Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Q: What am I working on right now?
I'm currently working on the third book in a series I’m illustrating for Boyd’s Mills Press called “Thor Speaks!” by Vicky Alvear Shecter. I unfortunately cannot provide any images of the work in progress, but I can present the cover of the previous title I did for the series which is “Hades Speaks!” due out this October.
Q: How does my illustration process work?
I start out with various rough and ridiculous sketches and eventually narrow them down and fine-tune the ones I believe are in the right direction. If I’m illustrating for someone else’s work then I submit several sketches for them or their editors to examine and they will critique the ideas and let me know which direction they prefer and offer suggestions for things they wish to see in the illustration. We continue in this fashion until the final composition is equally accepted on both sides. Occasionally, if preferences begin to foreshadow an impasse, one of the party may offer salty language or throw a shoe.
Why do I illustrate what I illustrate?
Because if I illustrate anything else I’ll turn into marzipan.
Nearing a week from now look for a continuation of this theme by another artist named Karla Giguere, who has an amazing imagination filled with vast, silent landscapes and peculiar individuals with questionable dispositions.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
This morning I found hidden within the canopic jar I purchased from an antiques dealer last Wednesday (whose shop has since vanished altogether, by the way) an epistolary of singular interest. Normally, I would not dare inspect the contents of such a vessel; let me be quite clear upon that distinction. My discovery was made solely upon the clumsiness with which I attempted to relieve the artifact of dust, which resulted in its subsequent enterprise to the checkered floor so fine for walking yet so destructive to a clay proprietor of the dead. To my bewilderment, that which revealed itself from out the rubble of pottery was not in fact, the ancient sand of gore but a folded bit of tanned paper bearing the initials S.S. I reflected a moment and considered the situation. It seemed the only logical counter to such an event would be to inspect the paper and observe its contents, which I did, but leisurely, so as not to appear too eager. I observed a single record in what seemed to be part of either a correspondence to a friend, an imaginary friend, or simply an entry in the authour’s own diary if he had one. If he hadn’t, I would suspect the former two possibilities suggested – unless the writer decided upon keeping a journal that very day and this was the start of his chronicle. In either event, the entry itself is unquestionably strange. It runs thus:
October 22nd, 1889
Shipment received from
I have since discovered curious tracks leading from the grounds into the moor. I shall investigate directly.
That was all that had been recorded. The significance of its contents is objective, and indeed, the mystery presented is very plausibly of natural instigation. Though the fever that haunts my brain naturally suggests otherwise.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
What melodramatic melodies the dread shadow of the Bat-Man plays upon the walls of an Old Dark House! That fearsome creature of the night created by the adventurous mind of Bob Kane in 1939 is silhouetted perfectly within the looming door frames and rain-soaked windows of a ghostly estate. It is this pairing of character and setting, which is so uncannily suited to one another, that inspires these series of images.
Batman is a registered trademark of DC Comics
Batman created by Bob Kane
Thursday, March 3, 2011
From this morning's Mysterious Missives of Mystery:
Last evening at tea this paper accepted a parcel containing intelligence of a singularly provoking nature. The dispatch was authoured by none other than the distinguished Mayor McCheese – that merry magniloquent hitherto silent for so many years. It is true that communication from the strange and bewildering region of McDonaldland has been scarce if not entirely nonexistent, and that the authenticity of any news claiming origin to its boundaries may certainly be subject to ribald incredulity and utter disbelief. My own skepticism concerning this delivery was given not a nail to revolt as the dispatch bore the unmistakable seal of the good mayor’s office. In tones of great dismay (adjudged audibly as the message was set to a wax cylinder cleverly disguised as an oversized roll of Necco Wafers) the good mayor confessed his morose temperament was the result of the reappearance of one thought deceased some time ago following an illogical campaign of evil deeds limited to the purloining of hamburgers and confounding victims with incomprehensible mutterings garbled beyond any method of deciphering. Hamburglar! What nightmares that name conjures! Many suspected the inexplicable dialect of the rogue was either a tactic of terror, or a separate language altogether. In either event, the villain’s speech has never been understood by any living soul save the dread Captain Crook, who is believed to have been lost at sea soon after the bandit’s supposed execution. After which a less fiendish and more lovable personage usurped the primary scoundral's status as his corpse was presumably laid to rest in the McDonaldland Cemetery.
The incoherent and illogical fiend known as the Hamburglar is suspected to have resurfaced, quite literally, after nearly twenty-five years of supposed interment. It is now attested that a wave of burglaries has commenced in the region of McDonaldland which are in character suspiciously similar to those previously implemented by the muttering miscreant long ago.
Suspicions of his return prompted the exhumation of his grave under the supervision of the rogue's capturer, Officer Big Mac. Attendants looked on in horror as the villain's coffin was unearthed and opened to reveal a wax dummy attired in his trademark stripes and cloak.
Where the villain had secluded himself these great many years is open to the wildest of conjecture. What is known with relative certainty is that the original Hamburglar has returned to haunt the shadows of McDonaldland, and heaven help any unsuspecting hamburger.
* * * * * * * * * *
In truth I have always been fond of the Hamburglar, as well as the entire cast of McDonaldland. The representation of the character in the early eighties is what I remember most clearly, and as a child I was delighted at how spooky he was then. The illustration below was inspired by these memories and of the Hamburglar's portrayal at that time.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
On this evening of evenings, may Dracula rise from his coffin in good humour, may the Wolf Man roam the countryside in reasonable safety, may the Mummy find his Tanna leaves with little difficulty, may Frankenstein's Monster be understood by not only the blind, may the Invisible Man find himself without losing too much of his mind, may the Witch fly free from cannon fire, may Fruit Brute and Yummy Mummy return to Monster Mansion, may scarecrows gambol by the light of the moon, may skeletons dance with impressive harmony, may zombies communicate more articulately, may spooks and spectres find merriment without fear of being chased by cats, may Garfield be not pursued by dead pirates, may Charlie Brown construct his costume more skillfully, may Linus see the Great Pumpkin, may haunted houses be even more so, may the candy corn be sweet, may the Jack-O-Lanterns be lit and may this world and the next be wished a very merry Halloween.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Never wishing to commence a creative instigation upon a flame I myself did not ignite, I was uffishly pestered then at the tempting nature of the suggestion, for the Cheshire Cat is after all, wonderfully charming, utterly delightful, and possibly the most familiar face in Wonderland. My dear tuxedo knew very well that I could not resist such a prospect, and purred triumphantly as I sat and began conceptualising the fellow later that evening.
Now, when executing an illustration that is intended to be a visual representation of a scene or story written by someone other than myself, I try to be as faithful as I possibly can to the author’s descriptions, while at the same time dressing it freshly in apparel of my own. The illustration I offer below is perhaps the furthest I have allowed my liberty to stretch, for there is no mention, as far as I know, of Jack-O-Lanterns in
Below is the latest sketch I have composed for the Cheshire Cat found in
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Having a tooth removed from one's head is probably one of the single most distressing operations one might be unfortunate enough to undergo. Like most humans with teeth, I was the unwitting subject of four useless dental growths that are unscrupulously propagated as being wiser than any of the others before them. Three of these monstrocities were discharged soon after they made known their plans of despotism, foolishly leaving the fourth to brood and scheme at its leisure. Recently, this remaining miscreant began subjecting my mandible to excessive discomfort. Having sheltered this tooth for more years than is sensible, the devil was finally removed the day before yesterday following a considerable struggle. After witnessing the brute's tenacity in retaining its situation, the fight was, in retrospect, by no means fair, nor was it quick. The procedure was a battle, in all sense of the word, and after a length of time sufficient to promote worry, following volumes of incessant prayers, the tooth, at last, was excised. However, as it was directly held before me clamped in the jaws of that ominous-looking tooth-extraction device, it looked very incensed and offered me a few words, strangely enough with a dialect not unlike a certain Edward G. Robinson, that I cannot duplicate if I wish to retain my integrity as a gentleman. Now as I sit and record this experience, I am certain that not only was that tooth ill-tempered, but rancourous as well, for the requital of pain that has arrived following its removal is beyond description.
I have provided a sketch of the fiend as it looked succeeding extraction.