Secret Still

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.

Christopher Gideon

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?

Peter Diamond

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.

Julian Baker

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.

Juan Molinet

For some people art is work — there are all kinds of reference photos, and layers, and sketches upon sketches — but Sam McKenzie is clearly one of those rare breed that can just draw whatever they see in their heads directly, and it will look perfect every time. He is also one of those people who’s work makes me think of Mountain Dew fueled speed metal jam sessions with friends, where one of the guys just bangs on an overly distorted guitar with a screwdriver. Hot chicks, surly dudes, and a bunch of non-sequitur phrases…and who am I kidding, he had me at hot chicks. Thank you, Sam McKenzie for amping up my rock n’ roll spirit through the heavy, gray fog of morning. And in case you are ever interested in having a jam, I play a mean fucking screwdriver.

Sam McKenzie

Stolen from Beautiful/Decay, because I like the work and the story to go along with it.

Max Wittert

I think most people fantasize about what it would be like to be a kid again, but with all the knowledge and awareness that they’ve gained throughout their adulthood. Maybe that means that most of us are lazy and would rather have all the work already done for us, or maybe it means that most of us regret not living with the general fearlessness and freedom from responsibility that we had as kids. It does mean that we don’t regret having learned the things we’ve learned, and that’s at least some comfort. I, just to be contrary, would rather be a kid without my knowledge. I’ve learned so many wonderful things over the years, and dammit if it wouldn’t be fun to learn those things again for the first time. Knowing things never quite compares to learning things. Jesus, is that just another way of saying that the journey is more important than the destination? If so, please tell me to fuck off. What does this little exposition have to do with the artist whose name is in bigger letters up there? Well, Brian Cronin’s work would be the ideal picture book illustrations for that little version of me that has all my current knowledge. While other kids were believing that things were real with undying certainty, I would be sitting somewhere quiet, reading that picture book, trying to remember what it was like to be a kid, while knowing exactly what it was like to be an adult.

Brian Cronin

UK designer Paul Tebbott wins for the best abstractions I’ve seen in a while, subtle but fantastic. And of course you can never go wrong with the slightly washed out hues of the 1970’s. I could throw a lot more words at you — minimal, quiet, soothing, intriguing, and probably even cathartic, because I feel like anything can be a catharsis with the right perspective — but I respect you all too much to pander like that. Yeah, let’s go with that.

Paul Tebbott

In the long standing tradition of me caving to peer pressure whenever I feel like it, Sam Wolfe Connelly asked me to post his work, and here I am posting it. He’s young, he’s talented, and he’s lived in Savannah, GA. Anyone who can survive that cocaine and booze fueled Ghettotron deserves my undying respect. Like me, I survived it, and I respect the hell out of me. And I didn’t come out of it with half as much skill as Sam. I can beat a drag queen in a drinking/snorting contest though…that’s got to count for something.

Sam Wolfe Connelly

Aside from having a name that sounds like he should be running out of an exploding building with several rescued hostages in his arms, Jack Hudson is also a great illustrator. With emphasis on the line work and color, Hudson pieces together his illustrations with memories and symbols like the best Jim Houser paintings, and a lot of humor thrown in for good measure. I guess you have to keep things pretty light when you’re defying death to save those hostages. When does he find the time to draw, though?

Jack Hudson