Some new stuff.

No context, just supergirls.

 

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Comic Books – with love.

I’ve been a rabid fan of the comic books for as long as I can remember. The XMen are still my favorites. Particularly Rogue.

Back in art school I’d fallen madly in love with Royo’s artwork as far as the comic books were concerned. Of course, Royo had done illustrations for Penthouse, not comic books, but his artistic genius gave the world something far more powerful and more profound – his warrior women. So take the comic book frenzy and mix it up with some twisted Royo fantasy and you’re most likely to have created the most amazing thing.

I got restocked on how-to’s on comic book characters and I’ve started working on some today. A little bit of motion, a little bit of tight sexy outfits… you know, the usual. I think I’ll take my chance on a male action hero tomorrow, I wonder if I can still do them. Of course I can, I’m kidding, I just need to practice. Blogging is cool for me, it’s like self-therapy. I keep talking to myself and everything is better. It doesn’t really matter if anyone else reads this, this is my playground and right now I’m about to show off some comic book material.

You’ll probably notice that there’s a Rogue lookalike in there. It’s actually one of my takes on my favorite girl. I’ll have to get a serious pen though, the tiniest of brushes is no match for my trembling fingers, dammit.

Peacock feathers

 

I’m in my peacock feather phase, I’m sorry. Or was, until yesterday. Today I went all Ancient Greek and warrior chick combined. I’m on a drug and it’s called… bah, nevermind, your face will melt off if you try it.

Strike a pose. Come on, Vogue!

 

I got my claws on a very heavy but delightful Vogue catalogue. It has everything I need in order to do some serious fashion illustrations (or more like exercises, remember: practice practice practice!) and even some character artwork.

I went to Siena yesterday (actually 20 km away from Siena, in a small but gorgeous town). Ten hours on about 9 trains for just fours hours of human interaction. I saw my adoptive grandmama and made her happy with my artsy things. I shook hands on the agrotourism summer job, and I can’t wait to get started. I saw the resort and I have to tell you, it’s incredibly beautiful.

Imagine this 14th century palazzo with 14 apartments, completely renovated and redecorated – with a lot of its original materials too. The massive stone and brick walls, the light brown window frames, the pool, the emerald valley and hills that surround it. There’s lavander in the garden, there are mimosas blooming all around the place – and I swear that there is not one scent that can defeat the magic of a mimosa in early spring. Your nostrils are immediately titilated and your senses run around, unable to regain themselves. The palazzo is built on a massive stone platform and you can see it clearly while taking a skinny dip in the pool on any given day. Heh.

Spending a week in that place would be the perfect therapy for anyone. It would also be perfect for writers who seek peace, quiet and inspiration. The latter is literally oozing out of every single pebble, stick and blade of grass.

Trenitalia sort of sucks but they’re better than other trains that I’ve had the misfortune to experience. The really fast and cool ones are sucky for a particular reason: you get on, you take your seat, you feel like you’re in business class because it’s all so nice and clean, and there’s a voice on the speaker that welcomes you aboard and tells you that in a few minutes a hostess will bring around a cart filled with refreshments, sparkling wine, mineral water and a vast selection of Italy’s best snacks and sweets. That makes your mouth dry for a little sparkly but also watery in anticipation of their pastry wonders. And the reason why it’s sucky is because that bloody cart never comes around. They’re lying pricks. Three times I’ve been on one of the cool and fast trains, and three times I have been mislead by the nice voice on the speaker. The only person that DID come by after the speaker announcement was always the nice lady who checked our tickets. Now that’s sucky.

The paradox is here: the same Trenitalia offers the Intercity train. When you think Intercity you think about something modern and fast, not the rusty old Thomas Train set that showed up on the platform. Once I got on and the train… or whatever that was… started moving, it felt like the platform was moving, not the… uh, train. I have to give them credit for comfort though. The suckier the outside, the more comfy and fluffy on the inside. And guess what! There’s actually a guy who comes around with a cart filled with refreshments, sparkling wine, mineral water and a vast selection of Italy’s best snacks and sweets! He even has a bell, which he rings in front of each compartment. That just left me wondering: do they always take the wrong train or do they always play the wrong message through the speakers?

Either way, ten hours via train is an experience that I do not wish to repeat any time soon. I came home completely zombified and I woke up even worse. I felt like I’d spent those ten hours under the train, not in it, in a continuous accident – one that Van Damme would probably try to prvent with the help of a sexy yet expired actress. A hangover sounds like a better option right now. A tequila, red wine and vodka combined kind of hangover. Hell, a tequila, red wine, vodka AND beer hangover. But no, I’m pretty much just a lousy train wreck.

In spite of that, however, my hands decided that they wanted to paint a little today. So they browsed through the Vogue catalogue, got inspired and came up with two illustrations. More to come tomorrow, when I get the pain out of my body. May you enjoy them.

Deep.

I’ve heard this word one too many times. I’m going to develop an allergy soon.

Seriously, allow me to exemplify.

Situation A:

Dude 1: Dude, did you see “Black Swan”? How was it?

Dude 2: It was deep, man, I’m telling you, so deep!

Situation B:

Dude 1: How about that Journey song?

Dude 2: Yeah, dude, it’s so deep.

Situation C:

Chick 1: So what do you think about James Franco?

Chick 2: Oh God, he’s like… so deep! He’s amazing!

Situation D:

Chick: Have you read “Catcher in the Rye”?

Dude: I’ve tried, but it’s too deep for me.

Unless they’re all crack babies, we have a problem.

Why is it that “deep” is the only word I get when I ask for an opinion about a book, a movie, a band or even a person? What happened to “intense”, “complex”, “exhilarating”, “fascinating”, “profound”… even “profound”!

I know I shouldn’t have such expectations from 90% of the carbon based life forms that I happen to share the species with, but still. Please. “Deep” is not an answer. You can use it once and get away with it, but afterwards it just gets so annoying. A pool can be deep, a Boa feather loving harlot from the red light district can be deep, the sea is deep, the shit that we’re slowly sinking into on a global level is DEEP, even my period pains are deep, but this is just too much.

This word has basically lost its sense, to me anyway. Just the other day someone was telling me that Ke$ha’s music is deep. She didn’t live to provide an argument, but that’s not the issue here. I’m having trouble with the use of the word “deep”. It’s being used excessively and its meaning is being taken lightly. No, lightly doesn’t even begin to cover it. People are pooping on the word “deep” and throwing it around with anything just to sound smarter.

Enough with today’s rant.

Have some more “recuperating art” from your one and only.

There’s a red absinthe ad and something that might work as a Valentine’s Day card. The red absinthe ad came up today, the pink/red things weren’t really supposed to come out like that but I just went with the flow and made up a slogan to go with it: Red Absinthe – Makes your blood cells bubble. The style is pretty much Art Nouveau, watercolor and black ink. You can notice that this girl’s smile is better than yesterday’s girl. Told’ya, progress.

I love red absinthe, a flaming shot of it is pretty much like knocking myself out, with a dash of cinnamon. The good part was that I could never remember much from an absinthe-night, thus no reason to feel embarrassed. My drinking buddies always suffered from the same type of hangover and so we were all just happy not to remember anything and ready to get on with the English breakfast and sturdy deserts needed to get our blood sugar back to normal levels.

The other lady, the creepy one with bloody tears, was inspired from a Royo conception. You could consider the pink things as flowers or just an abstract heart background, whatever you wish. I consider it a proper Valentine’s Day card because my favorite Valentine’s Day card is Happy Tree Friends’ Valentine Giggles. (Click it!)

I’m looking at a five hour train ride to Siena, so I’m blogging while I still can, I’ll come back in shambles and sink DEEP in bed.

Art Nouveau anyone?

Oh no, I will not waste thirty minutes of my life writing about the history of Art Nouveau. If it isn’t your first time here, I have a feeling that you DO know what Art Nouveau is, so I don’t need to explain it. If you do need explanations, please use google. Basically it’s one of the kick ass periods in art history.

Where art meets poster, sensuality meets commercial (e.g. the sexy lady trying to make you buy biscuits), color meets the daring black outline. Remember Tournee du Chat Noir? Steinlen’s poster art for one of Paris’ key cabaret joints. Come ooooon, it’s on every coaster and souvenir mug you find in Paris. You can’t miss it.

The Art Nouveau was one hell of a movement. It had it all! Absinth, jazz, nudity and some more alcohol, some more jazz and a deeper cleavage, a good show and a wild cabaret… gah, the art that came out of it was incredible. Its key images can now be found in 90% of the French themed cafes, printed on coasters or cheap paper and framed to give the place a “hip” look. Amazingly enough, they work just great. I mean, they still do!

So there you have it, several bits of Art Nouveau poster art.

And down here we’ve got my little wood nymph, just a tiny homage to this wonderful artistic movement. Tomorrow I’ll be doing more. I’ve kicked enough ass for today.

Like I said, it’s the baby steps that’ll get me far.

You might’ve noticed that the girl is about to smile. That’s as far as I got today regarding expression – a lousy little smirk. Better than the stone cold faces, I’ll say. Told you… progress.

This one is so pretty that I’ll have her framed.

For murder.

Effing snow!

Imagine the amount of happiness that overwhelmed me late last night when I opened the kitchen window for a midnight smoke/snack and noticed large amounts of snow piling up on my balcony. I looked up and said “What the hell?!”. I didn’t get an answer, so I blamed it on the bad weather.

So it’s the 2nd of March and I feel like I’m stuck in Santa’s village – without the creepy yet adorable little elves. And without the Christmas carols. Funny enough, I started humming Frankie’s “Let it snow” right after I came to the conclusion that there was, indeed, snow on my balcony. There was also quite a blizzard last night, judging by the serenade that my shutters performed around 2-3 A.M. This particular part of Italy sure knows how to surprise me when it comes to weather. One day there’s sun and sparkly sprinkles, the next day it’s holy-fluck-what-the-hell snowy and grey.

But that wasn’t the worst part. Oh no, I had to drag my ass to the train station to get tickets for my weekend quickie to Siena. I climbed my way into the city center – I believe the public workers were still awed at the sudden change of weather and were unable to move – thus set in motion those tractors and plow the damn streets. I got from snow to lake in less than a minute. Puddles, puddles, puddles. And they all graciously went into my boots. Thank you, China, for making the worst pair of boots. Definitely the last time I’m buying from a Chinese shop. I’m sorry, but everything I’ve gotten from a Chinese shop made me Hulk-angry. I won’t even describe the gallons of blue paint that moved from a pair of jeans onto my skin. Took me a while to figure out why my thighs were blue. I thought they ran out of air!

The main alley that leads to the train station felt like a continuous Glee experience. Trees kept dropping snow slushies all over me. My comfort degree had already reached alarmingly low figures and I hadn’t even bought the tickets. I froze my ass off on my way back.

— And that was a long and unwelcome break from my creative process. I’d started working on my own take of a particular Royo conception. The trip to the station ate more than two hours of my otherwise well spent time. If it weren’t for all the pretty white fluffy squishy snow, the entire process would’ve taken me 30 minutes.

So I’ve only got one piece for you today. Hope you enjoy her.

She is nothing compared to the work of BRIAN M. VIVEROS — this man is my new idol. Well, next to Royo, but still, it’s an extremely honorable position for any artist. I’m talking about contemporary art here. I love his style. And I’m finding myself drawn more and more into the magnificent art of illustration. But Mr. Viveros knows his stuff – he does have one strong pair of balls, judging by his subjects. There’s nothing I love more than a cigarette sneaking out of a pair of red hot lips, oil on wood, and I’m very very straight.

I’ve also discovered lamebook.com today. That’s after a week of digging through cracked.com.

I think this is going to be one hell of a year. And not in a bad way – more like the I’m-going-to-laugh-my-ass-off kind of way.

While I keep my brain busy with fantasy art, fashion illustrations and a new book (the second, the first one’s on hold, I need to grow up before I can continue writing it), I’m leaving you with DAVID DIETLE — one of my recent favorites. He’s got a blog HERE and he writes some of the greatest articles for Cracked.com and not only. Either way, please do give him a read, my abs are still hurting from last night’s reading session.

Some ladies escaped from my head…

And ended up on paper.

I’ve finally found the right tool to apply that black ink the way I want it. I don’t know why but I’m still drawn to this kind of art – I guess you could call it a cross between fantasy art and fashion illustration. I’m still working on the faces, I just don’t have the patience to practice expressions. Not yet, anyway. I’ll have to do it at some point, I know.

First off, there are Mirrors. What we see here is a beautiful brunette whose skimpy outfit is made out of tiny mirrors. It looks like she’s having a bit of trouble with a swirly violet thing. I love her shoes.

Here’s a close up on the lady. She looks pretty serious. But the chest piece kind of makes up for that.

Detail of the swirly violet thing. Sometimes I make it up as I go, just like the creators of “Lost”. The result, in this case, was a violet swirly things. Perverts may now do the “fap!fap!fap!” while imagining other uses for the violet swirly things in this lady’s case.

Like I was saying – I dig the shoes. No, really, I will make a pair sometime this year. I promise.

Next, I came up with an Ode to Spring. It’s the 1st of March, so instead of the usual cherry blossom (damn, I just got another idea, will paint and post tomorrow) and bundles of tulips I chose to create this lady. Don’t make fun of her eyebrows, she’s Spanish. It’s the only spring themed image that I could come up with, given the horrid rain that’s constantly pouring outside. It’s freezing and it’s grey and it sucks out here, the least I can do is paint hot chicks.

Here’s a close up on my beloved spring. Her costume is fetish/circus trapese artist inspired. The breasts are natural, no implants. I’m pretty sure she got hair extensions, though.

My favorite contrast remains blue and orange. They complement each other in such harmony. Red and green feel like cheap Christmas while violet and yellow feel like Willy Wonka on pills at the Chocolate Factory. So I decided to play with this set of colors. I came up with this litlle birdie.

And here’s a close up on that almost perfect ass and blue (latex) boots.

Remember, don’t get too critical. Not yet, anyway. I’ll tell you when you can start acting like you can tell the difference between fantasy art and kitsch.

That’s enough for today, my fingers hurt.

Ze Calendar

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