Brian Cronin
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.
Mary Jane Ansell
From a combination of good fortune and laziness, most of my content today comes from other art/design sites. I’m not ashamed to let others do my work for me. What I am ashamed of is how much I like the song stylings of Neil Diamond. But I like the oil paintings of Mary Jane Ansell only marginally less that Mr. Diamond’s profound works, so she must be pretty spectacular. Contrast should be the key word with her; contrast between the smooth background and sharper foreground subjects, contrast between the light and dark elements of her composition, and often the contrast of the subjects themselves with their simple clothing, but bright eyes/hair and non-sequitur symbolic objects. *insert clever remark about contrast* See, I told you I was lazy.
Mary Jane Ansell found via booooooom
Joe Kievitt
There’s something very comforting about Joe Kievitt’s lines and colors crossing and hatching there way across the paper. I don’t know if that says more about his art or my neuroses. Let’s just go with the former, since it leaves out the hours long introspective odyssey of self-awareness. Either way, you go enjoy some line drawings, while I sit here and look morose.
Faro
Maybe it’s just something about Wednesday, but usually by the middle of the week there’s a nice angry core inside of me whose embers are fueling my drive to work. Wednesdays I listen to metal. Wednesdays I watch shark attack videos. It’s not a great day to schedule a meeting with me. It’s definitely not the day to use words like “workflow” and “action item” around me. But for Faro it’s the perfect day to send me some samples of gritty, semi-angry, metal-powered work. That shit is just exactly what the doctor ordered. So while Bruce Dickson (I start off old-school in the mornings) is bringing my rage up to a nice healthy glow, Faro’s work is providing the perfect backdrop with neo-Egyptian monsters wreaking havoc on my screen. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one that feels the anger on Wednesdays, so join me won’t you, for a journey with my favorite of the 7 deadly sins — wrath.
Videos
Sometimes you wake up to Total Eclipse of the Heart on the radio.
André Azevedo
I could have sworn that I had posted about André Azevedo before, but after scouring my past posts I got nothin’. You would think I would be able to remember posting about a guy who prints onto fabric with dirty lines and rastered images, and then embroiders each piece. The naked women alone should’ve been enough for me to remember. Maybe I’m getting old, and the whole world is starting to seem like something I’ve seen before. Maybe not. Azevedo’s work is definitely not something I’ve seen before, and I see a lot of things. You couldn’t see it, but when I thought about all the things I’ve seen I shuddered like an old war veteran. Thanks for the PTSD, internet.
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.
Swamp Donkey
I think the first Swampy skull I saw was a great big, shiny, pink bastard at Albany Bulb in all its heavy metal monster glory. And like a lot of things in the world — when it’s in your mind, you start seeing it everywhere (especially because he chills in Oakland a lot). I didn’t know who was making them (Ert told me at some point), but I knew that I kept imagining these long dead titanic beasts roaming the land, crushing everything in their path without thinking, sludge metal playing in the background. Just real fucking awesomeness. Fast forward to a few days ago when I posted about the Living Walls conference (mentioned here). Swampy himself will be in attendance, and I was reminded that, “hey, I like that guy’s work.” As with all the things I like, I am now forcing you to look at it. LOOK AT IT. There, now go do whatever you want, I don’t care.