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.

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

*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.