Fuyuko Matsui
It’s not exactly light stuff, but I’ll leave you with the visual representation of pain through the brush of Fuyuko Matsui. I’ll see you on Tuesday, same secret time, same secret place. Until then, I’m in the wind.
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Art
Casey Roberts
Most days make it pretty obvious to me that, by deciding to work at an inside job, I’ve really made the wrong choice. It’s hard to telecommute from the middle of the forest though. Who has a job for me that involves being in the woods most of the day? I don’t mind if it’s just a job guarding your weed farm. As long as you can provide health benefits and some profit sharing bonuses, I’m in. In the meantime I’ll just have to be satisfied with staring at Carey Roberts’ dreamlike landscapes. Not a bad trade-off really.
Esao Andrews
If you’ve never seen Esao Andrews’ work before now, then consider your life half wasted. He’s got a new show opening at Jonathan Levine Gallery next weekend that is going to rip your fucking brain out. I am not being hyperbolic in the slightest. Maybe a little parabolic. Possibly toroidial. MATH!
Christopher Gideon
Having, myself, spent hours in Illustrator trying to trace a line drawing (don’t even get me started about LiveTrace), I can tell you that it ranks pretty high up on my list of things that make me want to angrily skullfuck all the cats in my neighborhood. Why cats? Because I don’t like their smug, knowing looks is why. I’d have to say that it amazes me that Detroit illustrator Christopher Gideon isn’t locked up somewhere for running amok. His crazily intricate vectors make me think that he is either incredibly enlightened, possibly the 805th incarnation of the Buddha, or he’s a powder keg just waiting for something to set him off. I think I’ll play it safe and post his work like he asked me to. Hey Chris, hey buddy, who’s your friend? That’s right, I am. Just remember that.
Peter Diamond
I would’ve bet good money that Peter Diamond’s work was all digital (which doesn’t lessen how awesome it is one iota), but I would’ve lost that money. Apparently he is just masterful enough with his ink linework that it fools even my trained eyes. I stand corrected, and possibly humbled. No, humble isn’t really my thing. Also, what the fuck is an iota?
Julian Baker
Nothing ruins a great weekend like a Monday. You wake up with a mouth that tastes like old onions, the cat licks the mayonnaise on your sandwich when your back is turned, the hops that you’ve been drying (what?) in the food dehydrator are almost dust, and a guy riding the wrong way in the bike lane clips you as you ride past. He doesn’t apologize or even look back. Gearing up to be one of those days I try and hide under my desk. Thank you, Julian Baker, for being a nice little island of goodness for me to look at in what will likely be an otherwise shitty day. Now if you’ll all excuse me, I’ve got to go grab some fruit to hoard in my new desk-fort.
Juan Molinet
I’ve got to hand it to you, South America, you look like you’re having a great time. If I had half as much color and style, I would be king of The Castro by the end of the week. For an idea of what I’m blabbering about, check out Juan Molinet’s illustrations, or eat some acid at Carnival. Which is over this year. So do the first thing, then wait a while and do the second thing. You know what I mean.
Herman Leonard: Jazz
Something I don’t really talk about, digitally or in person, is my love of jazz. I actually love most genres of music, and my collection is as diverse as it is stolen, but there is no form of music that I love as much or as philosophically as jazz. Well, maybe J.S. Bach’s fugues, but that’s different.
Jazz was America’s first real musical creation (yes, I know all about the Blues), in that some folks took instruments that had been around for a long time and did something that no one in history had ever done with them. They created a form of music that spoke directly to, and was created from, the world around them. But it was bigger than just their lives, and blossomed into a language, a philosophy, a mathematical realm, and a binding agent for cultures that had been fighting for ages. Jazz was like a lightning bolt of pure emotional expression that these men and women had somehow managed to grab hold of and pour through their instruments.
And during that time there was a man who was there to capture the beauty and heartbreak of jazz learning how to be itself. His name was Herman Leonard, he was a magical photographer, and a master of contrast. On August 14 he died at the age of 87, leaving behind a collection of beautiful moments in the history of jazz and those who created it.
Andrew Archer
Some days I don’t have much to say, which is fine, because my words are usually pretty superfluous compared to the visual talent of the artists I post. Such is the case with New Zealand illustrator Andrew Archer, who’s analog/digital work is definitely better than my babble.