February 28, 2006 · tuneful tuesdays: twist and shout

It’s Tuneful Tuesday Time. Hmmm… what to reveal about myself today.

Okay, so you you know how when you wake up and the day is grey and it stretches before you all endless and flat and completely uninspired? How do you fire up?

My answer, in playlist form:

1) Town Called Malice by The Jam (told ya I’m a big Jam freak!)
2) Lost Again by Dance Hall Crashers
3) Trouble by Pink
4) Never Gonna Come Back Down by BT
5) Weapon of Choice by Fatboy Slim
6) Date with the Night by Yeah Yeah Yeahs
7) Finding Out True Love is Blind by Louis XIV
8) Dear Sons and Daughters of Hungry Ghosts by Wolf Parade
9) Lust for Life by Iggy Pop
10) My New House by the Fall

If none of those do the trick, I resort to The Guilt Pleasures One thru Six… and leap around the room like I’m having an epileptic fit until the blood is pumping vigourously, my cheeks are bright pink and Finny J. is worked up into one black mass of trembling delight and falling dog hair (Finny likes to dance… the Handsome Guy? Not so much.) Big Greasy Confession: I snap my fingers the whole time. Yup. I am a wholly unrepentant finger snapper. you can remove me from your bookmarks now.

The Guilt Pleasures One thru Six

1) Rock DJ by Robbie Williams
2) Hot Pants Explosion by The B-52s
3) Istanbul (Not Constantinople) by They Might Be Giants
4) Dead Man’s Party by Oingo Boingo
5) Place in the Country by Adam Ant
6) Sin Wagon by The Dixie Chicks

And if none of these work for you, if NONE of these set your toes to tapping…. um… I think there might be something very, very wrong with you.

Hot Pants Explosion by the B-52s
You know what I say to your hot pants?
Say what?
Say get on down, ah ha ha…
I’m in shippin’, if you’re receivin’
‘Cause what I see I ain’t believin’
The longest legs in the shortest pants
You got me doin’ a matin’ dance
Pant pant
You got me pantin’ like a dog
Pant pant
Ooo I’m a hot pants hot dog

You burned a hole in my mind
When I saw your cute behind
Wearin’ those hot pants
Hot hot hot hot pants, hot pants
Sizzlin’ hot hot pants
Hot hot hot hot pants, hot pants

Sap’s up spring’s on the rise
I’m bustin’ out my tube top tonight
Workin’ the night shift, I get off at three
Breakin’ out of that factory
Thunder thighs-hangn’ out!
Moon beams, dancin’ about

If you would be so kind
Put on those red hot pants and take a stroll through my mind

Hot pants, hot hot hot pants, hot pants
Sizzlin’ hot hot pants
Hot hot hot hot pants, hot pants

Hot pants explosion
At the factory

Baby it’s so sweet how you got me chokin’
Chokin’ on the sizzle you deliver in that outfit so smokin’
Hot pants flare up

Ooo scintillatin’ sizzlin’ steamin’
Honey those hot pants got me screamin’
Supercalifragiwhata outfit you got on
Super vixen ooo foxy
Studball hunky baby rock me
Supercalihalitosis ooo that outfit’s the absolute mostest

Ooo I’ve seen London and I seen France
But I never saw nothin’ so hot as you in your hot pants
Sizzlin’ hot hot pant
Hot hot hot hot pants, hot pants
Scorchin’ hot pants
Hot hot hot hot pants, hot pants
Burnin’ hot hot pants
Hot hot hot hot pants, hot pants
Steamin’ hot hot pants
Hot hot hot hot pants, hot pants

Who says hot pants are dead and gone
Wait’ll they see what you’ve got on
Yeah, I never saw nothn’ so doggone hot
You belong in Ripley’s Believe It Or Not

Here a hot, there a hot
Hot pants on a cute little butt yeah

I see the Army the Waves and the Wacs yeah
Marchin’ down the railroad tracks in hot pants
Hot pants stretchin’ tight
Yeah hot pants clingin’ right
Hot pants, they’re gettin’ so hot
We might have to take ‘em off



3 Comments so far
February 22, 2006 · February Fancies

For the past three weeks, for whatever reason, I’ve been besotted with all things girly and romantic. Pink things, lacy things, things which are swiss dotted or full of pin tucks, elaborate letterforms, Rackham faerie pictures. Maybe it’s a hangover from Valentine’s Day? I’m not sure, but my sketchbook has been reflecting my romantic leanings of late. Seeing as how there has been a real dearth of images here lately, I thought I’d share a page (left). This is sort of my take on Mary Lennox from Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden. In truth, I much prefer F.H.B’s A Little Princess (both the orginal novel and the 1995 movie by direcor Alfonso Cuaron, both immense favourites of mine). I always found Sara Crewe to be a much more sympathetic character and as a kid, absolutely relished the harrowing prospect of being locked in an attic by someone as evil and pinched as Miss Minchin only to be rescued at the very last minute by a wayward monkey and his finely outfitted Indian master.

I was about nine when I first read A Little Princess and one of my favourite things to do was re-enact this passage, over and over:
“For several days it had rained continuously; the streets were chilly and sloppy and full of dreary, cold mist; there was mud everywhere– sticky London mud–and over everything the pall of drizzle and fog. Of course there were several long and tiresome errands to be done– there always were on days like this–and Sara was sent out again and again, until her shabby clothes were damp through. The absurd old feathers on her forlorn hat were more draggled and absurd than ever, and her downtrodden shoes were so wet that they could not hold any more water. Added to this, she had been deprived of her dinner, because Miss Minchin had chosen to punish her. She was so cold and hungry and tired that her face began to have a pinched look, and now and then some kind-hearted person passing her in the street glanced at her with sudden sympathy. But she did not know that. She hurried on, trying to make her mind think of something else. It was really very necessary. Her way of doing it was to “pretend” and “suppose” with all the strength that was left in her. But really this time it was harder than she had ever found it, and once or twice she thought it almost made her more cold and hungry instead of less so. But she persevered obstinately, and as the muddy water squelched through her broken shoes and the wind seemed trying to drag her thin jacket from her, she talked to herself as she walked, though she did not speak aloud or even move her lips.

“Suppose I had dry clothes on,” she thought. “Suppose I had good shoes and a long, thick coat and merino stockings and a whole umbrella. And suppose–suppose–just when I was near a baker’s where they sold hot buns, I should find sixpence–which belonged to nobody. SUPPOSE if I did, I should go into the shop and buy six of the hottest buns and eat them all without stopping.”

Some very odd things happen in this world sometimes. It certainly was an odd thing that happened to Sara. She had to cross the street just when she was saying this to herself The mud was dreadful– she almost had to wade. She picked her way as carefully as she could, but she could not save herself much; only, in picking her way, she had to look down at her feet and the mud, and in looking down– just as she reached the pavement–she saw something shining in the gutter. It was actually a piece of silver–a tiny piece trodden upon by many feet, but still with spirit enough left to shine a little. Not quite a sixpence, but the next thing to it– a fourpenny piece.

In one second it was in her cold little red-and-blue hand.

“Oh,” she gasped, “it is true! It is true!”

And then, if you will believe me, she looked straight at the shop directly facing her. And it was a baker’s shop, and a cheerful, stout, motherly woman with rosy cheeks was putting into the window a tray of delicious newly baked hot buns, fresh from the oven– large, plump, shiny buns, with currants in them.

It almost made Sara feel faint for a few seconds–the shock, and the sight of the buns, and the delightful odors of warm bread floating up through the baker’s cellar window.”

O… the thrill it gave me to pretend to be utterly famished, to have icy, muddy London water squelching through my broken shoes, the heartstopping moment where I spy the coin. I could feel the hunger pinching my middles so strongly, smell the warm aroma of hot currant buns so vividly that my mouth would fill with saliva. And when I re-enacted the part where Sara gives the coin away to the little urchins who are even more bedraggled and ravenous than she? I would practically pass out from the heady mixture of regret and righteousness that overtook me. (Uh…yeah. what can I say? I had rather an over-active imagination as a child.)

But the Secret Garden? Just didn’t snare me that way. Nobody was on the verge of starving to death in the Secret Garden. They were just rich and neglectful and let’s face it… a rather whiny crew. That Colin kid? The sickly boy in the Secret Garden? Well, he was just insufferable. Just a big weenie. Even after his dead mother’s garden worked its curative magic. I know, I know… he was all sickly and sallow and his dad was all like embarrassed by him and his mother was dead and all that, but still… I couldn’t work up the appropriate amount of sympathy for him. He needed to suck it up like Sara, he needed to be courageous and noble and stuff to earn purchase in my stern, nine-year-old heart. And he just wasn’t.

But I always loved the idea of the garden itself and now as I yearn for the sight of leaves on trees, blossoms on bushes, this is the image that presented itself to me. So there you go. Hopefully now I can divest myself of romantic flights of fancy and immerse myself in the fantastic and superheroic world of comic books which is where I really need to be while I’m working on my book for Scouts Canada.

P.S. the more I learn about Climate Change (that’s the subject of the comic book I’m working on), the more alarmed and depressed I become. Also, I really do not think “Climate Change” is an apt name for the horrificness it encompasses. Too namby-pamby and passive. Global Warming doesn’t cut it either. Sounds almost cozy and gentle. How about Climate Catastrophe? That seems to me to be far more descriptive and accurate. yikes.



8 Comments so far
February 21, 2006 · Tuneful Tuesdays: Love Letters

Yesterday, the lovely Liz got me to pondering music and it’s place it my life. See, she always, always posts a little “listening to” blurb at the bottom of her posts and I never fail to notice it, admire her taste and muse (at least momentarily) what her choice says about her (besides the fact she’s all spangly and wonderous and her smile could thaw glaciers). Because I’m certain that an individual’s musical choice says plenty about who they are, where they’ve been and what they long for.

I can barely express how incredibly important music is to me. In fact, true musical talent and the ability to sing might be the only thing I would gladly swap for my artistic gifts.. Of course, it would be best to have both, but if I had to choose… well, it would be a toss up.

But oddly, I don’t write much about music. In fact, I write about it barely at all. I’ve decided it’s time for that to change. I am instituting “Tuneful Tuesdays” which is kind of a take off of that ever popular iTunes Shuffle meme. every tuesday, I will try to provide you with a particular song list… a snippet from my own personal soundtrack… and hope that it offers somekind of keen insight into my being.

I urge you to play along! Post your own soundtrack snippet (i’ll let you determine the number of songs you would like to include) and a brief backstory explaining your particular affinity for that playlist and pop a link into my comments.

The single most important song in my life is probably “You’re the Best Thing” by the Style Council. It is “our song”, the one the Handsome Guy and I danced to at our wedding, the one that almost fifteen years later still informs so much about our relationship and who we are to each other and has yet to wear itself too thin. In fact, it would be the rare Valentine’s Day or birthday card between us that doesn’t directly reference this song or R.E.M’s “You Are The Everything”.

YOU’RE THE BEST THING by The Style Council

I could be discontent and chase the rainbows end
I might win much more but lose all that is mine
I could be a lot but I know I’m not
I’m content just with the riches that you bring
I might shoot to win and commit the sin
Of wanting more than I’ve already got
I could run away but I’d rather stay
In the warmth of your smile lighting up my day
The one that makes me say, heh

‘Cause you’re the best thing that ever happened to me or my world
You’re the best thing that ever happened – so don’t go away

I might be a king and steal my people’s things
But I don’t go for that power crazy way
All that I could rule but I don’t check for fools
All that I need is to be left to live my way
(say listen what I say)

‘Cause you’re the best thing that ever happened to me or my world
You’re the best thing that ever happened – so don’t go away

You’ve got the soul I need
Baby, you’re the best for me
Gonna rock my dreams and take this chance from me?

‘Cause you’re the best thing that ever happened to me or my world
You’re the best thing that ever happened – so don’t go away

I could chase around for nothing to be found
But why look for something that is never there
I may get it wrong sometimes but I’ll come back in style
For I realise your love means more than anything
The song you make me sing – yea

‘Cause you’re the best thing that ever happened to me or my world
You’re the best thing that ever happened – so don’t go away

Of course, there are eight bazillion more significant songs, musical missives that tie us to each other and different periods in our life together. In fact, more than any other relationship I’ve ever had, music provides the cement, the glue of our friendship, our relationship, the way we communicate. In the early years, the “formative years” back when we were “just friends” and both dating other people, we were obsessive (uh… tellingly so) about sending mixed tapes back and forth to each other over the summer separations that punctuated our college days. I remember one mixed tape in particular “Take With Food” that I plugged into my walkman and listened to (both sides, at least once), in the dark, ever single night for three months straight the summer of 1988 and for many, many nights after that. That tape probably has as much to do with my utter devoution to him as his long, lovely black eyelashes and arm freckles and penchant for british soap operas and chocolate orange creams.

I remember even earlier in our relationship stealing into his dorm room with my much beloved and battered copy of X’s Under the Big Black Sun and making him listen to it in the green glow of the stero light all the way thru three times, lifting the needle after every song to ask breathlessly “wasn’t that amazing? don’t you just LOVE them?”one Thursday night when I was suppose to be writing a paper for my Fourteenth Century Literature class. And watching our stockinged feet beat over the pilling blue dorm-issue coverlet of his bed in unison to Jam album after Jam album (we were both die hard Jam fans) and arguing endlessly over who discovered R.E.M first (it was me by the way. Indubitably.)

To that end, here’s a songlist from the formative years… the kindling of real romance sparking and sputtering then flaring to full flame. In many cases, they were actually the songs playing in the background, but not all of them. Some simply hold the memory of that particular time and space and never fail to produce for me a stirring of emotion and nostalgia. I hope, at very least, they capture a mood, a spirit, a time and a place that speaks to you as much as it speaks to me.

The Brit and the Blonde part the first

1) Catch by The Cure
2) Punk Rock Girl by the Dead Milkmen
3) London Girl by the Pogues
4) Everyday I Write The Book by Elvis Costello
5) That’s Entertainment by The Jam
6) You Woke Up My Neighbourhood by Billy Bragg
7) Tempted by Squeeze
8) Pretty Persuasion by R.E.M.
9) You Are The Everything by R.E.M
10) Black Coffee in Bed by Squeeze
11) So You Think You’re in Love by Robyn Hitchcock and the Eygptians
12) The Mayor of Simpleton by XTC
13) I’m Your Man by Leonard Cohen
14) Come Back to Me by X
15) These Days by Nico
16) You’re the Best Thing by the Style Council

I’m Your Man by Leonard Cohen

If you want a lover
I’ll do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
I’ll wear a mask for you
If you want a partner, hold my hand
If you want to strike me down in anger
Here I stand
I’m your man

If you want a boxer
I will step into the ring for you
And if you want a doctor
I’ll examine every inch of you
If you want a driver, climb inside
Or if you want to take me for a ride
You know you can
I’m your man

The moon’s too bright
The chain’s too tight
The beast won’t go to sleep
I’ve been running through these promises to you
That I made and I could not keep

But a man never got a woman back
Not by begging on his knees
Or I’d crawl to you, baby
I’d fall at your feet
And I’d howl at your beauty
Like a dog in heat
And I’d claw at your heart
And I’d tear at your sheet
I’d say please
I’m your man

And if you gotta sleep a moment on the road
I will steer for you
And if you want to work the street alone
I’ll disappear for you
If you want a father for your child
Or only want to walk with me a while
Across the sand
I’m your man
I’m your man

If you want a lover, I’m your man
If you want a boxer, I’m your man
If you want a doctor, I’m your man



6 Comments so far
February 20, 2006 · garnish

How to give yourself a heart attack: Absentmindedly spend the morning collecting all the cordless telephones from their three seperate locations in the house and unwittingly place all three handsets around your desk in a semi-circle. Leap out of your skin when telemarketer calls unexpectedly whilst (whilst!) you are perusing crafty blogs and all three phones ring LOUDLY and in UNISON in heartstopping surround sound display.

Repeat twice more in the space of an hour (practically peeing yourself each time) before finally removing two of the handsets to their rightful locations. Garnish with adjectives and serve up anecdote to Internets on silver platter.



8 Comments so far
February 15, 2006 · Carrying the Torch

It is the day after Valentine’s Day and so it is supremely appropriate to announce: the romance. It appears to be over.

Nope, not with the Handsome Guy. That is still very much on and he looked extra very scrumptious walking around in his tight fitted chocolate brown t-shirt this morning, the t-shirt I brought him for Christmas and have been racking my brain over ever since, trying to remember exactly where I got it so i can purchase more, more, more very scrumptious tight fitted t-shirts in all the colours of the rainbow (because YUM!) and failing miserably because…..alas, said t-shirt was purchased in last minute shopping frenzy which saw me visiting approximately 536 stores in the span of 10 hours and which wore me down to such a brain shrivelled nub, that at one point, I was actually weeping in front of an Orange Julius. And to cap it off, I also became so distressingly addled that I left TWO count ‘em TWO very large, extravagant and expensive bags of Christmas gifts just sitting there… alone…without accompaniment or guards… with receipts in the bags…. in the middle of the v. busy mall waiting to be scooped by predatory gift-grubbing strangers. However, in incredible turn of events…this spectacular blonde moment which made me feel unutterably stupid for 40 agonizing minutes when i got home and realized I had left all my gifts for my mother completely unattended somewhere in the vast, vast mall… somehow (through the magic of Christmas and candy canes and frolicking elves, no doubt) morphed into a treasured Christmas memory complete with angels singing when I called the mall’s Lost & Found and just as I was talking to the customer service lady, some seriously sainted person (Santa?) walked up with my abandoned packages, thus restoring my faith in all humanity, if not so much my faith in my ability to shop under stress or my ability to ward off encroaching senility.)

Nope. My romance with the Handsome Guy remains a shining beacon, further gilded with a flurry of demented valentine strewn e-mails (which I would post here, but they are truly and deeply weird and would require copious explaination, riddled as they are with inside jokes) and the most beautiful silver necklace with a sort-of-acorn shaped pendant. (ooo, how I heart acorns!) Plus a wicked little four dollar elephant I love with big pink love and have since named Prentice for reasons I don’t quite remember.

I continue also to be most enamoured of the Puppopotomus despite the fact she is in dire need of a bath and has started the annual shed, black clumps dotting every surface of the house.

No. The romance I am referring to is my romance with my Computer. It appears to be over. O-V-E-R. Over. Well and truly. I know this because I have suddenly developed the ability to ignore it. For hours on end. For whole days, in fact. Whole CONSECUTIVE days.

So tragic.

I know, I know! What gives?! What happened?! This is like wholly unprecedented. Since acquiring a computer capable of surfing the net for more than three seconds at a time before freezing, wheezing and snapping off due to complete memory exhaustion (oh, My GAWD! how did I ever work on that thing?! Tell me how?!), I have been the interweb’s total love slave, totally smitten, unable to refrain from molesting the keyboard for more than one waking hour. Except on Saturdays, when the only time I turn on my computer is to check the new video releases for the week and occasionally look up the menu of a restaurant we are considering, I have worshipped at this beast with an unceasing fever, day in, day out. My lust and love and dedication knew few boundaries (save for my fear of electrocution which had me reluctantly reject all notions of hauling my computer into the bathtub with me.)

But lately? Meh. I’m just so not interested. I’m in fact, you know…. kinda bored with it. O, poor, poor Computer. Don’t weep. It’s not you, I swear it. It’s so not you, you have done nothing wrong (except, you know, what up with all that freezing whenever i run iTunes and Photoshop at the same time?!) You are well and truly good and swell and deserving of much greater worship than I have been affording you. No, it’s me. It’s all me. It’s my bad. I don’t know what’s changed. i just don’t know. Blame it on that other light-filled box. Blame it on the teevee. Blame it on the teevee and the Olympics. They have seized my attention. Particularly the crashing part of the Olympics, and oh… Monday was a big, big day for the crashing. There was crashing of all sorts and I just had to witness it ALL. And not just when it was actually happening either… but in the highlight and primetime packages too. Just can not get enough of the crashings lately.

And Computer? This is hard to say, it really is. But I think…. I think… I might want to become an Olympic Snowboarder. I think the half-pipe is calling my name. Yup, I’m pretty sure. I have heard my muse call and she comes equipped with a gnarly board and some tasty tunes and pockets built for iPods, but little use for you.

I’m so so sorry. It’s just that… it’s just that I really think we need to start seeing other media, different electronics, you and I. I think it’s time. Maybe one day we can reconcile and find the passion, the spark, the LOVE again. The Olympic flame doesn’t burn for that much longer… there’s hope. Awww… don’t cry now. There, there.



9 Comments so far
February 14, 2006 · kisses

valentine



6 Comments so far
February 9, 2006 · lately

lately, my fingers are always cold.
lately, I’ve been consuming far too much coffee.
lately, I’ve been living a little too much in my head.
lately, I’ve been thinking that I want nothing more than to sit in front of a midnight bonfire in the middle of a deserted beach, listening to fire snap and waves wash and feeling the sand cooling beneath my feet.

Yesterday, on the wolf walk, Finny took it upon herself to charm a woman who looked like Andrew Wyeth’s muse Helga. What little of her I could see that is. We were both bundled against the bitter wind and i kept having to tip my head way back to see her from beneath the brim of my red fleece hat, pulled low on my forehead, and over the lip of my zipped-to-the top ski jacket. She said she wished she could run like Finn. She said she once had a border collie who could run and run and run for three hours straight and not get the least bit tired. She said she used to be a writer, but that three years ago she got chronic fatigue syndrome and she hasn’t been able to pull it together enough to write since. She said she has tried everything, holistic healing, conventional medication, chiropractic therapy. It has helped a little, but not enough. But at least it is not Multiple Sclerosis like once was thought, she said. At least it is not that.

Trees and animals make her happy, she said. She was taking a bag of black seeds to feed to the park peacocks. They swung from her mittened hand in a plastic bread bag.

When I recounted the conversation to Johnny Handsome later, he boggled at the fact that I had learned all this in such a short space of time. We only walked together for about five minutes, just a quick little encounter intiated by a prancing black dog with a stick for tossing and a yen for fetching. But I didn’t think it was that unusual. People just tell me stuff. People tell me allsorts of stuff. I don’t know why. They just do. They always have.

Maybe they understand immediately somehow (though i never tell them) how important and memorable these small random encounters are to me. It has been slowly dawning on me lately that I express myself verbally less and less, to the point where I fear I am losing the knack.

I spend most of the day, every day, with myself. Just me and my dog. Me and my dog in the woods studying lacy fungal formations, ice crystal patterns in frozen puddles, the light slanting through the trees, the twisted, naked limbs and fine fingerling branches often hung with tiny glittering drops of rain. Me and my dog sharing a muffin, an apple. Me and my dog watching a segment on CNN. Me and my dog laying on the bed, me with a book propped on my chest, she with her chin propped on my leg.

I am not lonely, not really. I love that I have all this time to myself, I need all this time to myself. I require it just as surely as I require food and water and oxygen and canine companionship. The things that i am good at… drawing, writing, bathtub lounging… these are solitary pursuits. This is the way I’m made. And I am almost completely content.

But lately, well… lately I’ve been thinking maybe it’s time to make an effort to get out more, to talk. Out loud. To people other than the people who live inside my computer. People other than store clerks and my husband and people who look like they stepped out of an Andrew Wyeth painting.

just lately, that’s what i’ve been thinking.



12 Comments so far
February 3, 2006 · Thoroughly Modern Lily

O, people! I have wonderfully exciting news to share with you! As of yesterday, I have been OFFICIALLY commissioned to create a full length comic book on the exceedingly important topic of climate change for the Boy Scouts of Canada. This is the thing I’ve been itching to tell you, but couldn’t until it was official. I’m so incredibly pumped about this! I haven’t actually done a full length comic book before (though i’ve done many things in a sort of comic book style) and the time line isn’t all that long (about 8 to 10 weeks), but I’m so looking forward to spending my days drawing all day!

The comic will be based on four preteen kids (two boys, two girls) and the sketch to the left is one of the characters. I’ve named her Lily Modern. She’s my favourite so far as she just dropped off the end of my pencil, fully formed. She’s the kind of girl who has her stuff totally together (so you know she is no relation to me… I most certainly have NEVER had my stuff together!). Kind of a wandless Hermione Granger, but perkier. Whip smart, sassy, and always organized and perfectly kitted out.

WOW! This is going to be so cool. The Boy Scouts are planning on using the local school districts as a test run, distributing this comic on Earth Day this year and if all goes well, it could be distributed nationally. I’ve been busily researching comic books and stuff and now that I’ve got the formal green light, I will lay siege to the local comic book shops and stock up on inspiration this weekend, then tool it over to the art store and blow a bundle on supplies. I start in earnest on Monday. Like I said, it’s going to be a challenge, but I think this is going to be really, really good for me. I get to concentrate on DRAWING, which is my favourite part, and lovely lines.

I haven’t decided whether I’m brave enough to attempt to old school it and ink the final with a brush or a crow quill pen… some experimentation will definitely be required… or whether to just stock up on Pigma Micron pens. Actually, I’m still trying to decide the best technique to adopt. But definitely, I’m going to get myself a real live lightbox so that I don’t have to spend hours leaning up against my window, retracing my sketches. I’ll chart the process once I’ve decided for sure what to do and cetainly, I’ll give you a sneak peek as I go along. So, so cool!

At the moment, I’m wrapping up the tail end of a design job that was fun, but I’ll be glad to see the end of! Design just doesn’t give me the same charge that illustration does, you know? I’m a good designer, I have a knack for understanding the clients’ needs and interpreting them in a way that is functional, friendly and professional, but I just don’t feel the same sense of ownership. Design just doesn’t make my heart all thumpity with joy. It just doesn’t pattern my dreams and make me go all a-tingle with possibility. The mere thought of just spending the next two months honing my drawing skills and finessing my linework just seems like such luxury and I’m really looking forward to tackling the sizeable challenge of storyboarding this out and maintaining continuity and interest from panel to panel to panel. Giddy up!



17 Comments so far
February 2, 2006 · four things

oooo, I’ve just been tagged by the most excellently evil Penelope for this four things meme. But, as I am currently chained to my computer (much to the wolf’s deepest chagrin), breathlessly awaiting approval on a design project which must, must, must go to print today, i don’t mind. (little teeny prayer going out into the universe…approval, please come swiftly! I have appointments this afternoon!!)

Four Jobs I’ve had:
editorial cartoonist for community newspaper
designer and illustrator at world renowned dinosaur museum
rugrat wrangler (summer nanny for 3 kiddies)
assay lab assistant at a gold mine

Four Movies I could watch over and over:
Sense and Sensibility
About a Boy
Four Weddings and a Funeral (what up with the Hugh Grant films?!)
All the President’s Men

Four Places I’ve Lived:
Houston, Texas
Denver, Colorado
Calgary, Alberta
Rhinelander, Wisconsin

Four TV Shows I Love:
The Gilmore Girls (but of course! I could just list this show four times, that’s how big my love is)
Jon Stewart’s The Daily Show
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Felicity

Four Places I’ve Vacationed:
NYC
Banff and Jasper, Alberta
Tobago
Vancouver

Four of my Favorite Dishes:
lobster
my mom’s Caesar Salad
my mom’s Potatoes Romanoff
tempura pickerel

Four sites I visit daily:
Drawn!
Naive Knitting
Posie Gets Cozy
June 25th(you really should post more, meg!)

Four Places I’d rather be right now:
In a hammock, swinging away a breezy Autumn day whilst (whilst!) acorns drop on my head
On the wolf walk, where Finny J. really thinks we ought to be right now anyway!
Wandering around The Met
New Zealand, looking for hobbits (and acorns. wait… do they have acorns in New Zealand?)

I’m suppose to tag four more bloggers, but I have pompously decided that meme tagging is cruel and unusual punishment and should not be tolerated by anyone other than Princess P. oh and ps. Happy Groundhog Day! May it be the ground hoggy-iest!



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