I don’t know how I hadn’t shared this old watercolour scribble; it’s a fun little tribute to Wes Craven & lover-punkins’ everywhere.
WHALE OF A LIE • I utterly abhor this continued charade that the Japanese are whaling in our oceans in an effort to advance science; it is a ridiculously transparent fabrication.
The Pilchard & the Mouse (or) Mr Cod’s nasty headache Yesterday I posted ‘Bunny & the Butterfly‘ and it was the cause …
Today is one of those days where I should be drawing many other things, but when I took the cap off the pen, nothing I wanted to to draw came out. Just other things. Bunny and Butterfly isn’t anything I meant to draw. These things happen.
A little bit of piggy in the middle… of the week! Hello Wednesday, you horrid thing. I’ve been having enormous dramas with the site lately – it’s sluggish and impudent. The menus don’t do anything I tell them to, and all the posts are higgledy-piggledy. Not to mention all the images that have taken off on the hoof; I can’t find them! Gallery after gallery just… gone.
London Stationery Show, April 1st & 2nd 2014 – Artline will be on Stand M709. Come along for your chance to win a signed scribblegraph print! And make sure you say hello to Grace who will be there to tell you all about Artline pens. Ask about the “EK-231” for bonus points!
I took Friday off and left someone in charge of the sandwich bar (risky: they often eat more than they sell!) and went out to a local piggy bank farm. All the piglets were out in the sunny weather, enjoying a bit of kite flying, playing at marbles and having a good ol’ mud bath.
“The Mantra of the Mouse” – The very short tail of François Begnaud du Moule (Noblesse d’épée) – a Parisian mouse in London.
It was the best of thymes, it was the worst of thymes… so spake the greedy pigs!
Inherent to the human condition is the inability to predetermine whom we will fall stupidly in love with. Us sapiens have written tome upon tome on the subjects of romance, dating, life companionship, compatibility, marriage, surviving divorce, finding someone new, how to choose authentic French linen in a world full of convincingly well-crafted knock-offs… and none of it gets anyone any closer to having an answer.
We skipped from could to cloud, landing regularly for picnics (consisting largely of a lovely Narwhal gnocchi I was fond of at the time) and made it to my rendezvous with a contact in Nogliki who ran a little submarine that took me out into the Sea of Okhotsk… I’ve said entirely too much.
Scientists that do mind-bonkingly difficult things with numbers on dusty blackboards go ON AND ON about distances. Interstellar distances , they burble through be-tangled mustachios, are SO vast that light itself packs a pretty hefty cut lunch before it sets off. Then for the nonce, the BASTARD scientists pop an LED-encrusted helmet and a webcam on a little droid and shoot it DIRECTLY INTO the vastly dark, silent freezing nothingness on a one way journey to the place where time began. And if you read the right type of journal, they tell you how its feeling about the diode-crushing isolation for months and months before it stops talking to us at all. Not because it dies, but because there is NO COMING BACK. It just goes on & on & on FOR EVER…
Later in the day, every kid in the street would be gathered together in one arbitrary yard, with every length of available hose like hatch-work over driveways; all these kids running about excitedly on the precipice of a gargantuan take-no-prisoners water fight.
Earlier this year Heather Fay asked me if I would be interested in doing some artwork for her new record, now titled Cherish the Broken. I had worked with Heather before when she released her cover of Thriller but this was a much bigger project, and it was exciting!
…He spent the next four years in an orphanage and was put to work making sandwiches for all the other children. Mostly he enjoyed inventing sandwiches, but things don’t grow so well in good old Dudinka, because it’s just mind-shatteringlycold. So sandwiches were generally made out of seafood (with a heavy tendency towards narwhal steaks) which suited him just fine.
This piece, “Safe Haven”, is just for me – something fun that has been floating about in my head. Or rather: merciless haunting me from the murky depths. Or rather: waiting for me to dip a toe in the water, so that it can devour me whole and digest me like a sarlacc.
… if your existence began on Skaro, you’d have every reason to be feeling pretty hard done by at this time of year. It would be understandable if you were left feeling somewhat disheartened and perhaps even murderous.
Christmas at the Schrödingers