plane that gives the 80-90 artists working on a given set a baseline example of architecture, fashion, creatures, landscapes, etc., so that they are all clearly illustrating the same world. Sure, they bring they're own stylistic choices to the table, but there need to be certain design consistencies to keep the artwork feeling connected. And that's the guide's primary purpose.

But who creates the style guide? Well, that depends on the set. There is certainly a consistent cast of characters involved with each guide, but the contributing artists tend to rotate in and out. For this world, Innistrad, I was fortunate enough to be one of the artists. And at some point soon, I'll share with you all my experience, the specifics of what I contributed, and maybe if I'm lucky I can get a word out of those who sat beside me, as well.

9/11

2011-09-11T16:24:00.000-04:00

Ten years ago, I was living in Woodside, Queens, waiting for my wife to make it home from downtown Manhattan. When she finally caught a train and arrived back in our neighborhood, I ran out to meet her. The relief I felt was indescribable, but unfortunately was not something universally experienced.

Several months later, the Society of Illustrators commemorated the events of that day with a show that I helped hang upon its walls. Asked if I had anything to contribute, I sheepishly said that I'd started a piece but admitted that it wasn't finished. I was encouraged to finish it and add it to the show. This was that piece.

It's not brilliant — in fact, I wouldn't say it's particularly good...but, it's all I was capable of at the time.

343

I think the piece is 16"x20", oil on canvas board, and I wish it was a more fitting tribute to what this day represents to so many.

Here We Go Again...

2011-08-26T10:02:00.000-04:00

So, some of you have got to be wondering why the blog has been so spotty of late, or where the heck the daily progress shots are on that personal piece I trumped up. Others of you have no doubt just assumed the lapses are due to my being too busy, if you were aware of them at all. Either way, I shall do my best herein to explain.

Truth be told I have been toiling away on several posts of varying subject matter, but I'm having a very difficult time finishing and editing them. I've found myself fussing over their various arcs and wondering if they're getting the correct point across. Meanwhile, I've been busy with a bunch of paintings that I can't show at the moment, as well as weird paperwork stuff, the compiling of a list of my available Magic paintings and their prices (which is now up on my website), several weeks of family visits, and... well, fretting.

I'm currently nervous as all get out because Amy has run into a pretty severe snag. She's lost her job. I'm not going to get into specifics here, it's neither the time nor the place. Suffice it to say that a mere 10 months after moving here, our lives have been thrown into utter chaos and Amy is now forced to find another job. While we are angry and feel a bit betrayed, above all we're worried.

In the past, both Amy and I have spent time unemployed — heck, sometimes simultaneously — but we never really sweated it back then. Why should we have? We had nothing to lose. Now, with an apartment that just isn't selling in New York, a rental place in Massachusetts, a car, and the various expenses that come with these things (not to mention the worst economy that most have ever seen), there's suddenly a reason to take pause.

What's the plan? Well, Amy's search for a new job has already begun. While we'd like to stay here in the Boston area, there is a real possibility that we may end up right back where we started in Jackson Heights. Still, we're going to shoot for the moon and have decided that the search needs to be far wider, so we're looking not only in Boston and New York, but across the nation, as well as internationally. The way we see it, we don't have any kids or pets so there's really no need to limit ourselves.

Alright, this is nice and all and I've managed to explain the lack of updates and the worried thing, but where's that personal piece I promised? Simple, we've had an inkling that Amy's place was tenuous at best for a while now. Rather than take the time off I needed, I decided we could use the income more. Turns out I was right. However, I'll be trying to hammer out a personal piece in the coming months running parallel to my regular work so that I have something decent for IlluxCon in November. Hopefully, it'll come together.

In the meantime, I'll continue to be at least a little worried, and I won't be the only one. Sitting next to me for the foreseeable future will be Amy. We have not had the luxury of spending this much time together in almost ten years. It'll definitely take some getting used to, but I plan to enjoy it as much as possible.

Finally, it's important to note that we're not just worried. We're also optimistic. To be honest, in some ways it hasn't exactly been the best 10 months or so. We love the area and the people here, our marriage has been the best it's ever been, but there have been issues that will soon be behind us. Perhaps this 10 months and the frustration, anger, and hurt that have come with it will be the small price to pay for the dream job. Perhaps this was just our first step out of New York. Whatever the case may be, we're battening down the hatches, tightening our belts, rolling up our sleeves and spouting off clichés. Where we'll end up is currently a mystery and the anticipation is killing me.

The Lunarch

2011-08-12T09:42:00.000-04:00

©Wizards of the Coast

What can I say about Mikaeus, The Lunarch? Well, I'll start by paraphrasing the art description. Now, normally I'd just give it to you straight, but there are story points in the description that I really don't want to get nailed for spoiling, so I'm playing it safe this time. Anyway, the description basically says this:

White Legendary Creature. Shown inside a cathedral. Guy in his fifties with long flowing robes gesturing dramatically to an off-camera audience and surrounded by dozens upon dozens of silver candles. He should look important and should reference designs on a certain page of the style guide (something about which I will discuss at a later date).

Pretty straightforward, right? I decided that this guy was kind of like the Pope and I extrapolated from and cannibalized many designs on the pages of the style guide as requested, all while sprinkling in a good helping of my own sensibilities. I handed in my sketch and waited to see what happened.

I got a reply back requesting that I push things a little further — you know, make him fancier and such. Okay, no problem. I gaudied him up some, then resubmitted. Another reply, another request for more pieces of flare. I pushed it further still and finally they were pleased, though looking back on the sketch I don't know why.

©Wizards of the Coast

I can't say I'm exactly proud of the sketch. It gets the point across, sure, but it's at the expense of any artistic value. In fact, I can't believe I'm sharing this with you all (though, I guess it's actually worse that I shared it with the Art Director). Be that as it may, I got approval to move forward.

I painted it up and it came out looking like this:

©Wizards of the Coast

So, it's an oil painting on hardboard and it measures 16" x 12". Obviously they cropped in a bit for the purposes of readability on the card, something with which I'm perfectly cool.

Given that the description actually requested he be surrounded by candles, I decided that they would be the lighting source. So, he's lit up from below in all his robe flowing glory. Of course, since being spoiled yesterday, many of the comments I've seen online question the flammability of his robes as well as his proximity to the flames (and yes I'm aware that the vast majority of these comments are meant to be tongue in cheek). While I'd agree that these are potential concerns, I always fall back on the fact that the game itself is called "Magic," and is part of a genre full of axes that would be impossible to wield, armor that would never function in real life, spells being cast, creatures that don't exist, and women who make supermodels look ugly and fat. I think we can all agree that a minor fire hazard which would at worst result in a most excellent YouTube video can be forgiven. In fact, I'd like to see that YouTube video! But I digress.

Obviously I never anticipated these comments, and I find it somehow humorous that what I did next would only exacerbate the imagined issue. Truth be told, this piece could not have been assigned at a worse time for me. I was moving from New York to Boston and the piece, as well as the means to paint it were packed away in boxes during much of the time that I had to work on it. A full two weeks of the three, in fact. Fortunately, the Art Director was sympathetic to my plight and gave me an extension. Originally due just before Christmas, I ended up working on it over the holidays and it was delivered after the New Year, though even then was handed in only because it was due, not because I felt it was completely finished.

Almost immediately after turning it in, I began to finish the piece off to a level that I found satisfying. As I was pretty happy with him, the Lunarch's design remained the same. The changes were primarily to the lighting and the number of candles. While being lit by candles is cool and all, he was lit far too brightly for the number of candles in the image. So, I glazed him back a bit and added some more candles. A lot more, in fact. Enough to make those so concerned for the Lunarch's well-being shout with mock outrage. I assure you that outrage is unnecessary. He's the Lunarch. Folks like him have magically imbued robes. Or something. Besides, even if he didn't he wouldn't be nearly as cool if he was put off by open flames. Seriously. Fonzie would never freak out over some scented candles, and while the Lunarch's coolness level may not be on par with Fonzie's, I believe the Lunarch's overall power within his society evens up the score, so clearly the Lunarch wouldn't freak out either.


©Wizards of the Coast

I think this version makes for a better piece, overall. I like the sea of candles better, and I find the lighting far more believable. However, it's probably best the this piece was not submitted to Wizards in this final form. You see, the face ended up becoming darker, murkier, and thus less clear when shrunk down. Clarity is important for reduction, and so it's best that the events unfolded as they did. So, while the original version is crisper, this revision makes for a far moodier, and more menacing image. Plus, given the added candles, there's that extra level of danger!

Finally, for your viewing pleasure, a sweet animation showing the before and after...then the before again...followed by the after.... Or, I suppose it's a video displaying the Lunarch's mighty ability both to summon candles, while also simultaneously diminishing light.

©Wizards of the Coast

Kiki-Jiki

2011-08-11T11:11:00.000-04:00

Where do I begin with this? How do you go about making new art for a card whose illustration has become iconic enough to have a statue made of it? This is a card that gets a fair amount of play, and is yet another card that I've been asked to re-imagine that hails from an era predating any of my contributions to Magic, and the implementation of my plan to bring it all down from the inside.

But then I've said too much.

Anyway, here's my commission:

ART DESCRIPTION:
color: red legendary goblin
location: not super important. probably Kamigawa mountains.
Action: kiki-jiki is a legendary goblin shaman that can create short lived fire illusions. maybe adorn him a bit more than the ref. more of those leather wrappings like are on his horns. try to make him interesting. you can show him casting a fire illusion or have one in the shot if you want, or just show him looking as cool as you can.

The reference in question was a larger version of the art as depicted here:

©Wizards of the Coast

The fact that the original image was included is a rare occurrence. Seriously. Every time in the past that I've been asked to make new art for an existing card, I have not been given the original. I suspect that the reason for this is that I was being encouraged to not limit myself. This time, however, it was obvious that this needed to clearly be Kiki-Jiki. There had to be connective tissue to our friendly, neighborhood goblin shaman.

So, using the image above as a starting point, I began to ponder what to do with him. Would there be a fire illusion? Would that illusion also be a dragon? How would he be posed? I did a lot of thumbnail drawings on this one, and I kept coming back to a little thumb of Mr. Jiki smack in the center of the image, charging up, surrounded by flames. I don't know why, but it seemed the obvious way to go for me. Some might say too obvious. But, in my defense, I rarely get to paint red Magic cards and this was the first time I really ever got a chance to tackle fire in any substantial way. I wanted to really go for it and turn it into a bit of an exercise for myself.

Either way, what I'm not going to show you is my miserable attempts at sketching our friend here. Nor will you be seeing the sketch I handed in. Trust me, it's for the best. It's embarrassing beyond belief and would only lower your opinion of me (if that's possible). Moving on...

After drawing him up and placing him in a box of the appropriate proportions, I decided he needed something else. Something in the background. Sure, fire was cool, but it needed to be pushed a bit further. I went back to the question of the fire illusion. Then I looked back at the original card. The solution, once again, became obvious. The dragon from the original version would be forming in the flames. His eyes would be most obvious, but his whiskers would be right in there, as well. In essence, I chose to depict something that takes place just a moment before what is shown in the original art. I have him creating the illusion, Pete Venters has him ordering that illusion forward.

©Wizards of the Coast

The original is 12" x 9", oil on hardboard. As instructed, I gave him more wrappings and hopefully managed the "cool" part. It's impossible to say whether I came close, as one half of the internet will invariably disagree with the other. And with great venom, I might add.

Here he is in the card frame:

©Wizards of the Coast

As an aside, this is one of those images that just looks terrible under certain monitor settings. I kinda had to take a shot in the dark with color correcting it because it's just impossible to please the various settings, web browsers, formats, etc. Hopefully it doesn't look too bad.

The Old Board

2011-08-09T11:16:00.000-04:00

It measures 13 inches by 16 inches. It is made of plastic. It has a half-inch wide channel running all around it like a frame. And I have been using it since I was in the second or third grade.

It is my drawing board.

Seen in its natural environment.

My drawing board came as a portion of a Christmas gift I received as a kid. The gift was a drafting kit that included the board in question, various triangles, rulers, templates and french curves, which were all clear, yellow plastic. Along with these tools, there was a ruler that had a mechanism which would lock the ruler in place anywhere along the channel of the drawing board. The mechanism consisted of a large green button which you pressed to lock the ruler in place, and a yellow ring around the button which you twisted to release it. Finally, an instruction booklet was included that gave step-by-step instructions for drafting various cars, trucks, airplanes, etc., all from a profile view.

To be perfectly honest, I was a little confounded by the gift. Sure it seems like it would be up my alley — what with it being drawing related and all — but in fact I just didn't get the point of it. Sure learning to create rudimentary technical drawings of cars in profile might be fun once or twice, but then what?

In retrospect, however, it's clear that the gift was an attempt on my parents' part to encourage my love of drawing. It offered up an alternate outlet and exposed me to something completely foreign. The gift also allowed for a little male bonding as my father could show me what he knew of drafting, a subject he'd actually taken classes in.

Truth be told, I looked upon the various tools provided with only mild curiosity and a little disdain. I saw many of them not as opportunities to learn, but as limiting factors. I saw only the opportunity to draft the things in the instruction booklet and completely failed to realize that the cars and trucks were only a starting point. Still, I remember my father sitting me down at one point to instruct me on the uses of the various tools and how they might be applied. This was followed by him starting the a drawing of a tractor trailer, which he then handed over to me to complete.

Battle scarred and ready.

I believe the full set got only one or two more uses from me in the coming years. I just wasn't that interested, and the act of slavishly putting lines down at just the right angle and choosing just the right circle from the template seemed pointless somehow. Before long, the instruction booklet became lost in the bottom of my trundle bed which served as my toy box instead of a spare place to sleep. I couldn't even begin to tell you of its ultimate fate. The ruler which locked in place I kept until the springs inside it finally gave way and ceased to function properly. I replaced it with a standard wooden 18 inch ruler that was laying around the house. That was about the seventh or eighth grade, or so. The templates and triangles slowly broke, one by one, as the clear plastic grew brittle. I remember trying to tape a triangle back together in vain, only to become frustrated by the tape's inability to solve the problem. Slowly but surely the various tools disintegrated, thus ending their time among my belongings.

The only thing that stood up to my abuse was the little drawing board.

Reflecting on my feelings for the gift, I was totally torn. I was not really interested in drafting but I didn't want to be ungrateful. I gave it an honest go, but eventually just reappropriated the tools of the trade for my own various uses. I hated to see the pieces shatter and disappear because I valued the gift itself, but in all reality they rarely got any real use. Except for that board. Still, I think it's fair to say that I learned early on that drafting was not what I wanted to do with my life, and I think narrowing the possibilities was quite important. So, intended or not, this gift from my parents was valuable indeed.

Until I'd received the board, I'd done most of my drawing on our kitchen table. Once the board came along, however, the possibilities of where I could draw became endless. I drew in the living room. I drew in my bedroom. I drew on the porch outside. I really put that thing through the ringer! The board survived high school. It survived college. And it has survived the thirteen years since college. Every sketch I did for all of my early clients was done on the board. Same with every Dungeons and Dragons sketch. Every book cover I've done started there too, and every Magic sketch has spent time atop the board at some stage or another of its development. I have painted on it, too. Much of my early card art and D&D work was done on Bristol board that I taped to the board's surface.

Look at all the monochrome goodness.

I'm not a superstitious person, but if I were, I suppose the drawing board would be my rabbit's foot. It has been around so long that I wouldn't even think of using something else. It's always there at the ready, waiting to support me as I do battle with another sketch. And most importantly, it remains the most direct tie to the birth of my dream to make art for a living.

Nowadays, the board never sees a ruler. Even if I wanted to use one, it's become so warped that a ruler would be ineffectual, anyway. The channel for the old locking mechanism has turned into the repository of pencil shavings and eraser crumbles. The once crisp, white surface has become marred by marker stains, pencil dust, tape residue and paint, and the very edges are beginning to yellow. It is clear to me that this drawing board's days are numbered. Someday, it too will snap, and once again tape will be unable to save it. On that day, I will have no idea what to lean on. The physical tether to my childhood drawings will be permanently severed. Another Christmas gift will be gone. To be sure, I will be at a loss and there is no replacement that could possibly mean as much to me.

Cheese Platter 8

2011-07-22T10:51:00.000-04:00

•There are a pair of red-tailed hawks that live near me. I've seen them several times in the tall pine tree in my neighbor's yard. Most mornings, I see one of the hawks soaring in the updrafts and eddies seemingly enjoying profusely the very ability to fly. It doesn't seem to be hunting or going anywhere, just hanging out with wings outstretched, following the currents higher and higher. While I find this rather fun to watch, the local crows seem to find it rather annoying. As a result, almost without fail, a crow will fly up to challenge the hawk and ruin its joyride. The confrontation can be rather entertaining as it's not unlike a World War 2 dogfight. While I'm sure the crows are acting in defense of a nest or perhaps on behalf of their entire murder, I'm always a little disappointed that before long the hawk, chafed and offended, moves along like some loiterer who's had enough of the beat cop crow's harassment. All the while, I root for the hawk, and hope to one day see it remind the crow of it's place in the order of things.

•Around my town, there are many crosswalks that are not located at intersections. As such, there are no walk/don't walk signs and therefore no dedicated times for pedestrians to safely cross. Instead, the idea is that if someone is trying to cross the street, drivers are obliged to stop and let them do so. After only eight months of living here, I have found that there are certain factors that can help one determine whether or not an oncoming car will stop. First off, older drivers are far more likely to stop than younger drivers. Second, those with more expensive cars are far less likely to give way to those on foot. Third, utility workers (NSTAR Electric and National Grid, for example), will almost always let pedestrians go, as will the Police, Firefighters, and those behind the wheel of a bus. The group of people, however, who will absolutely not stop for pedestrians are those on bicycles. Around here they come in packs of three or more and have a sense of entitlement that trumps even a 17 year old behind the wheel of a Mercedes.

•In the past thirteen years, Amy and I have lived in four different apartments only one of which had air conditioning. At that apartment electricity was included so we used the device sparingly (only turning the A/C on when it got above 90° F) in order to minimize the chances that our landlord would raise the rent as we really couldn't afford for that to happen. So, aside from the five years we lived there, we have sweated through each summer with only a pair of fans to circulate the often stifling air. Curiously, up until this summer, I have been able to sit under the hot lights of my studio painting away with the heat index at 100° Fahrenheit without feeling too greatly affected, and without so much as a minor repercussion the next day or beyond. Quite suddenly, however, that has changed. Yesterday, after a few 90° plus days, the heat index (or "feels like" temperature, if you will) reached 106° and I was exhausted by 6:00 in the evening. So, Amy and I broke down and finally bought a couple of air conditioners knowing that the next couple of days would be even worse and would likely not be the last such days in our current place. What's weird is that the shift in my ability to withstand the heat happened so suddenly. I assume that this shift is largely due to my getting older, but up until now I had also assumed that such changes would happen more gradually. Is this really how everything happens? You just wake up one day not being able to do what you did yesterday?

Revisiting Reprints: Rampant Growth

2011-07-20T14:22:00.000-04:00

Rampant Growth is among the more re-illustrated cards in all of Magic. Sure, it's not alone in having been illustrated more than once — in fact many cards have alternate art and come in various promo versions — but there are usually just one or two other variants. Rampant Growth has seen at least five iterations that I'm aware of, and mine isn't even the most recent.

Some might wonder whether there is any added pressure or a difference in approach when it comes to illustrating a card that has been illustrated before. For me, the answer is no. As I see it, the previous versions, loved or hated, already exist. No one can take that away from the players. I'm just adding another aesthetic option to the mix. That's it. Some will love what I've done, others will hate it, and there will be various reasons for both feelings. As far as I'm concerned, there's room for both opinions, as well as every opinion in between.

So how did this piece come together? Let's take a look at the sketch, shall we?

©Wizards of the Coast

Again, simple pencil on typing paper. It was approved as is and I went to paint.

©Wizards of the Coast

Once again it's an oil painting measuring 11" x 8" on a piece of Strathmore illustration board measuring 13" x 10". It was painted in 2006 and didn't see the light of day until Tenth Edition, which was released in 2007. It has subsequently been reprinted in the Magic 2010 and Magic 2012 core sets, as well as in Planechase and Duel of the Planeswalkers.

As I recall, in the art order, I was asked to do depict a wave of vegetation rolling over a barren landscape. There are any number of ways that I could have depicted this, but I ended up choosing to rip someone else off.

Ahem.

I mean, I went the route of creating an homage. Now, I had a professor — I can't remember which one — who told me that if I was going to rip someone off, rip off the best. So that's exactly what I did. I referenced one of the most celebrated Japanese wood cut prints ever created. I stole from Hokusai's Great Wave.

Now, why did I choose to do that? Simple, I'd never done it before. If ever there was an image that made sense to reference in this situation, it was clearly that one. I can think of no other image of a wave that is so instantly recognizable, and I wanted my Rampant Growth to be less specific (as so many of the versions are) and more iconic. In effect, I stole from one iconic image to create (hopefully) another.

There are probably a lot of folks who will say that this is horribly unimaginative, not to mention overdone. I think both are fair points, but I also think there's something to be said for context. First off, I can say that if there had been a reference to Hokusai within the game of Magic to that point, I was not aware of it (though in retrospect there are probably dozens of them in the Kamigawa expansion block, which I've never really looked through). So, in my mind I was doing something new within the confines of the game's aesthetics. Second, I borrowed Hokusai's composition only. The concept came from Wizards and the translation and handling of the final image was all my own. After all, I could not simply turn Hokusai's wave green, eliminate Mt. Fuji and the boats and hand it in. It needed to feel like my own work and it needed to fit into the world of Magic.

Anyway, I ended up submitting this piece to the Society of Illustrators Annual Exhibition and it got in. I don't normally like to brag about such things, but it was pretty cool to see the rare Magic piece up on the Society's walls, and if I recall correctly it wasn't the only piece referencing Hokusai in some capacity in the show that year. Since this piece, I've worked other homages into other paintings, though far more subtly. I've stolen a pose here or a palette there from many of my film, art, and illustration heroes — not all the time, but on the rare occasions where it fit organically within the assignment. The practice usually makes for a fun piece and one from which I learn a great deal as I study closely what I'm attempting to homage. Fun, too, is spotting the references in the work of others, as they do the same.

If I were to get the same art order today, five years later, it's pretty likely I'd go the same route I did back then. The only difference, I think, is that I might paint it a bit bigger now.

Revisiting Reprints: Deathmark

2011-07-18T15:15:00.000-04:00

Deathmark is one of those pieces I figured I'd own for the rest of my life. It's a really unsettling image that I predicted might have its fans, but just wasn't the kind of thing anyone would ever want to put on their wall. I couldn't have been more wrong. I've had more inquiries from people interested in buying that piece than any other. Weird how things turn out.

The image is a pretty simple one. I was asked to paint a closeup of someone's eye and use the black mana symbol for its pupil.

Crud. Now I need to explain mana.

Okay, so as I explained in the the post about the Forest painting (link), there are five colors in Magic that draw their power from lands. The power itself is called mana. At least that's how I understand it. Each of the various colors have symbols which represent them and their mana. They're nice little graphic icons that let you know instantly (aside from the color itself) what color you're dealing with. Green uses a little tree. Red a little flame. Blue a drop of water. White a sun. And black uses a little skull graphic.

So, I was asked to turn the pupil of the eye into that skull graphic. It was a simple request, really. But I turned it on its head (literally), and elaborated a bit. Here's the sketch:

©Wizards of the Coast

It's a pretty simple sketch and is one of my typical pencil on typing paper jobs.

I kind of felt that the pupil being the mana symbol wasn't quite creepy enough. So, I decided to have the skull/pupil melting or emitting some kind of black ichor. That seemed to significantly up the creep factor to a level with which I was satisfied. To boot, I thought it would be interesting to turn the eye upside down. This was for two reasons. First, I wanted the image to be slightly disorienting, thus adding to its unsettling nature. Second, I thought about the final image's use as a card and the fact that when the card is being played it sits flat on the table. The eye in the image would be upside down to the player, but would be right side up to their opponent. Add the fact that the eye is looking in that direction, and it's kind of like giving your opponent the evil eye. At least, that's what I hoped.

Anyway, Wizards seemed satisfied with my version of things and gave me the green light to proceed.

©Wizards of the Coast

Once again, it's an oil painting measuring 11" x 8" on a piece of Strathmore Illustration board measuring 13" x 10". It was painted in the fall of 2008 and premiered in Magic 2010, which was released in July of 2009. It has since been reprinted in Magic 2011 and most recently in Magic 2012.

To accomplish the finish, I used photo reference of my own eye taken by my wife. The blue/green cloudiness that helps create the details of the skull icon were inspired by images of cataracts I managed to dig up on the internet. The bloodshot nature of the eye was partially present in the reference, but I exaggerated it for affect. I also added the veins in the skin to give the feel of the subject being dead.

Of all my Magic paintings, this is among the most asked about. I suppose it's due to how iconographic the image is, as well as it's brutal simplicity. There's definitely something about the piece that upsets many folks on some level or another, and none of them have ever been shy about expressing that fact. Needless to say, this is news that I'm always happy to hear. It's supposed to upset you, and it's only one of just a few times where I've managed to solicit that kind of reaction from people. Well, with my art, anyway.

At the end of the day, this is one of those great opportunities where I was given the chance to one up the art order. Sure, what I was originally asked to do was a nice idea, but I felt it to be the seed for a better one. I tried to take it to a place that was more satisfying to me and would be more satisfying to my Art Director, which is something I strive to do as much as possible. That being said, going that route can be a gamble as it doesn't always work out. Sometimes the AD really is just looking for exactly what they originally asked for. Happily, this didn't happen to be one of those occasions.

Revisiting Reprints: Stampeding Rhino

2011-07-15T09:40:00.001-04:00

Fortunately, this piece requires very little explanation from me. There are no Magic codewords involved, no odd game rules to explain. It's a picture of a rhino. A stampeding rhino, in fact. Well, that's not entirely accurate, is it? I mean, it's not quite like any rhinoceros we have here in reality. Being Magic, things need to be a little augmented, a little off. So, what did I do and what was my approach?

Let's take a look at the sketch:

©Wizards of the Coast

The first thing you may notice is that this is a digital sketch. Well, mostly digital sketch, anyway. I started with the usual pencil on typing paper, got it to a certain point then scanned it in. I felt the need to flesh it out a bit and needed to do that quickly — I had three other pieces to paint on top of this one, after all (this piece, Deathmark, Forest, and Duress were all commissioned at the same time). So, I turned to the computer to help me clarify the sketch a bit.

The end result is quite crude but it's still more than enough to see where I was headed. But where exactly was that? Well, the key to this piece was its working title, "Plated Rhino." Essentially I was being asked to toughen up and bolster an already formidable creature. My solution was to bring in some elements of tortoise shells and add that to the mix. This seemed to be a direction the folks at Wizards of the Coast liked and I was given the green light.

©Wizards of the Coast

The finished painting was a 11" x 8" oil painting on a piece of Strathmore illustration board measuring 13" x 10". It was painted in the fall of 2008 and was initially printed in Magic 2010, which was released in summer of 2009, and has just been reprinted as part of Magic 2012.

Stampeding Rhino is a piece that I pretty much never get asked about. Everyone takes it at face value and moves on. I actually have no problem with this, but I do want to take the opportunity to talk a little about what went into the piece.

Never having been to the parts of Africa or Asia that have them, I have never seen a real, live rhinoceros except in a zoo. Though I don't recall it, I likely saw one in the Philadelphia Zoo as a child, and I likely saw one again at the National Zoo in Washington, D.C. The problem is that I don't have any memory of seeing one, and even if I did I wouldn't have strong enough recall to draw from. Even so, I would likely not have seen them running about let alone stampeding. Truth be told, the only living rhino I recall seeing is the one at the Bronx Zoo, which was only six or seven years ago, and I regret to tell you that I didn't take copious notes. So where did this guy come from?

Well, surely I went to the Museum of Natural History in New York and drew from the stuffed specimens there, right? Nope. Should have done, but didn't. Then obviously I took a trip back to the Bronx Zoo to check the one there out, right? Again, no. Way to use the resources at my fingertips, right? Yeah, I'll totally cop to failing a bit on that one. So what resources did I use?

Books and the internet (but mostly the internet), of course! Youtube to check out videos of rhinos running, Google Images and the National Geographic stock photography site for good, quality photos, and Eliot Goldfinger's Animal Anatomy For Artists, which has a really nice breakdown of rhino musculature. After collecting enough reference, I went about picking and choosing qualities from the various rhinoceros species that I wanted to include in the Plated Rhino. Add the bit of tortoise in there and voila: Plated Rhino (later to be renamed Stampeding Rhino)!

Unlike forest there is little in this piece that is inspired by my life. There are elements I threw in there for fun, like the birds, but all in all, it was a simple journey from assignment, to sketch, to finish, and finally to card.

Except the journey didn't end there. A year later, I found myself revisiting the rhino for the Magic 2011 set. Only this time, he wasn't alone.

©Wizards of the Coast

With a few elements redesigned, the rhino returned in Overwhelming Stampede.

©Wizards of the Coast

This piece is 14" x 11" oil on hardboard and has thus far not been reprinted.

While I prefer the design of the Plated Rhino, 2.0 as seen here, I much prefer the Stampeding Rhino painting overall. Perhaps its the lack of birds in this one, I don't know. Either way, this remains the only time I've been asked to revisit something in the world of Magic, and likely will remain the sole example for a long time to come.

Revisiting Reprints: Forest

2011-07-14T10:08:00.000-04:00

Given that Magic 2012 has been spoiled, I wanted to take the time to look back at some of the pieces I've done in the past that have been reprinted in this most recent core set. All of these cards have been included in at least one set previously and all of them precede this blog by at least a year.

Today, I'm going to take a look at the only basic land image I've ever done, Forest. For the uninitiated, let me try to explain the whole "basic land" concept. In the game of Magic, there are five colors (Red, White, Green, Blue and Black (and yes, I know that black is not a color)), each of which derive their power from the land specific to that color. So, Black magic gains power from swamps. Red magic gets its power from mountains. Blue from islands. White from plains. And Green from forests.

With me so far?

So, since power is derived from land, there are cards in the game that simply have pictures of these various land types. The only one of these I've ever painted is a forest.

I think that covers things.

Anyway, of all the Magic paintings I've ever done, this was one of the fastest to ever come together for me. It was assigned alongside two other paintings that I will talk about in the coming days, Deathmark and Stampeding Rhino, and the whole job really seemed to click for me.

Let's look at some art, shall we? First the sketch:

©Wizards of the Coast

This is one of the most straightforward sketches I've ever done. Simple graphite of a piece of typing paper. It's 11x8.5 inches, and went on to become this:

©Wizards of the Coast

The image measures 11" x 8" on a piece of illustration board that is 13" x 9", it's done in oils and was painted in 2008. It debuted in Magic 2010 (which premiered in 2009), and has since been reprinted in Magic 2011, Magic 2012, the Commander set, as well as the Duel Decks: Garruk vs. Liliana set.

Over the 27 years or so that Magic has been around, there have been a lot of forests painted. Some have been highly stylized, others quite realistic. Some have chosen to do helicopter shots of vast forested expanses, while others have gone the route I did by putting the viewer amidst the trees as though they were actually right there.

The key to me for this piece was mood. I wanted it to be a straightforward forest that people the world over can identify with, but at the same time I wanted it to be a little brooding, and a little fay. To me, a forest in the game of Magic needed to feel... well, magical. Whether or not I achieved that is, of course, debatable, but I think I did manage to make the forest feel pretty special.

In regards to this piece I have often been asked where I got my inspiration. Was there an actual forest I was looking at? A specific photograph? The answer is simple. I was looking at a lot of photographs, and drawing (no pun intended) from my memories of forests I'd been in throughout my life. I took into account my memories of the forested patches of my Grandmother's farm (where, as a boy I saw a wild rabbit for the first time as it scurried away from me after I'd startled it), the Gettysburg battlefield (a place that I have visited several times and a location I steal from all the time), the forest around Lake George in northern New York state (where my wife and I have spent time together), the forested sections of Neshaminy State Park (where my Father and I used to walk until our feet were sore), the Ramble in New York's Central Park (the only place in Manhattan that you can forget you're in Manhattan), and the list goes on. Suffice it to say that I tried to conjure the feel of all those places and cram that feeling into a painting.

Oddly, this is the most personal painting I've done for Magic, and I guess it's no coincidence that it's a painting of something that has a real-life counterpart. To be honest, I don't really identify with tall blue guys with four arms delivering inspiring speeches or decrepit metallic creatures standing about ominously. I have to fake identifying with those things as an actor must fake being a lawyer or a doctor. Sure, you can identify with the mood or any thematic elements, but the literal characters involved aren't necessarily ones in whose shoes I can easily imagine myself. Forest, on the other hand, is something I can absolutely identify with and has thus far been the easiest piece to inject a little bit of myself into without having to manipulate or dilute it first.

New Work: Benalish Veteran

2011-07-13T15:06:00.001-04:00

Pretty straightforward, this piece. I was asked to paint a seasoned warrior wearing the gold accented armor and blue garb of one of the Benalish. Or something. I was asked to include the braid, and the ogres or whatever they are. Anyway here's what it looked like when I was done with it:

©Wizards of the Coast

12"x 9", oil on masonite.

If I'm honest, I could have done a bit more legwork in the beginning. I might have wanted to explore my options more thoroughly early on. Still, I kind of dig the pose. I almost dig the composition. But most of all, I dig the color scheme.

Now, at this point, you might be wondering, what color is he talking about? There's hardly any in it.

And you wouldn't be the only one who pondered such a thing. The art director did, too. I was asked to key things up a bit and bring in some more color. So, I took it into Photoshop and tweaked the file. Here's how it came out:

©Wizards of the Coast

Originally, I had used things like the television series Band of Brothers for color inspiration. Of course, that lead to a seriously limited palette, which is something I generally like. In fact, left to my own devices, I might limit my palette to just 5 or 6 colors and mix mud all day. While this might be fun for me to do for myself, it wasn't necessarily the right move for the piece or the client. Such is life, I guess.

At the end of the day, I'm not unhappy with the version that got printed. In fact, I find it to be an interesting exercise. I ended up altering the color of the background only, which in turn affected the figure's color, as well. While I knew it would (thanks to my handy, dandy Light, Color and Design class in college), I wasn't sure to what extent the veteran, himself, would end up looking changed. It turns out, the answer was simply, just enough.

The piece was approved the second go around, and it's now out in the new Magic: The Gathering core set, M12.

The Guy Riding A Deer

2011-07-07T12:31:00.000-04:00

One of the few down sides to working for many of my clients is that the work I display isn't current. Due to contracts and non-disclosure agreements, I have to keep things under wraps until they've been officially spoiled. A side effect of that is that I have to keep the stories of how the work came together under wraps, as well. At least I have to keep specifics under wraps.

I can't, for example, come out and just say that I am painting a giant fairy (which I'm not). And I can't talk about how this giant fairy came together (or didn't) while everything is still fresh in my head (which it isn't because I didn't paint one).

To counteract this, I have three options. Up until now, I have been relying on the first option, which is to try and recollect as much as possible when premiering the image on this blog. The problem with this option is that my memory is absolute garbage, and my thought processes aren't always clear when I look back at the piece and try and deconstruct it in my head. Add to that the fact that things get lost in translation between my brain and my fingers as I type, and the result is a pretty watered down version of the sequence of events that birthed a given painting.

The second option is to actually keep a log of the work as it happens and then regurgitate it when I am finally permitted to show it to everyone. While this seems like a good option, it requires about the same amount of effort and forethought as taking consistent process photos, which is something I've repeatedly failed to do. Besides, keeping a log of any given piece is a gamble. The creation of each piece is not equally interesting and I may end up wasting valuable painting time while writing about something that is monumentally boring.

My third option is to go ahead and commit to talking about random pieces in generalities when it's pertinent, which is what I'm going to try today. Then, I guess, when I'm finally able to put the piece up for public consumption I can link back to this article to add additional context. Or something. Hopefully it makes sense and is interesting. I guess we'll see.

So, I've got this piece. I can say that there is a man in it and that that man is riding a beast of some sort. This beast has a real-life counterpart that I can utilize for reference. For the sake of ease, we'll say that this man is riding a deer (which he is not, but like I said, it'll help me keep things clear, so you'll just have to accept that it's a deer). I suppose I could have said elephant, but that's a longer word to type. So, yeah. Definitely a guy on a deer.

Wait. Let me backtrack.

The commission as a whole included this deer rider, as well as two other pieces, and it arrived when I was only about a week out from my trip to Japan. Despite the fact that I was desperately trying to finish up another commission and get it handed in before I flew off, I decided it prudent to try and knock out the sketches before leaving in order to synchronize my time away with the time I'd be waiting for feedback.

The sketches for the other two pieces were a synch and were my standard pencil on typing paper affairs. They were a bit tighter than many of my sketches tend to be, and I was really happy with them. The deer rider, on the other hand, was a nightmare from the start. Despite the collection of reference I'd amassed, things just weren't coming together. Not in pencil, anyway. Contributing factors to my difficulties were that I have a hard time drawing deer to begin with, that my deer reference really wasn't spot on (despite extensive searches, I assure you), and that I have absolutely no experience drawing people riding deer, nor real-life experience of riding them, myself, from which to draw. The result was a series of false starts that were more horrid eraser streaks than actual drawing. So, I scanned my initial thumbnail in and started a digital sketch.

My digital sketches are pretty rudimentary at best and typically only involve three values slapped down as necessary in a fairly opaque fashion. The main reason I tend to go digital in my sketches from time to time is that I can search for shapes faster and more easily. Revisions are quick and efficient and I can always go back to an earlier version.

Before I knew it, I had a submittable deer rider sketch. There was only one problem: it was kind of lackluster. Nevertheless, with an "I'll fix it in post" attitude, I emailed it to the client with a note promising a second version if I had the time.

I initially planned to just walk away, finish packing for Japan and be done with it. But, that sketch really bugged me. It kind of sucked. And I began to regret turning it in. Given that I'd opened the door for a second version, I decided it was the thing to do.

I took the original sketch and cut it apart in Photoshop, rearranging, resizing and refitting the disparate pieces. There was no new thumb nailing, no forethought, no preparation. It was just me moving shapes around a digital canvas, reacting to this or that. Just my brain trying to find some means of hammering out a better solution. After getting the basic pieces in place, I began to stitch them together with more digital paint. It wasn't pretty, nor was it seamless, but it came together with more than enough clarity to get my point across.

The only notable thing about the end result was that I'd used no reference. Everything was from the gut. Whether or not this was a mistake was irrelevant to me. I had managed to get a second version done that I liked better (and knew the client would, too), and once again, the idea of fixing it in post surfaced as a means to let my brain detach for a week in Japan and not fret over the coming job.

Cut to the point where I'd returned from Japan, had my various pieces approved, and prepared my surfaces. For clarity's sake I will point out that my suspicion was correct and that the client liked the second deer rider sketch better. I started to work, as I often do, on two of the three pieces. One of these was the deer rider. Very quickly, I became dissatisfied with the sketch. The figure felt out of proportion, his size relation to the deer felt all wrong, and there were some major drawing flaws that needed fixing.

I went about reworking the deer rider a little each day, while simultaneously working on the other two paintings. Each change I made to the deer rider felt fine until the next morning when I'd decide that the revisions weren't working either. So, I'd end up scraping the piece and revising it again, searching for the right line, the correct angle, etc. Every morning the process repeated itself, and the deer rider remained at a point where it was always changing but never closer to completion.

Before long, the other two pieces were finished, and it was time to really start working up this third piece. Hard decisions needed to be made. This is where I found myself yesterday morning.

Now, normally I wouldn't sweat this situation. I still had plenty of time to get the piece done. But there are two factors that made me rather nervous. The first is that I ended up being REALLY happy with the other two pieces, and it kind of raises the bar for the deer rider. I don't want to turn in two good pieces and one that no one will ever talk about again. Second, I have a convention to attend this weekend, and I won't be getting any work done on the piece. As it's due next Friday, I really needed to make serious progress lest I spend each night of the convention painting in my hotel room.

As I saw it, yesterday was a make or break day for the painting. It needed to start coming together. And so, I scraped it down once again, sanded it a bit, and started repainting the piece from scratch.

I went into it this time a bit more prepared, having found more reference to help me. I blocked in the guy and deer virtually from scratch and began to do the same for the rest of the piece. Happily, for the first time in its existence, I began to feel like the painting was coming together. The guy riding a deer just might be at least semi-successful. There was just one test: would I still feel the same this morning?

Surprisingly, yes.

Now, this is all sounding pretty standard. Not a whole lot of meat here other than "Man Perseveres In the Face of Adversity." Or perhaps "Man Tackles Guy Riding Deer." But, there is something a little strange going on here. Looking at the newly blocked in painting, it is clear that while I spent the last two weeks moving away from the original sketch, I have spent the last 24 hours working back towards it, and I am happy with the results.

Sure, there are some minor differences between the sketch and the painting. Necessary proportion adjustments. Corrections to the perspective on the deer's antlers. That kind of stuff. But the heart of the piece is clearly back in the same place it was as I frantically sat there slapping together a second sketch with mere hours to go before I needed to leave for the airport. Now, for the second time during this piece's creation, I am relying more on my gut than anything else.

Will it end up being a good piece? I really can't say. There have been plenty of paintings that have surprised me in either direction. There are sure to be flaws in the end, and just how fatal those flaws may be remains to be seen. One thing, however, is certain: this piece is clearly telling me to let my instincts run the show. For now, I'm going to let that guide me. It'll be interesting to see where I end up.

Gifts From Japan

2011-07-05T14:48:00.000-04:00

One thing I didn't consider when I went to Japan was that I might be bringing home more than I took with me. In fact, I was rather hoping that my load would be lighter and that I'd be returning with fewer prints, artist proofs, and originals. Somehow I managed to do both. My load was lighter, but I ended up with more stuff. Sure Amy and I bought a few trinkets to remember the trip by, but the thing I just didn't see coming was the gifts.

More than anything I was gifted with food. I got deserts from Japan and tasty things from several other far-off lands. I also was presented with a Japanese fan as well as bookmarks from Mexico. All really cool. But, what ended up taking up the most room in my bags on the way home were four framed pieces of art, each presented to me over the course of my signing by the artists themselves. These were the shadow box versions of four of the cards I've contributed art to over the years.

As I understand it, the shadow boxes are constructed using anywhere between 5 and 7 copies of the same card layered on top of one another with bits cut out in each layer so as to create a three dimensional version of the card. While I understand how it's done conceptually, I doubt I could ever create one, myself as it takes a kind of thinking that somehow feels beyond me. Either way, each of these creations are amazing and the displays many of the gentlemen listed below had at the Pro-Tour in Nagoya were truly jaw-dropping.

The first one is by the gentleman who started it all, Seishirou Ohkubo (bio here), who began making these objets d'art in order to combat his ever-growing collection of common Magic cards (they vary in rarity from common, to uncommon, to rare, to mythic rare). Why he decided to go the labor intensive route of making shadow boxes is well beyond me, but the net result is pretty incredible. Anyway, here's what he gave me. It's of the card, Shield of the Oversoul.

No idea how many layers are involved on this one, but what I did find out with all of them is that they are insanely difficult to photograph in a way that preserves their 3-dimensionality while keeping them well lit enough to see consistent detail. I clearly failed on several of them and even after a couple hours of fiddling with my lights, changing shooting angle, and swapping out lenses, fell severely short of anything that does them justice. Trust me when I say that they are WAY cooler than my photos would otherwise indicate.

The second one is a pretty tricked out version of Loxodon Wayfarer, by Yuusuke Yamamoto (not to be confused with the Japanese actor of the same name).

Again, no idea how many layers are involved, but what is interesting is that the cloak is bent and folded, as well as embossed in places to add to the 3-D effect. This folding and embossing seems to be present in all four of the images I was given and it's the kind of thing that requires a steadier hand than I seem to have.

The third image is of Etherium Sculptor and was done by Masanobu Kondou.

Finally, we have Rally the Forces, by Junji Tsukamoto.

Gonna have to excuse the glare on this last one. It's the best I could do. All the dark ink made taking a photo of this one any kind of justice pretty much impossible. So, I took it out of its frame and shot a couple pictures of it at odd angles to give you all an idea of just what's entailed and how these things are actually constructed.

Hopefully these images show what I've thus far been unable to describe. Again, my photos fall really short of depicting just how cool these things are, and I can assure you that they'll be just about the only things I actually show off to any visitors to my studio.

At the end of the day, I honestly didn't see these things coming. I had seen the shadow boxes at some of my fellow artists' studios and I remember thinking how cool it would be to one day have one of my own. I had no idea that I'd end up with four.

I want to take one final opportunity to thank all the fans and especially those who came bearing gifts. I really do appreciate everything, and I hope to see you all again sometime soon.

A Really Short Tour Of A Very Small Part Of Japan

2011-06-30T13:18:00.000-04:00

So, I put some thought into things and I have to confess that having been bored by other peoples' vacation slideshows (some reading this will know exactly who I mean), I've decided not to get too deep in the blow by blow description of things. I think I drone on enough to begin with. Instead, I'm just going to give a few generalized impressions of my time in Japan.

The three places I visited were Nagoya, Kyoto and Osaka. They're pretty close to one another and linked rather thoroughly by a train system which, as I've stated before, is startlingly easy to navigate. Amy and I only had a partial free day in Nagoya which we had the good fortune to spend with Daarken and Kat. There we got to see a cool temple, as well as a bit of the city's castle. Amazing stuff, really.

Nagoya as seen from our hotel.
©Amy Belledin

©Amy Belledin

After Nagoya, it was off to Kyoto which is a strange and wonderful place and where we spent the majority of the next week. Kyoto boasts over 1400 temples and shrines and is widely considered to be Japan's cultural heart. It has pockets of old Japan dispersed throughout the city which, aside from the train station and the Kyoto tower is not particularly tall or built up. In fact, it feels in many ways rather like the city itself is only now just starting to be brought into the modern world.

©Amy Belledin

A rather fun little exercise in Kyoto is to try and find a temple or shrine that was not destroyed in a fire and rebuilt at least once. If there are any, I don't believe we visited any of them. It seems like pretty much every one of them had been as recently rebuilt as the 1800's, though their locations have remained the same for centuries.

©Amy Belledin

Finally, there was Osaka, in which we spent a day. The first thing we did was went to the aquarium which contains a whale shark. A real, live whale shark. Pretty sure that'll be the only time I ever see one, and I'm still amazed by it. After that we spent some time ambling about the city, saw its castle and eventually wondered into Osaka's seemingly endless shopping district, which felt a lot like a mishmash of the Jersey Shore and Las Vegas, with a little Greenwich Village and mid-town Manhattan thrown in for good measure. It's kind of something you have to see to believe, really.

©Steven Belledin

Osaka Castle
©Amy Belledin

©Amy Belledin

Overall, I have to say that I was pretty blown away by Japan. Sure we only saw a little slice of it, but it was an impressive slice. The food was excellent, the people amazingly gracious and helpful, and the sights unlike anything I had ever seen before. If for any reason you're intimidated as I was by the language barrier, I highly recommend you reconsider. The benefits of a trip to Japan will be worth it. I avoided the idea of going there for more than a decade and now that I've gone, I already look forward to returning.

©Amy Belledin

Surviving and Thriving in Japan

2011-06-29T10:27:00.000-04:00

So, here's the deal: before this year, I did not include Japan among my list of places I'd like to see before I die. Sure, I've read a bit about Japan and seen a lot of movies either from or about the country, and there was definitely something intriguing about the place, but I just couldn't bring myself to even consider going there due to a little something folks like to refer to as "fear." The reason for this fear is simple: the language gap was something I was convinced would be too much for me. Sure, I've visited lots of places full of people who spoke something other than English (France, Germany, Costa Rica, and much of New York City for that matter), but there was at least the ability to decipher the written language for the purposes of navigation and the ordering of meals, etc. Japanese, on the other hand, is not something easily worked out casually and, as I learned over the course of my stay, my suspicions about the difficulties resulting from this problem proved true.

So, if my fear was keeping me from going, then how is it that I ended up there? Simple. In February of this year, I got the invite to go to Nagoya, Japan as an artist guest for one of Magic's Pro-Tour events. I ended up in Japan because I got an opportunity that even my feeble brain could see was great enough to make my fears seem irrelevant. Add to that the knowledge that Amy had long wanted to visit Japan and would likely have killed me had I turned down the opportunity, and you've got Steve on a plane. Next to a kid. With motion sickness. Who vomited for twelve hours straight.

But I digress.

©Amy Belledin

Usually when preparing to invade a foreign country, I like to spend about a month beforehand listening to language tapes and reading up on customs and the like. This time around, my schedule just didn't allow for that much prep. I had ten days to cram what I could, and of course it turned out to be woefully inadequate. What I could not have guessed was how little that would matter. Turns out that Japan was far more user friendly than I could have imagined.

Our first task upon arrival to Kansai airport was to find our way to the train station. Piece of cake. English signs. The next task was to buy tickets to Nagoya. Also a piece of cake. I had the choice between ticket machines that had an English setting or ticket clerks who apparently did, as well. Having managed those two things the rest was a simple matter of deciphering the mysteries of the train system, which, after about two minutes were no longer an issue, either. To my surprise, the train trip from Osaka, Kansai to Nagoya involved no confusion, and a rather relaxing ride on one of Japan's famous high-speed trains, the shinkansen. The final step in was to navigate Nagoya's train station and find our hotel. Given the fact that the hotel was actually in the station itself, it wasn't long before I was standing at the front desk, then in our room, thus ending 24 straight hours of travel. All without freaking out once.

©Amy Belledin

The next day, Amy and I met up with the other artist guest, Mike "Daarken" Lim, and his wife, Kat, in the hotel lobby and the four of us set out to the event which was being held 20 minutes away. Waiting for us was a really nice set up with shelves, tables, security and the usual white chains, as well as about a dozen or so fans sitting between those chains patiently waiting.


Me, Mike, and Kat ©Amy Belledin

The line I encountered upon arriving each day.
©Amy Belledin


Either my bio in Japanese, or Ron Foster's manifesto railing against such institutions as the Society of Illustrators and Spectrum...but probably just my bio. ©Amy Belledin

All in all, the time I spent signing went rather smoothly. For the most part, it seems, signing is about the same wherever you go. Folks in line hand stuff to you, you sign it, you return it to them and thank them. Lather, rinse, repeat. Occasionally you stop to take a picture with someone or you're asked to draw something and you take the time to do it. All the while, Amy is abuzz behind me keeping things organized. Generally, she'll handle any transactions that need doing so that I don't ever have to stop signing or drawing, thus allowing me to cram in as many signatures as possible. It's a really great system and I'm going to take this opportunity to thank her.

This was the best shot I got of her.

If it weren't for Amy's diligence, there would invariably have been fans who didn't get cards signed because I got too tied up in making change or because I needed to stop and grab a Coke (though the fine folks at Wizards made it so that I never wanted for anything). I am so very grateful to have Amy keeping my act together at events like this, and I confess that I'm rather proud to be the Robin to her Batman.

©Amy Belledin

Daarken and Kat signing diligently.

©Amy Belledin

Me displaying some excellent posture while fans look on.
©Amy Belledin

Despite the relative normalcy of the event, there were two things that made this signing noteworthy. One was the gifts bestowed upon me by the fans (something I am going to write about in just a few days time more thoroughly). The second was the fact that I was down for much of Sunday with an upset stomach due to overindulging with the Wizards' staff the night before. Suffice it to say that I ate too much, drank WAY too much, and mixed things that should never, ever be mixed. Still, I toughed it out and signed until my line was gone. I even managed to make it to the very end of the event and do some further signing for the tournament judges, which I think is kind of important as they work their tails off. Unfortunately, it also meant that I was asleep in the back room for long stretches and was thus unavailable, and that there were a few fans who unfortunately bore witness to sights that they likely wish they could unsee. For this, I apologize.

Delicious fish.
©Amy Belledin

Sake. The bull's eye pattern was trying to tell me something, I'm sure of it.
©Amy Belledin

Me and Ron Foster. Believe it or not it went downhill from there.
©Amy Belledin

Now, my trip did not end with the Magic event, but for the sake of this entry's length I'm going to wrap things up and save the tales of the following week for another day. In the meantime, I want to take a moment to thank everyone for the Nagoya Pro Tour event. Thanks to Ron Foster at Wizards for giving me the opportunity in the first place, for the help he provided in my subsequent travels, and for a really, really good time. Thanks to Matt Danner who made an unreasonable number of trips to the Circle K, found me a garbage can, and made sure that I wanted for absolutely nothing while I was there. Thanks, too, to Toby Maheras, Mark Purvis and everyone else at Wizards. I really had a great time and I appreciate everything.

I swear there were more people there than this photo indicates.
However, it's a pretty cool photo in my opinion.
©Amy Belledin

I'd also like to once again thank the fans who were awesome, as always. I continue to be very fortunate to have folks who seem to dig what I do for some reason or another. Truth be told, if it weren't for the fans, I wouldn't have a career in illustration and I am very grateful for their continued support and kind words. Thanks a ton!

©Amy Belledin

Move 'Em On, Head 'Em Up, Trollhide

2011-06-22T14:21:00.000-04:00

I'm still trying to get on top of on the work that piled up while I was away, which means that the compiling of Japan bits is taking longer than I'd hoped. So, in the meantime, I thought I'd just go ahead and toss out a new image from Magic called Trollhide:

Like many pieces I've done for Magic, it's pretty straightforward. A guy is there... kind of hulking out... with his trollhide... or... something. The only notes I remember getting on the sketch were to push the scale a bit more as the first version wasn't quite as hulky as the folks at Wizards had hoped. I changed it and this version got approved. Whether or not I pushed it far enough is probably open to debate, but here's how I approached it:

Picking a moment in a transformation is always tough. Indeed, trying to decide what moment to pick within any given action can be challenging. Do you go for a shot smack in the middle? Something more towards the end? Or, do you — as I attempted in this case — try and show a range of stages of transformation all at once? I guess it really depends on the type of thing you're trying to depict. But, as I said before, in this instance I wanted to show normal bits of the as yet untransformed human, as well as a few more fully transformed bits. While I sketched, I kept coming back to the fact that he wasn't transforming into a troll, merely gaining the troll's hide. So, in essence his physiology wouldn't be changing much at all. Sure he might be hulking out a bit, but he should still retain most of his human traits.

Still, I'm not sure that any of his trollhide has fully developed as evidenced by the fact that his shirt is still tearing. I mean, we've all seen enough of the Incredible Hulk to know that eventually that thing is going to come off. His pants, however, are sure to survive relatively unscathed. 'Cause... you know... it's Magic.

Back From Japan

2011-06-20T15:53:00.000-04:00

Every time I do a signing, I eventually end up with one of these. It's sort of a pen tester/blotter. Over the course of a signing, pens can get a little gunked up and will suddenly just stop working. So, on the side, I keep something to scribble on to jump start my pens and get them going again. As you can see, over the course of my signing in Japan, I used one of my business cards. I usually use a piece of scrap, but I forgot to pack some. The way I saw it, I'd have one fewer card to take home with me, but of course I brought it home with me, anyway.

I've got lots to say about Japan, and a bunch of pictures to post, but I just got in late last night and am trying to catch up with work. I'm going to need a day or two to organize my thoughts and hammer them into something worth reading, but suffice it to say that Japan was awesome and the fans there were equally so. I was treated well, had a blast and I look forward to going to Japan again soon — either on Magic's behalf or for my own vacation.

In the meantime, I'd like to take this opportunity to publicly thank the fine folks of Wizards of the Coast for inviting me out there. I wanted for nothing and was treated with more forgiveness than perhaps I deserved after a night of over-indulging. I am humbled by the generosity of Wizards and the fine folks who work there. Many, many thanks.

I'd also like to thank the fans who came from all over the world and stopped by to say hello. I continue to be blown away that anyone would want my signature, let alone be willing to wait in line for it. If I made any major gaffs or violated any international laws, they were kind enough not to point it out to me. If anything, the fans were awesome as usual and often found humor in my terrible Japanese and inability to drink saki without major consequences. I am honored by the fans' many kindnesses and I look forward to hopefully meeting them again soon. Until then, I'm afraid I need to get back to work.

Of Gaffs and Waiting

2011-06-03T10:16:00.000-04:00

After a major gaff this past weekend, I ended up owing a guy a painting. I'm not going to get into any in-depth explanation but suffice it to say that in an extremely rare occurrence, my memory was more correct than Amy's, and a new policy was born whereby I shall no longer sell or discuss selling paintings that are not present at events I attend. While a painting's presence does not mean it is not for sale (in fact, it's likely up for grabs), I cannot guarantee that my memory of the painting's location will be 100% accurate and I'd rather not come home again to find out that I've managed to sell a painting twice.

I'm sure that last bit made some of you want to slap me upside the head and I totally cop to being unprofessional and disorganized. There really is no excuse for what happened and I guarantee that it will never happen again (my new policy ensures it). Fortunately, the guy in question was pretty awesome about the whole thing and instead it was agreed that I would just go ahead and paint a new painting.

Okay, so that's more in-depth than I intended, and it really did sound shorter in my head... Moving on...

So, what does this mean? Well, I had promised a while ago to do progress shots of a personal piece or a cover that was allegedly going to come through. As of right now, the cover is MIA and due to the gaff mentioned above, I now have to paint something during the time I had set aside to work on my personal piece. Still, I'll be able to post progress shots of this new piece, which means I can still fulfill a promise to the readers of this blog — I swear progress shots will appear in the near future. However, it also means that I've broken a promise to myself.

As it now stands, I likely won't get on with my own work until late in the summer at the absolute earliest. I have several large commissions queued up and I just know that time is going to roar by at an alarming rate. With all the expenses of the world, client work and commissions need to come first, but I must confess that I am getting itchy. The desire to work on something that is all my own with no one else's input is quickly going from whisper to shout. It's been a year and a half since I managed to squeeze something in and the wait before me feels like an eternity.

The bad news is that everything between now and then may become tainted with resentment as it's not what I want to be doing. Travel, taking the time to ride a bike or take a walk, and doing work for clients is all going to be seen on some level of my brain as hindrances to the perceived bliss and promise of my own work. This is not uncommon for me, and it's something I've touched on before (link). While I'll still put my all into each piece I have ahead of me, there's a part of me that will be irritated until the time comes when I can finally sit down and start slapping paint with no one to answer to.

The good news is this. I have the reference — in fact, I've had the reference since before I moved to Massachusetts. I also have the surface: thirty inches by forty inches, stretched Belgian linen — I've had that a long time, too. I've got the materials, and I've got the sketch. Now all I need is the time.

Grand Prix, Providence

2011-06-02T12:15:00.000-04:00

©Amy Belledin

As mentioned before, I was at a Magic Grand Prix tournament last weekend in Providence, Rhode Island. I figured it'd be worth tossing up some pictures Amy took of the event and adding a bit of color commentary.

©Amy Belledin

This hat is worth mentioning because...well, obviously it's pretty awesome. There were several players rocking this hat and as far as I'm concerned it was easily the best bit of player wardrobe I saw all weekend.

©Amy Belledin

So the vast majority of what I do when I go to events like this is sign cards. I don't keep track of how many cards I sign, but I'm sure that I signed well over a thousand of them over the two and half days I was there. I'm pretty sure I signed fewer cards than when I was in Germany last year, but then I think there were fewer players, as well. Someday, I really aught to have a go at keeping track of the numbers. I'm not sure if the results would be amusing or depressing. But I guess that would depend on how much my hand hurt.

Surprisingly, folks still ask how much it costs to have something signed, a subject I've covered before (link). Short answer: signatures are free. I wonder if there are Magic artists out there who do charge, or whether folks in line were just confused by players in front of them tipping from time to time. If you're still wondering, check out that link.

©Amy Belledin

Fortunately for the players and fans, I was not the only artist at the event. Several other artists including r.k. post, Ryan Pancoast, Lars Grant-West and Cyril Van Der Haegen were also in attendance which kept lines pretty short as players had a lot of lines to choose from.

Above, Ryan Pancoast checks out my Etched Monstrosity painting, probably pondering how long I'll have correctable eye sight what with all the tiny detail included.

©Amy Belledin

Here, Lars Grant-West is letting fly with all that built up artist angst I hear so much about. Either that, or he's putting on his best game face to scare Amy away from his tip jar.

©Amy Belledin

Aside from signing, I end up doing a lot of drawing. Here's a picture of my artist proofs all organized in alphabetical order. I often end up drawing on the white backs of these puppies and during this event had the good fortune of getting to draw whatever I wanted on all but one of them. For some reason, I was on a bird kick during the event and a lot of my images included birds in one way or another — like this zombie, for example. Can't go wrong with a zombie. 'Course add a bird to that zombie and you've got instant gold. Zombie bird? Too far.

©Amy Belledin

Here's the only request on a proof that I got. Darth Vader. I'd never drawn Darth Vader before. Turns out to be difficult when you've only got one color (which is ironic because he's almost completely black). I think he came out fairly well, however. Could have been WAY worse.

Generally, I like getting to do my own thing on proof drawings. I think that's true of most artists. I know a lot of folks have a stock set of images they go for, but I try and do something a little different each time. I like not knowing where I'm headed until it's too late. Makes the moments when I'm not signing card after card more interesting.

©Amy Belledin

Yet another way I spend my time at these events is drawing on people's playmats, something I've covered in a FAQ (link). They're quite a bit more time consuming because of their size and they tend to be more complex image-wise. I think if you added every square inch I did during the Grand Prix, it would add up to about four full playmats — far fewer than fellow artist Ryan Pancoast was belting out. He did three just in the last day (that I'm aware of). Seriously, that dude's an animal. 'Course his drawing style is far neater and more appealing than my own. I tend to be pretty sketchy, and that likely isn't some people's thing.

Anyway, playmat drawings can eat up the hours quick. In fact, I often have to take them to the hotel room and get them done during "off" hours in order to keep the lines moving during the "on" hours. Not this time, though. I managed to do pretty much every drawing in the bits and bobs of time between signatures, which I was pretty happy about.

©Amy Belledin

So, this is me on Saturday night. Dinner outside along Providence's canal. It was also the night of Water Fire. I'm sure only a few reading this are familiar with it, but Providence's canal is a pretty nice place. It's kind of like a miniature version of the Seine River. You can walk along the canal, and during Water Fire, they light these floating braziers all along the canal's length. Add to that performance artists and hippy music, and you've got yourself an interesting (if not crowded) time. Of course this just happened to be the weekend of Brown University's commencement, so the place was hopping, but I'm sure it's similarly crowded whenever Water Fire happens... but that's just my guess.

At the end of the day, it was a pretty great event, in a really great town. Providence itself is worth checking out (if only for the restaurants), and I, for one, had a great time. I want to thank Thomas Shea and his folks at TJ Collectibles for taking care of us with constant water, food and plenty of space. Also, thanks to the fans and players for their kind words, conversation, and support. It's all the people involved with the game that make this gig go from pretty good, to great. I am extremely lucky to be doing this day in and day out and can't thank everyone enough.

In just a short week, I'll be in Japan to do it all over again. Different crew, completely different part of the world — should be interesting! Did I mention how lucky I am?

The Glyph...Sigil...Signature.......Thing.

2011-05-25T17:46:00.000-04:00

Tom P. strikes again with the following:

I'd love to hear about personal glyph design! I know it's a pretty basic assignment in most art schools, but I've never come up with a good sigil design for my name that I thought worked. Any thoughts on that topic?

Wait. Glyph design is a basic assignment in most art schools? Really? Huh. Not at mine. The subject of glyph design or signatures is a tough one for someone who regularly leaves his work unsigned, nevertheless I shall give my thoughts on the matter. I shall endeavor to grope forth and accidentally fondle some truths. I shall... You know, I should just get on with it.

First off, I can't really speak for others' glyph design. I can really only speak of my own struggles with it and how I came to the conclusion that it simply wasn't right for me. I have the letters "S" and "B" to deal with which, quite frankly, is not a good start. On their own, they work splendidly. In combination with other letters they can live happily. Together, they just don't play well. I have spent an inordinate amount of time attempting to cram them together in a way that was pleasing, alternating between upper and lower-case, mixing it up with different sizes, getting fancy and laying one letter or the other on its side. Nothing seemed to work to my satisfaction, and because of this conclusion I am very happy that it was not a hoop I had to jump through in college as my grade would likely have been rather low.

Mind you, after spending much time on the matter by myself, I even dragged my wife into the mix. She was a graphic designer, then became and art director, and is now the kind of person who hires those people and tells them what to do. She's pretty good at manipulating typography and she found it as impossible as I had. We then turned to our rather large collection of design books and annuals looking for inspiration and found nothing that even came close to being helpful. What we did end up with was pages of S's and B's arranged this way and that, which somehow reminded me of some cliched schoolgirl's notebook that is covered in various arrangements of the name she would bear after marrying her sweetheart.

Mrs. Reginald Trustworthy
Mrs. R. Trustworthy
Mrs. Reginald K. Trustworthy
Mrs. R. K. Trustworthy
Evelyn Trustworthy
Evelyn M. Trustworthy
Mrs. Evelyn M. Trustworthy
And so forth.

The difference between the schoolgirl's fantasy and my own attempts at creating a glyph that felt right was that the schoolgirl's fantasy could actually come true. In fact, I feel that I failed, and to be honest, this is the closest I ever got to a glyph I was happy with:

You can kind of see my train of thought from top to bottom.

What's wrong with this you ask? Well, nothing really. It's just that it doesn't feel like me. It feels too contrived, somehow. I'm not taking a jab at others' glyphs, mind you — as far as I'm concerned, there are some excellent signature glyphs out there that are far more contrived and work far better. It's just that the contrivance doesn't feel right for me. As a result, I turned to many of my illustration heroes ( Pyle, Rockwell, Wyeth, Dunn, Schoonover, Cornwell), and at the bottom of their paintings was just a simple name. Sometimes very tightly done, but still just a name. That felt far more comfortable, and when I do sign my work I just sign it with a simple "Belledin."

I realize that I may not have answered your question. So I'll stick my neck out a little further.

Overall, I don't think sigils are a bad thing. There are some excellent artists who've designed some really great signatures for themselves. When dealing with the matter, yourself, I think it all boils down to making it good, making it fairly simple, and making it feel like it fits your work. I'm a pretty traditional guy who went a very traditional route. But maybe you're not. Maybe your work is far edgier than mine. If you go the glyph route, then maybe you pursue a similarly edgy design. Pretty straightforward, right?

Where I feel folks tend to get into trouble is not in the design of the sigil or the signature itself, but rather the application there of. What I see time and again is where the glyph becomes distracting within a piece's composition. A quick story for you:

I know an illustrator who, in attempt to maintain the legibility of his signatures after reduction, used to sign his work really large. What ended up happening was that his signature was so large, that it became a part of the composition, and a dysfunctional part at that. Were his signature more complicated than it was, it would be that much worse. Still, he had paintings that he'd labored over that looked pretty awful in real life and some of the work felt like he'd done elaborate background paintings for his signature. Not many people want that on their wall.

At it's best, a signature should sit nicely in the piece and be something that you have to look for. Unless intentional, it shouldn't really play as a compositional element, and if it is intentional, make sure it works well. As far as design goes, I really think simpler is always better. Simpler things tend not to call nearly as much attention to themselves. On the other hand, J. C. Leyendecker did some really decorative stuff with his name that is definitely more elaborate than I would recommend anyone ever do and got away with it, so it's clear how little I know.

I'll sum up my thoughts on signatures and glyphs, names and sigils thusly: make it you, but say it, don't shout it. Another way to put it perhaps is a now outdated philosophy on children: they should be seen and not heard. Hope that helps.

Link Dump!!!

2011-05-24T11:24:00.000-04:00

A link dump? Really? Total cop-out, I know. But here's the deal, I'm up to my eyeballs in trying to get work done before this weekend (where I'll be appearing at the Magic Grand Prix in Providence, RI). I'm really close to getting my assignment done (which is due on Friday), and I'm making the final push to hammer it home today. As such, I'm going to give a couple nice little links from other blogs to check out.

First and foremost, here's a link to an entertaining article about the laws of freelancing from my cousin Chuck Wendig's blog. It's full of perversity, sprinkled with profanity, and chock-full of truth. I highly recommend it:

This Is Freelancer Law, Or: "How To Not Suck As a Freelancer"

Also, as an aside, Chuck and his wife just welcomed into the world a brand new (as opposed to used) baby boy. You can read all about it (if you're so inclined) here: link.

Second, I'm going to link to a nice little blurb that Chris Moeller did for the Muddy Colors blog. It's a good one for folks who have recently matriculated from college and are trying their hand at illustration. As it's from the Muddy Colors blog, most of you reading this will already have seen it, but if you haven't, it's definitely worth a look-see as it, too, is full of truth and some good advice. If you're wondering where I stand on the matter, just read what Chris has to say because my feelings are right in line with his.

Life After Art School: Five Years to an Illustration Career

Finally, here's a nice article by Donato about the ongoing debate as to whether or not art school and all of its expense is necessary nowadays with so many less traditional (and cheaper) options are available. I have my own feelings about this subject which I'll likely put down at some point, but for now this is a pretty good start. Donato makes some really excellent points, and he's made an excellent summation of how his own choices affected his path.

Career Choices

Well, that's it for me today. Back to painting and making prints. I'll hopefully be back with something a little more substantial tomorrow. Well, substantial on my part. There's definitely a lot of meat to savor in the above links.

Drawing Exercises I Have Known 2

2011-05-23T14:36:00.000-04:00

Opposite hand drawing.

This is an old staple of drawing teachers the world over and requires only that you have two hands. If you only have one hand, I guess you get to skip this exercise, or maybe you'll be made to draw with your feet instead. However, if you happen to have two fully functioning hands, then it's a simple formula:

If you are right-handed, put the drawing utensil of your choice in your left hand and commence drawing. If you are left-handed, put that drawing utensil in your right.

As I mentioned, opposite hand drawing is a pretty common exercise and is definitely a classic. While it might be a mystery to some as to why anyone might bother, there are several good reasons to take on the task every now and again.

First off, let's suppose that you, as the owner of two fully-functional limbs, one day find yourself to be the owner of only one. This could be for any variety of reasons including amputation (intentional or otherwise), mangling due to attempted garbage disposal maintenance, or good old fashioned stroke. And let's also suppose that the limb you've managed to lose proper use of is the one you also happen to use to draw and paint. Given that drawing and painting is your livelihood (if it isn't you likely wouldn't have ever done this exercise, anyway), it looks like you'll have no choice but to employ the use of your other hand. If you've done some opposite hand drawing, then you've already laid the groundwork for overcoming this little obstacle.

Don't think it could happen? Well, I've got two words for you: Frank Frazetta. In the early 2000's, Frank Frazetta suffered a series of strokes which left his right hand useless. Not being the type to give up, he simply started drawing with his left hand instead. I doubt, somehow, that it was the first time he'd ever done so (though I could be horribly wrong and if you know different, please refrain from blabbing about it out as I'm trying to make a point here). If it could happen to Mr. Frazetta, if could happen to you. It's worth being prepared.

Doing any activity repeatedly builds pathways in the brain that, over time, improve one's ability to do said activity. Drawing with your opposite hand is no different. While I'm not saying that it's important that you become equally proficient with both hands, it doesn't hurt to have laid down a bit of a foundation to allow for a little insurance should something evil befall you.

Secondly, as with any other drawing exercise, opposite hand drawing can improve how you interpret what you see. It can help you more effectively translate the things before your eyes and push them out your pencil. Drawing exercises are practice and practice not only sharpens skills but helps keep them sharp. Last time I checked, that was a good idea. I know it's trite and obvious but it still bears repeating, because drawing, in my experience, isn't exactly like riding a bicycle. Such a skill can deteriorate. While I can't say as to whether the ability to draw can ever completely go away, I'm sure like me, you don't want to find out.

A third reason for such an exercise is that it's a change-up to your routine. As I mentioned before, change-ups are an important part of a complete breakfast. It keeps your practice from getting boring, and adds a new element to the mix. As tempting as eating cornflakes every day might be, it can be helpful to one's spirit to try something new. Eggs and sausage perhaps? Oatmeal? Leftover pizza? If nothing else, it'll make you realize just how easy you have it with your dominant hand, and the relief at getting back to your normal m.o. will be like a mental vacation.

Whatever you do, should you be tasked to draw with your opposite hand, don't avoid doing the exercise. I could have gotten away with it, personally, as I'm left-handed. When my professors in school told us to switch, I could have kept on going as I was only one of two lefties in my class and my professors didn't exactly keep track of who was a southpaw and who wasn't. While every once in a while, I would test their memory, I also found myself switching even when there was no mandate. The thing that was so appealing is that there was no pressure to do great drawings. It was pretty liberating to just sit back and make marks with but a meager hope that they land where you intend them to. That kind of liberation is pretty fun for me, and I can't say that I always have as much freedom in my day to day work. So, I enjoy it when I can.

Cheese Platter 7

2011-05-20T10:41:00.000-04:00

•My parents always spoke of a barber from their youth whose quality of haircut depended on the amount of alcohol he'd consumed. Contrary to what you might think, the more inebriated the barber was, the better the haircut. I'm sure, however, that there was a point that the scale started tipping in the other direction. I'm sure beyond a certain level of drunkenness the quality of haircuts had to start deteriorating. Unless, of course, the barber in question was able to maintain a buzz all day long, which I guess he managed to do considering that he stayed in business. My own barber, so far as I can tell, is more a talker. If you can get him to talk about marathons, the sport of running in general, the Red Sox or politics that lean towards the right, you're guaranteed a good cut. I have to fake it with all four of those topics as none of them really interest me. However, there is a delicate balance to shoot for, as I learned about yesterday. You don't want to get too deep into a conversation with the man because he just keeps cutting and cutting and cutting until the conversation ends. My hair is the shortest it's been since my Mom gave me a buzz cut in elementary school. It's a good cut, just really, really short.

•I have an irrational fear of my garbage disposal. This is the first time I've ever lived in a place that has one and there's a part of my brain that is positive that I am going to cause myself grievous manual harm. This wouldn't be much of a worry if the switch for the disposal wasn't where the over-sink light switch has been in every other place I've ever lived. There is no over-sink light switch in our current place, so the way I see it my eventual hand mangling will go down like this: something will need to be retrieved from the disposal unit and I will stick my hand down there. In an attempt to shine more light on the situation, I will flip the switch unconsciously thinking it is for the light, and voila: nubs for fingers. Of course, I know it prudent to unplug the unit before sticking my hand in it, but I still can't shake the fear. Surprisingly, however, the fear has not featured in any of my recent nightmares. So, I guess that's a good thing. I'll be well rested when it all goes down.

•In my backyard, there was once a shed. During what was an unusually snowy winter, the shed's roof caved in due to the accumulated weight of the snow. I expected the contents of the shed to be tools and lawn equipment, but it turned out to be mostly furniture which was unfortunately ruined. Last week, my landlord showed up with his daughter and dismantled the shed. He waved me over after finishing one day and proceeded to ask me what I'd like him to do with the additional yard that had been created by the now-absent shed. I had expected him to just buy a new shed and put it there, but clearly he wasn't going to bother. Instead, he wanted to know whether he should put a garden in, a patio in, or just seed the bald patch of earth and make the yard that much bigger. I was a little befuddled. It's not my land, you see. It's his. I bounced the question back to him reminding him that it was his land to do with what he wanted. I'm not really sure we'd need a patio as we have nice a covered porch. A garden would be great in theory but neither my wife nor I have been gifted with green thumbs. More back yard would be easiest for him, I explained, and would likely be the most versatile option as well. He thought about it and seemed satisfied with my conclusion. So now, we have 33% more backyard. And also the nicest landlord I've ever had.

Jeffrey Catherine Jones

2011-05-19T09:53:00.001-04:00

Jeffrey Catherine Jones passed away today.

I never know what to say when it comes to these things. I fumble and grope at words, but everything always sounds so trite.

What I can say is this: I never knew him — hell, I never even met him — but he was like a looming force, ever present and elusive. He was an inspiration above all... I guess he shall remain so, but it still hurts to know that one of your heroes is no longer out there somewhere fighting the good fight.

If you follow a lot of blogs, you'll be seeing a lot of entries about Jeff today. They'll all likely have the above link. I encourage you to click that link and take some time to look at the work, maybe read some snippets from the autobiography, check out the works in progress.

Me, I'm going to get some painting done while I reconsider some things.

sb

Drawing Exercises I Have Known 1

2011-05-17T13:16:00.000-04:00

Confession: drawing isn't something I do enough of. However, I'm not sure I could ever feel that I draw enough. I think, though, that it's fair to say I could do more of it than I do. This fact got me thinking about all the weird exercises I've been exposed to. I thought it might be interesting to share a few of these with you all. Most will be familiar with you, some may not be. Either way, they're fun to talk about.

The first one I am going to speak of is not necessarily one I'd recommend to anyone, oddly. It involves the following items:

1 cup of bleach
several cotton swabs (commonly known as Q-Tips)
black railroad board

Simply put, you have a cup of bleach, dip the swabs into said bleach, then use the swabs to draw on the railroad board, creating white orange lines. The concept is not much different from using white charcoal on black paper in an attempt to capture the light rather than the dark, except that the swab is not as precise a weapon, you don't get varied values from the bleach, and you can't smudge or erase bleached paper.

This exercise was introduced to me during my freshman year at Pratt, by my Drawing 101 instructor, Prof. Sanfilippo. It was a total non-sequitur from the usual charcoal on newsprint exercises we'd grown accustomed to and really shook things up. We were instructed to bring in the materials as listed above (with several sheets of the board necessary), and sat through a quick demo that lasted all of two minutes. We had a model in the class and started out with relatively quick poses (probably a minute or so a piece), followed by some 5 minute poses and then a few 20 minute poses.

What made this exercise so interesting was that it really called into question one's decision making. One had to be sure that the mark they were about to make was where it needed to be. Lacking any form of undo button caused a strain on one's ability to see. Each decision became all the more important, and one misstep could spell doom for your efforts. A casual flick could see bleach spots all over your drawing. An adjustment in posture could spill your cup and coat the board. It was an exercise in carefulness. But it also was the exact opposite.

Just as we were being forced to really consider our marks, we were also being forced to let go. If we spattered, so be it; if we absentmindedly touched the board someplace we did not intend, such was life. There grew, over time, an adjustment to things not quite going according to plan. A tool as useless as a Q-Tip will can do that. It's blunt inexactness laughed in the face of our carefulness. The bleach that eventually got on our fingertips marred the pristineness of our efforts. Before long we had little choice to just draw.

Now, the big problem with doing this exercise is pretty obvious: it requires the use of bleach. Imagine, if you will, 25 cups of bleach open in a single studio. It was fairly late in the semester so it was cool outside, and the windows were cracked open in an attempt to balance personal comfort with the ventilation of the fumes. I'm fairly certain that OSHA would have had something to say about the matter, but they weren't there. I, on the other hand, was there. And I'm not exactly sure I walked away entirely unscathed. For this reason, I don't really recommend this exercise. At least not in the manor I was taught. Perhaps instead of bleach, you might use white ink or white paint. I don't see why the railroad board need be replaced, and I certainly would recommend keeping the cotton swabs.

The point is that the exercise was an interesting change-up to the type of drawing we'd become accustomed to. And change-ups are usually good things. Unless they involve lots of bleach in a poorly ventilated, enclosed space. Then it's just interesting to ponder doing the exercise, and leave the doing of it to far crazier people.

A Follow Up To The Pseudonym

2011-05-16T15:40:00.000-04:00

Here's a query I got from Tom P. on my post about the Pseudonym (it started out as a reply comment, but before I knew it it was almost as long as my posts usually get, so I just went with it):

Hey Steve, if you feel so inclined, I'd be curious to hear your thoughts on different names for different styles of work from the same artist. While at Illuxcon in November, as artist I was chatting with mentioned this and felt that it was pretty important in his opinion. For instance, you're Steve Belledin known for your work on Magic cards, but let's say you took an unrelated graphic design job doing a few logos or maybe wanted to pursue fine art painting bowls of fruit and such. This gentleman felt that it was important to have alternate names because clients tend to know you for a style and will be turned off if they see something seemingly unrelated on your website. What have your experiences been in this regard?

Tom,

This is exactly what I was referring to when I spoke of keeping your fine art or day job separate. I think back before the internet, it was easier to keep your name, but have a more compartmentalized career. Nowadays, it's so easy to hunt down everything about everyone, that it can be very useful if the name is compartmentalized, as well.

I think how compartmentalized you go depends on how different the jobs involved are. I'm not sure I would go under a different name if I were going to do some graphic design work (something that no one would ever pay me to do, by the way). The way I see it (though others will surely disagree), there's nothing in my illustration work that would necessarily conflict with logo design or some such. At least not under most circumstances. However, one circumstance that might be an issue is if I'm doing logos for some religious institution. Like it or not, there are folks in some of these institutions who might see my Magic work as demonic or satanic in some way (there are still folks who feel this way about Dungeons and Dragons), and my Magic work may result in my not getting said graphic design gig. Now, I'm not trying to make a commentary about anyone's beliefs, as everyone is entitled to theirs, I'm just saying that I'm aware these beliefs exist, and could potentially have an impact on trying to get work.

Here's another example. Let's say instead of being a Magic artist, I am a children's book artist. Let's also say that on the side I like to do pin-up or erotic art. This is certainly a case where having multiple identities would be helpful. While I kind of doubt that knowledge of a children's book career would harm my pin-up career, knowledge of my pin-up career could most certainly have an effect on the children's book work. While I can't really speak to how folks in the publishing business would personally feel about such a case, they would certainly be concerned about customers finding out and having their book protested, banned, etc. After all, children's books have been banned for far lesser reasons.

Going back the whole fine art/ illustration example, simply put, an illustration career on the side, in the fine art world, can be very harmful. Illustration is widely considered a lesser art form — with some feeling that it does not even qualify as art to begin with (which I'm not even going to get into right now). Consequently, there are fine artists who utilize an alternate identity for their illustration work in order to protect their fine art work. On the other hand, there are a lot of illustrators who have gotten into gallery work over the course of their career and have kept their identities intact throughout the transition. Not having done this, myself, I cannot comment on any trials or tribulations they may have suffered, but the ones I know who've done this don't really seem the worse for wear. If you want to know more, I'd suggest trying to track some of these folks down. I'm sure they'll have some thoughts on the matter.

As far as different styles or aesthetics go, that's a whole other ball of wax. Working under different styles is difficult at best and is not something I generally recommend. Art schools tend to encourage a great deal of experimentation, which I think is essential, but once you get into the real world, I strongly feel that young illustrators should pick a direction and go with it. I'm not saying you have to be married to one aesthetic for the rest of your life — you can always pull in new influences and evolve your work — I'm just saying that it's hard enough out there as it is and it's best to have a consistent portfolio of work using a single aesthetic so that you can attack the field in a more focused fashion. Now, if you happen to be some sort of savant and have managed to put together two (or more) consistent portfolios of work in two (or more) very different styles, I will tell you that, yes, you should segregate them. Does it require a totally different name? Perhaps. Many have done just that and I think it's worth looking into. Just be sure that your heart is in all of your various aesthetics, because with life working the way it tends to, the style you're least into will be the one that takes off.

At the end of the day, I think it helps if you segregate things a bit, but to reiterate, I feel that the degree of difference should be taken into consideration. For example, I get the odd historical work now and again, but I don't go by another name for that kind of thing. I've also done some advertising art that could not be more different from my Magic work and still went with my real name. Though I haven't done much political/editorial illustration, I don't know that I would keep two completely different identities if I did so while also doing Magic cards. Sure, I'd have two different portfolios, and possibly two different web addresses, but I'm not sure I'd go as far as having two different names. And if, in the future, I suddenly become inspired to start doing anime work, you can bet it'll be under some name you've never heard before. But, again, that's just me, personally. I suspect that if you asked twenty different illustrators about this, you would get additional points of view.

The Pseudonym

2011-05-14T14:31:00.001-04:00

A few weeks back, in a FAQ, I addressed my name (link). The only comment made on the article was from the artist known as Daarken. While his comment made in interesting inquiry which I shall now ignore, it did get me thinking about something else entirely. In an article entirely about names, an option I failed to address was the possibility of having a pseudonym. Because...you know...Daarken. See how I got there?

Moving on....

So what of pseudonyms?

Personally, I don't have anything against them. I didn't want to use one, myself, because I like my name and am proud of the work I do while using it. If you're of a similar frame of mind, you should at least consider going down the same route. Two advantages are that there are simply fewer identities to keep track of, and that folks will know how to address you and you'll always know that it's you they're addressing. On the other hand, you may feel differently.

Now, there are many reasons you may want to use a pseudonym. You may be unhappy with your real name, you may do illustration on the side and not want it interfering with your "regular" job, your real name might be something you find embarrassing, you may do fine art under your real name and want to keep the illustration work on the down low so as to not affect your fine art's value, you may be hiding from the mob or in the witness protection program, or it could just be that you're called "John Smith" and want to go by something a little more unique and exciting.

So what, then, do you call yourself? How do you choose a name? Well, I'd suggest that I'm the wrong person to ask this as I've never done it. However, I will endeavor to try and help you, anyway.

I've known folks who've used childhood nicknames, folks who've used old pet names, folks who've made up words, and folks who've even used their old character names from their days of role playing. A name can come from anywhere, really, and as I'm not the kind of guy who was ever good at naming things, I can only give you some guidelines that might narrow things down for you.

First off, coming up with a pseudonym is like trying to name a band. It has to tonally fit the genre — even it fits ironically. Personally, however, I'd steer away from irony, as irony seems to go in and out of fashion so regularly that an ironic name may seem out of place in a matter of years if not months. 'Course that's just my opinion. The point I'm driving at here is that you don't go after children's book work with a name like "Baby Slayer." It's not going to go well for you. So, choose wisely.

The second rule I'm stealing from fellow artist Peter Morbacher. If you're going to go by a different name, it should not be more difficult to spell than your real name. I'd extend this further to say that you should make it easier to pronounce, as well. I'm not sure if it's ever happened before, but you don't want to be the first person to lose a job because the art director decided not to call you out of fear of mispronouncing your fake name. Not knowing how to say "Belledin" is one thing, not knowing how to say "Pjumdiharzdt" is another (I made that one up... I told you I was bad at this).

Third, I think it's important to be flexible with the name. Like it or not, people will want to know your real name. Accept that the illusion will eventually be broken. Mystique is cool, but there's always a few out there who wants to know how the magic trick works, and among those few is the jerk who wants to spoil it for everyone else. So, eventually you may end up becoming known as "Joe 'Pjumdiharzdt' Bloggs." A benefit to this flexibility is that should your name become less valuable to you over time, you'll have a head start on transitioning to a new identity. It's entirely possible that your career may change, and eventually you may just want to own up to being plain old Joe. Perhaps the above middle ground will help.

Anyway, should you choose to go the pseudonym route, be aware that there will be certain people who dislike you off the bat. A lot of folks find the very idea pretentious and off-putting. Others feel it to be amateurish, somehow. I'm personally not in either of these camps as I feel that quality of work trumps all, but clearly not everyone sees things that way. Understand that there may be people who either publicly or privately roll their eyes at you for your decision. The weirder the name, the more eye rolls you're likely to get. I'd be willing to bet, however, that the vast majority of folks will shrug, chalk it up to you being a "weird artist-type" and go about their business. Or, better yet, some may even use it as a device to engage you. What's with the name? Why don't you use your real name? Etc.

While some may show you prejudice for arbitrary reasons, there are others who will be wary for reasons potentially more legitimate. I've heard several folks complain about fake names because they are sometimes employed to represent artist sweatshops as a single individual. Seriously. Somewhere in this world there is a room full of guys making pennies on the dollar putting out work in a more or less unified "style" all under the guise of being someone who goes by the name "Pork Fat" (again, not a real name as far as I'm aware). As a result, there are art directors out there who may, in an attempt to not deal with such folks, steer clear of pseudonyms (at least until they can confirm that there's a real person behind the name). I have no idea how often this tends to be the case, as I don't have the resources to poll enough art directors on the subject, but even if it's just one person, it's worth noting, as fate would dictate it's the person you most want to get a job from.

To be perfectly frank, I'm not entirely sure how important a name really is. I can't say as to how much of a make/break impact it may have. Suffice it to say that in this day and age, as a commercial artist, you are a brand. While it would be nice to say that we are above such things, it just isn't the case. Being brands, there is an element of perception that we have to deal with. While I still feel it most important that the work is good (after all, Coke would be long forgotten if it tasted like window cleaner — which I assume tastes lousy having never tried it), this business is full of people and people bring with them consciously or subconsciously all kinds of prejudices regardless of your name.

At this point, it's beginning to sound as though the supposed lack of prejudice on my part isn't entirely genuine. I assure you it is. My first art teacher worked under a pseudonym. Sure, it was an abbreviation of his last name, but it wasn't his full, legal name, either. By his own standard, I think he'd say that he was pretty successful, and I don't think his situation is at all that unique. In fact, I'll give you a (very incomplete) list of other folks who use some degree of pseudonym:

Android Jones
Artgerm
Chippy
Coro
Daarken
Donato
Dr. Seuss
Eddie Guy
Izzy
jD (admittedly just his initials, but he's really good so shut up)
Jock
Red Nose Studio
Rockin Jelly Bean
Shag

Like I said, really incomplete. However, a quick glance through Conceptart.org, and you'll find plenty of pseudonyms. It's surprisingly common. At the end of the day, whatever you go by — real name or fake — you can rest assured that you'll be in very good company.

Note: This article was up for less than a day when Blogger went down. Despite Blogger asserting that they got everything back up and running, this article never returned. So, I've had to recreate things as best I could using a very old draft. Hopefully this one won't get lost in the ether.

Frequently Asked Questions 10

2011-05-11T15:40:00.001-04:00

Do you trade paintings?

Okay, before I answer, I have to cop to the fact that this one is going to exclude a lot of the general audience. I apologize. While this is a frequently asked question, it's one that is asked solely by other artists, so I guess this one is pretty much just for them.

Alright, my answer: Yes, I do trade paintings. But the conditions have to be right.

I'll tell you a story. The second Gen Con I ever attended (and the first one I ever showed at), I saw a couple of artists agree to a trade. This is how it went down: Artist A came over to Artist B's table, selected a piece from his wall, and they both walked back to Artist A's table to complete the trade. I didn't get to see the other half of the trade, but I did get to see Artist B walking back to his table staring down at the piece he'd gotten in return. His expression was one of deep regret and disappointment. It was clear what had happened. It was a bad trade.

I've heard it said that you should never accept a gift that eats. A bad trade is like this. Only it does not raid your refrigerator. It nibbles at your happiness. I have been in Artist B's shoes. I have felt the sting of a trade I was unhappy with. I followed through out of politeness, and I would take the whole thing back in a heartbeat. But I can't.

As a result, I have developed simple guidelines when it comes to trading paintings. Should you ever want to swap a painting or two, maybe they'll be helpful. Maybe not. Either way, here they are:

1. Be honest with yourself. This is the toughest one of the lot and it's first because it directly affects whether a trade is proposed to begin with. Unfortunately, it's also very hard to describe. Let me put it this way: I have a pretty good idea of who would be willing to trade paintings with me. It's kind of obvious. At the same time, I know that I'm not going to be able to walk up to Michael Whelan or Donato and get either of them to swap anything with me. I'm just not there yet. I may never be there. And that's cool. Like it or not, there are artists who may be out of your reach when it comes to trading. I can only urge you to accept it and move on. I assure you it's not the end of the world. If nothing else, use this knowlege as motivation to become good enough that they someday come to you.

2. The trade does not happen if either party is unhappy. The ideal result of a trade is that both parties are as happy or happier with the paintings they've traded as they would have been had the trade not occurred at all. Some are of the opinion that the goal is to feel as good about the piece you've gotten in the trade as you would have felt had you sold the piece you traded. However you measure it, both parties need to walk away satisfied. Anything less is a bad trade.

3. Check your ego at the door. In the event that you don't have anything that the other party is willing to trade for, be okay with that. It's not personal, and it's not a commentary on how good you are. It simply may be a matter of personal taste — after all, you don't know what color the furniture is in the room where they intend to hang the piece. Your work might clash with the drapes — who knows? It could also be about the subject matter. For example, I know a guy who will only trade for paintings of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. He's willing to trade with me, I just don't happen to have any paintings of Leonardo hanging around. It may even be about extenuating circumstances beyond both your control, like your work not passing the "Spouse Test." I've lost several trades where the artist liked my work but their spouse didn't. It stinks, but that's just how some people roll. The take away is that you just have to accept that the trade isn't going to happen, and trust that it's not a slight... Unless it's explicitly stated otherwise, in which case you should probably get started on that blood feud.

4. Be honest, but don't be a jerk. Just as you should be cool with someone not wanting anything of yours, you should also be up front with them if the shoe is on the other foot. Sometimes you just don't see anything that floats your boat, and that's okay. The important thing is to just be honest and let them know that you don't want to follow through. Make up some excuse if you have to: someone offered to buy the piece they want to trade for, your spouse asked you to keep it, whatever — just don't follow through out of obligation. And whatever you do, don't put the reason for not wanting to trade on the other artist's shoulders. This is not the time to be critical of their work or to let them know that you really don't like them as a person. You'd think I wouldn't need to write that, but I've seen it happen.

As far as when to trade, I recommend doing so at shows or cons when both parties are present. In such cases, I usually make an overt offer to trade early in the show. It allows me to see if the other party is interested. If they are, I tend to make a mental note of three or four pieces I wouldn't mind having. In general, folks I know tend to wait until the show is almost over before actually making the trade, so as to give both parties a fair shake at selling their various wares. Then, it's all about hammering out a deal.

Some may be wondering why we wait. If both parties want to trade, isn't it best to go after the pieces they most want? Well, I suppose in certain cases this might be the route you go. For the most part, however, the business side of things tends to win out. We try and sell what we can so as to pay for the con, show, etc. There's always an economic aspect that must be met. That's why I always make a mental note of three or four pieces. Should one or two sell, I've still got work I'm interested in.

Rarer for me have been trades that have occurred via phone or email. These usually started out as casual comments that became trades unexpectedly. I've even had artists I admired and never before spoken to contact me for the express purpose of swapping paintings. These tend to be specific trades, or were situations where only four or five pieces were offered up in either direction. The only thing that can be worrisome in these cases is that you don't get a chance to look at the paintings themselves, but rather scans or photographs. You just have to trust that the work looks as good as the digital file being presented. So far, I have yet to be disappointed. No matter what, it's important to keep in mind that despite the circumstances being a little different, the guidelines still apply. No smiles, no swapping.

Now, I have one final note about the whole trading thing. It is a warning. Among the various folks willing to trade, there are a group out there that many artists would refer to as "Cherry Pickers." These are folks who will want to get their hands on the very best work you've ever done and only be willing to trade their lesser work in exchange. In the story I wrote above, Artist A was a Cherry Picker, and the whole scenario caused Artist B to swear off trades ever again. While I can't tell you what to do when dealing with these folks, I personally tend to shut down any proposed trade with them. Believe it or not, it's actually not personal. I understand the impulse to do that kind of thing — it's not too different from trying to buy something for the cheapest price possible, or attempting to have cake and eat it, too. It's a fundamental of human nature. My reason for not trading with Cherry Pickers is simply that I know that I won't be happy with the end result. I've already got three or four pieces sitting in my flat files that I wish I could take back and I think that's just about my limit.

A Man Called Bags, Part 2

2011-05-09T13:30:00.002-04:00

If I were to look back and try and pinpoint exactly when it was that I finally put away childish things and became a man (whatever that means), it would be the Summer through Fall of 1996. I won't get into details, but during this stretch of 6 months, I learned an awful lot about life and myself — some of which I liked and some of which I didn't. It was a painful transition and one which was exacerbated by repeated toe stubbing on life's various snarls.

I recognized that I could use some guidance, and an objective opinion. In a desperate attempt to steady myself, I decided to reach out to an old friend. In August of 1996, a full decade after I'd last seen him, I found myself knocking on Bags' door.

I want to break in here quickly to point something out: for some reason, I never questioned Bags' name. I just accepted the fact that Bags was Bags in the same way that Madonna was Madonna and Prince was Prince. It seemed perfectly normal that this might be the case — I'd lived through the '80s, after all. When I finally reached out to him, however, this gap in my knowledge was pretty embarrassing. How could I not know such a thing? Where did the name "Bags" even come from?

In my defense, as I've already said, everyone just called him "Bags." My parents did, the neighbors did. It's just what was done. Turns out, however, that the mystery of his name was pretty simple. His full name was William Bagley. Obviously, "Bags" just came from his last name and was something that could be seen on just about every painting he ever did. To my knowledge, there were some who called him "Bill." In fact, I think if you didn't call him "Bags," that was his preference. Certainly not William.

So there I stood on Bags' doorstep. He answered, and despite the years that had passed, he recognized me instantly. He was frailer than I remembered. The lines on his face had deepened and there was clearly some pain in his movements. Mind you, he didn't look bad. It was just the normal age that piles upon you whether you try and fight it or not. Bags wore it with relative ease, or at least gave you that impression. Still, his keen eye was there and sparkled with delight.

He had reached his seventies and had been retired for quite some time. Judging from the walls of his apartment, it had been a busy retirement. Some of the walls were lined floor to ceiling with watercolor paintings. Everything from paintings of children playing, to friends gardening, to weeds overgrowing fences. It was a wall of the mundane things in each of our lives we see in passing. The fleeting things that rarely register as being noteworthy. In some there was joy, in others melancholy. In all, there was a peace that I have always associated with him. And in that peace was a certain satisfaction. His retired years displayed upon his walls for all visitors to see and appreciate. It was like the pictures some carry in their wallets of their children, only instead of children a parade of moments.

Bags took me through his place and showed me everything. It was a museum of his life and was full of things I'd never before seen. I remember one painting in particular that struck me. It was an oil portrait of a firefighter — one of the men who'd fought the blaze that had left him homeless. What amazed me is that I'd so closely associated him with watercolor and this piece flew in the face of that. Even it's subject matter was unique when compared to the body of work he showed me. What fascinated me above all else, however, was that it was an incredible painting — certainly far better than I was capable of at the time and if memory serves, better than I am capable of today. This is not to say that the rest of Bags' work was rubbish. No, it's just that this one piece was the closest to what I was attempting to do in my own work. Once again, Bags had taken me to school.

After my tour, he delved into the work I brought to show him. He gave me an honest critique of each piece, and was probably more complimentary than I deserved. Still, he saw the potential and nudged me towards things I was getting right. Once we'd run out of work to look at, we chatted a long time about school and life, and caught up with our respective worlds. And much too soon, I had to go.

Over the coming months Bags and I began to exchange letters. We sent them to each other about once a month or so. Mine were full of the angst I was dealing with, his with comforting words and humor. We wrote about all manor of things and I can still imagine him at his desk replying to my silliness in tidy sentences with neat handwriting. Sometimes they even came with a Bags original to decorate the envelope. The days those letters arrived were always among the best of that given month. I cherished each, and saved them all.

I went to visit him again at Christmas, when he gifted me his copy of Andrew Wyeth: A Secret Life by Richard Meryman (a book I highly recommend if you're so inclined). He was a big fan of Wyeth's work and I am humbled and honored that he passed this book to me. It's a book I have to this day, and one that I shall likely have until I die.

As 1996 passed and 1997 rolled in, our letters eventually became postcards. Then the postcards began to come only on holidays. And then, eventually, they stopped coming at all. Also during this time, I met and started dating Amy. I became a lot more serious about my work, and I began to find some peace of my own. I still thought of the old man, my friend. But I had things to do

I didn't go home the summer of 1997. I stayed and worked two jobs so that I could have the summer in New York with Amy. And so I never got to visit Bags. I like to think that he would have understood and had a snappy comment about this new force in my life and the impact it had made. But the truth is, he didn't even know. I never wrote to tell him. I kept telling myself that I'd do it later. There'd be time. I'd go out and visit him the next time I was in Pennsylvania. This turned out to be a mistake.

I heard about Bags' death from my parents. Amy and I were visiting their house when I mentioned that I'd like to drive out and see him. They assumed that I had heard the news, and of course I hadn't. The indirectness and matter-of-fact nature of the news stung. Indeed, it still bothers me today. I missed many chances and assumed many things. The "could haves" and "should haves" lined up to take turns slapping me in the face. But what hurts even more is this passage from the first letter he wrote me after my visit:

After you drove away I picked up little pieces you left behind and rather wished you had surfaced earlier in the summer — that we might have gone painting...

I cannot explain how much I regret waiting in the first place. I cannot tell you how much I wish I could have gone out with the man on some beautiful summer day. What we might have talked about, what I might have learned...

I miss my friend, Bags. Still, the beauty of what we do as artists is that when we are gone, there is something of us that is left behind. There on the walls of my parents' home, a little piece of Bags remains. A piece I revisit every time I see them, and a piece that still has a lot to teach. And I find that marvelous.

A Man Called Bags, Part 1

2011-05-05T12:33:00.001-04:00

There are several words in the English language that I associate completely with specific individuals I have known. Words that have become synonymous with those who often said them. But these words were not merely said. No, there was something about the way these words were spoken that indicated their respective speakers did not just know the words, but owned them, bending them to their will like no other could.

The word in this case is “marvelous.” The friend was a man called Bags. He said the word without irony, without jest. He wielded it with precision and sincerity, and it came with the full weight of his heart. Delivered in such a fashion from a man who was so full of eye rolls and cutting wit, the sentiment was palpable. It validated and nourished, and burned away any doubt.

“Marvelous” was not good — such a thought is an insult. It was not merely great, either. It transcended these things. It was simply… marvelous.

I knew Bags all my life and our paths often wandered away from each other’s only to take quick, sharp turns to intersect before drifting outward yet again. He was a friend. He was a guide. He was my first art teacher.

As the story goes, when I was very young Bags' home and all his worldly possessions were destroyed in a fire. My neighbor, who worked with him, invited Bags to move into his family’s home until Bags could get himself back on his feet. In fact, to aid in this effort, my entire neighborhood chipped in to resupply Bags with all the creature comforts he had lost. My father, as I understand it, even emptied his closet to provide Bags with a new wardrobe (though I suspect that there was actually a trip to the store involved as their statures were too dissimilar). And so, in short order, Bags was brought into the neighborhood fold and became a fixture there.

That he was my first art teacher is only appropriate as that’s exactly what Bags did for a living — he taught art at a high school a couple towns over. He was a thin man, and from what I can tell never actually sported a full head of hair. I don’t even recall so much as a photograph proving otherwise. What little hair he did have was white as far back as I can remember — as was his moustache. He spoke slowly and softly, and clearly took a lot more in than anyone might have guessed. While I would never go so far as to say that he was a snoop, he was certainly aware of the goings on around him. He was an artist after all, a consummate observer of man and nature, and the owner of a trained eye for detail.

Unlike many art teachers I have known, Bags practiced the very things he taught — not the craft-based lessons that dominate so many art programs today, but traditional fundamentals like drawing and painting. Though skilled in many mediums, his weapon of choice was watercolor — a medium as unforgiving as he, himself, could be.

My earliest memories of Bags involve Betty Boop cartoons. He was fond of them and I remember watching them with him in his makeshift apartment that was really just my neighbor’s finished basement. It wasn’t long before I gave drawing Betty Boop a go in a childish attempt to impress, but the results were sub-par. He gave my efforts an honest critique, pointed out where I was going wrong, and encouraged me to try again. As kind as his words were, the critique soured me on drawing old cartoons, but somehow failed to sour me on drawing in general. And just as I never stopped drawing, Bags never stopped critiquing.

Bags was used to dealing with older kids and I was still shopping at the little tikes section of the department store. But, how he critiqued my work changed over time as he learned to deal with the raw emotions of grade schooler, just as my responses to his critiques began to mellow in turn. It wasn’t a regular thing, mind you, but it was one of those situations where he’d always ask what I’d been up to every time we saw each other. He was genuinely interested and saw in me enough potential to encourage.

The lessons Bags reinforced in me were the most fundamental anyone can learn when it comes to their profession — though these lessons also tend to bleed into life as a whole. I say “reinforced” because they were lessons that my parents were busy trying to instill in me, as well. What made it different was that I was hearing the same things from someone who essentially had no vested interest in my upbringing, and the lessons were being directly applied to art. Among the most important of these were to take my time and not give up.

Though unintended, Bags taught me even more through the artwork he did — some of which came to hang on the walls of my childhood home. As one paints, one is constantly making decisions and breaking things down into their component parts. Among the pieces that hung on the walls of our house were four paintings of my Grandmother’s farm. Being familiar with the place in real life, it fascinated me to see the more abstract version that he had created. I’ve spent more time staring at those four paintings over the course of my life than I have any other images, and I remember as a kid walking around my Grandmother’s farm trying to find the vantage points of the paintings, studying the details I saw before me, then revisiting the pieces when I got home in an attempt to understand his process.

That watercolor was among the first mediums I tackled should be no surprise. I likely wouldn’t have ever touched the stuff if it weren’t for Bags. Truth be told, most of what I know of watercolor was from studying his work. And Andrew Wyeth. But then, Bags did a little of that, too.

As I mentioned before, Bags’ path eventually wandered away from my own. He moved away, along with my neighbors who’d given him shelter. They all ended up in the same place, my neighbor occupying an old house about an hour away from our home, and Bags occupying the apartment over the carriage house. It would be a long time before I saw him again.

A Tale of Childhood Rivalry

2011-05-03T13:38:00.000-04:00

His name was Michael Gable. He was my childhood artistic rival. And he was better than me.

I remember being friends with Michael in my early elementary years — after all, we had a lot in common. We both liked Star Wars and each had a fair collection of action figures. We both liked the same cartoons on television. We shared a circle of friends. And we both had an interest in drawing and used it as best we could in an attempt to impress those friends. I remember visiting his house and hanging out with him on the playground at school. It seemed like any other childhood friendship. But it didn't last.

At some point things changed between us, and by the end of the third grade he seemed to have more interest in ending me than anything else. I don't know if it was jealousy or something I said, but I eventually found myself on the wrong side of some imaginary line, and over the years that followed never seemed to manage to cross back over. With our falling out, a rivalry quickly established itself. We both drew, and so naturally we each had to try and prove he was the better ~~man~~ boy.

It was during this rivalry that I came to see a major difference between us. While I drew incessantly, he was more of a casual artist. My efforts felt more like a grinding assault on a beachhead, his efforts seemed more akin to a precision bombing campaign. Just when you least expected it, he came swooping in to drop an art bomb in everyone's lap. What made it worse is that I never saw him drawing just to draw, as I often did. While I would practice drawing ninjas with dozens of false starts before committing to a more refined drawing on "good" paper, he would just belt out full scenes of ninjas clashing, fighting and diving with an eery ease and confidence that was extremely frustrating to me.

As far as natural talent went, Michael had it in spades. Though gifted with a decent helping myself, truthfully we were in entirely different leagues. He was the kind of kid who could see things in his head and just bring them to the page. There were no fits and starts. No warmups. No sketchy marks. He simply put his pencil down and made it happen. This was something I simply was not capable of, and to be perfectly blunt, I kind of hated Michael for it. I hated his abilities, I hated how difficult things were for me in comparison, and the frustration that built in me brought on the first doubt I ever recall feeling regarding art.

At this point my Mom, in an attempt to slam home some perspective, said among the more sage things she ever did during my childhood:

"No matter how good you are," she said, "there's always someone out there who's better than you."

This is kind of an Earth-shattering concept to a seven year old. At least it was to me. The frankness was the mental equivalent of ripping a band-aid off. Seriously, these words blew open my perspective on my own skills and life in general. In fact, I can still remember where I was when she said those words to me, and I remember walking next to her in silence as I pondered all that I knew in its new context. I remember it was Spring, and I can still see the way the morning light touched upon the grass and the yellow-green of each blade's translucency. I even remember the pollen-heavy smell. It was a strange and wonderful moment in my early life. And while I can't say I know whether or not the sentiment was age appropriate (I can't say as my Mom has ever been age appropriate), it was a lesson I was bound to learn at some point.

Now, there are two ways I could have reacted to my Mom's words, as I see it. I could have been happy that there was someone better than Michael at drawing, confident that one day Michael would would meet this person and feel as I did. Or, I could have just come to terms with the fact that some folks are better at things, some are worse, and such is life. Looking back, I reacted both ways. While the idea of Michael getting his comeuppance was certainly where my brain went first, it eventually settled upon the fact that life just works that way and that worrying too much about it wasn't going to change things.

Starting with the fourth grade, I was transferred to a different school and didn't see Michael for three whole years. During this time, I managed to gain a bit of notoriety for my artistic pursuits and even began taking art classes after school. But, when I ran into him again in seventh grade, I was reminded again of just how much raw talent he had.

Sure, I'd gotten better, but he still had insane skills that eclipsed my own in many ways. Curiously, I found that it didn't bother me so much, anymore. By then, I wasn't just drawing ninjas. I was drawig from life. I was also painting and sculpting. I was trying all kinds of different things and pushing the boundaries of what talent I had. I didn't have time to worry about Michael, nor did I have the inclination to. We were different people on different paths. I needed only to worry about my own.

Nowadays, I know a lot of folks who are better than me, some of whom I'd even call friends. The jealousy I used to feel for such things has been replaced by awe. The frustration has been replaced by excitement. Rather than be irritated, I take what knowledge I can from these folks their work and apply it to my own. At least I try to, anyway. Turns out there are people out there better at doing that than I am, as well.

So, whatever happened to Michael? That's a really good question. When I reached the ninth grade, I started going to a different school in a completely different state and I don't recall seeing him much after that. I don't know if he ever pursued the arts. Heck — I don't even know whether it even interested him. His part in our rivalry may have been more out of spite than interest. Still, herever he is, I hope he still doodles from time to time. I hope he's out there secretly creating masterpieces that make what I've been doing look like amateur hour. I hate to think that such talent is never used, and that so much potential has been scuttled.

Juried Show Success and Failure

2011-04-28T12:41:00.001-04:00

I start this entry with a simple question. If you've submitted your work to a juried show or annual, have you gotten in? Depending on your answer, you may wish to read the appropriate entry below. Or you may wish to read both. Or neither.

Yes. Yes I have gotten my work into a juried show.

Congratulations! Welcome to the club! (Breaks out smoking jacket, puts on monocle.) Clearly you've made it to the big time and you won't have to work quite as hard any more. After all, hard work is for suckers and the have-nots. Now, the successes will start snowballing, the cash will finally start rolling in, and you can finally begin to relax. Right? 'Cause that's what happens, right?

Well, no, actually. Not for most of us. I've heard tales and rumors of art directors using Spectrum or the Society of Illustrators Annuals as catalogs for finding artists. I've heard that there are illustrators out there who have gotten endless work from being honored in the pages of such tomes and hit it really, really big. Thing is, that doesn't happen to most illustrators — and more than likely if you're reading this, it's not going to happen to you.

While getting into these competitions and winning medals are feathers in your cap, they're just that: feathers. Light, airy feathers. Sure the competitions will raise people's awareness of you, and that whole getting work thing might even become less of a problem — who knows? However, tomorrow you'll still be working just as hard as you did yesterday. You'll still be the same person you were before, and the product your putting out will not suddenly have gotten better just because you've managed to get into one of these shows.

Now, don't get me wrong, I don't want to belittle the accomplishment. Obviously a lot of hard work has gone into getting to this point. I'm just trying to caution you to not let the success go to your head. You can't start handing in B-game illustrations to clients who you formerly deemed worthy of your A-game work just because you might have a little name equity now. It doesn't work like that. The expectations will still be high and may have even gotten higher. People will still be looking for the best you can give them, and at the end of the day it's always in everyone's best interest to do just that.

Still, I congratulate every one of you on your accomplishments and the great work you've been doing. Great job. Keep up the good work. Etc., etc., etc. Now, get back to work! Next years entries aren't going to paint themselves.

No. No I haven't gotten into one of those stupid shows.

The first thing I'm going to tell you is not to give up. Easy for me to say, having gotten into a show or two. True. But, like so many, I spent a lot of years submitting to shows and never getting in. I threw countless work hours and more money on entry fees than I care to think about at the problem, hoping my fortunes would change. They did eventually, but it was a very frustrating process along the way. However, it was because I didn't give up in the face of repeated failure that I managed to eventually break through, and I encourage everyone who reads this to keep at it as I once did.

I know several folks who I consider to be more skilled than I am who have been wildly unsuccessful at getting into these juried books and shows. What anyone has against their work is beyond me. These are guys whose names many of reading this would recognize, and are also some serious fan favorites. So what gives? Simple. Subjectivity.

The jurors for these shows — like all human beings — have their own tastes, prejudices, and preconceived notions. And while ideally the jurors should do their best to toss these feelings aside and look at things as objectively as possible, they're not always capable of doing so. At least not completely. Some jurors may dislike stuff that's too "cartoony" or too realistic. They might love something because it's made with actual paint and dismiss something else because it was rendered on a computer. They may gravitate toward stuff that looks or feels like their own work, or reject it for the same reason. I know. I've juried shows before and had discussions with other jurors after the fact where some of these very truths dribbled out of their mouths.

So what can be done? Well, until someone invents the Art Jurorbot 9000, things are unlikely to change. Even if someone did invent the Jurorbot, things still would not be ideal. After all, the prejudices of its programmers would invariably destroy its soulless objectivity. Plus, according to the laws of robotics in television, should anyone manage to put some sort of artistic paradox in front of it, it's CPU would explode causing a complete breakdown of the process and costly delays.

Clearly the system just isn't going to change anytime soon. Subjectivity happens, and there's little you can do. In fact, the little that you can do is to wait it out. Next year, it'll likely be a completely different jury with all new prejudices that you cannot account for. So, while the system as a whole stays the same, your circumstances will not.

How do I know it'll change? Simple. I've known lots of folks who have submitted a piece one year and fail to get in, only to submit the exact same piece to the exact same competition the next year and get in. Sure, I know that the rules say to stick to only work you've done the previous calendar year or some such, but resubmission is a common practice. The reason for it is simple. The illustrators in question believe in a piece so strongly, that they'll toss it back out there waiting for the right eyes to see it. They're doing their best to deal with the very subjectivity I've been talking about. Once again, the important thing here is that they kept at it, and so should you. I give this same advice to both neophytes and hardened veterans alike.

Sadly, some of the big names I spoke of earlier have given up. They've stopped submitting. The books are worse for it, in my opinion. But on the other hand, they're doing pretty darned well in the most important competition there is in this business: getting work.

At the end of the day, whether you make it into these competitions or not, it's all about the work. It's about making a living doing what you love. If you've successfully managed that, then you're already winning. Not in the Charlie Sheen sense, but in the real world, gotta' put food on my table sense. There are many folks out there — big names, small names and no names — who haven't made it into the hallowed pages of Spectrum or the various illustration annuals who do a whole lot better work-wise than some of the folks who do. And that is not feather in the cap, but the cap itself.

Glistening Oil

2011-04-27T11:10:00.000-04:00

I traditionally have gotten a lot of dark work from the fine folks at Magic. It's not a complaint, just an observation. I suspect that they like the darker work I've done and consequently give me more of it. Again, not a complaint. Despite my not being a fan of the horror genre, it's pretty clear that I've managed to carve out a little corner for myself in Magic's horror section.

In general, I take what I'm given, assignment-wise, and try not to complain (still not complaining), but what I've found is that I rather like working on these darker pieces. I like the tense mood. I like the palettes. I like the opportunities for subtle expression to drive the story. I like the contrast between large shapes and jagged, pointy small ones. There's a lot of fun in there.

See, I told you I wasn't complaining.

Despite the joy I have in painting some truly awful imagery, there is a downside. These are not usually the kind of pieces people want on the walls of their home. No matter how beautifully painted, no matter how much the palette matches their couch, the subject matter (not surprisingly) just isn't something most folk are into. Sure, they appreciate it on one level or another — be it the technical facility, or the attachment to a beloved card in their beloved game — but at the end of the day, of the few people who buy original art, the audience for such pieces is relatively miniscule.

Hmmm....that sounds like a complaint right there. Except that it isn't. Strangely, I have found one or two of the folks who just so happen to be into such things. As for the rest of the work that I'm stuck with, I actually don't mind. Indeed, some of my best work falls under that horror heading and the fact that I've gotten to keep most of it really doesn't keep me up at night (though I do want to mention that it's still for sale).

Anyway, I'm not really sure why I'm mentioning all this except to say that the most recent Magic set, New Phyrexia, resulted in a fairly strong group of pieces in that darker genre that included the previously written about Phyrexian Hulk, Surgical Extraction, and the heretofore unnamed Etched Monstrosity.

At last I can give you the final piece of the lot. The card is called "Glistening Oil." The painting is oil on paper on hardboard and measures 12"x9". I'm not sure if the painting shares the title with the card (I'm not always sure of these things), but I do think the title will contain the word "oil" in it. And, despite it seeming so, I can assure you that the piece is not some commentary on our dependence upon fossil fuels, unless you think it's a good representation of such a thing... In which case, it is exactly that.

First the sketch followed by the finish.

Phyrexian Hulk Redux

2011-04-26T14:01:00.001-04:00

So I was asked to do a new version of the Phyrexian Hulk for Magic: the Gathering. I've been asked to make new versions of old pieces several times in the past, and the difficulty of such a task can vary greatly. Whenever I've been asked to break from the original, it's been far less difficult because I needn't worry myself too much with what has come before. The freedom allows for the same mindset as any other piece I'd done where no previous version exists.

When asked to do the complete opposite, however, things tend to get a little more complicated. The piece becomes an exercise in balancing the original work with my own sensibilities — something that can be exceedingly difficult depending on the previous version's artist.

In the Phyrexian Hulk's case, I was definitely asked to do something of the latter. While a complete rehash of the original was certainly not what the art director wanted to see, it still needed to clearly be a Phyrexian Hulk. And so my sketches became a filthy mess of smears and eraser marks as I added this, subtracted that, and fought to keep the flavor of the previous iteration.

Above is the original Phyrexian Hulk. Below is my sketch.

Straight away several things are obviously different. As an image, it reveals more of the hulk itself, and the details are quite a bit different. Still, the silhouette is similar, and I like to think that I kept a degree of the original's spirit.

A side note on the sketch: A lot of cutting and pasting went into this one. I drew and redrew parts of this guy at various scales and had to put it all together in Photoshop. It made for a really ugly sketch, but one that I ended up sticking fairly close to as evidenced in the finish:

The changes I made were for various reasons. First and foremost, compositionally I wanted to get away from the original and do my own thing. Second, the original is more about the interplay of smaller shapes and I wanted mine to be a bit more about larger ones for greater legibility when reduced. Third, the shapes themselves were changed to infuse just a touch of sleekness found in the world of Mirrodin (where the card block this piece belongs to is set). Just a touch, mind you. Finally, I put the hulk in a setting. I wanted the hulk to be in an environment, rather than be a portrait of the hulk.

Despite these changes, the hulk is still clunky (hopefully in all the right ways) and the original is directly referenced in more ways than one. Still, it might fall short in a couple of areas for some. For me, the biggest shortcoming is how difficult it is to see the red eyes. Though I was asked to not include the original's laser, I wanted to reference it somehow and the red eyes seemed the best way. Unfortunately, they were just too small to be clear. When I scaled the eyes up the whole creature felt smaller as a whole. That was clearly not the way to go. So, I zoomed in, but then found the whole composition either poorly cropped or too cramped. I then tried different poses to allow for a tighter angle and found the revised poses to be rather stagnant. In the end, I was forced to choose whether the overall piece or more visible red eyes were more important. I like to think I made the right choice.

One last tidbit about this piece before I go. I worked on this painting at the same time as Rally the Forces. Though not asked to, I included a bit of a crossover. There, silhouetted in the distance is our Phyrexian Hulk. I stuck with the same pose in order to help the keen observer make the connection. 'Course I've gone ahead and ruined this Easter egg, but not many people read this blog, anyway.

Letting Go and Moving On

2011-04-22T12:49:00.000-04:00

If there's been a recurring theme for me this year, it's loss and letting go. Wait. That's two themes.

If there have been two recurring themes for me this year, they would be loss and letting go. While I'm not going to bother covering the loss thing (because it's horribly inconvenient to my talking point), I do want to address the idea of letting go... as it applies to my work.

Now, there are many ways that I am forced to let go of things in my work. One way that I let go occurs when I stop working on a given piece. Another is when I finally put a piece up for sale. Both potentially interesting subjects that I might address at some other point down the road. What I really am trying to drive at, however, are those occasions when I decide to abandon an unfinished piece.

Abandoning a painting is something I rarely do. With commissioned work involving deadlines, abandoning something will invariably require me to repaint it anyway, so in these situations it pretty much never happens. In my personal work, however, it does happen, and of late it's happened more than usual.

Before I moved to Boston, I had a few personal pieces started that I'd been futzing with for a year or two. They were pieces I'd pull out when I had nothing better to work on, and despite the hours I spent on them, I never actually got closer to completing them. Why? Really simple, I was getting better as they sat there and every time I worked on them, I spent more time fixing stuff that was already there than covering new ground. So, despite being worked on, they hovered in a perpetual state of rawness, and became clutter more than art.

What made things worse was that the pieces no longer spoke to me. I stopped feeling any kind of passion for them. Over time, their compositions and subject matter began to bore me, and consequently the work I put into them became stagnant and laborious.

Still, I didn't have the guts to sand them down and let them go. For some reason, I got hung up on the hours that I'd already put into them and felt to some extent like it would be better to finish them and have something to show for my efforts. This was a mistake, and a waste of time. I had failed to apply a very basic concept that I employ in so many other ways and in so many other situations. I ignored the cost/benefit ratio.

Cost/benefit, as it applies to these paintings, required me to estimate the total amount of time and energy that I would have to put into the pieces to finish them, and weigh that against the potential end result. Now, any given painting has huge potential, but as I've already stated, my interest was waning and the work would be tedious at best. Even if the pieces that resulted ended up being decent, I was no longer convinced that they'd either be good additions to my portfolio or something I could sell. While I knew the truth of the matter, I chose to ignore it. I got lost in the obligation of it all. I felt like I owed the labor to myself and my work. Until, that is, the move to Boston became official.

For some reason, I woke up to the fact that the work just wasn't up to par and came to the conclusion that I was not going to get a whole lot out of it if I saw the pieces to their conclusion. After much hemming and hawing, I finally did the cost/benefit analysis and sanded the pieces down.

I've been pondering a similar circumstance lately, as well. I've got my original Legend of Badass painting that is essentially finished (minus a few changes that could be made in an hour or two). Then I've got the revised cover that is part giclee, part painting. I've been toiling away at the thing for a couple months between jobs, stealing the time here and there to work on it, and I'm a little unsure as to whether I should bother seeing it to its end or not. I mean, the parts that are giclee don't look terrible, and the piece is about 2/3 painted. Should I continue and see it through, or should I just find a good place to stop and call it a day?

The main reason that any of this is even an issue is because I want to start digging into a personal piece again. I have a solid idea that I'm happy with, I have my reference shot, I have a good sense of what I'm going to do with the piece, and it's now just a matter of sitting down and doing it. Still, that cover keeps staring me down from across the room. "Finish me," it says.

The trouble is, I'm getting that same itch I've gotten before. I'm retreading ground with the piece and I'm starting to get boring. As such, I've decided to impose a deadline on myself. I have until the 30th of April to complete the piece. Whatever state it's in is the state it shall remain. Then it's off to a new assignment and a new, large painting. For me.

In the meantime, I must make a trip this weekend. A long drive down to Pennsylvania to spend a couple days with family, before heading to New Jersey where I will once again revisit the year's two themes: loss and letting go.

Days Without Context

2011-04-19T17:54:00.000-04:00

When I was a kid a question I asked my father only a handful of times and quickly learned to avoid was, "how was your day?" Upon asking that question, I would be awash in tales of blast furnaces, grease and conduit, not to mention the actions of various coworkers who would never break into his top ten list of favorite people. There was always an assumption on my father's part that you knew what he was talking about and had met the various cast of characters. However, if I met any more than a handful of the guys he worked with at an age where I'd reached full cognizance I can say that I really don't remember ever having done so. I can also say with authority that I've never fully understood what it is that he did beyond knowing enough to say that he was a high-voltage electrician.

The point I'm getting at, I guess, is that there was a huge disconnect between my father's work life and his home life. We didn't really socialize with his coworkers or their families, and quite frankly I'm not entirely sure I'm capable of understanding all of the principles involved in his day to day labor at the mill. Nevertheless, when prompted, my father would spill out the details of his day with little or no context to a rather confused audience. I suspect that his need to vent and get things off his chest were a bit more at the forefront of his mind than bringing this listener fully up to speed. As I said, the net result was that I stopped asking and he stopped telling, which still worked just fine as Pop was always good at leaving work at work.

Still, I regret never getting the full story and am constantly aggravated at how little I understand. What I've learned over the years, however, is that the assumptions my father made about the knowledge of his audience aren't uncommon.

Nowadays, my friends (those with "normal" jobs, that is) are often guilty of the same thing. Ask how work is and you'll hear random names and tales of their buffoonery. Try and interject a question for clarity and the conversation comes to a screeching halt so a bone can be thrown to give some context. Then it's back off to the races.

Ask my wife a similar question, and you'll hear a similar tale. Her world is full of "Joes" and "Marks" and "Heathers" — faceless entities I imagine as department store mannequins in some elaborate play at the heart of which is sneakers and athletic gear. I have no real concept of what she does on a daily basis except to say that she is often in meetings, which gives my imagination a nice place to set the play. Always with me meetings are held in large rooms with gray low pile carpeting and long tables at the head of which there is someone in a suit with pyramided fingers sitting in an over-sized leather chair. One wall is always comprised of windows often covered in venetian blinds. The furthest my imagination has ever gotten is that my wife is in on these meetings, the rarely seen light of day streaked across her visage in neat rows as she and her fellow subordinates await approval from "the boss."

By comparison, imagining the play version of my day is easy. The set is a standard bedroom with an easel and chair instead of a bed and dresser. There is a television in the corner. A single character sits in front of the easel, periodically stealing a glance at the tv's screen. There is naught but the sound of the film he has playing in the background and the occasional swishing of a brush in oil. In a really action-packed sequence, our hero swears then grabs a rag to wipe away a mistake. Riveting stuff.

The fact is, my day involves almost no human interaction. It has been exactly a decade since I've had a coworker. If there are any anecdotes from my day, they largely involve something being rather difficult or time-consuming to paint. Perhaps there was something funny that someone posted on Facebook or there's some random bit of movie news I've learned. When prompted, the descriptions of my day are rarely longer than a few words. Any stories I have to tell are so mundane as to put even the most caffeinated person to sleep. Nevertheless, I will volunteer them should the opportunity arise which is kind of sad. Sadder still is the fact that there is no context to omit.

I can't rightly say why people tend to assume that I'm fully aware of the details of their day. Perhaps it's because the details aren't what's important. Perhaps the whole point is to get the day off their chest so they can move on. It's entirely possible — probable in fact — that the question of "how was your day?" is not for the one asking the question at all. It would certainly explain why my attempts to flesh out the stage have always been so fruitless.

Cheese Platter 6

2011-04-15T12:30:00.000-04:00

•Amy and I come from completely different shoe cultures. I come from a family that took their shoes off as soon as they walked in the door. There might be slippers or something for around the house, but for the most part we went unshod while indoors. The only exception to this rule was the basement of our house where wearing shoes was prudent due to the random screw or nail that might be lying unseen on the bare concrete floor. Amy's family on the other hand wore shoes at all times indoors except when sleeping. While this freed Amy's Dad to leave nails and screws just about anywhere he so chose, it likely had an impact on the cleanliness of his carpets (the primary reason I suspect my family kept their shoes off). Either way, it's been a struggle between Amy and me that is ongoing. Curiously our habits have rubbed off on one another. There has been no dominant personality in this. Slowly, but surely, we are coming to a neutral stance where sometimes the shoes are on, while other times they're casually scattered about the place, waiting to be tripped upon.

•Last night our refrigerator started making a funny noise. It reminded me of the sound made when you stick a baseball card in the spokes of a bicycle wheel. I figured it had to be something interfering with the fan blades and thus should be an easy fix. I was right. But to my astonishment, the access panel for all of the fridge's mechanisms was made of cardboard. You'd think that such a thing would be far more substantial given the cost of the appliance. While clearly not a top of the line model, I think it still deserves better than the equivalent of cardboard underpants.

•This coming Monday is the Boston Marathon and also Patriots' Day here in Massachusetts. This being my first April in Massachusetts, I was completely unfamiliar with the holiday — all I knew was that Amy had the day off. Turns out it's a state holiday that commemorates the Revolutionary War battles of Lexington and Concord. What I think it's really about is people not wanting to deal with the huge traffic issues that would invariably be created if they actually had to go to work during the marathon. Either that, or it's just another excuse to get drunk.

Surgical Extraction Art

2011-04-14T10:01:00.000-04:00

So finally I get to reveal the piece I've teased a couple times. I'm going to give it to you in card form first for you to check out:

There's more to the piece, however, and I give it to you now in full:

The piece is oil on paper on hardboard and is 16"x 20". Admittedly, there's not a whole lot going on above the figure, but hopefully it adds quite a bit to the piece. It was my first attempt at pushing a piece beyond the borders of the card art, and trying to make it something more.

The early reviews are pretty mixed, but I'm totally cool with that (though until this point they've been based on the card version). There are folks who demand action all the time. This piece is not for them. Some find it a bit boring. A fair criticism, perhaps. Bilaterally symmetrical compositions aren't for everyone. Some folks dislike the concept. I invite them to direct their attention to something they do like, instead. Still other folks take issue with the fact that there's no surgery in something called "Surgical Extraction," and they're welcome to take that up with the fine folks at Wizards of the Coast. While that may be the title of the card, it is not the title of the piece.

The fact of the matter is that the piece in general is completely in line with my own aesthetic goals. Simple, iconic, and immediately legible. While I generally try and avoid full profiles, this piece seemed to call for the graphic nature of such a choice. The strong shape in contrast to the bleakness of the landscape was an attempt to hammer home the direness of it all. It is a piece about mood and atmosphere, and I think that I came pretty close to squeezing everything I wanted out of it. But, of course, that isn't enough for some.

Like it, loath it, or lack interest in it, I'm pretty proud of this one. It's a handsome painting, if I do say so myself, and I didn't make it for the fans. Sure, it was a job. I got paid. And there are plenty of folks who really dig it. But this one was really for me.

Yesterday's Sketch

2011-04-13T14:02:00.000-04:00

Usually I include the sketches for new work but for some reason forgot to include the sketch yesterday. Here's the sketch:

Rather shockingly, this sketch is a pretty clear representation of that the piece came to be. It's even relatively tight — unusual to be sure. Why? Well, I really didn't know what the thing was meant to look like so I tried to solve as much of the mystery as possible. I didn't want to make too much up in the paint lest it should start traveling down too conservative a path. I wanted to really be on the same page with the art director on this one.

As for the vital statistics, I failed to mention those, as well. It's oil on paper on hardboard and measures 14" x 11". I was going to go as large as 16" x 12", but I found that I didn't like the proportion as much with the composition (as minimal as it might be). I did this by simply creating two documents in Photoshop — one at each proportion — then plugging the sketch in to see how it looked. I do this a lot to determine the size of things I'll have to paint as my paintings tend to be larger than my sketches and I have a difficult time doing the mental math.

Also, as I mentioned in the comments below, I was working on a much larger piece at the same time (which I look forward to revealing soon), and I really didn't want to tempt fate with more than one "larger" piece lest the experiment go horribly wrong. Surprisingly, the 14"x11" dimension of the piece seemed to suit it quite well. It does actually have some degree of presence despite its smaller size. I'm guessing that that's to do more with the high level of contrast within the piece itself. But that's just a guess.