Character design for a final. this is my first time working 100% digitally so it feels a bit rusty.

Jaco Pastorius is an amazing dude. This doesn't do him justice. But I tried.

A Moment of Clarity

Rolling down the window will help. Maybe. His last shred of concentration had left him days ago. It fluttered out the window along with the rest of his cigarette ash and whatever spine he may have possessed, somewhere along a cliff-side road just east of a minuscule village called Zennor.  Each vertebrae scattered across the surface of the single lane, barely paved road, rolling around for a bit before finally coming to rest like a handful of dice. With surprising force, the wind pushed its way through the growing crack as the window was opened. It brushed through his stiff hair, ran its fingers over the length of his stale scalp and down the back of his neck, into the newly open and slightly scabbed wounds in between each shoulder blade. This cold, and somewhat agitating sensation immediately jolted him awake and caused him to take note of the salty air and the cool dew that had begun collecting on the lifeless shards of bone that lay scattered on the road a number of kilometers back. Forget about them. He can do just fine without it. He watched his father make a comfortable living, and he barely had a rib left in his body. Still, the cold only reminded him of the large crevice in his back and the undressed tendons and the novelty it contained. It's for the better, surely, but it will take some adjusting to.  He pushed himself against the back of his seat and rolled the window up. It's raining now anyway. Not as hard as it usually does, but enough to smudge the dust on windshield and keep him from seeing any potholes or animals or bits of skeleton that may be lying the road. These worries were somewhat irrational, but telling himself this didn't make him any less nervous about the possibility. The windshield had now become a murky and somewhat opaque gray being stirred around by two synchronized second-hands on a clock. He scanned through the radio channels again, to see if he could find anything to occupy his thoughts with. Still no stations. Nothing discernible anyway. The gash along the base of his neck was growing increasingly itchy, but the the exposed muscle tissue was still tender enough that trying to relieve his discomfort would only result in excruciating pain. He squinted in concentration, trying to take his mind off the itching and focus on seeing through the dense waves of rain pelting his car with growing intensity. It didn't take long before his look of severity turned into that of a numb sort of indifference. His eyes were wide and dry, surrounded by heavy purple skin that was draped delicately over his cheekbones. His brows were raised in an attempt to keep his eyelids suspended and possibly defer the symptoms of extreme fatigue and dehydration. He could no longer support his neck. It was unclear as to whether the cause was the lack of frame holding his head up, or the 112 hours he had spent without sleep or nourishment. He pondered for a moment, exactly what was happening around him, he was contorted in an unfamiliar position. His head rest against the steering wheel as he watched while primitive, hand-built, rock fences rushed by his window growing larger. This was puzzling to him. It was not how fences were known to behave. A small smile inched its way across his lips. He chuckled. Then listened as the sound of rain against the face of a clock faded, and was interrupted by the noise he was frequently met with moments before drifting into sleep.

On Friday I got to shake the hand of the man who inspired me to take up bass (Arif Mirabdolbaghi). I told him I had learned most of the stuff he had written, he replied saying I was probably better than him at this point. We both knew it was a lie though. I also yelled to Jeff Loomis that we had similar hair, to which he laughed and responded "Hey look, it's my little brother."  I listen to a lot of weird music, but one of my guilty pleasures is my affinity for metal. In this case, neo-classical metal. It's incredible to me.



Arpeggios man. Everywhere...
That being said, I probably couldn't handle listening to this as extensively as I did in high school, where my ipod was rarely playing anything other than Paul Gilbert or Jason Becker or the above album. I still enjoy the shear display of talent, but after a while it just feels like eating too much desert. You need some whole note rests in order to have a balanced diet.

Something I do

I feel like such a douche for doing this. Anyway, here's a thing I recorded a minute ago cause I was bored. I learned this song back in october, but only now got around to doing anything with it. The only reason I did this anyway is because I had a friend who wanted to see... So yeah... Don't judge me or my weird-fitting shirt.

My drawing for animation homework disappeared when my computer overheated, so I got angry and did this.

Frideh

Sometimes Lynn's "eh's" can come across a bit aggressive.

Like our comic book page over here!

(please.)

*lighting bolt* Art is Stupid *lightning bolt*

I think I may have just figured out why I keep making art. I guess I've known it all along in the back of my mind, but only now has it even begun to click.  I've always thought that we should be putting in a fair amount of time and effort into looking at, and trying to understand a work of art. To try to get into the head of the artist or at least take a work for more than face-value is the kind of thinking that enriches society by cultivating a sensitivity toward creation and an empathetic outlook towards the arts, and in turn, humanity, which will eventually lead us to a more grateful and fulfilling existence. When we put ourselves in the mind of the artist we are, in a sense, "using" their art for its intended purpose, which is to provoke thought. Too frequently, people fear that their thoughts or interpretations of a work may be wrong, and would rather just shrug off a work as "too deep" or "confusing," rather than be faced with the idea of being wrong. However, by considering even a possible explanation for a piece, you are unintentionally repaying, in full, the amount of time put into the work by the artist. Our current social climate leads us (and in some ways always has) to believe there is a disconnect between "regular people" and "artists," but, this is almost never the case, (and where it is, it shouldn't be.)  I feel that this has come about more prevalent through years of consumption, media exposure and the internet. Sure social media has made it so artists and their viewer interact on a new plane that can change the viewers relationship to the art, but it mostly has caused images to be even more disposable.  Everything is expected to be new, people can never stand to look at an "old thing." While this logic has certainly brought about some excellent work, it can only go so far before completely imploding on itself. Art has stopped fulfilling emotional need, and is now meant simply as a way for people to read into something before text has even been delivered. Everything has become throw-away material. As soon as you post days or months of work on the internet, it is immediately outdated. Someone, somewhere else, has done something even greater before you have even had the chance to reach your potential audience.
Coming to terms with this is pretty much daunting in every way you can look at it, but I now understand that it makes broadening your audience easier. The fact that people have expanded so drastically in the media they surround themselves with, means that my art is more likely to show up to them. Because now I know that I have an audience that I can expect to see my work, I know what I need to do in order to catch their eye and maintain their attention, as well as satisfy my own artistic needs. By having a larger audience, I'm able to test the waters in different ways. I can get a feel for what my followers look for, what grabs people's attention, and what gets them interested enough to spend more that a couple seconds on a work. Now, I'm still totally against this mass consumption and primal mindset that we've grown accustomed to, but I'm just trying to, at the very least, find some silver-lining in it. I still have had no pay off from my art as far as society is concerned, and I'm still completely frustrated at the world and myself and art. I guess all I can do is sit here and shake my ink-covered fist at it...
Art is so dumb, guys. *lighting bolt* *flame* *skull*

Subspace Stardweller

I guess I should talk about this here as well, even if I only have a handful of people who actually read my stuff.  Basically my buddy Lynn is writing a comic book. I asked him to give me a five page script, just so I could do a comic for fun, but hen somehow I ended up agreeing to do the entire series. So here I go...

My favorite cat

A friend just blogged about rabbits, so I'm jumping on the bandwagon and posting this video of my old pet rabbit Obama. I love rabbits a lot. I'm like Lenny from Of Mice and Men almost, except for the accidentally murdering people thing.  We got Obama on the fourth of July, which should explain his name, although the real reason, according to my brother is because "He's black and has big ears." There ya go folks.
This rabbit was pretty much a house cat though. We kept him in the house and he would just wander to his heart's content. He even had a litter box he new how to use. And then sometimes he would do that thing in the video. Or he would lick your feet. He was the coolest.

Threads

So, this album just dropped. Or maybe it has yet to be released? Not sure. Either way, I just listened to this and am already pretty stoked on it. The first half feels a little underwhelming in parts, save for a few songs that keep your interest piqued, but once you move onto the last half it all becomes really solid and cohesive. Really good stuff. (Also, when did my blog for my art become a music blog? I'm such a jerk.)

Spätsommer

People frustrate me..

Listen guys.

This is really good and I can't stop listening to it.

I guess it's off to bed then for now

The last time I listened to this song was about two years ago in my friend's car in a mall parking lot in Santa Rosa, California. The light from his phone was bugging me while he was texting his girlfriend or something. It conflicted with the orange glow emitted by the streetlight overhead. I miss Steven. I don't know what it's going to be like once he's back.

I hope I wake up

I feel as though my head has been concussed. My eyelids are dropped halfway over my glazed over, black circles of  pupils. I touch the skin on my stomach. Is this anything. Is anything worth worrying over. I'm not the guy that you'd see in  magazine adds. I don't stand in poorly lit penthouses and gaze out of reflective and expensive glass windows that overlook reflective and expensive dead cities. His face always hints at feelings of longing.  For someone with which he can share his future, or story, or maybe the cologne sample at the left margin, placed by the superimposed text that eclipses the table in the foreground.  I'm less significant than that guy. He's wearing Burberry shoes an Armani suit that fits his roman body that he maintains by lifting gunmetal and bronze poles and keeps him from having that skin on his stomach. He fits into that Fred Perry polo shirt like it's a coffin built a little too small. No extra flesh clings onto him. This means he's worthwhile. He holds himself together well. The Fred Perry shirt embalms his chest and torso, holding together the dead king contained within, keeping him from decomposing and falling to dust. He looks nice. He's worthwhile. He doesn't mean shit. Neither do I. Insignificance is the moral. Even if you leave an aftershock with a 300 mile diameter, it's going to fade. You'll never be in a museum. None of it will ever be in a museum. We have nothing to offer. All those points you made, all the friends you had, all the work you did, all the discoveries you made, all the money you earned, it all belongs to a planet with a building on it. A museum where they keep some shit to make someone last a little longer. The more desecration the more story you have. But fuck it. It doesn't matter because nobody will be looking in a minute. Nobody ever looks long enough to see your accomplishments. Or to see you bring life to a dead and scuffed up wall.  The ripples always fade away eventually. Just give it some time jeez.

I can't sleep again. I'm hoping this doesn't turn into another three-month ordeal. I don't get kept up by buzzing lately like I used to, though. Now it's just my thoughts racing, and tripping over each other. My regrets spilling over into ideas and forming a sludgy mass of convoluted and vague introspective bewilderment, like a poorly-written run-on sentence by a sleep-deprived hermit trying to come across as deep or poetic in a feeble attempt to mask his insecurities. What an asshole, man.

(Picture thanks to my my friend Ruth, and her lovely wake-up call for me to stop being so lame. I'm working on it, guys...)

Stupid butt.

I wanted to draw this:

But I ended up drawing this because my lead was too soft and couldn't erase 

and I was just dumb about everything...

"Let Yourself Be Huge" was easily one of my top favorite releases of 2011. Coupled with the compilation album, "Loop," it really just made my winter bearable.
I first found Cloudkicker sometime after the release of Portmanteau, and was immediately captivated and awestruck by the idea of one person creating amazingly intricate and immersive metal.  The one thing that also has kept me so involved in loving the project that is Cloudkicker, is being able to watch Ben Sharp grow into a more mature musician.  As you follow his blog and see the type of music he is currently listening to, you can draw distinctions to where it's influencing his own music, but more importantly, you can see how he's expounding on those ideas in a careful and fine-tuned way, that keeps it his own, but in no way tires the ideas out.  As I heard his acoustic stuff (written under the name [B.M. Sharp]) I became an even bigger fan of being able to hear his practical and calculated style, put to use in a more classical setting, which is why, to me, the release of Let Yourself Be Huge felt just so.. Huge.

I realized I might as well put more on here than just my boring art since I generally use my tumblr a lot more for sharing (it's a vanity url thing...) So anyway, here's a song from a band I've been pretty into lately. They just recently released a new album a couple months after I had been really getting into them, but it still didn't quite do it for me the way their first album did. The acoustic lo-fi production mixed with a sort of yet-to-be-developed charm has made Les Discret's self-titled one of my current favorites, not to mention it's a lot more accesable than their newer, post-metal infused sounds. That being said, Ariettes Oubliees was still one of my favorite releases so far this year, and will probably end up staying pretty high on my list.

Wanderer