Exult O Shores, And Ring O Bells!But I With Mournful Tread,Walk The Deck My Captain LiesFallen Cold And

Exult O shores, and ring O bells! But I with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies Fallen cold and dead.

Current project on Flickr.

Artists really do have the weirdest job…

Thinking About Character

Thinking about the idea of character while listening to a writing podcast and this paragraph just pours out of me for a larger piece I'm working on. The creative process is weird.

"Ruth cut his hair with a knife. Sawing at first, then gently scraping at it with the edge of the blade. Trimming with a sense of lost craftsmanship, a slow intensity, which built itself from a shared memory.

"She imagined her father doing the same for her, twisting her hair into thin rows and braids along her scalp, interwoven with brilliant green beads, the way she wore it when she was four and five. How he carefully clipped with the buzzing electric trimmer, tickling the nape of her neck with the rapid sidestep of its gunslinger teeth. Working with tiny scissors whose bird like handles wrapped steel rings around his thick thumb and forefinger as he angled his hand under the warm sun on the front porch through the darkness of her hair. And gripped with the free one at her shoulder with an immense gentleness to hold her steady."

From the last page of my most recent comic project…

Because what else would a baboon do with a fedora?