Belly Shirt

Not WASPY, but she looks less like me than the other ones.

Dig My Detour

I’m no longer blogging at Channel Frederator (but keep reading it if you love animation). I am blogging for my friends at Roadside America. Mini-golf, monorails, lobster photo ops, and more!  So visit Trunkations and yield to the fun.

Mermaids, Mermaids Everywhere

I’m hoping to catch the Mermaid Show at the Wreck Bar in Fort Lauderdale this Friday, so in honor of Medusirena, here is a mermaid that I painted yesterday. I am happy to say that Medusirena retains the use of her fully-formed hands, unlike the flip flippered lass above.

The Not-So-Famous Blue Dog

Gouache Gal Gallery Grows

Funny how my gouache gals wear dresses and heels, which I rarely do.

I did a frantic race up and down the aisles of New York Comicon last Sunday and my favorite finds of the day were gouache-related.

Somehow I’ve never come across Animus, a beautifully produced pop-up book with images by Seonna Hong. Lovely and haunting, this little gem was published by Baby Tattoo, an innovative independent publisher.

I also bought another Baby Tattoo volume, Popping Through Pictures, a board book collection of illustrations by Amanda Visell. Interview with Amanda here. It’s interesting to find out that unlike Seonna Hong, Tim Biskup, Lynne Naylor and other animation/fine art types, Amanda tried to break into animation but never really succeeded. Seems she is doing just fine selling her paintings, sculptures, lunch boxes, toys, and other delightful offerings.

A tip of the cartoon hat to acrylic paint and other non-gouache art supplies. I’m not sure that all of this artwork is done with gouache but it does have the simple, retro 50s, flat, UPA-inspired, muted palette look that I love!

A Table Updates You Regarding the Writers Guild Strike

They came back! They surrounded me, enveloping my vulnerable wooditude with their powerful presence. And then they went away again. They say they will be back Tuesday, but will they? What have I done wrong? Have I offended in some way? I have a pleasant lemony scent! For four consecutive days of glory, writers with their fetching scarves, emboldened by viral videos, gently tapped their fingers on my reflective finish. Hidden below my artificial (but life-like) wood-grained veneer, I felt the nervous jiggling knees of AMPTP negotiators in their power suits, as they presented insincere budgetary formulae. But now I am alone again with my memories and some gobs of discarded gum stuck to my underside. (I’m talking to you, Ron Bass!) Will I ever trust again? Why does everyone keep leaving me? Don’t they know that I have abandonment issues? At least Nikki Finke sent me a jug of Murphy’s Oil Soap with a bow on it. That was nice.