Marcos Chin

2012-01-28T14:27:00.000-08:00

Marks
I recently went to get more (tattoo) work done at Invisible, in New York City's Lower Eastside. I've been humming and hawing about getting another sleeve done; it's been about 6 or 7 years, I think, since I got my last one, but it's because I've been waiting for the just the right occasion. I currently have 2 pieces that form a full sleeve and chest panel on my left-side, not including the one that is now being worked on by Kiku. His drawings are sumptuous - an economy of line, that marry into bold and graphic shapes; his pictures are entirely beautiful, and so I knew immediately that I wanted for him to be the person to create my next sleeve. My friend Shawn Barber, who is an extraordinary painter, and passionate lover of tattoos, recommended that I take a look at his work -- and so I did.
Soon enough, I was already feeling the sharp drag of the needle beneath my skin. For anyone who has gotten work done before, it can be incredibly painful at some points, and during other times can feel less so, to where your body becomes used to the heat and grinding of the needle.
My tattoos carry with them, a story, and meaning; they represent moments in time, and changes that have occurred in my life which have been so profound that it inspires me to record these experiences as marks on my skin. I know that for someone like my mother, it makes very little sense why I would do such a thing - to ruin my body; however, it feels right, and proper for me, and has evolved perhaps into my own personal ritual that announces the various coming-of-ages in my life.

2012-01-27T06:14:00.000-08:00

My Dreams, His Nightmares
Last Wednesday I stopped by SVA's radio station to do an interview with Sam Weber, on his radio show, "Your Dreams My Nightmares." If you're reading this blog, then you're most likely tapped-in; he really needs no introduction, but I'll give him one anyway. Illustrator, Artist, Educator, and now Radio Host, and fellow Canadian -- I couldn't be more thrilled. I met Sam years ago, shortly before I moved to New York from Toronto. If I remember correctly, it was the summer of 2003, and I believe he had just graduated from SVA's MFA Illustration program. The strength of his work preceded him even then, in a way that it oftentimes does around many talented folks. Being a kind guy, charismatic, and extraordinarily talented, I was honoured and thrilled to share the stage with him. So if you have any time or interest on a rainy friday, then take a listen to my segment here. Thanks again, Sam!

2012-01-20T14:31:00.000-08:00

From My Desk to Yours
I wanted to pass along a link to an interview that I have posted on Kate Donnelly's website Fromyourdesks.com . The interviewer is my friend and fellow illustrator, artist and instructor extraordinaire Ellen Weinstein, who creates smart and beautiful collages, rich with metaphor. If you have some time, please check out the interview, here's the link www.fromyourdesks.com.

2012-01-15T07:40:00.000-08:00

I'll See You Soon

I'm aware that over the past few posts I've not included illustrations. But, it's not that I haven't been doing any, in fact it's been the very opposite. I've just chosen not to post any of my recent work, yet; however, I will soon.
... Oh, and Happy New Year!

2011-11-23T05:40:00.000-08:00

My Sewing Project
So what am I doing now?
Sewing.
That's what I'm doing.
I know, I know... it seems as though I flit around here and there, aimlessly trying on this art project, and that art project... letting go of one, only to replace it with another, but I've realized that this is the best way for me to work.
I'm nearly done my sewing class which I've been taking at FIT. My instructor is brilliant; no nonsense and strict, is a champion of hard-work, and softens to laughter; cracking a few jokes of her own from time-to-time. I'm learning an incredible amount in this class, and it's starting to feel as though a dream of mine that I've had since I was a child is beginning to manifest. I have to interject here, that I am not segueing out of illustration to become a Fashion Designer, or Tailor, or Seamstress (Seamster?). I have to announce this because I don't want rumours to spread that I've left Illustration.
I love to draw, and Illustration as much as it my profession, is still a passion of mine.
So there.
Don't go spreading rumours.
My studio practice purposely includes doing things, creating objects, and exploring creative disciplines which exist outside of illustration. I've sewn a skirt thus far, and now I'm onto a sewing a woven shirt (photograph above). It's nothing that I could wear, but it's the process of creating something new, which is entirely outside of my element, that continues to support my love in the craft of making things.
I think that some individuals have this fear of concurrently doing too many different types of work. I can understand the reasoning behind this. It means being designated as the Jack-of-All-Trades character-type, and being the Expert-of-None. I see this both as truth and fallacy because for me, at least near the beginning of my Illustration career, when I first gave myself permission to admit that I may have a future in this discipline, it was all that I focused on; which I believe was an important decision to have made. Having my focus on Illustration offered me a kind of direction to follow, which has continued to this day.
Having said that, I find in order to move forward, it means stopping along the way, to rest, to observe, to ruminate over; to do other things in order to be continually inspired.
The variety of tasks that I've given myself throughout the day, doing some commercial illustration some days, and then self-initiated projects on others, has introduced a kind of playfulness within my studio practice. I've written about this before, but I don't know if I've realized just how much it's meant to me until recently.
I was speaking with my boyfriend last night about this thing and that, and he mentioned that my work has improved over the last year and a half.
Without trying to sound conceited, I agreed with him.
It's important to understand how to distance ourself from our own work in order for us to view it more clearly. It's easier and even automatic for us to critique other people's work:
I love this.
I hate that.
Move this more to right.
Erase that area.
Add more of this
and that.
It looks too much like James Jean...
But oftentimes when I look at my final creation, I'm not always entirely happy. I guess this is obvious; we are ourselves, the harshest judges of our work. But it's necessary to find a means to move past this, and learn how to evaluate unflinchingly, this work of ours that is in front of us. My artistic exploration over the past three, or four years has become the catalyst for my work's improvement. I have read and listened to other people stories about the choices they have made (sometimes difficult) in order to become happier and more fulfilled in the studio, and as a pleasant fallout from that, have created stronger artwork. Just a few weeks ago, during my time spent at the Ringling College of Art and Design, a seed was planted in my brain. I listened to Chris Buzelli describe his decision (years ago) to spend more time on the execution of his paintings; to let go of those projects which did not represent the kind of artist and illustrator that he wanted to be (although they paid the bills) in order to devote more time on creating work that resonated within himself. And looking at mister Buzelli's work over the past several years, it's no doubt that his pictures have grown ever more lush, and mysterious, and beautiful and mesmerizing.

Distance allows for clarity.
Not the distance that is separated by inches or feet, but the metaphorical distance that we sometimes create to wonder about a particular situation, that allows us to analyze a move we are about to make; that moment when we step outside for a breath of air before going back inside to make a decision.
It's this distance between us and our work which allows for its improvement; staring at it, and embracing those parts of it that are good, but also accepting, reflecting on, and hopefully resolving the areas in the image that are weak. Of course, this can just be personal taste, and opinion; Illustration is, after all subjective. But on a personal level, I'm more or less aware of what I would like my final piece to look like; nine times out of ten, I don't come even close to the image that I envision it to be, which helps me to push further the next time. The same goes for my studio practice, the effort that I've put into projects, and the marks that I've made on those works that nobody will ever see has helped to make my work better. I have no proof, but it's what I believe is true because in the last year few years I have made choices which have been out of the ordinary -- uncharacteristic choices that I thought I was never capable of making; I've taken some risks in the hopes that it would (and will) continue to make me happy.
A happy studio practice means a happy Marcos.

I'm reading 1Q84 right now, written by Haruki Murakami (big fan! big fan!) and I was struck by a conversation that occurs between a taxi driver and the character Aomame,

" And also," the driver said, facing the mirror, "please remember: things are not what they seem."
Things are not what they seem," Aomame repeated mentally. "What do you mean by that?" she asked with knitted brows.
The driver chose his words carefully: "It's just that you're about to do something out of the ordinary. Am I right? [...] and after you do something like that, the everyday look of things might seem to change a little. Things may look different to you than they did before." (1)

(1) Murakami, Haruki. 1Q84. New York, Alfred A. Knopf, 2011.

2011-11-21T06:59:00.000-08:00

I've Got a Ticket to Anywhere

Keep it quiet... people are sleeping...

2011-11-15T12:01:00.000-08:00

Gold Medal from the Society of Illustrators, NY
I found out yesterday that I won the Gold medal for the Society of Illustrator's Institutional category. This piece is called Textiles, and was published within a book promo, entitled "X-Factor" for my agent at The Art Department. I'm thrilled. I've been working on a new set of fashion inspired illustrations over the past few months; this is one sample of it. More to come in the next several months (hopefully). It's hard to crack the whip on yourself sometimes when there's no one else there to motivate you. In any event, congratulations to all of the Society of Illustrator winners; I've seen some of the selected pieces... it's going to be a great show all across the board.

2011-11-11T05:54:00.000-08:00

For I Am But One
I stand alone on grass of green
And poppies coloured red
Among the men who lived but once
Through armies they have led.
The crosses stand up proud and still
In cool crisp morning air
And hold with them both peace and love
Two treasures, so dear.
A sense of happiness prevails
Yet still, I grieve for many.

I gracefully float through the air
As leaves on autumn's day
And silently pass through unseen worlds
Though many only say
Have I forgotten times of peace,
Or remembered times of death,
Kept hidden how this life became
Let free of all the rest.
I am to live with no fear nor fright
Of what the world has brought

A feeling of sorrow is found
Within the shell of I
For our homeland is the grave
For many that have died.
Yet gratitude stands side by side
With that of deep sadness
Our land is now and forever ours
For these men have let it live.
For I am but one
Who stands alone
On grass of green
And poppies red.

~

I wrote this poem when I was 13 years old. It was for a poetry competition during Remembrance Day, sponsored by The Royal Canadian Legion. The drawing at the top of the page had nothing to do with it, I just found it in a folder that I unearthed from a box in my parents basement. I assume it was done when I was between 9-13 years old. I go back that far because there was a period when I was very young when all I drew were animals in charcoal pencil; strange, but true. I have always enjoyed writing, and in the past year or so have uncovered piles of stories that I wrote in elementary school. For years, I never paid them much attention, though neither did any of my instructors. They were merely assignments to all of us; assignments given, and assignments received. Projects completed, and projects graded. Still, I wonder had I nurtured my craft of writing further, if I would be doing a different kind of work nowadays.

Oftentimes I look to the past for inspiration, my own past. I get this question a lot: "What inspires you?" As an illustrator, as someone who works in a creative and visual profession, such works that fall into a similar discipline seem to naturally influence and fuel my imagination. But over the past few years, I've become much more interested in seeking out areas outside of my illustration discipline to rouse my creativity. I've even included thumbing through work that I've done when I was kid because that work (some of which were done as school assignments) carried with it a kind of honesty and goodness in way of process and intention. The stories that I wrote, the clothing that I designed, the pictures that I drew and painted when I was 10, 11, 12 and 13 years old have gradually become bellwethers for how I've chosen to work nowadays,
playfully
expressively
freely.

2011-11-09T05:28:00.000-08:00

A T for You?
Or Two for T?

I've spent the past several weeks, once a week, taking a sewing class at the Fashion Institute of Technology (FIT). I finished sewing my first skirt a few days ago (it's currently being graded) and I'm starting to learn how to sew a button down shirt. Since I was very young, I've wanted to pursue fashion in some capacity -- let me rephrase this -- I wanted to become a fashion designer. I also wanted to become an animator, and a photographer, and an art director, and a teacher, and a writer,
and,
and,
and.
It was no coincidence that when I first began illustrating at more a steady pace that many of my clients were rooted fashion and lifestyle. That's because this was the type of work that I wanted to create; not wholly, but it definitely represented a significant part of me that needed to be expressed creatively. I would go to clubs and lounges and bars very often. I did this all throughout my twenties, mostly in Toronto; buzzing at after-hours, warehouse parties, and whatever else was going on during that time. And so, this environment housed the fashion-type of influences and information that fueled the kind of illustration work that I did during that time.
But over time, like with many things done in excess, it shifted towards a place where the feelings that I felt at the beginning, lessened into a mood that was not as thrilling; a kind of law of diminishing returns.
I have always tried to allow my decision-making to be guided by my gut by paying attention to how I'm feeling while I'm working. Recently, it's learning how to sew, in a more formal way, and honing my silk screening skills that has lifted my studio practice to another level. I'm close to finishing a set of T-shirts, that I would like to sell in the next several weeks. Hopefully in time for the holidays, but if not, then no big deal. There's no rush, only hope that I can introduce this part of my personal work onto a commercial platform.
In the photo above is a T shirt that I made out of (cotton) jersey, patterns and all, completely finished on the insides with french seams. It's not the final prototype, but it's close, and it's done, but I don't have a photograph of it, yet. The image some of you may have see before, done both for the Spank boat party this past summer, as well as for Ringling's Illest event, was created here in my studio originally as an illustration, that I later turned into colour separations to be made into a silkscreen. I know these details are slight, and really, it may not matter to many, but to me, it's important to be aware of the craft component that supports a product, and artwork, design, and illustration.
I was listening to NPR yesterday, as I often do, and Annie Leibovitz was a guest on The Brian Lehrer Show. Near the end of her interview she said that "...(even).. if you have talent, it can go away... you have to nurture it."
True story.
After having worked 11 years freelancing as an illustrator with 4 years of art college and 1 year of university education under my belt, I'm conscious of staying engaged in my process; being mindful of how I choose to nourish my creativity, so that it will extend into longevity.

2011-10-16T05:34:00.000-07:00

Illest of Ill, 2011, at Ringling College of Art and Design
I'm writing this on my descent into new York city.
I still feel a bit dizzy from time spent at Ringling College of Art and Design; I've always been this way. When I go a place for a few days, and then leave, I feel as though I'm exiting through a cloud because I try to immerse myself within that space that I'm in. That's why it's difficult for me to work in-between the events on my travel itinerary. I feel as though that work pulls me out of the present, and staying in the present is something that I'm striving to do moreso in my life, but especially when I travel. It's a gift that I try to give myself, but as with anything I sometimes I have to compromise and address other commitments unrelated to the present. It's the responsibility of a freelancer; and so flexibility becomes a virtue.
I'm ruminating over the lectures that I gave and listened to while at Ringling over the past three days and part of me feels a bit saddened that it ended so soon. As with any intense experience it's as though they press into me leaving a mark at my core. I'm remembering conversations that I've had with so many of the students, conversations that challenged my perspective of illustration, but also those which I co-opted with my own philosophy (of it) in order expand my view of this discipline. As I mentioned in my presentation, I'm a perpetual student, who loves to learn new things, so that I can move towards becoming that Illustrator who I want to be, not the one who I thought that I should be. Thank you not only my fellow speakers, SooJin and Chris Buzelli, for leaving their marks-- their words -- on my brain but to the students at Ringling who have inspired me as well.

2011-10-03T02:21:00.001-07:00

Don't Look Down
I'm not sure if coffee tastes bad at 4 in the morning, or if being awake at 4 in the morning makes the coffee taste bad. I'm already at the studio, I've been here for almost a half an hour already. When I shut down my computer last night, I whispered to myself, "I just need one more day." This weekend I tried to finish five final illustrations; actually that's slightly inaccurate because I did spend a few hours on Friday tightening the rough sketches in order to prepare for the final (digital) drawing. My neighbourhood at 4am looks and feels very different when I wake up at this hour to go to work, rather than coming home from God-knows-where. Actually it's been several months since I've been to only where God knows, but stumbling home towards my bed with a sandwich in my hand feels very different then waking up and walking the opposite direction towards the seat in my studio, where I spend most of my days drawing. I'm eating a scone that I bought from a cafe that I have stored in a plastic container near my desk. I purchased it on Friday.
Can a scone go bad in two and a half days even if I put it in a tupperware?
I check for weebles.
All clear.
I'm wondering now, why I'm even typing. I should be drawing instead of thinking and writing about it.
Be back soon.

2011-09-20T05:24:00.000-07:00

It's Moving!

Here's the "Barf Monster" that I made using Processing to code the drawing and then to animate it. Part of me feels like I'm going backwards because my illustration medium is Adobe Illustrator, and I've dabbled in Flash and Adobe After Effects, so it's funny to have spent hours putting this drawing together when I could probably have done it within minutes using the aforementioned programs.

Still, the reason why I'm taking this course is because I want to know "how" things work. Why is it that when I put my stylus onto the tablet that a mark is made on the monitor? Curiosity is an important quality that I want to retain in my studio practice because it makes things go forward. However, the word forward makes me nervous because part of me is working on staying in the present, so flinging my thoughts and intentions too far into the future makes me wonder if I'm being dismissive of where I am right now; if I'm staving off the present to exist in some place that hasn't even formed yet.
This is where fantasies are created.
Or, it maybe it's goal setting?
I've wondered if it could also be equivalent to creative block; trying to do too many things at once, instead of focusing on one task at a time.
This seems almost counter intuitive in the age of multi-tasking, but I'd be lying to you if this never crossed my mind.
One of my favourite episodes of Ira Glass' "This American Life" is the one called "New Beginnings," that features Kevin Kelly who is the former executive editor of "Wired" magazine. He recounts his story as a young photo journalist who gets locked out of the place where he is staying in Jerusalem, and so he decides to sleep on the alleged spot where Jesus was crucified. Without getting too much into the details of it, he has a revelation which inspires him to create a type of experiment in which he is the sole participant. It's not a chemistry experiment where there are liquids, and beakers, and bunsen burners, rather it's more of a psychological one in which he strives to live only in the present for several months.

For most of my adult life, I've struggled to exist in the present.
Maybe it's because I come from a family where being in the present always seemed like a struggle, not because my parents didn't love us, they did very much, but it was trying to create a new beginning in a new place, and then to fight to exist on a level amongst our neighbours who always seemed to have more.
It's no wonder why Alice crossed over through the looking glass.
Social and economic classes aside, I understand how easily it is to become enamoured, or glamoured in a true-blood sort of way, by the shiny exterior to make you want to hurl yourself into its interior.

* You can see more of what my classmates and I have done in our Intro to Interactive Multimedia class at openprocessing.org. You can view the source code by clicking on the "Source Code" text to the right of the image. By the way, if you click on the animation you can make the water rise and the barf disappear. I know, I know... it's crudely done, but hey, save me the grief, I'm only at the beginning.

2011-09-18T20:12:00.000-07:00

FITC TORONTO, 2009

This is from a previous post in the Summer of 2009 when I was invited by FITC (which produces technology and design focused events from Flash to motion and interactive art and design) to give a presentation at one of their conferences in Toronto. I assume I was invited because my art medium is primarily Adobe Illustrator, and some Photoshop, too. I don't claim to be any kind of expert user; admittedly, I learned how to use it through trial and error, allowing my own intentions and curiosities to navigate my decision to employ certain tools that would allow me to render my digital marks. It's very similar to how many of us learn new skills. I'm also fully aware that during those few times when I've given lecture-demos and workshops, that some audience members know much more "technique" than I do, which again, was the reason why I was so surprised to have been included in the roster of speakers within that conference.
Two years later and I'm finally (in a very basic way) learning the language, the code, the math, and the thought and working processes to create images that move, and interact with the user. It's a very abstract way of thinking for me. I was never very strong at math; my brain just never functioned that way.
Let x = my brain
y = math
x + y = cerebral hemorrhage
I have always been drawn more to subjects such as English, Visual Arts, and Music.
I categorized math as this cold and sterile subject.
And so I wonder, then, if I ever really gave myself a chance to be good at it?
~
Now,
Math is starting to become fun.
Fun is probably not an accurate descriptor at this point, but I hope that it will be soon.
Math is fun.
Can I say that?
Math is fun.
Again.
Math is fun.
I just spent about 4 to 5 hours this evening, working through my "Processing" homework assignment, as well as going to class afterwards. This evening, I learned how to program colours, and marks using, equations, and algorithms, letters and numbers. Right now, it's difficult for me to follow along in class because the speed at which the information is passed to us feels very fast.
I wonder if it feels that way to the others who are sitting in front and next to me?
Math is fun.
Math is fun.
Math is fun.

2011-09-13T09:44:00.000-07:00

New Website (again)

I just finished making my new website. I seriously had to edit it because it was beginning to cause problems for users. It didn't work on iPhones, nor iPads, and I realized that the format was not showcasing my images the way that I wanted for them to be viewed. Although it's still not entirely complete, i.e., my "News" section is pretty slim, and I'm missing images in some other sections, I feel it gives a pretty good breadth of my illustration work.
I kept it pretty simple, using CSS to create a style sheet (courtesy of "CSS for Dummies, how-to book) and Dreamweaver.
Okay, massively full day today.
I'm out.
Enjoy your day!

2011-09-04T10:11:00.000-07:00

Day One

My friend and I tried building a go-cart when I was about eight years old. He was a year older than me, if I remember correctly, and a pretty smart guy. I thought this because he talked a lot about things that I didn't know much about, like sex and computers.

He told me that I was born because my parents had sex.
I said that if that's the case, then his parents must have had sex too.
He said that they didn't.

The go-cart we were making was laid out on his driveway and front lawn as pieces of scrap wood, nuts and bolts, some other tools, and some wheels from a skateboard. I sat there and mostly watched my smart friend piece the random parts together. In my mind I imagined a wooden-box-shaped tub-on-wheels, coasting down Shady Hollow Drive like some episode of "The Little Rascals," or a scene from a Norman Rockwell painting, but with me in it.

~

Today, I said out loud, "I want for it to change my life."
Those are strong words filled with so many expectations.
I've enrolled in three night classes this semester; two are in computing, and the third is in basic sewing techniques. Sometimes when I tell people that I am taking such courses, they ask if I want to become whatever professional person is assigned to that particular specialty.
Do you want to become and animator?
Do you want to become a fashion designer?
No.
None of the above.
I just want to expand as person, learn more, and live a full life.
I think I've been coasting on auto-pilot for some time now. This is not to sound aloof or arrogant, or even ungrateful, but it's the truth.
Why do you want to become an animator?
Why do you want to become a fashion designer?
I told you.
I don't.

Well not entirely, that is.

I've always believed that one's art and craft are extensions of themselves, whether aesthetically or conceptually, and so as a person changes, it makes sense for their work to do so as well. Within the medium that I have been working in (Adobe Illustrator) my work has changed considerably; however, I find that the more time that I spend using this material (because the software is the material and tool that I choose to use) I'm becoming less surprised by what this medium can do for me.

Today I used "code" or "coding" (gosh, I don't even know the proper jargon to use) to create a digital brush from an online open source, I assume that's what it was - a brush tool? - and I also learned how to create a circuit and then program the board to turn an LED light on. I have no idea how this is related to illustration, but I can tell you that the kid inside of me is skipping right now. I feel like a character in Dave Hickey's book "Air Guitar," the kind of person who can talk incessantly about things in their life that they love: like books, and surfing, and music to others. I met one of these people once at a framing shop in Manhattan, who moved to New York City during the early eighties from India. He was the son of Master Printmaker, who learned about this artform from his father. When he moved to New York City as a young adult, he continued to work in this field through some chance encounter with a stranger who also happened to work in a printmaking studio. That's a terrible and anticlimactic short version of the story, but more than anything, I recall the life in his voice, and the excitement in his gestures. That's what it feels like when I'm learning how to code. That's what it feels like when I'm learning how to sew. That's what it feels like when I'm learning how to animate.

~

We never did complete the go-cart. I think in our heads we imagined it would be done in an afternoon, and maybe it would've been if we had the help of an adult, but it was just the two of us mining through the supplies in front of us that we didn't know how to use, nor how to piece together. Still, it was a good day to have our imaginations fueled and sparked by the possibility of trying something new, trying and failing and then trying again.

* The image above was created using "Processing," a free and open source software that can be found online at http://processing.org

2011-08-27T05:55:00.000-07:00

Come on Irene
The hurricane is expected to pass through New York City tonight. I've been loosely following the news and so far it's made it's way into North Carolina
~
This morning appears ordinary. Like any Saturday morning, there are random people walking on the streets performing their weekend routines, some are jogging, some sifting for bottle empties through recycling bags, and some milling on sidewalks, talking to friends and neighbours. The garbage truck passes by on its daily route, and the city workers push plastic garbage containers down the street in their blue uniforms. Looking towards the city, the sky is over cast - a soft grey with patches of lighter grey mottled together; I can hardly see the Manhattan buildings across the East River.
A mild breeze cuts through the humid air, cooling my sticky skin.
It's dim outside, but not unusual.

As for me, I just filled two glass jugs with water, and boiled another huge pot of one. I cooked a box of rice pilaf with raisins, parsely and orzo, and have pulled out the matches from the dark armpits of my kitchen cupboards. My headlamps and flashlights are in check from our trip to Costa Rica, my laptop and iPhone charged, and our green Jennifer Lopez LED lights are lined up along the tops of our black lacquered IKEA side unit.
...waiting for tonight...
o-oooohhh...

This is by no means extreme preparation for an impending natural disaster, but it's preparation nonetheless. We have a few canned food items laying around in our kitchen, but not too many. In the age of urban farming, and farmer's markets, organic this-and-that sans pesticides and preservatives, our kitchen is packed mostly with stuff that will go bad in a few days if the power goes out. Still we do have some peanut butter, rice cakes, nuts and seeds, and canned salmon, if necessary. Oh, and of course lots of filtered water, lemonade, and rice pilaf.
Emergency provisions at a supermodel concentration camp.

I laughed for a moment while I was mentally preparing a check list of the things that we would possibly need this weekend, but then acquiesced in my decision to do so.
I can feel my parents' protective instincts kicking in.
I wonder if the feelings and struggles that came from us having to flee Mozambique during the war trickled its way into my being. Not that I anticipate this hurricane to have the magnitude of any kind of revolution, but there's nothing wrong with having insurance, especially when it doesn't cost you anything, or much money for that matter. Some canned food, toilet paper, water, flashlights and batteries are not that big of deal to have in anyone's home. Fortunately I haven't grown into any kind of Chicken Little. Yeah, I'm uptight, and yeah I've been called names about being this way, but I know that I'm no chicken.
But, I am probably an ant.
And doesn't the grasshopper end up rooming with the ant near the end of that story?
Or does he eat the ant?
In any event, I'm by no means as prepared as I could be for a three day power outage, but two days?
perhaps.

*The illustration above was done for American Lawyer Magazine, "

2011-08-25T09:50:00.000-07:00

Fail, Fail, and Fail Again

The past four months have been kind of an awakening for me. I've spent much of my summer thinking about what it is that I want to do beginning this fall; I've been playing and experimenting within my studio, and writing a lot too. Most of my time in Costa Rica was spent writing and just observing my environment. I purposely chose not to draw during my trip there, but did bring some supplies in case I changed my mind. I'm not certain about my intentions for doing this -- not drawing, that is, except that maybe my interest in keeping such a sketchbook has begun to wan. Years ago, I found it strange when I met illustrators who did not keep sketchbooks at all. For years, I kept one with me always; filling my moments with the act of drawing. Nowadays, I no longer do this regularly. I still carry a notebook, however, it's become filled mostly with words, scribbles and scrawls, glued-in photo collages and bits of other things that I find interesting during my daily gadabout either in, or outside of my studio.

I'm currently working on a few self-initiated projects, ones which I hope will have life further down the road. These projects are written, and drawn, and sculpted. I'm also enrolled in two computing classes where I hope to learn how to create interfaces which are activated by not only touch, but via sound, and movement. Obviously my investigations blur the boundaries of the label of the discipline within which I currently operate, and have built my studio practice around, but I do it because it's kind of happening on its own.
And so I allow it to happen.

I applied to graduate school for Fine Arts over 2 years ago, and did not get accepted; I was rejected by three, and then wait-listed by a fourth. Friends of mine said to me that I should've applied to around ten schools, but I didn't want to. Not only because it would be more expensive, in reference to the application fee, but also I couldn't think of any other schools that I would have wanted to attend other than those four to which I applied. Coming close to failure is something that I am very familiar with, as I'm sure many people are. And perusing the internet, reading and listening to artists and designers and actors and writers speak about their efforts moving through the industry trying to get recognized, or to sell an idea, I find one commonality amongst many of the individuals, which is that they have tried and failed. But then have tried again.

To sit next to failure can be an important seat because it forces you to stare at that thing which you hope can be one day achievable. The idiom "hindsight is twenty twenty" is used for a variety of purposes to explain the importance of gaining distance from a particular experience in order to see it more clearly and honestly. I use this in illustration as well, not metaphorically, but in a literal means, by which I stand away from the image that I have drawn in order to evaluate the entire composition as a whole, and then determine whether or not my intentions have been visually met through the arrangement of the subject matter within my work. Standing too close to an image means that the entire image is blurred, and even if I choose to focus on one part, I still cannot see the rest of the image clearly. However, positioning myself this close to failure is about making those mistakes, those blemishes more obvious, not because I want to exaggerate the negative, but rather it helps me to inspire honesty about what I have created. I love the Sunday Times "Openers: Corner Office" in the Business Section because they feature the CEO of various companies who describe how and why their company is so successful; I take it as pieces of advice.
The kindness of strangers.
Dominic Orr, who is the CEO of Aruba Networks, a wireless network company, describes the importance of failing through a lesson he learned from his mentor, Wim Roelandts,

"[he...] would give you as much as you could handle until you started failing.
He would encourage you to not be afraid of failing - because when you start
failing, that's when you know where your limit is, and then you can improve
around that... once you figure out a way to overcome it... you don't feel that
inhibition." (1)

I have taken the first steps in submitting a book idea to my dream publisher. It was rejected at the rough stage recently, but it's given me more time to fully flesh out my vision. To not view this as failure would be denial on my part because it is just that; however, failure for me is not a singular term, rather it's binary. Like other terms and concepts it can be coupled with its opposite,
down
up
left
right
sink
rise
fail
try again.

(1) Bryant, Adam. 2011. "Corner Office: Dominic Orr." The New York Times. May 8, 2011.

2011-08-22T14:11:00.000-07:00

Costa Rica Journal Entry
A friend of mine told me that if you see a hummingbird, then it's a sign of good luck. Part of me wonders if I take a photo of one that I'll hold onto this good fortune forever. We arrived in San Jose, Costa Rica late yesterday afternoon. Leaving the airport, the sky was black and swollen as if it was about to tear open.
~
This morning is beautiful. The sky is clear blue with tufts of clouds scattered along the top edges of the trees like white mountains on top of mountains. We slept beneath a mosquito net last night that wrapped around the perimeter of our bed like a lace turret canopy.
The sacred in the mundane.
Beautiful ordinary objects.
But really, how ordinary is this situation?
I hear what I believe are cicadas in the near distance, but I wonder if it's my mind trying to make sense of unknown sounds. It's a kind of electronic buzz that gets louder and then softer and then abruptly fades away into silence. I'm staring into the greenery trying to see what type of animal is making this sound, a bird?
monkey?
insect?
There's a high whistling screech coming from somewhere behind me, and when I turn around it's as if the sound has been thrown the opposite way.
Something responds.
It's like a bird song.
Unfamiliar notes and new tones play through the air that I find myself gazing into space trying to connect these sound-dots that I hear. There is no direction here, no north, south, east nor west. Everything looks the same because its all so different, and densely arranged next to each other. Over sized bamboo stand beside palm, which have grown next to banana trees. Our cabin stares out onto a canyon that stretches into forever. There are mountains in the distance which become a soft wall fencing in this paradise, but i know that there is even more beauty beyond.
I find that I'm trying to capture every new creature and plant around me with my camera.
Every time I take a photo of something I feel as though my collector instinct shows himself. Maybe I've become a collector of experiences?
Feed my eyes.
Feed my memory.
There are so many flying creatures and insects that I have never seen before. At first look they appear anonymous--generic bugs-- but as I focus my stare, and scrutinize them, I see new flecks of colors on their wings, and new shapes that turn into bodies.

2011-08-22T06:06:00.001-07:00

Condition X Photos

Here are some photos from the group exhibition, "Condition X" at the School of Visual Arts' Westside Gallery. It was a collaboration of artwork from past participants of SVA's Fine Art Summer Residency Program, which I enrolled in about four years ago. The piece that I contributed was a sculpture that was a combination of various materials such as paper mâché, clay, plaster, chicken wire, and liquid glass. As mentioned, I continue to work on self-initiated projects alongside my commercial work; it can be incredibly daunting at times, but it's what I feel that I must do in order to continue to move forward in the industry as an illustrator/artist. Each time I walk into the studio, I remind myself that whatever it is that I do that day will become valid. In the past, I've trapped myself several times into the mindset that in order for my work to have any kind of relevant meaning that it must have an audience - ideally yes, I do want people to see my work, to participate with it, to ruminate over it, and to form some kind of opinion of it, for better or for worse - however, to have that pressure on the outset, that I should create for this end goal in mind is more of a hindrance than help. I've read and spoken to some artists who describe losing themselves in their work, that the concentration, focus and intention that is established near the beginning stages of a project spreads out into moments where the artists' processes become very much cathartic, such as in Yayoi Kusama's infinity net paintings (whose work inspired the piece that appeared in this particular exhibition).
Entering the studio and then leaving after twelve hours, but feeling that only a fraction of that time has passed is an irreplaceable feeling. I learned a long time ago that even though I chose to work in the creative arts that I could not rely on inspiration as a catalyst and motivator to start and finish projects; what we do requires a kind of work ethic that is similar to other professions, success can be determined by talent, sure, but the preening of longevity is decided by the willingness to seriously accept and practice the business alongside of the art, which doesn't only mean sending out self-promotions, and postcards to potential clients, but to consider what our next moves will be... and in my case, it's creating my dream projects even when no clients are asking for me to do so.

* The sixth photo from the top is fellow exhibitor George Towne alongside his gorgeous paintings.

2011-08-04T07:05:00.000-07:00

CONDITION X Group Exhibition at SVA,
August 6, 2011

This Saturday I'll be participating in a group exhibition at the School of Visual Arts, in New York. entitled, "Condition X" featuring work by past participants in the Summer Residency Program that focuses on human frailty as expressed through love, death, sex, vulnerability, and connection. I'll be exhibiting a piece that I began several months ago, one that had been previously exhibited at the Christopher Henry Gallery, but it has now evolved into something different (and hopefully new). I sound vague, I know, and although I thought about posting photographs of my process and the finished piece, I decided to wait until after the opening to do so.
I'm continuing to explore different media alongside illustration in order to express myself, and in this particular exhibition, it will be in the form of sculpture. It's been a challenging process, to say the least, because I have actually not sculpted anything since last winter, which was the first time in 11 years. I encountered a tremendous number of problems, and threw my hands up in the air yesterday morning when I arrived to studio and realized that I had made a terrible error during my construction of the sculpture (and left the cap off of my turpenoid - doh!) which caused me to think for a moment whether or not I should throw the entire thing away, but fortunately I was able to calm down and focus on a way to rescue the piece.
Sometimes a task isn't worth doing, if it's done easily (so says my boyfriend).
So again, if you're in town and want to swing by the opening please feel free.
Here's the addy:

Westside Gallery, School of Visual Arts
141 West 21 St
Ground Floor
(between 6th and 7th avenues)
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Reception: 5-8pm

2011-07-17T07:44:00.000-07:00

You Came In With The Breeze

Sunday morning is favourite moment of the day. Since my boyfriend and I moved into a new place and now have a balcony, it’s felt even more special to me. I’ve lived in New York for what will be approaching six years very soon, and I feel that the experiences I’ve had here have been the most rewarding and challenging of my life, thus far. Experiences and relationships are extremely important to me, which might sound peculiar because I spend most of my time working alone, or alongside my interns creating both my commercial and personal work. I seldom see my friends, even those who I miss because of the time that I spend relating to my work in the studio. I have a tendency to fling myself wildly into a project, especially if it excites me, because these moments don't happen to me very often. I wonder if all the time that I spend alone causes me to wonder about things so much, or if it’s my constant wondering about things that pushes me to want to be alone.

"There are clinking glass sounds a few balconies below across the street. A tree blocks my view, but I assume it might be someone in the neighbourhood collecting bottles for change. The subway passes along the above street track, and the rattling and buzz of the wheels grinding against the steel rails makes me think of waves crashing along the beach."

The way that I work sometimes conflicts with how I describe my process. I speak about the importance of personal work and nurturing experiences within the present -- not being so precious with my final product, and embracing the idea that I can still create pictures, and art pieces for no audience other than myself. However, these creations as immediate and ephemeral as they might seem, are still tied to the future. It’s a strange dichotomy, to believe one thing, but also have this belief flex and depend on the intention of something else. When I work on personal projects, when I experiment and explore new media, or even when I choose to not finish a particular piece, these actions, these practices which are rooted in the present are done for a reason - yes, it's to have fun and to keep my practice fresh, but I also do it to affect (and expand) the future outcome of my work.

As I wrote in yesterday’s post (I think) grey is a terrible colour for me, and even more of a terrible figurative space for me to exist in. Black and white has always offered me more structure, and a kind of steadfast loyalty. When I give myself definitive rules, then it means my expectations can be met for the most part because I am the one who decides on these rules; however, once I introduce an unknown component, I can feel myself become a bit unsteady. In my career, I have been fortunate so far to have had a constant, that is my commercial art; my personal work is the unknown. I have learned from various sources how to promote my commercial art in a such a way to grant me some kind of stability within my business (i.e. compiling a mailing list, sending out promos, creating a website etc.) which is why I view this part of my profession to be constant because there is a kind of logic and method within the daily operations (of my business). That said, trying to bring my work to the next level requires more energy, strategy, and risk. These latter two properties become the variables. I don’t know what types of concepts will be received successfully by an audience, nor do I have any clue on whether or not a body of work that I am working to resolve will have any merit within the eyes of creative figureheads, but I know that this (personal) work must be done because ultimately, I do want for some of it to receive positive exposure. Grace Coddington, who is the genius Creative Director at Vogue said in the documentary, “The September Issue” (which I have seen about ten times already) that, “there needs to be a place to show… [my]…work, otherwise it’s not valid.” And in many ways I agree with her. Not that I believe this to be a blanketed statement, but a crucial part of me does conceive this to be true, otherwise I wouldn’t be a commercial artist. I want people to see my work, I want them to wonder about it, I want my audience to be engaged visually by it as well. And so, even though I sometimes describe myself as wistfully playing in the studio -- directionless and uncertain -- creating pieces that people might not ever see, I eventually want to arrive to point in which these pieces will be shown to the public regardless of how they fit inside the parameters of my body of work with which people are familiar.

"I went to sleep late last night, after 3:00am, and woke up just before 9:00am.

The mornings that I spent in Xalapa have entered my mind again; I can see them dodging in and out of my brain like children playing hide and seek. It’s coaxing in other memories that I have, specifically those about the time when I went to Europe. I don’t know why they’re here today, maybe I’ve been thinking too much -- working too hard, but these are the thoughts that are with me this morning."

2011-07-16T22:52:00.000-07:00

My Little Big Chinese Face

I'm becoming a bit obsessed with After Effects, but this is the best way I that I learn - through trial and error. This is not to suggest that I am not busy with my commercial assignments - in fact it's the very opposite, I am very busy. I have 1 illustration due on Monday + 4 pencil sketches, and 1 revised sketch, and then another 2 final illustrations which are due on Wednesday and another 4 due the following Monday and then another 2 due a few days after that, not to mention that I have night school, and a sculpture workshop to fit somewhere in between all of that, and a group show to prepare for on August 6th, at the School of Visual Arts.
Phewf!
But this is the only way that I know how to get my time in when it comes to playfully exploring new media, techniques and concepts: after hours, between jobs, or very early in the morning.
(Sometimes I get to the studio around 7:00am)
At this point in my career I have no desire not to create.
But at the same time because I want to take my career to the next level, I'm forced to create.
Well, forced is a bit of a melodramatic description, and it suggests something negative also, but it's not this way at all. This extra work that I do, this personal work is really what will help me to convince clients and the industry that my work is still relevant. I'd be lying if I said to you that I don't think about a time in the future when work will slow down incredibly. The thing is that I want to know that I am doing everything within my power to ensure that day will arrive later than sooner. I sounds paranoid, don't I?
To me I think I'm being responsible and realistic.
As I said, I want to take my career to the next level, and after ruminating over my options which have been informed by my experience and speaking to several people who I trust, I can't rely on anyone else to do it for me. Yeah, there are agents out there, but honestly I have lost faith in them. That's not to say that there aren't any good ones out there, rather it's just that I haven't found anyone with whom I have been able to partner successfully. The way that I see it is that nobody cares about my work more than I do. Agents can say that they do, but if they represent between 30 and 80 illustrators, then explain to me how they could possible spend as much time pushing your work, as you could do on your own. Yeah, they have connections, some better than others, but in my experience, it always comes to a point where you end up just sitting like some horse in a stable ready to race, but not knowing when your race day will arrive.

I create illustrations for both the love of it, and for the money that it provides for me. It's not wholly an artform to me, it's also my profession, my job, my work. If I could choose only the former, to illustrate for the love of it, then I would; however, it's impossible, at least for me (I don't have the courage) to only focus on projects that I want to create for the sheer fun of it because of all life's bills.
telephone bills
automo(bills)
and after all they're all paid, then maybe baby I can chill.

* btw, that's my nasally frog voice reading an excerpt from a written piece of mine. And yes, the timing of the animation is off and looks sort of mash-up, but it's a start...

2011-07-16T06:37:00.000-07:00

Play Play Play

Recently, I've been exploring animation. It was one of my first loves alongside drawing. When I was about 4 or 5 years old I used to make my own flip books. I would scribble within the margins of whatever thick book I could find and draw a car driving from left to right, onto a ramp which sent it flying into the air, and finally landing on a pile of poop. I thought this was incredibly funny, and I would draw this over and over again adjusting the style of car, and how large the piles of poop were, and finally how messy the aftermath of such a stunt would be.
C'mon, that's so funny.
...isn't it?...
The pieces above were done in both traditional (classical) animation in which separate drawings were done and then shot using a camera, and Adobe After Effects. It's ridiculously cool the amount of ideas that are circulating in my head right now, in reference to what I want to do with my work. Not that I have any prospective clients or individuals to pitch possible animated projects, but I'm really at the stage in a new part of my career? where I believe being playful and curious will take me to the next stage.
As for what stage I'm referring to?
Don't ask.
I've been thinking about it.
Once I have the words to describe it, then it will make the direction of the course that I'm moving in much clearer and will help to focus my work.
...i think...
I've always been someone who operates in black in white; it's the grey that I've always had trouble with. But over the years my experience has taught me how to negotiate and compromise in a way that doesn't mean having to choose and let go of one thing for another; trying something new is not about preparing to let something go later on, but about expanding on what I know even if it might not have an conscious, immediate or definitive application to my work at the moment. I compare these projects that I'm working on with conversations and dialogues that I have with different people.

2011-07-02T07:21:00.000-07:00

If You Never Try Then You'll Never Know

I'll be speaking at 3x3's Nuts and Bolts conference on Saturday, July 9 (at New York's Society of Illustrators) and will also be hosting a studio visit (in Brooklyn) on the day before. When I am asked to give a lecture, I oftentimes spend days ruminating over my past, trying to remember how things used to be. I have been working professionally for over ten years now, but it doesn't feel that way. It's easy to forget the past, and even though I pride myself on carrying some poignant moments that have altered me in, and in some ways, made me better? I still sometimes forget. Not that I forget the details of the things which have occurred, but rather the feelings that were present during those moments.
The beginning of anything new can be very daunting.
And so can the beginning of the end, or the beginning of a place that is in between the finish and the start of something.
But then again, if you never try, then you'll never know.

* I'm still learning the guitar during my drawing breaks - this time it's Coldplay's "Fix You."

2011-06-09T05:53:00.001-07:00

FIAT USA

I still have a moment of thrill when I see my work in public unexpectedly. I believe this a good sign because it means that I'm still engaged and excited by what I do. I remember years ago in Toronto, I walked by a local clothing store and saw a series of illustrated figures that I had done for a fashion magazine, enlarged, redrawn and traced (without permission) onto foam core, acting as a their display window. It was very comical to me because I was still young then (although I would argue that I am still young-ish now) having had recently graduated from art college with my nose to the computer screen, drawing pictures and disseminating them into the commercial world, not knowing who was looking at them, what they were thinking of, or if anyone was paying attention.

Part of me felt like a fraud, curious as to why my work was being published, and fearful of when my luck would run out. I would admit to having been self-deprecating, not so much now, but definitely growing up (the fat-fag jokes I endured for decades were probably the cause of this) and so the reverence that I kept for realistically drawn or painted work - the kinds of images that I loved, but could not create - became the measure of the worth for my pictures. Viewing my drawings alongside those photo realistic images transformed my own into childish marks, and made them less in some ways, or as one client put it, my illustrations were "a glorification of The Jetsons."

But this psychosis of mine existed in the past, and although I still sometimes feel unsure about whether the next mark that I make will be the right one, I have softened to the notion that these uneasy feelings come with Illustration as a practice, and so, I let them be, instead of allowing them to fracture my confidence. The brain and heart are very different, and just because one speaks louder than the other doesn't mean that one is more correct than the other. At the time, my feelings told me that my drawings was less than. It felt this way because I measured it against the realism of the pictures that I judged which were greater than my own. There is nothing wrong with comparing one's own work to someone else's; in truth, I believe it's important to do so as long as one understands the reasons behind why a particular piece of work holds meaning to oneself, and why it has garnered recognition from others (even if I might or might not agree with the opinions of the latter). Competition has always been an important factor within my upbringing. Knowing who is ahead and along side of me, keeps me moving forward. That said, the issue that I had for years was that I kept my focus too much on my position within the pack, rather than on the experience of running. And so many moments were spent and lost in the obsession of uncertainty about the quality of my work, rather than taking in a few breaths to record my achievements.

* The last photo contains the Fiat Ad (mine is on the bottom right entitled "Style"). I stumbled upon it while I was listening to Pandora radio. As you can see, my tunes are fully rooted in the 80s sans apology.

2011-06-03T06:10:00.000-07:00

"Dear Japan" Relief Benefit Art Exhibition
Saturday, June 4th, 2011 at Art Connect New York Gallery Space

This Saturday June 4, I will be participating in a group art exhibition to raise funds for the Japan Earthquake and Nuclear Crisis. There will be 170 Artists participating in the show and selling artwork between $40 - $200.
100% of the proceeds will go towards this relief effort.
The piece in the above photo is the silkscreen print that I am submitting to the show; title Flora, 4-colour silkscreen on Stonehenge paper, 8.5x11", Artist Proof.

Here are the details:

Art Connect New York Gallery Space
491 Broadway, 5th Floor
New York, NY
10012
Date: Saturday June 4
Time: 4-8pm

For more information and to see the list and work of the other artists in the exhibition, click on www.dearjapanny.wordpress.com

I hope to see you there!

2011-05-27T16:20:00.000-07:00

Buena Malicia

Excuse my mashed-up Spanish pronunciation.
Pardon the jacked-up B minor.
Forgive the squeakiness of my voice, and flailing fingers
.
.
.
... by the way here's some tissue... there's a bit of blood dripping from your ears.

This is what I do during breaktime.
* "Buena Malicia" by Carla Morrison

2011-05-16T12:20:00.000-07:00

SPD 46, Gold Medal in Illustration

I found out this morning that the illustration that I did for Men's Journal, entitled "The Tiger's Revenge" (Creative Director, Paul Martinez and Art Director Damian Wilkinson) received the Gold Medal at this year's Society of Publication Designer's Illustration Category for single/spread. Congratulations to all the winners and nominees.
Hooray!
Below is the work process for this particular illustration. Note that in the bottom two finals there is a slight revision to the face and body of the tiger.

2011-05-16T11:58:00.000-07:00

Amarillo Centro de Diseño

During the first week of April I hosted a workshop in Xalapa, Veracruz, Mexico through the design group Amarillo Centro de Diseño, which consists of Aída Aguilera Rocha, Juan Carlos Vasquez Padilla, and Joan Xavier Vasquez. Amarillo is a design concept that is comprised of a store, workshop studio, and gallery space. Many of the workshopees came from various cities in and around Xalapa. My workshop focused more on the process of illustration-making. Earlier that week, I also gave a lecture to the Design students at Anahuac University. To close off the week Amarillo set up an exhibition to showcase some of my work. The photos below are only a glimpse into the wonderful time that I spent in Veracruz, Xalapa, and Coatepec. Thank you again to everyone who made my time there so special. Hopefully I will see you all again! (ps. thank you Emy for the yummy cupcakes and for being an extraordinary translator!

2011-03-31T06:33:00.000-07:00

Tiny Trifecta, Saturday, April 9
at Cotton Candy Machine in Brooklyn

Here's some news that my friend Tara McPherson will be hosting a show called "Tiny Trifecta" at her store in South Williamsburg, Brooklyn next Saturday April 9th. There will be 100 artists and illustrators' (tiny) works for sale, for $100. Here's the piece that I will be contributing to the show; a small accordion style booklet that I hand-made and silkscreen, which is part of my Sausage Series.
Again here's the date and address of the opening:

Tiny Trifecta
Cotton Candy Machine
Saturday, April 9th, 2011
7pm - 12 midnight
235 South 1st Street, in Brooklyn.

2011-03-22T10:20:00.001-07:00

Amarillo Centro de Diseno, April 7-9, 2011

On April 7-9, 2011 I will be at Amarillo Centro de Diseno, in Xalapa, Veracruz, Mexico hosting a workshop and exhibiting some of my work. The image below is the poster that I made for the event, which is inspired by Xalapa, the birthplace of "Florecita," or Little Flower. The illustration is a 3 colour silkscreen that will be created by the design collective for the show - I cannot wait to see it! I thought it would be interesting to include some of the sketch work that I did leading up to the final image. Many thanks to Amarillo Centro de Diseno for inviting me, and to my great friend Yuko Shimizu for putting us in touch. Hasta pronto!

2011-03-03T07:44:00.000-08:00

The People Underneath The Floor In Heaven
We quietly stood around my father as he poured the liquor onto the wooden floor of our dining room. We lived on the third floor of an apartment building in a suburb of Toronto, and I found it peculiar how the alcohol could drop into the mouths of my relatives who were in heaven. On the dining room table were faces of those people who I was supposed to know, those of whom I was supposed to remember. I saw within each face, parts of my parents’ faces. I could see where my own ear lobes came from, those which my aunt tugged at occasionally followed by a pronouncement of how lucky it was that I had ear lobes such as those; fat and meaty, I thought. There was a younger man too, who looked like my mother; it was my uncle who I don’t believe I had ever met. My mother told me that he had jumped into the ocean and drowned. I never quite figured out the truth, though. Over the years I would get bits of information from my parents about my family’s history, but my accumulation from their knowledge never quite added up to anything coherent. Years later, it sounded more like a parent trying to describe the definition of suicide to a child.
"He jumped into the water and then never came back."
How curious.

Laid out on the table in front of the photographs of my deceased relatives were steamed buns filled with bbq pork and curry, brightly coloured egg tarts with a flaky buttery crust, a boiled chicken that had been chopped up and placed onto a bed of boiled carrots and potatoes, and a condiment blend of soy and oyster sauce mixed with sesame oil, and green onions poured into a tiny ceramic dish. I was never told by either one of my parents why we did this – cooked food for people who weren’t here anymore, but I only kept quiet and followed my father’s lead. Candles burned on either side of the table, flanking the pictures of my uncle and grandparents which were propped up by a stack of books that supported them from behind. My father turned to us and said the words, “bai-sun,” and then grew quiet. He stepped in front of all of us, near the end of the table opposite to the photographs and lowered his head. I don't know what he said, or what he was thinking, but when he was done I could see that his face looked worn and pulled downward as if each time he did this over the years, he gave some of his breath away to my relatives who lived underneath the floor of the apartment, in heaven. I never asked him what those words meant, bai-sun, but over the years understood it to mean worshipping (gods). It was our act of ancenstral veneration, a filial respect which we would continue to pay after life to those family members who gave birth to us, and cared for us until we could take care of ourselves. One by one, each family member did the same as my father, until it was my turn. I have to confess that my father did prep me for this moment; he told me to say "doh-jeh" to those candle lit faces, and so I did "thank-them" and then asked them to remove some of the chubbiness from my ear lobes.

2011-03-01T15:54:00.000-08:00

Esme, Queen of All Lands
I'd like to keep this entry short since I've been working like a mad man for several weeks. The twitch in my left eyelid is telling me to slow down, but before I do, here's another silk screen print that I did recently. Actually, it's within a series of 10 for sale through my website, benefiting my friend's performance, choreographer Yara Travieso, and composer Jerome Begin in collaboration with the New World Symphony, designed by Frank Gehry in Miami this Spring. The name of the print is called "Esme, Queen of All Lands," named and inspired after another friend of mine, Esme Boyce, who will be dancing in the performance. Below is visual soundbite of the other artists who are involved.

2011-02-17T05:05:00.001-08:00

My High Heels Are Clicking Towards Your Door

It's been about 7 months now, and I finally have my silkscreen studio up and running. It began last summer when Mikee built me an exposure unit and then a dark room. During that time I had my intern explore this DIY set-up; working out the kinks, developing a system within the process -- trying to make it essentially workable. And now, I can honestly say that it is.
I did my first 4-color print a few days ago, based on a drawing that I was commissioned for by Soojin Buzelli, Creative Director, of Plansponsor and Planadviser magazines. It was for a column entitled, "Find the Best Provider."
In this case, the best provider is the best provider of meat-filled steamed buns.
Or as we say in Cantonese, cha-sui-bao.
I mentioned in a few posts that I have had a body of work floating in my head for several years now. It began when I was doing a 2 month summer fine art program at the School of Visual Arts in New York. The work that I was doing was homoerotic, but the motifs and imagery that kept surfacing during that time was rooted in food, and body image, beauty, race and (my) ethnicity.
I find it tremendously important to work on personal projects alongside commercial ones. For those of you who know me, you are probably tired of hearing me talk or write about it, but it's true. There is opportunity for the work that we do which nobody sees, those pictures that might be quantified by critics neither as fine art, nor illustration because it is less of this or more of that, less socially relevant and more decorative, less conceptual and more random; that work that we do in the privacy of whatever space we call our studios does carry with it meaning solely within that act-of-doing. So over a short period of three years, these random images, disparate from each other that I have done for no audience is finally taking shape. To be continued...

* The title of this post is from the lyrics of the song "One Thing," by Amerie.

2011-02-17T04:58:00.000-08:00

This is coming in a bit late... Happy Valentine's Day!

2011-01-30T09:05:00.001-08:00

SHOES
When I was 10 years old, I had my first job.
It was an ordinary job, a paper route that was passed onto me by my 16 year old brother. I was in fifth grade, having received a $2 per week allowance from my father over the past several years, but now I no longer had the patience to save up for those things in my life that I wanted, like the $42 pair of Nike sneakers with rubber baseball cleats.
Fashion forges ahead.
Yes, it gives a nod to the past, but moves forward nonetheless.
At the rate that I was going, it would have taken about 6 months to finally purchase those sneakers!
Each afternoon, I would get home from school to see the pile of The Toronto Star newspapers resting outside the entrance of my parents home; I'd bring them inside, stuff the newspapers into a bag and then walk, or sometimes ride my bike around the block placing them into each of the customers' mailboxes. But on the weekends because so many more people subscribed to the The Toronto Star, my father offered to help me deliver them. The number of homes we went to remains fuzzy in my head, but I do recall that the newspapers were incredibly thick. My father and I woke up very early on the weekends to receive the newspapers and then placed the inserts inside each one of them. We lined the foyer floor with clean sheets of blank paper, or sometimes plastic to prevent it from getting dirty, and then hauled in the stacks of newspapers and inserts into the house. I remember part of my soul wretched a little because I knew that this paper route caused me to miss a handful of those Saturday morning cartoons that I loved so much; back in 1985 it was the jingles that I liked the most about them, the songs and music at the beginning of these cartoons that I sang along to:
Band of brothers marching together
Heads held high in all types of weather
With fiery blast, our roaring rockets rise
Beyond the earth, beyond the sky
At the sight of Robin take your stand
With the gallant leader of our band.
Send a joyous shout throughout the land
For Rocket Robin Hood
One by one, my father and I placed each of the inserts into the middle sections of the newspaper. We didn't speak much while we did this, but only ploughed through the work in front of us, like factory workers do. After the piles were completed we carried the stacks into the back seat of the car (that my father again had lined with some fabric to prevent it from getting dirty) and then he drove me from house to house around the block. We did this every weekend for 3 years, and although I despised it, I appreciated the lessons that I was taught about work ethic, organization, the value of money, and not to wait for somebody to give me $2 a week for 6 months to buy a pair of $42 sneakers, but to go and get it myself.

2011-01-22T09:24:00.001-08:00

ANTICIPATION

Two weeks ago I drafted a timetable for myself.
My days are now broken into sections on somewhat of an hourly basis. For example in the photo at the top of the page, I had allocated about an hour in the morning to do administrative work; then I spent the next hour and a half on commercial work; I had a conference call with a client at 1pm, after which I headed into Manhattan for an appointment later that afternoon; following this I went to the gym for about an hour; returned to my studio in Brooklyn to work on commercial work until about 8pm. It seems somewhat militant, I know, but for so long now I've wanted to breathe life into some projects that have existed on the margins of my career; however, I haven't understood how to incorporate them into my daily routines. As I mentioned in a previous post, I have been reading some books which have helped me organize myself better throughout the day. It's very common sense: the authors describe the need to organize and prioritize one's tasks in order to be productive. I've believed for a very long time that I was a very organized person, but somewhere in the root of my brain, I knew that this wasn't entirely true. I have always worked hard, but now I realize that I have never worked smartly.

I am very good with deadlines, and in the past nine years, I think that I have only missed one , which was during a sketch stage. In retrospect, I understand why this happened (which was near the end of last year) because I had spread myself too thin; I took on too many tasks, worked on too many projects, and as a result I could feel myself edging towards the brink of a burn-out. I'm familiar with this feeling, where I've pushed myself to my limits, having taken on so much work partly out of the fact that I wanted to, but also because of my own psychoses. To beat a dead horse, 2009 and part of 2010 were not great years for me financially, and so in essence I felt fearful that if I didn't take on nearly every project that came my way, that I would regret it.

This time I'm trying a different course of action. Whether or not it works, who can say? But in the meantime, things are going very well. As freelancers, we are not bound to any kind of structure. We can be as free as we would like, choosing to work at home, or in a separate studio, alone, or with our friends and peers. There are no hard and fast rules to help us succeed because the products that we create - our pictures - are made up of an aesthetic and vocabulary that is primarily shaped by who we are, our own tastes, which appeal, or don't appeal, to whoever our audience happens to be (sidenote, I understand that an illustration is dependent on other things such as a story, or article, but my focus here is on the elements of the style of a picture, those superficial qualities that help set it apart from other illustrations). Of course crossovers exist such that genres of illustrations, or styles done by several Illustrators appear similar to one another; however, despite the visual similarities, the work methods that one illustrator might employ towards his/her business of promotion and advertising, might not work for another. Yes, there are some basic methods that a young illustrator can use in order to get his/her first... or second... and then third job... but then what's next? I think that I've finally realized that I have lacked a kind of accountability within my profession. Although meeting deadlines, and paying taxes are only 2 forms of that; still, throughout the day, much of my time is oftentimes wasted on things that lay outside of whatever the focus of my tasks should be. It's human nature, I know.
Distractions.
But also I have the tendency to spend too much time on one thing or another, which is not only time wasted, but energy as well.
This idea of accountability means that I can keep track of what I do throughout the day. Weeding out those tasks that might be extraneous, while spending quality time on each of the projects that I have in front of me, means that I can leave the studio at a reasonable time. Of course there are moments when my timetable needs to flex for whatever reason, but more or less, this hourly to-do list is working so far, and is giving me the kind of structure that I believe is working for now.

*The photos above are of my U/V light table that Mikee built for me so that I can silkscreen. I put it on hiatus since the summer, but I'm using it again. Heads up for some new silkscreened projects. To be continued...

2011-01-08T19:16:00.000-08:00

This is the first post without a photo; not because I'm choosing not-to, but because I can't. I'm at Zenkichi restaurant right now in Brooklyn - it's a Japanese Brasserie? And one of my favorite restaurants.
It's my birthday today.
And I've chosen to spend it by myself.
Well that's not entirely true.
I spent it with Mikee, Rita, and Yuko.
My dinner however, I have chosen to spend it alone.
Earlier on in the week I thought that I was going to plan something - at least a dinner, but as my birthday neared I decided not to. I like to be quiet sometimes; I enjoy spending time alone. I wonder if it's a product of getting older, although I don't think that it is. I often find myself in experiences that I want to freeze in time for one reason or another; and today it's one of those days.
My food is getting cold.
But that's cool.
Because I want to reflect.
I'm 36 today.
And my initial thought is, "Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, how did that happen?"
I don't want to suggest that I have issues with getting older because I don't, but as I do get older, even if only for one year I take a mental inventory of my life: business and personal. And I feel as I mentioned in my previous post, that I'm at a new beginning.
It could be that I'm being melodramatic. It could be that the weight of the food in my belly has offset the equilibrium in my brain. Whatever the reason is extraneous.
It feels good to be here.
I'm in space too small to be a cubicle or a closet with sake, udon, cod, and pork belly. Too much for one person to entirely eat, but seriously do I care?
No.
Yes, call it waste or whatever, it won't phase me tonight.
All that I care about is centering myself.
In food.
Light jazz is floating somewhere between the laughter and conversation that surrounds me.
"this place is amazing, dude."
"oh my gawd."
"it was like really caj." (ie casual)
"i hurt so bad."
"I know it's like his room."
"yeah, right, but it's so bad."
"and he was talking..."
"yeah but still -"
"it was so gross!"
Music to me.
I'm nearly done eating.
I think I've sunken into the arms of Gluttony
But we'll embrace tonight.
Tonight was truly a celebration of life.
Even though I spent this supper alone, I wasn't lonely.
I thought about a lot of things; about a lot of the super cool and loving people in my life.
Didn't I say "love is cool?"... Because it is...
I'm totally doing fine.
Happy birthday to me.
And many good vibes to you.

2011-01-08T06:51:00.000-08:00

1 IS THE MAGIC NUMBER

2011 has already begun feeling like a hustle, but I'm entirely cool with that. I really believe that those who have a top-kind of recognition in our industry have achieved this by the sheer ferocity of their work ethic. Sure, luck sometimes shows her face and helps out, but for the most part, it's one's push to do better which directly translates into a positive outcome (as long as one's intentions are honest).

I was extremely fortunate as a young illustrator to land an international advertising campaign shortly after school, called Lavalife. This project was divided into more than 9 campaigns spanning about 9 years; the first of which was sold to the client as a complete buyout; which means that I no longer own the rights (copyrights or moral rights) to these particular images. It was both a blessing and a curse because the project truly provided me with a kind of financial freedom I had never known. I might be able to compare it to an expired television series that goes into syndication, in which the actors who are on this program benefit from the royalties of it. This campaign lasted for several years, and although it took only a few weeks worth of work per year to create the drawings, it constituted about one-third of my income, not only from the fee that I received for the new drawings, but also for the reuse of those images in some of the previous campaigns. Nowadays, my work with this client has ceased for the most part, and so has the money. And although I feel a bit pained because my pocket-book feels lighter, I also am a somewhat relieved that a new part of my career is beginning.

I've written in the past about new beginnings, and for a long time I thought that "a new beginning" was that flash moment in time, that denouement in a story where things are suddenly reshaped, but it's not.
Eat
Pray
Love to believe that life unfolds in this manner, but I don't buy it.

New beginnings occur over a period of time, and for me, I realized over the past few days that I have been in the midst of a beginning for several months now, which will, like any other part of one's studio practice, have setbacks and successes. The idea of embracing the possibility of failure is something that truly frightens me. There's no need to expand on this (and yes, I know, I've written about this before).
Success makes me happy.
Failure makes me sad.
But it's those teachings that rise out of failure --wait, let me digress here, and pull back a bit -- it's the information we discover in those uncomfortable moments within our studio practice that makes us stronger artists. It helps us to think more critically about our work; define our vision and to to clarify, and concretize our vocabulary so that our work can over time, become a style, or signature that a client and our peers recognize.

* The illustration above was drawn for Bloomberg magazine - a portrait of Deepak Chopra and Russell Simmons.

2010-12-31T20:12:00.000-08:00

Ten Minutes Left. Where is Ryan Seacrest?
I think this may be the first new year in (17) years that I've spent at home, not actually alone -- Rita, who's my dog ,is here, but she's sleeping, deciding not to chime in the new year with me and my glasses of Veuve and Moet. Yes, I softened to the idea of curling into my space tonight alone - movies, cupcakes, vegetarian dinner, semi-dried up Christmas tree as my cohorts to see this year out, but I feel really good about it. Yeah, there are parties tonight, gatherings, fun times to be had, but for some reason I don't feel like partaking at all.
2010 was a strange year.
It was a rebound from 2009, which was one of my toughest years yet. I understand on an intellectual level, the notion of business cycles -- recessions and recoveries; however, I haven't been working long enough to have actually experienced business cycles (note the plural).
In recent years, I have begun to wean myself off of the idea of resolutely choosing to decide that I will be "more of this" and "less of that" in the near year. The idea of resolutions are silly to me. Rewording "it" to "New Year's Intentions" seem more palpable, but still, intentions are oftentimes just left as unresolved hopes. That said, I will still move forward trying to become a better person (which doesn't mean becoming more accommodating; in my case less apologetic - I've been endowed with a double whammie: I'm Chinese and Canadian:
Sorry.
Thank you.
Sorry again.
But becoming a better person means that I'm trying to have a better gauge; an honest gauge about what those things in life are that make me most joyous. Oftentimes, they are experiences instead of "things".
Just now, my mind suddenly drifted to an episode of Strangers with Candy (Warren Sutton, "I love your work" ... Steven Colbert... "I love you even more"... Amy Sedaris, I love that you love pizza even though that you might not. Still you're badass funny. I draw for the illiterate and those who can't read...)
I'm digressing.
Sorry.
But back to my point, 2011 is the beginning of "me pulling me closer to me."
Think Steven Colbert breaking up with Paul Donello in Strangers With Candy.
I'm pulling myself closer to me.
On my playlist are the rappers and songstresses from the eighties and nineties.
Special Ed, Big Daddy Kane, Jay Z, Amil, Missy Elliot, Queen Latifah -- yes, I said Queen Latifah -- Xscape, TLC and Mariah.
As for movies, I'm on a hot tip right now -- I'm movie crazy (see Black Swan by the way, although I met a guy at a party 2 weeks ago that suggested that I watch a precursor of it). Breakfast Club, Say Anything, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Pretty in Pink (... Oh Ducky...), 16 Candles.
Books. I'm reading Daniel Pink's "A Whole New Mind" and "Seven Days in the Art World" by Sarah Thorton... although I'm out to purchase "For Esme - With Love and Squalor" by JD Salinger because I'm working with a dancer right now who was named after the character of this book (kowtows into the earth to Ryan for the hookup).
As for imagemaking. I have some thoughts of what to do in 2011. As I wrote in a previous post already, I have had a body of work circulating in my head for about 3 years now - now, it's time to put it into motion, and give it life.
Okay there are about 13 minutes left until the new year begins.
Props to us all for moving through 2010.
And as always good fortune for 2011.
Stay true.
Stay honest.
Be good.
And move forward.
Be in touch again in a few days.
All the best to you and yours.
Love is cool.
Happy New Year everyone.

2010-12-13T10:24:00.000-08:00

NEW WORK

I haven't got much to write about today, except that I wanted to post up new work. Really, I should be updating my website, but it's faster to place images onto my blog instead. The past several weeks have been a bit loco work-wise, but I'm thankful for it. It's tough to understand one's own limits sometimes, and how it would be best to balance work and personal life. Actually, I've begun to include my personal list of things to do on my "to-do" list. I think it's easy for freelancers especially, to forget that there are so many things in life to do in addition to work. It's hard for us not to get caught up in the race to grow our careers and to capture all of those trappings that could be associated with it.
But maybe that's only me.
I try to pull back from the fever of work once in a while, to not get swallowed up by the daily routines, of the chore of clocking in and out.
day
in
and
day
out.
It can eat away at a person, allowing him or herself to forget what it means to be here.
What does it mean to be here?
Here.
She asked me last week what it means to be here.
I nearly forgot about it until a few days ago.
Friday night, when I was here, alone at home while he was working.
I've told him that I missed him when he works late.
But that's what I need to do in the meantime, he says.

I finished my deadlines for today.
Actually, that's somewhat of a lie.
I could be working on another assignment, but I have been working on commercial projects all weekend.
I think I need to work on some personal pieces.
I'm in a group show in January in the Lower Eastside at Krause Gallery. The show is being curated by the boys at Spank.
Spank you very much.
Will send you more details very soon.
In the meantime, I'm working on some sculptural pieces informed by an automatic drawing exercise that I've done in my studio. I'm having a seriously fun time, but I'd lie to you if I said that I couldn't feel the spit from the demons that are whispering into my ears.
Why are you doing this?
It's been done before.
You suck.
You're not a sculptor.
Take a break.
There's a pizza shop down the street.
Take a break.
No.
not yet.
not until I've remained in this uncomfortable place for a while longer.
I tell my students to learn how to be comfortable with being uncomfortable.
Now, I have to do the same.

* The illustrations above are for Car and Driver, Bloomberg Business Week, Plansponsor, Runner's World, Playboy, and ESPN.

2010-12-09T18:17:00.001-08:00

I was just looking at some photos of Cadaques, Spain and it seems so distant. I remember that it was hot, and the sand was rocky. The city from across the bay was white even at night, and I remember swimming and looking into the blackness in front, below, and above me and not seeing any stars, but only a yellow circle that rested within this blackness like the core of some fairytale egg. I just did a quick search of Cadaques online, and the photos that came up didn't align with the memories that I have of that place.
But then I think of the dinner that I had the night before I left, with Ana and Gonzalo, their son, and his friend, at a table underneath the tree that sat in the front yard of their house. On a branch hung a lamp that along with the moon became the only light at dinner. And I don't recall the dinner itself, not the food, the taste, nor the drinks, but rather it was the moments afterward that have burned into my blood, becoming memories that I oftentimes go to when I yearn for some distance in this life. I remember the darkness, the smiles and the singing. I remember Ana's guitar, the flourishes of her Spanish finger picking against the strings, and her voice floating above and beneath the nighttime air. I remember Gonzalo staring at her, his face softened by the moon and her song. He fell in love with her a thousand times over that night.

2010-11-17T15:20:00.000-08:00

FOR GOOD

I've begun to work on some new personal work again.
I'm thrilled.
As I have mentioned many times over in the past, pursuing personal projects are paramount to my studio practice; it has always been that way, however it's only recently that I actually began to take some inventory of my process -- that is, those steps to grow my work, my technique, and my creative vision. My commercial work is steady now, and it feels good, granted it's not that every commissioned project that I do fulfills me wholly, but it does my wallet, and so I realize that in order to pursue those other projects of mine that I want to lift off of the ground, it's necessary to fund them somehow.
I have had a new body of work floating around in my head for the past 2 years, but for several reasons I have not been able to, nor have chosen to elaborate on them. I still waver at the notion of trying something new. I strain at trying to render transparencies at just the right opacity, and to select colours which are the proper temperature. But most of all, I try to follow those instructions, the criticism that I pass along to my students about their own work, that they should not be so precious about their work if they want to become better artists.
I wrecked my piece today, and it was incredibly difficult for me to do, but I did.
I wrecked my piece today.
It was incredibly difficult to do.
But I did it.
On purpose.
I spent about a day and a half working on this piece, but near the end of it, I just had to try something to see if it would work.
I used both water based and oil based media in one composition, which is not unheard of; however, it made the piece look jarring in some areas. It's difficult to tell in the image at the top (the white sections are done in enamel, and the rest of the picture is in water colour and ink) because the camera adds a kind of filter that helps to flatten and unify everything, but I'm really not happy with it.
Still it's not entirely a failure.
My time and effort spent was not in vain because I did learn something.
I needed to get my ideas onto the page somehow, and even though I may have skipped a few steps in planning, it was necessary for me to start immediately otherwise I think that I would have froze and lost the momentum to work on this piece.
I spend so much time planning my commercial pieces that when it comes to my personal work, I often have the reflex to create them automatically, without any rehearsal or rough draft. It feels good to do it this way.
And isn't that the primary reason why I chose to draw in the first place?

2010-11-10T07:18:00.000-08:00

SIX A.M.

I woke up around 6am this morning.
I didn't mean to. It just happened.
Daylight savings, having been only a couple of days ago, throws me off every year. It takes me a while to adjust.
I feel a bit hungover, and tired.

This week is Illustration Week.
The American Illustration party is tomorrow.
The Society of Illustrators are holding their annual judging.
And a lot of illustrators are coming in from outside of the city...from out of state... and from out of the country.
I always look forward to this time of year because I get to see friends who I seldom see because they live so far away.

Funny that I would post myself singing and playing the guitar today.
Makes no sense.
But does it have to?
Don't be alarmed there is no chance that I'll be segueing out of illustration to pursue music.

2010-10-27T07:51:00.000-07:00

I feel myself arriving to a place that is between the end and the beginning. Although I have been here before many times, there is still a strangeness because it is not a part of anything else. It is not held together on either sides nor does it lean against the experiences of other things. This week will be my last teaching day at MICA. My art director role to which I had been initially assigned soon transformed into project manager, production assistant, gopher, instructor, and student, all at once. I would be lying if I said that I was nothing short of exhausted because I was -- I still am. And I swear that I have even bled over the past 7 weeks because of this.
But it has entirely been worth it.
When exhaustion and uncertainty couple, they can wield a terrible sword making it seem easier to kowtow into the earth, than to lift one's attention to the sky. My education has taught me the pragmatism of image making; how to convey a message that has an immediate read without being trite or cliche, while keeping the aesthetics of it intact, and paramount. Having done illustration for about 10 years now, I have come to understand the way in which to approach it that makes me relatively certain what the outcome will be. Yes, there is still some degree of mystery when I draw a picture, personal or commercial, however I don't tend to fumble around so much within my process as I did early on in my career.
I came into this experience not knowing how I would approach this task of teaching a class that I knew very little about, about how I would make use of class time efficiently, and about how I would make it worthwhile for everyone who would be involved. When I teach a class, I try to bring my current studio practice into the room, my successes and the challenges that I've faced, my psychology, my questions, and my curiosities, in addition to the formal knowledge of image making. The honesty of experience becomes the thread that extends from myself to each of my students that hopefully gives rise to questions, which I may or may not have the answers to, but most importantly it's the dialogue that I am happiest about.
I am very aware that I can be sentimental, and that even though I am coming to an end of my teaching stint at MICA, I will still be working behind-the-scenes in my studio on finishing off some class related work for this production. Still, it feels as though my part of contribution to the production has come to an end. And with that, I say thank you to all of the students who gave their own sweat, and breath, and heart, and brain, and blood to this process. Your journey is still not over; there are still several weeks left, but I am confident that it will be an enriching experience. Here's to my "in-between" and to your "continuation." Bravo to all of us. And see you again in December.

2010-10-22T19:35:00.000-07:00

VAVOOM VAROOM

I know... I know... more Snow Queen stuff...
Sorry, but I can't help it - I'm having fun.
That' s me, me, me, me, and the fabulous artist Aya Kakeda, who came to speak about her artwork, after which she workshopped a demo on stenciling to my MICA class two weeks ago.
Thank you Aya! It was so much fun!

It's been quite a week -- hectic to say the least.
I spent today working on developing more chorus costumes for my class on Monday.
Remind you of anything?
Yes, Thierry Mugler of course.
Handle bars on torso.
Brilliant.
I remember when I was about 12 years old, George Michael's "Too Funky" video came out, which featured some of Thierry Mugler's fashion designs (and a much younger Tyra Banks, who was growing her super stardom at the time).
In any event, I'm much too tired to write. I have been exhausted as I think I've expressed in a few entries already for a good 7 weeks.
I'm spent.
Truly.
But before I exit, I wanted to point out the photos below were taken today. I spent some time trying to work out the kinks on how my class could create some of the chorus costumes relatively fast and easily. Unfortunately for me, I hadn't realized what a mess it would turn out to be. Still, I had a super good time trying to figure it all out. Better do it in the privacy of my own studio, instead of fumbling around and wasting valuable class time.
"There's the way to do it, and then there's the right way to do it."
Am I correct Mr. Gonzalez?

One more thing -- note the rat? poop in the second photo.
It was definitely a playful day.

* By the way, I'm not certain whose images these are of the skull, bird and snake. I gathered them up when someone left them after class. Anyone?... anyone?... anyone?...

2010-10-18T06:52:00.000-07:00

ARE YOU AMERICAN?

I've been trying to upload new illustrations over the past several weeks, but I haven't been able to do so for three reasons. First, the illustrations that I've been working on are not allowed to be posted until after the publication for whom I've done the work, has published them. Second, I've assigned almost all of the time that I would have spent on personal work towards my teaching position at MICA; the work that I'm doing there has extended into my current studio practice here in New York, which is not a bad thing, only that it was very unexpected. Still, I am confident that this production of The Snow Queen will be fantastic, which means spending the extra time (and money) will be well worth it (and might I add that I have grown very fond of my class, and I'm feeling a bit sad that my time there will be up in 2 weeks). And lastly, it is out of my own accord, to not post a handful of the work that I've done over the past several months onto my website. You can ask any illustrator who has been in the field for several years that what you see on our websites represent only a fraction of the work that we do. When I first started illustrating I was working on about 100 illustration jobs per year; now that number has fallen to about 70 projects for various reasons, but mostly because I have chosen to allocate my time differently compared to when I first started working professionally. So to assume that every piece that is done must be shown in one's portfolio is unrealistic, not to mention that sometimes these illustrations are not the strongest representations of us as artists. It happens in other professions as well, think Meryl Streep in She-Devil.

Create a portfolio of the kind of work that you want to get more of, not of work that you will think will get you more work.
Did I get this statement from you, Yuko?
Probably.
For the most part, clients can tell whether or not you've enjoyed working on the pieces in your portfolio. It's impossible to think that anyone who has to live off of their illustration work can love every single piece that they do.
We do it for the love, or for the money.
Or sometimes both.

I keep in mind that as much as I love to draw, I also am not one of those illustrators who have the luxury of picking and choosing each project that comes his way. Of course there are some parameters which inform whether or not I will take work, such as timing and budget for example, but I primarily treat my illustration like a business and take on work in order to financially sustain my creative practice. Sill, there must be some sort of pay-off; something that makes it worthwhile for me to take on the project.
Having said that, I've been working so much. Probably spending a good 70 hours per week, over the past 7 weeks, either working in my studio, or traveling and teaching at MICA and at SVA. It's been tough, and I've found that I've drained nearly the entire oregano oil bottle into my morning cups of water (it's my elixir against the possibility of getting sick - I take it when I'm feeling worn out); however, it's been necessary.
But this wasn't what my post was originally about.
I found this in my hard drive.
They're Chinese characters that I transcribed while watching some (chinese) karaoke videos on Youtube. I did this one Friday or Saturday night, while I was taking a break from work. No, I can't read or write chinese, and if you look at the "Fortune" cover that is at the top of this post, those chinese characters on the bottom right corner, were written by my father, who faxed it to me from Toronto (it's my name). Yes, I do think it's lame to be raised by parents who are multilingual -- who speak 4 languages combined: 2 dialects of Chinese, Portuguese, and English, and for me to not be. I only speak one language fluently -- guess which one?
I have always enjoyed learning new languages. I'd say that I have a 5 year old's level of speaking Cantonese and French (I'm Canadian remember? and so it's mandatory for us to learn French in elementary school). Therefore, I have decided that those languages will be my learning focus moving forward.

I just bought a "how-to-speak-cantonese" audiobook, which I just listened to a moment ago.
I'm kicking some serious ass.
I can say now,
"Excuse Miss. Do you speak Cantonese?"
"No."
"Do you speak English?"
"Yes, I speak English."
"Are you American?"
"Yes."

2010-10-10T21:29:00.000-07:00

IT GETS BETTER

I was just about to go to bed when I found this post on Youtube from Dan (Savage) and Terry. It's a post from his "It Gets Better" project in which individuals from around the world share their personal stories (to young people who are struggling and closeted about their sexuality) that hope exists past the torment and the bullying that they are experiencing in school.
Faggot
Faggot
Fag-hit.
Those words still sting when I hear them, whether they are addressed to me or to someone else; however, I have learned how to handle and then discard them over time. When I was in elementary and high school, I was cut much deeper by those words, and the idea that life would get better was oftentimes very difficult to envision. It's strange to be in a position where you're not sure why your speech, the way that you move - who you are - makes people upset. When you are told constantly by adults and the media , the government, people who you know, and those who you don't that who you are is not like everyone else, that who you are is abnormal, that who you are means that you have diminished rights and freedoms to live then it makes you believe that who you are, is alone. There was no support system available at home, or in school to help me deal with the harassment, but somehow I was able to endure and lift myself out of that place. My choice was to conform so that I would become invisible. I dressed like my abusers, walked like them, and spoke like them; safety for me was to blend in. And for over five years I did that, living in shame and in secret until I graduated from high school. It got better once I left my neighbourhood that I was raised in, once I started art college downtown, and once I began to see myself reflected in a community that was very similar to who I was. It helped me understand my worth, and that I wasn't alone.

I've been recently asked to participate in a comic book anthology along with about twenty other artists. It's still in its early stages of development, which means that I'm certain that I cannot divulge any information about it whatsoever, except that I've considered my contribution will stem from my experiences of coming to terms with my sexuality. At first, I decided that I would approach it in a more humourous way, but now after giving it some thought, and viewing some of the aforementioned posts on Youtube, I realized that part of the reason why I chose to "keep it light" was for the sake of others; because I thought that it would be more commercially palatable, and make people feel less uncomfortable. There is always this fear that if I use some personal stories from my life to inform my commercial work that it will inhibit the critic within me from doing his job properly in such a way that the overall design of that piece might become clouded by those feelings. It can be a tricky thing, but I believe that I've maintained enough distance from that period of my life to recount my story in a way that can blend both my personal and critical voice.

2010-10-08T08:18:00.000-07:00

COME ON IN. THE WATER'S FINE
I woke up this morning thinking about the notion of starting from the very beginning.
Do - Re - Mi.
The work that I'm doing with my students at MICA is new for everyone, and this newness doesn't just come in the form of trying to translate our illustrations into various applications for the stage, but also that we have to worry about money; or rather not having much of it to begin with. As a result we're forced to use inexpensive and sometimes found materials to construct the visual components of our production. This is encouraging us to think outside of the box.
Which is probably a good thing.
When I was young, I used to construct toys out of all of sorts of things: paper, egg cartons, tape, peanuts, yogurt containers; it was fun. Being oblivious of what the outcome would be was the exciting part because it took some savvy and flexing of my brain to understand through physical manipulation what the qualities and potential of these materials were and could be. It was a wonderful time to sit and spend hours cutting and sewing and painting and gluing parts together into some kind of form that would allude to a robot, tank or a pair of slippers. This notion of newness, of trying something for the first time is becoming prevalent within the kind of work that I'm doing alongside my commercial work.
I've been asked recently if I am still illustrating, not by one, or two people, but by a few. These questions made me nervous because I wasn't certain where these ideas stemmed from. So, naturally I began to wonder about this.
I had a conversation with some students once about the idea of community. This arose from their own feelings about not having received certain things from their own school community; that it was too much of this or too little of that. My response was for them to seek out a new one , but to keep in mind the idea that they don't have to give up their current community. I suggested for them to contact those individuals who inspired them, who would act as willing mentors in a non-formal way, to seek out those places that carried the kind of buzz that they were looking for. To dialogue with others, and to share their news about those things that they find interesting.
This idea of roots and wings; of planting roots into a place firmly enough to support the venturing out towards growth in other areas of one's life and profession is very intriguing to me. Embracing new beginnings, of starting from the very beginning, suggests to me that those new interests of mine, which are rooted in commercial art but overtly exist outside of my own illustration practice, have become a necessary part and function of my career. These interests appease the different facets of myself; however, they are not mutually exclusive, but help to nurture, nourish and generate my overall creativity.
I have thought many times about the question of what kind of illustrator I want to be. I have even posed this question to my students. For me, the kind of illustrator I want to be is one whose work consists of projects that are both commercial and personal, which transcend one discipline, and can be expressed in many different ways.
* the images at the top of the page are of workshop costume samples from the production of The Snow Queen, which will be performed in December through MICA's Illustration department.

2010-10-05T09:10:00.000-07:00

I arrived to the train station about an hour early this morning. I made the mistake of thinking that my train to New York left at 8:35am as opposed to fifteen minutes past that. The train station is surprisingly relaxing in the morning. There is a buzz of voices underneath repetitive robotic announcements,
Attention please
Attention please
We Apologize for any inconvenience
Use caution before stepping onto the train
I'm trying desperately to eavesdrop on the couple who are sitting a few feet away from me. I do this in order to help spawn new story ideas and possibly include some of it as believable dialogue. The two of them are dressed in suits; she looks like him, and him like her. I'm trying to decipher the chatter but really can't make out anyone's words. Everyone looks like a Sesame Street character.
"I'm sorry, but I did call her," he says. The businessman stands in front of the train station door with his brow furrowed staring at a spot that is nowhere on the floor.
Attention please
He shoves one hand into his pocket, and leans slightly over to one side. He folds his other arm across his chest and tucks his hand into his arm pit.
"She did...she called me and said she didn't see Jaime."
He pauses for a moment.
"She called -- I spoke to her... She said that she had a game. She said that you'd go pick her up."
He hangs up the phone.

When I went to Spain years ago I took the train from Paris to Hendaye which is on the French-Spanish border, with Saint Sebastian on the Spanish side. I went to Paris first because I wanted to know what all the fuss was about, although I was much more excited about my next stop afterwards at the Guggenheim museum in Bilbao. This was an important trip for me because it was the first time that I truly traveled on my own with no one else but my map and the kindness and company of strangers guiding me along the way. I felt like Gerda in The Snow Queen, but not in Hans Christian Andersen's version, but rather Kelly Link's adaptation, where Gerda searches for her stolen love, walking barefooted and bleeding, being told by those characters she meets throughout her quest that she needs to let Kai go.
My trip throughout Europe lasted for four weeks wherein which I traveled by train from Paris to Bilbao, to Madrid, then to Lisbon, back to Madrid, to Barcelona, into Florence, and finally to Rome. It's strange that after several years, these train rides have collided into one another becoming one entire ride in my mind.
The notion of train stations as a concept, or metaphor for moving from one stage of life into the next did not exist for me back then. Train stations were places that were rooted in function and pragmatism, people go there to get from points A to B. They don't go there to wander or sit, or to wonder. The time that I spent at these stations again seemed very much like a blur to me now, the edges are all fuzzy, and there is a film of time that's grown onto of this memory glass that I look through.
I can still make out the shapes behind it.
I met her in a hostel in Madrid. It was a scum of a place, and incredibly inexpensive; only a few euros per night. It was filled with students mostly in their twenties from all over the world. There was a small seating area in a room next to the foyer and a largish white kitchen stained yellow from over-use. The bathrooms smelled sour, and I couldn't tell if the tiled floor at the base of the toilet was water or piss. She was from Milan and he was from Ireland. I thought they were a couple until she asked me where I was going one night and I said to her that I was headed to any gay bar or club that I could find.
"Why didn't you invite anyone?" she asked.
"Why would I?" I said, "Who would want to come?"
"I do."
"Why? Are you a lesbian?"
"Yes."
For the next few of days this woman (whose name I have forgotten) and I spent the rest of our time together in Madrid. She was pretty with a slim and angular face, golden skin with light brown hair, streaked with blonde. She was a physical therapist, but her love was photography. She told me that Milan was terribly hot during the summer and that on the weekends Italians were not permitted to drive around the city because the pollution added to the summer heat. We traipsed around the city, and to Retiro park that was a short walk from the hostel. I had gone there only a few days ago and had sketched for a bit, and then slept for a bit, and then sketched for a bit more, and then went rowing after that. The park had a large pond in the center of it where you can rent a boat and row around in circles. I admit that I was incredibly lonely during that time. I was Gerda looking for Kai, meeting strangers along the way; I was uncomfortable and curious about this unfamiliar place of in-between. Although I no longer have any clear memories of what exactly we spoke about, or the details of our time spent together, I know that there was no need for it to transcend past that moment.
I remember the ending as clearly as the beginning, it's the middle that is out of focus. She and I walked back to Retiro park the morning that she was to leave for Milan. We sat on a bench for a short while. There was nothing special about that day - it was ordinary and hot, and there were people in the park. I had my sketchbook opened it up to a page that I had drawn of the park a few days prior. She looked at the drawing and made some comment. I remember that her words about my drawing were kind. She wrote down her email address and afterwards we talked for a bit. I'm not sure what we said, but maybe it was something about us keeping in touch.
I think both of knew that would not happen.
We sat for a short while longer, and then she said she had to head back to the hostel to retrieve her bags.
We hugged
and then she got up and walked away.

2010-10-02T20:16:00.000-07:00

CATEGORIZE ME
I awoke just before 7:00am, and arrived at my studio near 8:00am with my breakfast in hand: a pear, an apple, and a large cup of coffee. Part of the reason why I got up so early was that I had to pee, and when I woke up to do so, I found that I couldn't get back to sleep. Nonetheless, I got my 7 hours (of sleep) in. I stayed home last night, which seems to be the trend of late, watching a National Geographic documentary about stress. I have been incredibly stressed recently, but the intention of my post is not to write about that. I chose to mention it because I, in fact, fell asleep about 10 minutes into the program and then woke up again about an hour later. How funny that a program about stress actually alleviated some of my own.
I admire people who have the endurance to work an endless number of hours, to commit most of their lives to work, and to perform it all in such a collected way; maybe there is sweat, perhaps tears, and yes, even a bit of blood, but I don't envy them at all - at least not anymore.
When I moved to New York over five years ago, the primary purpose was to grow my career; and I use the word primary instead of sole intention because my secondary catalyst was that I was running away from a relationship that ended in Toronto.
When I arrived here it was everything I dreamed that it would be. I lived in Hell's Kitchen then, and I remember waking up many times as early as I did this morning, and walking down Ninth Avenue, slicing through the heat and stink of the Port Authority, and glimpsing into the rituals of the men who prepared and pushed their food carts along invisible trails to whichever locations they were destined to go to that morning, on the way to my studio.
And it was good.
As the months passed, I supported my work with other work related lunches, industry events, shop talk, and all the stuff related to illustration.
And it was good.
And I traveled to the studio almost every day, and devoted most of my time to my commercial assignments; on weekdays and on weekends at the studio, morning until night, and sometimes brought work home.
And still, it was good.
But as I continued to focus my line of sight only on one industry, never venturing outside of it, I began to feel overwhelmed and anxious. I had invested everything into my work, from my second year of art college onwards. I had followed the rules laid for out for me and my classmates, and had done everything that I thought that I was supposed to do in order to reach those marks in my career that I had set for myself. And although it still felt good, the emotional return that I received from it began to diminish. That's not to suggest that I stopped enjoying what I was doing i.e. illustration, nor should it imply that I wanted to distance myself from the illustration community, either. All that happened was that my goals began to shift, and I came to question the kind of illustrator who I wanted to be.

2010-10-01T19:47:00.000-07:00

FRIDAY NIGHT, AIN'T A DAMN THING FUNNY...
I'm going to keep this entry short.
It's been an incredibly busy week -- weeks -- and so, I'm tired.
Exhausted.
Spent.
I'm busily back to work
Thank gawd.
Although, it's not quite back to normal.
The reason why is that now it feels more like a game of catch-up that I'm playing. And not just me, but it seems to be the word-on-the-street for some of us; that we're taking on as many projects as possible to make-up for our weak earnings in 2009. I picked up three more jobs this week, one of which is due Sunday, and another one Monday, on top of other deadlines that I have on-the-go and my classes at MICA and SVA.
I have to confess that I had a mini-meltdown a few days ago, but didn't even realize that it was happening until someone called me out on it. He said that I sounded overwhelmed, but at the moment I didn't think that I was. However a few minutes later, I felt a flood of anxiety, exhaustion, and guilt hit me all at once.
What a strange sensation.
In any event, today was a very good day. I got tons of work done, and still managed to go to my friends art opening in Williamsburg (props to Katherine Streeter's new work; you should check it out at 457 Grand Street, at Keap, near the BQE).
"Friday night ain't a damn thing funny..." is right; lyrics by Big Daddy Kane, whose videos kept me company tonight along with Bel Biv Devoe, Maestro Fresh Wes, Special Ed, and Janet, Miss Jackson if you're Nasty.

2010-09-30T07:54:00.000-07:00

EASY DOES IT
I already posted today's entry onto The Snow Queen blog on tumblr.

Here it is again.
"The project is going very well (with changes along the way). The weeks are flying by, and I'm having a blast seeing the various components of the production take shape and coalesce. Yes, we've chosen parts to keep in the production, and discarded others, but so far, I feel as though this has been a true collaboration, and I venture to admit that it might also be one of the closest educational experiences of mine that has aligned with the real world. Those last minute changes and seemingly endless revisions that are going on in our class right now mimics the process within the illustration industry. The process that sometimes I undergo with my own client-based work. For better, or for worse, ideas grow into better ideas via collaboration, but sometimes the good ones get cut and thrown onto the floor for whatever reason.
This happens, but as long as we remember that it's our work that is being critiqued and revised, not us as individuals, then it will help us to restore some distance from our work so that we can improve upon them later on.
We've all got egos, we wouldn't be artists, designers, or illustrators if we didn't have them; however, at the same time, those moments occur when we have to check our egos at the door in order to push ourselves further into places within our own artistic practice that make our work "better."
Conceptually better.
Aesthetically better.
Technically better.
When I use that word, "better" it's in reference to how close our work comes to resolving those creative obstacles/problems/issues of ours in the most appropriate and aesthetically intriguing ways. It takes time, it takes effort, but this can only happen if we're open to discussing our work at hand. In any event, we're still trying to make this production as tight and as impressive as possible, but still remain within time and budgetary restrictions. Thanks so much for everyone's enthusiasm and flexibility. We're not even halfway through the semester, but so far, I believe we're maintaining good momentum within our process. If you haven't already done so, check out the previous post, marked Sep 28, on tumblr, it's an assemblage of your work with your classmates.
I think it's très cool.
Think Y-3; Yohji Yamamoto for Adidas; they work well separately, but together they're even more bad-ass.
* The image at the top of the page is our own MICA Studio Remix in-class collab!

2010-09-29T06:18:00.000-07:00

POETIC JUSTICE
Janet Jackson's song, "Again," from the movie Poetic Justice, circa 1993, which I have not seen by the way, relaxes me. I bought it (yet again) from iTunes and listened to it on my walk to the studio this morning. The song warped me back in time for a short moment.

4 minutes and I was 18 again.
1993 was near the end of my high school years; that period of my life that I hated. Yes, I had friends, good friends who have still remained a very strong part of my life, but there were also those bullies who made me miserable. I've wondered about those of the latter bunch, that if it weren't for them, would I have been so driven to get the *bleep* out of the city that I grew up in?
In 1993 when Tupac was still alive and Janet had a six-pack and braids, I was dreaming myself away from Scarborough.
Gawd how I hated that place.

Today I woke up.
Walked to the studio.
Responded to emails.
Worked on 2 rough sketches.
Had a phone meeting.
Worked on 1 final illustration.

2010-09-28T14:17:00.000-07:00

TICK TICK TICK
I got back into town this morning, but spent most, if not all of my ride transcribing the notes from yesterday's class at MICA. Teaching this class is not only exciting, and exhausting but incredibly challenging as well because I have never had to assemble anyone other than myself to create a unified body of work. I don't feel only like an art director, but also like a project manager because. Like I said, this is such a fascinating experience because there are so many different facets of the production to coalesce. But more than anything we really don't know how The Snow Queen production is going to end up looking like.

I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a tinge of anxiety within me.
But I am no stranger to that feeling, and so, I expect it to surface especially when I try new things. This place of in-between that I talk and write so much about, well, I'm in it again. I think spending some time in there really helps to build character and separates me from my super ego because it's my super ego that tells me oftentimes that I should not do something because it is too challenging and therefore will make me sad, frustrated, or hurt. I can say that so far, I have felt only one of these feelings (frustration) but conversely the amount of positive feelings that I'm getting in return far outweighs that frustration.
I have also managed to quell this anxiety because I have such a slammin' group of students who are incredibly articulate, talented, charismatic and hard working, a fantastic director (who makes me feel like I'm in grad school studying theatre design even though I have never been to grad school), a brilliant producer who comes up with genius ideas even when he's been worked into the ground himself, and an extremely pragmatic and efficient theatre manager.
Wait, that sounded like I was just awarded an Oscar or Grammy.
Did I ever confess that I used to want to be a back-up dancer for Janet Jackson or some rnb group in the 80s like Bel Biv Devoe?
Tick
Tick
Tick
My day consisted of, as I started to explain, transcribing and simplifying my notes from the class' discussion about the production last night, and then to try to organize it in a way that could inspire new assignments, and how to make use of class time, and enlist the help of others to construct some of the parts for the production (I'm talking sets and costumes).
When I arrived at my studio, I immediately began to respond to emails, and then started to work on rough sketches that I have due for two tomorrow. I picked up three freelance gigs last Friday (which made me a bit nervous because I still have not settled into my new schedule of teaching at two schools, advising a graduate student, teaching one class online, working on my freelance illustration assignments and trying to watch the new season of Dexter at the bar down the street from where I live... ha!)
Again, I sound as though I'm complaining, but I'm not I'm describing some of my daily routines.
So in the midst of working on these rough sketches for clients, I was persuaded somehow to begin laying out some of the visuals from the Snow Queen production (you can see it at snowqueenremix.tumblr.com) only because I started to feel slightly overwhelmed about the possibility of not being able to create a sense of visual consistency amongst the images that I was receiving from my students.
The thing with me is that I have a tendency to think too much. That if my thoughts are not transcribed onto paper, then they continue to waft and curl around inside of my head. So I knew at that point that I had to appease this obsession of mine and so I pulled up some of the visuals that I had of my students work, which were beautifully done, by the way, and started to piece them together randomly to create pleasing and unified compositions. Honestly, I got lost in this process for a while, and then after posting it online, got back to my freelance work.
Now, I'm going to work for a bit more, and then head to SVA to check out the MFA Illustration students' book project exhibition. I'm excited to see the gorgeous work on display.
* The illustration at the top of the page was done for Reader's Digest; it's a piece about memory loss.

2010-09-27T08:28:00.001-07:00

SHOW ME
I just got back from teaching not so long ago.

I don't want to mislead you, I didn't work right up until 11pm - I grabbed some dinner afterwards.
It was an incredibly exhausting, but wonderful class. David Drake who is my co-instructor at MICA and Director for The Snow Queen production was present today to help flesh out the direction of the production. The way the course is split up is that I will act as Art Director for the first half of the semester, while David will arrive mid-way to the end to finish up the visuals and begin the staging of the production. It was such good timing because we need all the time that we can get to resolve the visuals and make them cohesive within the production. Very difficult to accomplish since there are about 15 students in my class ranging from Sophomore, Junior, and Senior, all of whom have different points of view; however, I'm incredibly confident that it can be done.
Class discussion today was again very productive, much of the class seemed driven and enthusiastic to participate. I find that typically class revolves around critiques which are lead by the instructor and seldom inspires dialogue amongst the students whose work is not being analyzed - this is something that I have never really enjoyed, as both a student and as an instructor. Although I see the value in listening to and engaging in the critique of someone else's work, I also understand how it can quickly become mundane, and yes, I admit, uninteresting. But today's class did not feel that way at all to me.
Perhaps part of it has to do with the fact that this experience is equally new for me, as it might be for most of the students, and even though I understand how similar the process of creating the visuals for a theatre production can be aligned to the process of illustration, there is still a great amount of knowledge to be learned. I wrote about change in the previous entry, and I probably will do so again in future entries. Change in this case means challenge for me, to position myself humbly within a new situation and truly become open to new ways of approaching image making. As much as I can see the similarities between theatre design and illustration, the translation from the latter to the former does not happen as quickly as I would like for it to. Still, I conceive that I've tried enough new things that lay outside of my discipline to know that nobody was ever born an expert, and that it's the trying-and-failing, and trying-and-questioning, and trying-and-trying that will lead to a person success. Passion, persistence, sincerity and humility might not ensure me a gold medal within my profession, but it does make my heart feel good.

* The image at the top of the page is done by Alexa and Danielle, two of my students from MICA; the images were two illustrations for The Snow Queen production that I pieced together, and adjusted in Photoshop to create a digital collaboration.

2010-09-26T09:04:00.000-07:00

LISTS

After watching about 5 episodes of Lost, Season 3 yesterday evening I realized at around 9:30pm that I had another set of sketches that would be due on Monday. Gasp! This meant that I wasn't able to head out last night, as I intended. In any event, I've been pretty beat up from the schedule that I've been keeping as of late.
I've begun teaching at MICA (Maryland Institute College of Art) on Mondays, which means that I have to commute to Baltimore Monday mornings, teach a 5-6 hour class, and then head back to New York on Tuesday to get back to my freelance work. I'm not the only one, however, Frank Stockton, bad-ass illustrator is doing the same, although he teaches a 12 hour day. That said, he is several years younger than me, so it must be those young genes that keep him vivacious.
Has anyone ever called you vivacious, Frank?

Today I woke up at around 7am because my dog was barking to tell me that she went pee in the bathroom, and therefore wanted her snack. I tried to ignore her, but then decided to wake up. I figured that if I got some work done earlier, then I could free up the rest of my day, and then maybe finish up the last bit of my work in the evening. Sundays are the days when my boyfriend and I hang out since both of us work so much; it's necessary to keep my personal life intact instead of pouring every part of my soul into my art because I've learned that those good feelings associated with achievement and recognition that I receive from my career, as important as they are, can be fleeting. That's not to say that I take them for granted; my career is incredibly important, but equally, it can become really lonely when all I have is my career to keep me company. I should know, I've tried it, and I don't like. Still, it continues to be an incredible to challenge to balance my personal and professional lives.
After leaving my apartment, I made my way to a cafe a few blocks away where I decided to have my breakfast and respond to some interview questions for a book for which I'll be contributing. I had almost forgotten about that as well. This has been happening quite often - my forgetfulness. I don't want to attribute it to middle-age memory loss, or the embryonic stages of early alzheimer's (knock... knock... knock...on wood) but I think it has more to do with the fact, that I've had more-to-do in addition to my freelance illustration work. I said to my intern the other day that I'm finding that I have so much paperwork and other peripheral things to do in addition to actually drawing. I spend the first couple of hours in the morning, sifting through emails, writing people back, invoicing, booking keeping, doing office administrative tasks that when I'm done with those things I have to take a few minutes to exhale and then start the next component of my day. This of course doesn't happen everyday, but it happens often enough that I come to expect it to occur.
As a result, I've started to keep lists like the one that is posted at the top of this entry. It's my action list, and it's taken from a book that I'm currently reading called, "Making Ideas Happen" by Scott Belsky, founder of Behance - the design Think-tank in New York. My friend who works there gave me a copy, which I began to read immediately.
Through anecdotes and case studies Scott presents ways in which creative types can learn to organize their lives, via maintaining and prioritizing their to-do lists, in order to grow their businesses. Yes, I wrote life not career, because it includes one's personal and business lives; it's the marriage of these two things that quantifies the idea of fulfillment. It's been tough to try to keep this list up from day-to-day, and I've missed a few days here and there, but so far doing so has prevented me from getting too distracted working on things outside of what must be done in the present.

So when I arrived into the studio I responded to some emails, critiqued a student's sketch from the class that I teach at SVA (School of Visual Arts) and then I began to work on my rough sketchs, which I'll aim to finish this afternoon/evening, and then put on the finishing touches to my illustrations for Runner's World, after which I'll complete my aforementioned interview, and then go over my notes for Monday's class.
Phewf.
Thank goodness for that list.

2010-09-25T06:08:00.000-07:00

DAY ONE
I embrace change, but at the same time change for me has sometimes taken the form of completely letting go those objects and people and relationships that I have cultivated and nurtured in the past. It's not a good thing, I admit, and I've been working very diligently to address this flaw in me, which is why although my gut tells me to delete this Blogger account and to begin again, fresh, using Tumblr, which I confess is much more beautifully designed, I've chosen otherwise and will resume my Blogger posts. My ambivalence about my past allows me to keep a thread that trails backwards into nostalgia, and sometimes I wonder if I do this because I like romantic things. Nostalgia for me is romantic, not the kind of romance that exists between lovers, but the kind of feeling that you get when you revisit a place that you've forgotten, and then see meaning and stories within the most mundane objects or locations; the sensation is fleeting as it rocks your heart slightly, but I love it all the same. I think this is what Ben Shahn labeled as blood memories in his book, The Shape of Conent; those memories that are born out of one's own experiences which bind to one's core, to his/her blood, which grown into and become an intrinsic part of oneself. These are the memories that I associate with nostalgia, however large or small, they are like a series of coming-of-ages that occur throughout my life, many times over wherein which I gain little bits knowledge to help express more of who I am, as I move into the future.

I have decided that I would like to track my daily routines over the course of year, but I'm puzzled about what to write. I wonder if it will be boring because let's face it, it probably will - there are very few people who get to experience interesting things within their lives on a daily basis - but I wonder if something unknown to me will surface throughout this process through my not-knowing. Either way, I will try nonetheless and if phases it out, then so be it, but if I can keep it up for 365 days, then maybe I will take something away from it that is profound, interesting, curious, intriguing?
I've been at the studio since about 8:30am, and awake since 7:00am. For these last few months, I've been waking up quite early; I love to begin my day this way - I'm not so much of a night person, and do my best work during the day, once it hits about 5pm, I can feel my body slow down. I've spoken to people who don't really understand the level of exhaustion that I can feel when I'm working because all they see is that I am doing something that I truly love, which is drawing. However, the energy that goes into conceiving images and the process of splitting oneself into two parts, the artist/creator and the critic, oftentimes tires me out. This is not a sob story, just a description of the way that I feel sometimes while I am working - that it is indeed work.
I do little experiments on my own, for my sake, like I am doing now, as I write this in order to provide some variation within my day, so that I am not obsessively focused on that drawing in front of me. Part of my fear of doing so, of being so precious with all of my illustration work is that I will measure it alongside other work within the industry, those of my peers - my friends, the recognition it may or may not receive, and how much of it is linked to my ego and level of confidence in what I do. Fortunately the more that I lose myself in my work, the more that I become mesmerized by my process, those demons that take me to that creative wilderness and whisper shitty things into my ear become measly musings that float around inside my head while I work between the sessions of Wham and TLC and 80s and 90s hip hop and rnb that I listen on Pandora radio.
My early mornings have become the ritual of my day that I relish now because it is quiet and allows for me to sit on my own. For years I have fallen into (the mistake) of believing that because I work so hard, that I should party equally the same. But I realize now, that I cannot manage that way of living anymore. My weekend mornings used to start off with me sleeping-in, with work beginning in the late morning or early afternoon. But over the past several weeks I have been mindful to get about 7-8 hours of sleep each night, and as a result have woken up early (sans hangover) to gain about a 4 hour head start than what I used to have. And it's wonderful to walk to my studio, through the projects, past the pretzel factory where the night workers have ended their shifts and are finally heading home in the morning, and up into the deli where the coffee is freshly brewed and the fruit newly stacked on the racks; and when it's hot during the summer, to see the fire hydrants leak water, forming pools within the concrete gulleys, where the curb meets the street, turn into a spot where 15 to 20 pigeons bathe themselves in the heat.
So here are the events that transpired today after arriving at the studio:

I ate breakfast, which consisted of a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich, and a large coffee.
I did an online critique of a student's sketch who was absent in one of my classes, and
I wrote (I am writing) this entry.

Once I post this entry, I plan to work on a commissioned illustration piece that is due on Monday, which I already began yesterday, and will hopefully be able to finish that tonight, after which I will begin another commissioned piece either tonight or tomorrow (it's due on Monday, as well).
Welcome to the first post of my daily routines.
* The illustration at the top of the page was done for The Atlantic Monthly magazine.

2010-09-24T06:03:00.001-07:00

REPLAY

I was asked by a publisher to contribute some images to a book that will be coming out devoted to illustrated portraits. I have never been very good at rendering the likenesses of characters -- I can do it, but it takes me quite a while to get it just right. I understand that it takes practice, and that much of it has to do with strict observation and being able to translate it properly onto the page; even the slightest tweak to a person's proportion in his/her face can set it off incorrectly. I am amazed even moreso by those artists who can exaggerate the features of a person's face because when I do it, it just looks awful.

But this is not what my post is about.
The images above (2 of them actually) were a couple of illustrations that I did a few years ago; the top image is of The Beatles, beneath that is Beyonce, and the third is (chef) Anthony Myint. All of these images had already been published but looking back at them again, I decided to revise them slightly; there were things about the originals that were bothering me. That happens sometimes, for whatever reason, the deadline is too tight and I take the job, or I have too many assignments going at once, or I'm sick, or unmotivated but still have to work, and sometimes it means that I have to compromise my vision in order to create a drawing that is still publishable. I am constantly reminded of how much time factors into what we (illustrators) do on a regular basis. It's not just how well we can draw, or paint, or collage, but we also have to be able to do it within a short amount of time.
I never thought that I would do this, to pull up past work and then re-work it. This is the first time that I've done it, and in the case of the portrait of Anthony Myint, I even sent the revised illustration to the art director, with a note asking if he could re-post the illustration on the website for which it was drawn.
I'm only as good as my last piece.
My artistic journey includes improving upon what I've done in the past figuratively, even it it means exploring new disciplines, or brushing up on techniques that I've let go of in the past.
I continue to work on exercises within my studio concurrently with my professional work. These are only exercises in hopes of improving my technique, my concept ability, and introducing new colour schemes into my work. That said, it's also incredibly fun to do. To know that whatever content I choose to render and create can appear in whatever type of shape or form that I desire. Something that I did the other day was copy a photo of a person that I found in an old Vogue magazine; I painted it using tempera on watercolour paper. The reason why I chose to use an existing photograph is because it took the pressure off having to conceive of what to draw. Using the photo easily facilitated my want to just shove paint around on a piece of paper; this piece was not about concept, and it was not for anyone else except for myself. Oddly enough, I decided to use a grid system to translate the image from the photo onto my paper (can you believe that I had never tried this method before? and it works!) and then I fleshed out the lights and darks using graphite (as a make-shift grisaille technique) before going over it with a clear gesso and then paint. The red is done with Alizarin Crimson, some of which was mixed with Yellow Ochre; the darker part of the shadowy areas was Alizarin Crimson mixed with Prussian Blue, and sometimes with Burnt Umber, and the background is an Emerald Green. How strange it felt to actually be aware of the colours that I was putting down on the page. As a digital illustrator, I take for granted that I can move the sliders back and forth and then play around with transparencies if I choose to, and even undo some (aesthetic) decisions that I make while drawing. I swear that at one point I saw my left index finger and thumb nudge and rock a little bit, searching for the Ctrl + z keys.

2010-09-02T12:03:00.000-07:00

The Snow Queen

On Monday I traveled to MICA where I will be teaching the course Studio Remix, to create an adaptation of "The Snow Queen," by Hans Christian Andersen. It was an incredible and serendipitous moment when I got the call from Jose Villarrubia (thanks to a referral from my great friend Yuko Shimizu) to head the class along with David Drake, fabulous theater director and actor.
So many names.
My apologies, but it helps to frame the story.
Together we are working with our students to construct a version of Andersen's fairytale that is rooted in present day with some fantastical elements.
To stop and think silently to myself about it makes the project seem quite daunting, but as we concretize each step along the way, the anxiety that comes with tackling such an impressive assignment begins to wan.
This is such a relevant project not just in way of the meaning that we've chosen to derive from the story as being one of the protagonists' coming of age, but also that the illustration work that we are doing is being placed within a different forum. As the landscape of illustration continues to change, new opportunities are beginning to surface. It's exciting to be a part of this, for the students to witness and experience the breadth and new functionality of their work and collaboration.
I'm keeping the details vague, as the project has not yet been fleshed out entirely, however there might be options which favour a more multi-media approach when using their work.
I understand that animation and projections, and sounds effects and sculptures have existed for years, but I think that in a traditional Illustration learning environment those uses and applications have been held at a distance; not on purpose, but rather because there was no immediate need to combine disciplines. When the world is rich and there are so many choices, it's easy to create so much separation and so much categorical division because there is a demand for everything. But when the economy shrinks and the pool gets smaller, or perhaps alters its form -- what then?
No, I'm not suggesting that Illustrators become Jacks and Janes of all trades, but if we're to use this analogy maybe cultivating a relationship with that playful part of ourselves could give rise to innovation.
I'm hoping that these students will see and become inspired by the new role that their work will play, and align illustration in general with video and animation, with sculpture and fine art, and with graphic design and performance.
How exciting.
You can track the development of our production on tumblr.com
(Yeah, that's right, I wrote tumblr... I feel like I'm sleeping with my lover's cousin).

2010-07-23T14:52:00.001-07:00

DON'T YOU TRUST ME?

I've been illustrating for about 9 years now; I graduated from the Ontario College of Art and Design in 1999, but I started illustrating full time in 2001. Fortunately, I've been entirely self-sufficient on my illustration work since then. Before that, I was only getting enough work to subsidize my income by a few hundred dollars a month.
Since then, I've done so much illustration work, averaging about 100 jobs per year when I was first starting out. Granted, the illustrations that I did back then make my eyes bleed when I look at them now, but from time to time, I pull them out of storage, and like old journals, I review them. The pictures remind me of where I came from, of moments in time; I remember the feelings that some of them stir inside of me, the conversations that I had with friends about my processes, the celebration and feelings of frustration and rejection when I look at others. But I look at them because I like to be reminded of where I've been in order to move forward. Some people are able to clip the thread that links their past and present, but I choose to gather mine occasionally and then walk the length of them backwards to see where I began.
It keeps me humble, and hopeful that I have gotten this far, and still have so much distance to travel, although my path has gone in directions that I never anticipated.

To date, I work on a lesser number of projects per year; probably about 60 in total, which means that I've completed close to 1000 projects over the past 9 years.
I don't believe that many of us are ever ready to begin freelancing, I think that it starts when one has a portfolio that is good enough to get work, but not as great as it could be.
Am I being elusive?
When I began, I made sure that I went looking for clients and freelance work with a portfolio that had a relatively cohesive style.
Gasp! I said that word.
Nail me for it.
I wasn't ready at all to illustrate professionally, but I did it because it was the logical next step after I graduated. Some of us feel at this stage, that our portfolios are not fully resolved enough to the degree that we would like to show it to clients and art directors. I agree with this in part. I do believe that not everything needs to be revealed to others immediately after it's completed. There is much to be said about strategy, and of the perfect time to strike; and to hold onto to one's work, and to develop it for just a bit longer until one feels confident enough to unveil his/her oeuvre to the world. Some pieces exist better when it is contained within a larger body of work. And some messages are better communicated when there are other pieces to support the visual vocabulary that it contains. There is so much expectation placed on the young illustrator that s/he needs to explode out of art college with a client list spooged onto the front on his/her pants. But for most, it's much more common that one struggles at getting work at the beginning.

Although I chose to look for freelance work soon after graduation, it was an extremely daunting task because I wasn't entirely ready. What I mean is that my work was defined too much by my professors who defined the program; their styles, their processes, their way of thinking and seeing; what illustration meant to them. And so, after about one year, I discarded these images and began from scratch, creating (digital) drawings that I liked; reintroducing a kind of playfulness and honesty into my work. The four years that I spent in art college ( I like to call it four years of foundation studies) served me well, and taught me many things, but all of this knowledge and opinion, was swirling around in my head. I created pieces based on what I thought a successful illustration should be, the crtiques, the critic, the judge became such an integral part of me that I could no longer see my work. The artist Ben Shahn writes in his book, "The Shape of Content" in reference to the role that crtiques play within (visual) arts academia that "as criticism itself flourishes particularly within the universities... the critical circle has formed itself into a small cultural nucleus which exerts a powerful influence, one not free of snobbery, upon the arts--a Gorgon-like power that turns the creative artist into stone." (1) I wasn't sure of what to draw or paint anymore for fear of it not being correct. As a result I decided to unlearn (or at least put aside some of what I learned) and investigate which of this information was useful and could move my artistic endeavours foreward. So after some months these new pieces grew into a new portfolio, that described my point of view, and the kind of work that I wanted to do.

If you understand the type of work that you want to do
If you understand what you want to say through your work
If you understand why you want to do this type of work
Then your clients will know as well.

Some would have said that I was not yet ready to look for work. The illustrations within my portfolio were not entirely developed, and lacked so much in way of aesthetics and content. But regardless, I responded to the eagerness inside of me, and that with a combination of luck, and stubbornness (thank you for that adjective Katia) tenacity, and the help of my first agent, my freelance work began.

The illustrations above were done for Plansponsor and Planadviser magazines, art directed by Soojin Buzelli, who is one of my favourite art directors of all time. She understands collaboration in the purest sense by retaining the artist's vision within each piece and suggesting ways of enhancing it without over art directing.

(1) Shahn, Ben. "The Shape of Content." (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1985) 21.

2010-07-17T05:29:00.000-07:00

DID I JUST SPEND 2/3RDS OF MY BLOG ENTRY WRITING ABOUT CRITIQUES?

I got up pretty early today.

Actually, I'm in the studio as I'm writing this and have been here for almost 2 hours now.
Last night I stayed in and watched "Suspiria," the 1977 cult witch horror film by Dario Argento, famed horror film director (side note, if there are any students who are taking my Studio Mix class at MICA in September, this is definitely one film worth watching; the entire environment appears like a stage set; the obvious simplicity of it make it truly gorgeous. Argento transforms these sets from clean and sterile, to abstractly lush, to bloodily horrific).
I'm digressing.
A follow up to my last post; work suddenly picked up at the beginning of July which was great because I was starting to worry a bit. I've learned over the years the importance of keeping track of my income on a monthly basis because as a freelancer it can change so much. As there is no salary cap for freelancers, it's easy to be mislead as to how much I'm making over the course of the year, and then to lose track of things. Seeing my figures every month, and then measuring it against how much I expect to earn in a year helps to keep my business moving forward like a business. I know that the recession is over, but this news still has to make it's way from The Streets, to the corporations, and then finally to the masses. I'm still feeling the sting of the financial slap from last year.
Anyone have some tea tree oil?
I'm long past playing drawing as a hobby.
I've said it many times over: illustration is the art and business of communication.

The recent show that I was in at the Christopher Henry Gallery has helped me resolve some issues that I have been steeping inside of me for years now, the distinction between fine art and illustration.
I know that it's not even necessary for some, but for me, it has bugged me ever since I was in art college.
But, now I don't care so much anymore.
I understand that every artistic discipline has their own intention.
Period.
No need for contentious thoughts.
Just move past and ignore those demons who feel that one form of art or design is better than another.
Of course the world needs critics.
Do we need critics?
I mean, I get paid to be a critic 30 weeks out of the year.
Yes, I believe we do need critics.
Critiques help provide us with another way of seeing the world; or our (art)work as a microcosm of that, and gives us distance from this (work of ours) so that we're not so caught our own narcissism.
Hopefully our work becomes better because of this criticism.
Better.
Just like the words good and interesting.
However, I also think that sometimes if a person is not ready to hear, or act on, or respond to that criticism, then it's okay to accept it, like a gift, and then put it aside for use in the future.
Or not.
This critique; these opinions of others are good to have because it keeps me humble and striving to grow my work into directions that I otherwise may never have investigated.
And so for that friend who told me that. "illustrators become illustrators because they love money and can't make it as fine artists," I have to take those words, as bitter as they may sound, and place them somewhere within my box of critiques that I carry with me.
Everywhere.

I'm finally.
finally.
finding my voice, and possibly discovering how I would like to present it through my work.
Stay tuned.

Did I just spend two thirds of my blog entry writing about critiques?

More news.
The "T minus 20" show at the Christopher Henry Gallery was a success. A smack load of people turned out.
Photos above.
Whether or not any pieces were sold is beyond me; however, I believe that it was a perfect summer show, not too heady and wonderful to experience. My work was posted on a few art blogs: Daily Art, Catch Fire, and Justin Timberlake's website (gasp!)
And that's me wearing one the shirts that I made for the show. Due to technical difficulties, I decided not to sell any, but did give some away as promo items.
The hustle.
Thanks again to David G. for doing almost all of the silk screening, and to Stella for our stitch-and-bitch sessions.
I'm planning to expand this piece into a larger body of work. I've already begun some loose idea sketches. The tricky thing as many of us know is trying to balance these personal projects alongside commercial ones, because it's the latter that pays for the former.
For real.

2010-07-14T17:32:00.000-07:00

WE ARE LIKE PENDULUMS

Two nights ago I walked from Houston, and Lafayette to the Meatpacking district. It was strange because I had never really done that before. Sounds odd, I know; not the walk, but rather that I'm writing about it. It was the first time in a long while that I saw the city as new again. Like many people, I define myself by my neighbourhood. Part of the reason why I have chosen to live in Brooklyn (aside from the lower rent) is because there is a familiarity about it, in that parts of it remind me of Toronto, but also, it's a place where I feel encouraged and inspired. Walking down East 9th street, and then crossing 6th Avenue, heading west on 13th Street, was a complete trip. I don't think that I ever walked this route before, and if I did, I don't remember, nor have I taken notice of it. I stopped upon seeing some large white pillars in the distance of a Presbyterian church.

Why do large white pillars make me swoon?

Above is an idea that I'm working on for my animation class. We're expected to create a (very) short animated piece for our final project. So far, it's not going so well. I've very loosely story-boarded my idea, but what's getting in the way now, is my lack of experience with animation itself. It's completely baffling how I can render scenes and objects from various angles, but then when it comes to making them move within a three-dimensional space, I feel like I'm learning how to draw and think again for the first time. People have suggested that I work with an animator in order to make my pictures move, and to not waste my time learning how to do something that I will probably never be an expert in.
I understand that.
However, my reasons for wanting to learn it on my own comes from a different place.
Process for me is extremely important, and I talk about it a lot. There are many times where I get frustrated because all I ever seem to be is in the midst of the process; in the midst of not knowing. And it makes no sense to position myself in such an uncomfortable spot. It's the opposite of where I would want to be: I like comfort.
Don't most people?
But choosing to sit in these spaces of in-between allows me a greater chance of discovery, of coming across, or inventing something new.

Maybe?

P.S. I know I have tons of tweening to do. But I was happy that I added a bit of a twist to the character instead of it just letting him flip flop back and forth like a pendulum.

2010-07-05T09:28:00.000-07:00

*MACHOMAN

The past year has been a bit of a struggle for me.
Things tapered off near the end of 2009, and then started up again with steady work in the new year. But now, other than one project that I'm revising, I really have nothing much lined up for the month of June. Typically, I'm booked about 4-6 weeks in advance, and turn down work (out of the fear of doing a shitty job if I take on too much).
But nowadays, things are different.
Editorial projects have decreased, and depending on the magazines, some of the budgets have been negatively affected, or frozen. Yuko says that the summer months are typically slower than other months (since some magazines double up on their summer issues). For me, summer over the past 3 years has meant Summer School (1-2 month residencies that happen every day) and so with that going on, I never really noticed the slow down of the pace of work too much. But now that I'm no longer participating in such programs, I'm becoming more aware of the break of summer.

If I were more business minded I could probably distance myself from what is going on right now, and realize that what we're in is part of a business cycle that trends up and down. So during those down periods, it becomes important to reevaluate one's work, and possibly find a new place for it within the market, as well as new means by which to distribute one's work.
However, to be quite honest, on a visceral level, I feel somewhat like a lost 23 year old who recently graduated from art college with a diploma in illustration, and a full time job in retail, fumbling over my supplies, creating stuff - any stuff - hoping that it will carry with it my creative voice, and also appeal to a market that is willing to receive it openly.

I remember years ago, I went to Habourfront, in Toronto, to listen to Ethan Hawke read from his book "The Hottest State. " He said that many people gave him flack because they thought he was using his Hollywood clout, and wealth to realize a book deal. Although I believe it surely helped him, he also convincingly described how even with that type of support, he still had to go through the motions of creating something close to his heart, and then throw it out there for the heavens to receive it, or for the hyenas to maul. Whether or not he would receive a positive response was unpredictable, but in the meantime he described the experience of doing so (and possibly failing) like being on a boat and vomiting over the edge in front of onlookers. Don't get me wrong, I understand that having a shit load of money places him, or anyone else in his situation at a starting block further ahead of those who have-not, or who have-less, however, my connection to his story was more on a visceral level. How does one get past the procrastination, and the demons that whisper in one's ear that s/he cannot accomplish what they're setting out to do?
It's so easy to surrender.

Surrender.

We all know that the surface of our industry beneath us is shifting.
It will be interesting to see who comes out of this recession intact, and thriving, and to also see the new faces of the younger illustrators who begin to appear, seduce, and then grow the industry in a new direction.
I have 2 interns right now, both of whom I am inspired by each time they enter my studio; part of the reason is that I receive from them a bright-eyed and openness to explore new things. My path since I was in school was to become an illustrator whose focus was on print.
But now, I see the limits of it.
Not many of us can control how much we get paid. Yes, history is on our side in the sense that we have established a basis for how much to charge, as well, we rely on each other, our friends and colleagues to help retain a price structure, but based on the interviews that I've read, and the comments that I've heard, the amount of money that we've gotten paid in editorial has not really changed in decades.
We're long past the days where advertisers paid loads of money to buy space in a magazine; there are so many other outlets nowadays for companies to advertise, which means that unless editorial takes a turn and all these publications morph into a multimedia format where companies begin buying ad space in the form of motion graphics/commercials within the magazine itself, I'm not sure how else our print editorial industry can expand, because advertisers are the reasons why many of these magazines function. And so, if the readership of these books, and magazines, and newspapers are diminishing, chances are that we illustrators will ultimately be on the receiving end of all of this. And even if this happens - if magazines translate themselves into an digital format, will the benefits be carried over to the illustrator? Will our prices and budgets have to be adjusted for a new editorial format? And if so, will we be getting paid more, or less, or the same?
I don't know.
These are some of the things that I've been thinking about, and as a result, I'm trying to make my work more experiential. I'm exploring projects that make me uncomfortable even if it has or doesn't have an illustrative application; I'm making tons of mistakes along the way, but each step that I take, these mistakes seem to be minimized. I've hit so many blocks and wasted money that could otherwise be spent in more productive ways. However, I keep telling myself that if I build it then it will come. Right now, I think it's anyone's game.

* The images above entitled, Machoman are for a group show that I'm in called, "T Minus 20," at the Christopher Henry Gallery, this Thursday, July 8, from 6-9pm. Location is at 127 Elizabeth Street, between Broome and Grand in Nolita.

2010-05-30T09:08:00.000-07:00

I'M GOOD. HOW ARE YOU?

I've been sitting in the same spot in this cafe for over 2 hours now, catching up on some administrative work that I have, but above that, I'm just enjoying the weather.
The drawing above, is a scene that I drew a moment ago while looking outside of the window... with my stylus and laptop.

How strange.
I'm using my laptop as a sketchbook.

I forget sometimes to take breaks. I get so caught up in the idea of having to execute the ideas that I have lingering inside my head, that I eventually find myself sitting in a room with projects that are half born. I read somewhere that having too many ideas, working on too many projects at once is equivalent to working on none at all. I'm not sure if I believe this theory because I still feel productive sitting in a heap, and mess of supplies. The issue that I have is trying to get over the fact that not all of it has to result in generating income - at least not yet. I forget how long it takes to create a body of work that is good.
Good.
What a word.
It's just like describing something as interesting.

2010-05-19T18:32:00.000-07:00

ART DAY

On Monday from 1:00pm until about 4:00pm was my art day. I have been working so much over the past few months and so I was due for a break. After about 9 years, I finally understand how many jobs I need to take on per week, how much money I need to make per month in order to cover my overhead: quarterly tax payments, apartment, studio, operation costs, and a few other necessary monthly items. Staring at the computer day in and day out, working my mind to try to come with concepts, moving from thumbnail to rough sketch to tight sketch to final can be exhausting sometimes. That said, these are not complaints at all, only truths about my profession.
So when I finished a deadline on Monday afternoon, I thought that it would be best to finally head into the city to see some art.

Feed my eyes.
Feed my soul.
If I have nothing going in
Then I have nothing pouring out.

I have been dying to see William Kentridge's exhibit at the MOMA; fortunately I caught it on the last day. It was magical, and I believe I spent almost 2 hours inside this one exhibit, not speaking to anyone, but just in awe, absorbing everything around me, sound, image, movement. I finally had a chance to see the scenes from "The Magic Flute"; the opera that he designed was presented as a scaled down model, in one of the rooms, with audience seating in front of it. It was a convivial mix of pattern, line, light, and dark, pictures smudged and scrawled metamorphosing into one thing or another into blackness and then at one point interacting with Kentridge, himself. On display was some of his large and small drawings, monoprints, and etchings; some as-is, and others part of the pictures used to create his stop-motion animation. The last image is one of Kentridge interacting with his drawings.
Also at the MOMA was Marina Ambramović's performance, "The Artist Is Present." I wasn't sure of what to expect because I didn't do any prior research before heading to the museum, but what I saw was quite powerful. The artist sat there in her creamy white gown and just stared into the person seated across from her. She resembled a statue, stoic and gorgeous. Part of me thought about wanting to ask how I could participate, but the idea of doing so intimidated me. It's strange to look into someone's eyes , or rather have them look into mine, without softening into any type of expression, except to remain still. The idea that someone can see my soul if they stare hard enough into my eyes, feels very real at that moment. I tried it once about 2 weeks ago, and it made me very uncomfortable. Ambramović's performance lasts for the entire 3 months (the duration of the exhibition) during the hours that the museum is open.

2010-05-11T06:01:00.001-07:00

MY SOFT WHITE BUNS

This is the second post for these photos (I had to erase the first one because it sort of went off tangent - so typical of me)
That said, I'm going to keep this one short and sweet (or rather savoury).
These are some buns filled with vegetables that I made a couple of nights ago, ones that I grew up eating. I called my mother on a whim and she walked me through the recipe over the phone.
This is my first attempt.
Needless to say there were definitely some issues:
1) I got bored while I was making them (it took 4 hours from start to finish)
2) They weren't as flavourful compared to the ones that my mom, aunt and grandmother made.

Back to the chopping board.

2010-05-05T20:15:00.000-07:00

WHY I DRAW

Sometimes when I'm sitting in class and listening to my Fiction Writing Professor talk about the process of writing, my mind begins to drift; not in a way that I fail to hear what he's saying, but I start to align his words alongside my craft of drawing and illustration. I have a terrible time with labels, assigning and boxing things neatly (or not -) into some kind of space and then call it a name. You'll notice that I switch between the words, art, and craft, and illustration, and design, and drawing in many of my posts -- and when I do, I think it's because I'm starting to see them more and more each time as being extremely similar to one another in a sense that they share so many of the same traits. Although there are many people who I'm sure can clinically delineate the difference between each of these disciplines, including myself, ultimately, I'm beginning not to care so much any more.

When I was 13 years old, I clearly remember saying out loud that I wanted to draw for a living. Back then, I had no clue what I was talking about because I didn't know anyone who made money from their drawings. When we moved to Canada, my father worked in a factory and my mother did data entry at her first and only job for decades. Drawing was not practical in their eyes, and as a result I could not foresee that it would take care of me.

There were moments when I thought that I would give up on drawing. In third year art college, I almost dropped out of school even before the semester began. I wanted to, I needed to move out of my parents home, and so I thought that I would stay working full time at a clothing factory in a suburb of Toronto to save up enough money for rent. Had I done so, I have no clue where I would be now, fortunately for my sake I snapped out of this delusion of mine, and with the help of my brother and sister, stayed in art college for the remaining years, and then moved out shortly after. During this time, I probably drew more feircely than ever because I guessed at that moment, that I had no other choice. In a way, I cast all of my hopes and frustrations into this particular discipline wanting so badly for it to lift me out of the place that I was in.

I drew some more.

I sometimes look at my drawings and wonder if are they good or if they are not. I understand that if the drawing has been commissioned by someone else, that there are reasons that make it successful; that in addition to the aesthetic component, that it needs to communicate an idea and have a concept, and satisfy a viewership. I know all of this, I believe it, and I teach this to my students: content is paramount. But when I distance myself from my work and really stare at it, surface and content together, the parts of it that are not so good begin to reveal themselves to me. I have always fantasized about being a great artist, like the ones whose books I keep on my shelf. They are the ones who are able to manage shape and line in such a way that make me feel that they have exclusivity to use them. The ones who employ colour with such beautiful ease, as though they were the ones who gave birth to such colours. But I know that for many of them, or at least, I tell myself, that I believe not all of this came easily for any of them. Not any of this came quickly either.

I recently opened up Charley Harper's book, the one that was put together by Todd Oldham, and it makes me feel good because the pictures in it reminded me - it reminds me of why I draw. The photos of Harper's work span his entire lifetime, showing images of drawing as the content. The way in which he relates colour to one another is magical and the restraint that he holds in his brush when rendering the details of the figures and objects convinces me that there is a reason and place for every mark that he puts down. And even though he is one of these artists who I have come to revere, I am learning to appreciate the work that he is done as just that, work that he has done. I try to remind myself now of the importance of the act of drawing, drawing for drawing sake, not drawing for money sake, nor for the sake of fame, or for the sake of trying to be like someone else. These things grow less important to me.

And so I draw.

I draw because I enjoy simply moving the paint around on the page, and stylus on the tablet. I enjoy mixing colours and arranging them next to each other to create patterns. I enjoy making marks on the pages and allowing them to twist and turn into something figurative or abstract. I draw because I have things that I want to say that I might not be able to express through words, through actions. I draw because when I do, the world around me falls away. I draw because it makes me feel good.

*This post was inspired by Joan Didion's essay, "Why I Write."

2010-04-16T21:47:00.000-07:00

BREATHE AGAIN

James Blagden came to talk to my class on Thursday afternoon, and it was probably one of the most refreshing and genuine talks that I've heard in a while. It was great to hear about his transition from student to professional, and to listen to him speak about his approaches to illustration, or rather art in general.
If you've been keeping up with my posts then you'll understand where I am in reference to my own art, my craft, my design, my illustration. It's so difficult for me to compartmentalize them all, but really -- do I need to?
I just spent about 3 hours playing around with Photoshop and Flash, trying to make a crudely done animation (I just took a look at it on my blog and it's quite dreadful, but it's one of my first few attempts at animating in Flash since 2001 - I've done some other ones which are even crappier). I didn't think about concept or content, rather it was inspired by my getting acupuncture today. Yes, another whim of mine. Actually that's a lie, it's not a trite experience, rather I'm trying to find ways to reduce my allergies without having to go for weekly shots. I love spring, but it comes with some consequences. I must have been incredibly exhausted because at one point I found myself snoring on the floor of my apartment with a bunch of needles in my face, hands, and shins.
In my head, before I drew the person lying down receiving acupuncture, I had a very different kind of visual in mind. But as I continued, I realized that not everything that I do needs to be so precious. Sometimes the work is enough. It's not about hitting every mark, every time; it's not about having to seek out a future usage or application for everything I do, sometimes the simple act of mark making is all that is required to have a successful day at the studio. It's something that I learned from an instructor of mine about 2 years ago, that not everyday needs to be spent constructing a masterpiece; not all of the marks and lines, or colours or shapes on the page have to turn into the final marks that the viewer sees in my final illustration. That work in progress, that temporary work, that rough work, that ephemeral work, that work that is thrown into the trash; the first draft, the mid draft, the under drawing that hasn't yet been resolved after many attempts, all of that work is valid, all of that work is necessary in creating the path that will ultimately lead to the creation the final picture.

2010-04-15T07:43:00.000-07:00

TSHIRT GRAPHICS FOR H.O.W. JOURNAL FUNDRAISER, THU MAY 6

H.O.W. (Helping Orphans Worldwide) will be hosting its Spring fundraiser and art auction this Thursday, May 6 at a private loft in Tribeca at 112 Franklin Street, 4th Floor from 7:00 - 10:00pm. Coinciding with the fundraiser is the launch of the first edition of Wearable Literature Tshirts, the proceeds of which will go towards H.O.W.
I was asked to create 4 illustrations which would be translated onto the shirts integrating the text written by various well known authors, Jonathan Ames, Amy Hempel, Rick Moody, and Honor Moore. Dave Eggers also created a exclusive Tshirt to be sold at the event (which is pretty damn cool!).
For more information and to buy tickets link to www.howjournal.com and scroll to the bottom of the page. Props go out to my good friend Fernanda Cohen's whose responsible for the bad-ass cover of the latest issue of H.O.W. Journal. Hope to see you there!

2010-04-15T07:02:00.000-07:00

JEUDI, JE T'AIME

2010-04-04T07:58:00.000-07:00

THE RATS IN MY BRAIN *

I've been thinking a lot about transition recently.
Now that we're a quarter of the way into 2010 (can someone tell me how the heck that happened?) I'm beginning to take some inventory of the work that I've done to this point, both commercial and self-initiated ones. I've begun to challenge my level of thought, wondering how to weave in new methods of working and thought into my studio practice.
As I grow and change, so does my work. I wonder if part of the reason why I am so aware and active about reshaping my present and growing it forward is because I was a late bloomer. Growing up gay in a suburb of Toronto fucks with your mind and so you create a moniker, a type of persona for your own protection and for the protection of your family. No, it's not living a lie, but it is a lot of pressure to place on any person who is so young, to make them so aware of the fact that there is a profoundly negative component about themselves that they can't change. There is no comfortable place for them in world, and as a result they crawl into a fold within themselves and present a new face, a new mask, full of creases, tucks and pleats. I was still me, but I had to shield myself from the cleft tongues of those attackers who would try to stab me with their sharp words. Moving forward, I know that I carried my awareness forward, and used art and illustration as a means to express parts of myself that otherwise would have remained dormant inside of me.
Fast forward ahead to my twenties.
It was during this time when I probably experienced a considerable amount of change in my life - so much that I needed to mark them down somehow, to have those life episodes manifested in some tangible form; I felt that I needed to concretize them to remind me of where I had been, and how far I had come.
In my late twenties I took 7 weeks off, to travel to Europe alone, and then to New York, it was about 6-7 years ago I think. I'd been working my ass off for about 3 years, post undergrad, trying to plant myself somehow amidst the community of those illustrators for whom I revered. I began in Paris, took a train into Bilbao, purposely to see the Guggenheim twice, there was an exhibit by the sculptor, Alexander Calder. Previous to this moment I felt no affinity towards his large mobiles. They were just a bunch of pieces of metal that were sprayed with shiny or matte paint, stuck together in various ways, and then hung up on the ceiling. But when I walked into the gallery space which housed so many of Calder's work, both massive and tiny, I began to feel incredibly changed and moved. The sculptures swung ever so slightly as if they weren't moving at all; if I were to walk quickly through the room, I bet I would not even have seen any movement within them, but standing beneath these monoliths and staring upwards like that, I could see the subtleties of motion. Maybe cranking my neck back like that, and staring straight towards the sky was another reason that I felt moved by his work. It's no wonder that when people are seeking out answers or relief, whether religious or not, they turn their heads up towards the sky.
As usual, I went off tangent, I didn't mean to get stuck writing about Bilbao. From there I traveled into Spain, then Portugal, back through Spain and final into Italy, where I spent my last few days in Rome before flying back to Toronto. During this time, I was having many thoughts about leaving Toronto. This sounds very cryptic, I know, but things in my life, both career and personal, needed to change. It's strange when you spend so much time alone, it persuades you to consider your life in a different way, in ways that you otherwise may not have, had you been comfortable within a spot with all of your trappings to keep you safe. Traveling to Europe and staying for 4 weeks alone meeting some people along the way, but not really experiencing any deep connection with anyone, forced me to think about things at home. I thought about the kind of work that I was doing, the partnership that I had with my first agent, the relationship that I had with my boyfriend of two years, and the kind of illustrator that I wanted to become.
When I arrived home, the first thing that I did was ride my bike throughout the city. I don't know why I did that. I mean, I had traveled so far and seen so many interesting things, met people from around the world, and yet the first thing that I did was ride my bike through downtown Toronto. Shortly after that, I decided to get a tattoo; a half sleeve and chest panel of a tiger, my lunar symbol. I was in a rush to do so because I felt so inspired and both psychology and creatively beaten down and emancipated by my trip that I needed to mark it somehow. No wonder why so many people turn to astrology for guidance (I'm not one of those people who believe in star signs and houses in the sky, but at that moment, I couldn't think of anything else that I wanted to mark my body with; the only thing that I could think of was a tiger - I wonder though, if I were a rabbit, would I still have gone through it?).
Six months later, I left my agent, broke up with my boyfriend and the started to prepare my papers for my move to New York. Part of me wondered if my doing so was escapist, that my feeling of being overwhelmed by the questions that rose during my travels, about my life, about my career, about my past and my present state of happiness caused me to want to lift myself out of the place that I was in. But all I could remember was that I wanted a new life... I wanted a new future.
* I have to give props for the title of this post - it was inspired by the lyrics from the song "Apparitions" by Matthew Good Band.

2010-04-03T19:58:00.000-07:00

I'll FORM THE HEAD

This is something that I just drew with my left hand about a minute ago: It's Voltron (Defender of the Universe) using my Pentel brush pen. Today I saw a woman straight out of the Roseanne show wearing a bleached denim jacket, baseball cap, glasses, who was sitting on her front porch belting out to the world, the "Easter Parade" song. I also almost titled this post, "Chicken bones, playing cards, chinese food and cherry blossoms" because those were the things that I saw on my way to the studio. That's my entry today. Pretty slim, I know. I had more thoughts in my head, but I'm way too exhausted to post them. Oh, and I had a very bad drawing day today. And no, it wasn't because I drew with my left hand either.

2010-03-30T07:28:00.000-07:00

The piece above is a detail of a larger drawing that I did in water colour a couple of years back. It resulted from an automatic drawing project that I was working on. There was not very much preparation in way of sketches or concept, this drawing was born out of the act of drawing itself. I recently finished an in-class project where I had my students create 30 drawings in 1.5 hours. This idea was inspired by a former instructor of mine during a summer painting program at the School of Visual Arts; however he made his students create 100 works in 4 hours. As an illustrator, my intention is to communicate a story or idea. This can align with article, or appear in the form of an advertisement for example, selling a product or service. Employing metaphor is a very popular way in which illustrators can communicate their concepts in a thought-provoking manner, sometimes we also use narratives to tell the story. I believe through practice and training one can develop and employ this approach to picture-making, much the same as how many people can be taught how to draw. However, there are moments where doing so can feel very formulaic. Although these automatic drawings, these doodles, would probably have next to no use within a commercial art forum, I believe that for me, it is beginning to find it's place alongside my commercial work to help maintain the connection that I have with my craft as an illustrator, and to help inspire my own creative growth. Giving myself an average of 3 minutes to draw or paint something over and over again for up to 4 hours doesn't allow me so much time to think about things. As a result, the kind of work that comes out of me during that period of time is like a stream of consciousness. The shapes that I decide to draw, the colours that I choose to use, the figuration or abstraction that appears, reveals itself in an authentic way because I have no time to question myself. I wonder if this is a good way to build, or to begin to create one's visual vocabulary? I have only done this a few times, and so far this process has indeed inspired a small series of finals (many of which, however, have no connection with each other). Although a body of work hasn't yet developed I'm hoping that if I continue, that somewhere down the line I will look at the work that I have created and realize that the process has resolved and evolved itself over time, through work and repetition. One cannot predict this, I believe it can only be done via experience. It's still such a different way of working for me, and still feels unsettling at times.

It's so easy to fall into a routine, a method of working wherein which one builds a comfortable environment, resting and nesting and existing within a fold of oneself; having one's community define the parameters of one's own movement within it. Speaking personally, because I've existed in this space for a few years now, it's like I've always known it, so why question it? I'm comfortable in this sanctuary that I've created, why raise questions when doing so will only cause confusion and uncertainty?

My eyes open suddenly as if pulled from a deep sleep, the constant pounding of bass and sirens of the music clobber me on the side of my head over and over again and makes its way into the back of my brain. My stomach responds by twitching, sending a message up through my esophagus and then back down again, it's as if my insides are dancing to the music. I roll over onto all fours clawing at anything to help stabilize my balance. Every contact that my hands have with any surface seems to shift. I feel the vibrations of the music on the walls, or is it me who's vibrating and forcing the walls to move? I must be dead. Hell is a strange place, the entrance to it, an underground club. How is it that I've been here so often but never stepped inside until tonight? I try again to push myself to a seated pose onto anything but the floor; standing would be better. It smells rancid, a mixture of smoke, beer, piss and shit. The odor seeps through every pore of my skin, finding entry through my eyes, ears, nails and mouth. There are no voices that call my name through the thickness of the bass, there is no hand reaching from above that will lift me out of this place. I have to get home.

I hear a knocking sound in front of me. I raise my head and try to focus my attention on the point from which the sound is coming.

"You done? There's line out here!"

I suddenly realize that I'm in a tiny bathroom, leaning up against the toilet. I push my hands against the floor, inspiring the small amount of strength that is in each muscle, bone, and tendon to raise me up to standing . I locate the handle and turn the knob. The door unlocks and I step out past a line up of bodies.
I move towards a clearing near the edge of the room, above it is the glowing red exit sign. Hell's egress, I think to myself. I move my attention towards the hallway that is just beyond the sign, but at that moment I feel a firm tug on my wrist. It throws me off balance, but I manage to stay upright.

"Sam." The voice whispers.

It's strange that I can hear his voice so clearly through the cacophony of music.

"Stay." The voice says again.
I look down at my wrist where I feel the pressure of a grip, but see nothing. The exit sign hangs closely in the distance. I look around me to try to find that voice that I heard just a moment ago. The orgy of the blaring music with the faces and dancing bodies blur and mash themselves into each other. I move past the crowd - I have to get home.

2010-03-22T04:45:00.000-07:00

HOW DOES IT FEEL?

It's going to be a tough day today. I can feel it already.
On my walk to the studio I passed by a wall of graffiti, on one of the panels was the close-up of a face of a woman with her head thrown back in laughter. It was nicely done, and stood out to me not only because the stylization of her face was very different from what I expect from graffiti imagery, but also because it reminded me of how I don't feel today.
I thought of Bruce Nauman's painting, "Face Mask" as a result of it. If you spoke to me even five years ago, I doubt that I would have appreciated a piece such as this. But now I think the visual is so interesting because it says so much with so little visual elements.
It's like we're standing behind the letters F-A-C-E.
very cool.
Face Mask; the mask that we choose to wear is the face that we show to the world.

* Face Mask, Bruce Nauman (American, born 1941).
1981. Synthetic polymer paint, charcoal, and pencil on paper, 52 1/4 x 70 7/8"

2010-03-17T14:09:00.000-07:00

BACK IN THE DAYS WHEN THINGS WERE COOL
Next Wed March 24th I will be on a panel alongside my good friends Yuko Shimizu, and Fernanda Cohen, as well as illustrator Zina Saunders and Fred Harper to talk about our first jobs - more specifically, how we got them.
After thinking about this for sometime, I realized that I had some of my paintings that I did while I was a student at art college, here in my studio (shown below).
It's very strange to hold them in my hands again, and stare at what I had done. To reiterate from a previous post, these paintings were done using acrylics and alkyds on illustration board. I was taught how to paint through observation via one of my instructor's demos.

I was a sponge.
I took notes.
I didn't blink.
I devoured as much information as I could.

I think back and wonder if my skill level could have improved had I continued along the path of painting and was formally taught how to do so.
Unfortunately, I never really enjoyed painting.
It was extremely difficult for me.
I mean, I wanted to.
I wanted to be a painter.
But it didn't feel right for me, at least it didn't feel right trying to become the painter that I thought I wanted to be.
I believe part of the reason I felt this way was because I hadn't experienced other mediums, or other creative disciplines outside of what I was already familiar with yet.
And so, in the meantime, fantasized about becoming a bad-ass painter who could render a biscuit and have my dog crash into the canvas because she thought it was real.

As a result, I left University after studying fine art for one year to go to art college to learn the techniques of painting (as well as to become a better drawer). I was very interested in honing my skills and dexterity. But as time progressed, I found that it became more and more of a painful task for me to paint. It wasn't until I was a couple of years out of school, that I finally embraced drawing as my medium. Side note, for a long time, drawing has gotten a bum rap. It was seen more as the preparatory stages of an artist's painting, or a low form of art i.e. cartoons, and illustrations, which obviously isn't the case anymore for many people.

When I was in college my hero was Anita Kunz. I remember seeing her work one day while walking along Bloor Street in Toronto, and seeing the poster that she had done for the Toronto International Film Festival.
I stopped.
And like many art lovers, I stepped as close as I could to the poster. I'm not certain if my memory is playing tricks on me, but I remember the figure on the poster was life-size. I remained fixed on the face, and peered into the eyes of the woman, Eve, who she painted. I traced the soft contours of her body with my eyes, noting the pinkness of her flesh against a raw umber/yellow ochre backdrop, and saw how the a film strip coiled around her body like a vine.
At that moment, I felt immediately that I wanted to illustrate professionally.

Anita and I are friends now, but I don't think that I ever told her this story. Her personality is as generous and beautiful as is her work.
I remember trying to memetically render my school assignments in the likeness of her paintings. Unbeknownst to her, Anita became another instructor of mine. And I admit that when you look at the work that I did while I was in school, that I was obviously her copy cat, but during that stage, I knew it was part of my learning process; that over time, with some maturity, experience and some confidence, I would grow into my own aesthetic and shed the layer of work that I did in art college. I really the appreciate the fact that none of my teachers called me out negatively about that - one or two may have mentioned it, but I don't recall ever being made to feel badly about it.
It upsets me when accusers call other artists and illustrators copy cats, especially in school where it should be a safe environment for people to learn, make mistakes and grow forward. As an instructor and illustrator I try to quantify that label, and I wonder about the validity of such a comment, and it's uselessness for both parties.
I'm reminded of my friend Philip, who in a fifth grade speech arts presentation, said that we all had prejudices. He was only 10 years old, but it did not go over well on the rest of the students. After his speech, his classmates, friends even, began to pick on him because they were offended by his accusation. But, looking back, I think that what he said was true. And in the same likeness, I wonder how much of the work that we do is truly original, and not influenced or prefaced by another illustrator and/or artist?

I have been accused of copying by others before (their names of whom I care not to mention) and I have heard this word thrown about many times to friends and peers of mine in the industry. We experience so much in our lives in the way of mass media: on television, the internet, public transportation, billboards, so much - so much of the time that somehow I believe that for most of us through sheer subliminal influence, aspects of various people's work creep and manifest into our own.
In the case of the paintings that I did in school. I knew who I was referencing, but I also embraced the fact that I was still learning - I was still a student (and a perpetual one for the record). As a result of being aware of this, I was confident that I as I grew and changed as a person, so would my work.

2010-03-17T08:53:00.000-07:00

D R E A M

I've been up since 5:40am. Remind me never to eat dinner past 9:40pm the previous night. I have a friend who used to be an aerobics instructor in her early twenties. She said to me once, years ago, that she never ate past 8pm because it would mess with her digestion.
I thought to myself, "What did she mean?"
I used to eat at any hour of the night and I would be fine the next morning.
Fast forward 10 years.
Things change.

It's just past 1pm now, which means that I've been up past 5 hours. I have hardly done any illustration this morning - mostly administrative work.
Funny, when I was in school I vaguely recollect my instructor mentioning something about having to do office work. I wasn't so sure what he meant until I began to view my career as a career, and not a hobby.

People used to ask me all the time what it was that I did.
"So... what do you?"
My response, "I work in retail, but I paint on the side."
(I painted back then - acrylics and alkyds on illustration board using Liquin as a solvent. It must have been the Liquin which broke my Chinese calculator. Bad joke, I've never been good at math, and I try not to perpetuate stereotypes, although I just did. Sorry if I offended anyone. Really, I've never been good at math. Actually that's a lie. When I was in grade one, I was placed by my teacher into the grade two math class, but I couldn't handle subtraction. That makes no sense, it's just the opposite of addition, but for some reason, I couldn't do it. And so I was placed back into first grade.) Back to my point...

"Oh, you paint houses?"

Needless to say that I had to rephrase my response for future conversations. Now, whenever someone asks me what it is that I do, I respond by saying, "I draw pictures."
Tell that to a customs official at the airport and see what types of questions ensue.
I should be more clever and mimic a friend of mine who's an illustrator and musician. I believe he told a customs official once that his occupation was a "Rock Star."
Brilliant.

5 hours of administrative work has resulted in me feeling a bit loopy. The weather is incredible outside. And because I continue to eat dinner past 9:30pm, it's not only compromised my 25 year old "figure" which I've not had since I was 25, but all I feel like doing is crawling into bed. Must head to the gym.
Secrete serotonin.
Need vitamin D
Eat fancy burrito.

Okay. That's enough babble. I've uploaded one of my latest projects for H.O.W. (Helping Orphans Worldwide) Wearable Literature project. I was asked along with a couple of others to create a graphic inspired by the words of an author. In my case it was Jonathan Ames' quote, "The more I wake up in life, the more everything feels like a dream." I don't want to go too much into my process other than it began as an existing Tshirt graphic that I tweaked into this one.

Again, I'm slowly exploring a different type of work. Trying to mix text, concept and automatic drawing all at once. It's challenging, and although the results are oftentimes questionable, I cannot ignore the process which I am confident will bring (me and) my work to a new place if I continue to stay the course. I've learned a great deal especially after having moved to New York, from people inside and outside of the illustration industry. I've become encouraged to change my studio practice and accept that the process of arriving to the end product; that the process of drawing or painting for example is invaluable. It's tough sometimes because as an illustrator I have been programmed to think in such a linear, logical and oftentimes analytical way.
As I wrote in a previous post, I love to doodle, and so I am doing much more of it.
But again, I'm digressing.
You can see in the 5th and 6th image that I've written some notes. I do this all the time even with my commercial assignments - especially with my commercial assignments. I ask myself questions and I make an effort to distance myself from my work so that I can see it for what it is, instead of being too wrapped up in my own egocentrism and concepts. I try to play the role of viewer and illustrator because in the end that is our role. Illustration, the art and business of communication. This morning was more business than art though.

2010-03-12T17:31:00.000-08:00

HORCHATA AND HOEGAARDEN

My brain feels like jelly.
To borrow a phrase from my friend Melissa, my eyes are like raisins.

I texted my friend this message two days ago,
"I believe we're 35."
Her response,
"And working like we're 22."

This is not a complaint.
No.
But it's true.
I am enjoying the work that I'm doing right now. I'm just a bit tired, that's all.
Since most of my work is done on the computer (practically from start to finish) it's hard on my eyes (yes, I try to remember to do those exercises - looking away and focusing on something in the distance and then resuming work again - is that real, does that work?).
Not sure if there's even a point to this post.
You're catching me while I'm fully exhausted.
I make no sense.
Neither does the drawing.
After I've spent so much time on the computer, I like to draw pictures that aren't digitally generated.
I like the immediacy of a doodle.
The fact that there is no pressure.
sssshhhhhhhhh....
That's the sounds of pressure being released.
I have a love-hate relationship with pressure.
I think it's good.
It pushes me to push me.
But sometimes I push so hard that I fall over.

It's time for a Hoegaarden.
It's self-soothing, I know.
But call it what you will.
I need some soothing today.

ssssshhhhhhhh.....