Secret Still

Hey Wednesday, how you doin?

Oh, not bad, man. Still too early to tell, but seems pretty decent so far.

Cool cool, so whatcha got planned for the day?

No plans really, just keepin it casual, but I would like to maybe see some Native American-inspired monsters with crazy patterns and colors, kinda like a children’s book on ancient witchcraft that wants to melt my face off. And I’d like a burrito for lunch.

Oddly specific, Wednesday, but I think I can help you out. Have you ever heard of Stacey Rozich? Because you should check her work out.

No, man, never heard of her. And you’re not the boss of me. I’m gonna go get a fruit smoothie and forget we ever had this conversation. Dick.

Stacey Rozich

Science and Pornography are closer than you think.

One Minute Puberty

Mars1 and Doze Green

Ten things I have learned about the sea

Blinky

Is Warp Drive Possible?

Woodkid - Iron

ZYKLUS I

After 3 weeks of some pretty serious rain, it’s about time the sun came out and hit me with a shot of Vitamin D. Top that off with some delightful illustrations from Lydia Nichols, and there’s no reason I should still be sitting around contemplating my own mortality and furrowing my brow in despair. You win, Spring. I’ll start skipping around and let bluebirds braid my hair while I sing a merry song. Because I like LSD as much as the next guy.

*UPDATE*
Turns out Lydia Nichols also has a site for real world works with paint and wood. That’s right, you get two sites for the price of one. This great value can be yours, but only if you act now by visiting: hulloitslydia.com/

Lydia Nichols

Thursday is my Friday.

The Incident at Tower 37

Blur - Coffee and TV

A Brief Introduction to Genetics

TV On The Radio - Will Do

The Greatest Movie Ever Sold

Code of the Streets

Sketch Theatre - Henry Lewis

SebastiAn - Embody

Weird as fuck, but the skills are undeniable.

Jules Julien

Swallow Valley Farms. Suggestive.

Stateless - Ariel

Wagon Christ - Chunkothy

Matta - Release the Freq

Das Pop - The Game

Parra: Short for Paranoid

Suiren

GTLK

Tattoos are more and more widespread these days, so it’s no surprise that more and more portraits are of tattooed people. Not to mention the fact that tattooed skin just gives more of a challenge and visual interest to a painting, something most artists are looking for. It’s not tattooed portraits that make Sean Cheetham’s work different from anyone else’s. It’s his loose brush strokes, letting slivers of the underpainting show through, keeping the painting from becoming to realistic. He’s not trying to fool you; he wants you to know that you’re looking at a painting. A damn fine painting. And hey: boobs! Everyone wins!

Sean Cheetham

Beware the Ides Edition

Clinic - Bubblegum

The LinnStrument

Junkspace

Scenes from the Suburbs trailer

Mear One

Living Out Loud.

Giant: Cloud

The Physics of Skateboarding

Brandt Brauer Frick’s Caffeine

Tornado in Pupping

McBess: Time Flies By

Ikea - Art of Cooking: Sculptures

Branca

A Day Made of Glass

Machanical Computer

As the Winter here dies off slowly, the rain lessens, the clouds dissipate, and slowly all the gray is replaced with unending, eye-shattering blue from edge to edge. I come from a place where the rain happens in the Summer, and the weight of all that water in the hot air just pins you down. It’s the sweaty, heavy, mouth-breathing  cousin in everyone’s life. And I dig that. But Northern California offers a Summer as mild as its residents, a Summer made to go adventuring, to sit in parks, to ride off into. And that’s reason number one for California having the gigantic population of motorcycles that it does. 10 uninterrupted months of pure gold are available for the outdoor pleasures of everyone here. How can you not want to be pouring yourself through the raw air at top speed with a sleeping bag and a skateboard lashed behind you, ready for all the causalities that lie ahead, pointed toward some great cosmic singularity of all the Summer sunsets waiting for you out there, melding with the 4th dimensionality of yourself into one, long, many-legged beast of past and future and swaying with your impending entropy to the rhythm of piston cycles. Now put that into the cracked and faded memories of some long forgotten album of photos, dusted off in time of quiet to remember when your blood boiled and your heart sang and dust filled the cracks of your fingers. That’s where Eric Loundy’s work lives, in that eternal, golden present, in that endless Summer of dreams, in the hot blacktop and chill ocean winds of exploration, in the fading roar of a machine as it disappears around a bend and out of sight.

Eric Loundy