October 14, 2018

I Can't 'Ear a Thing!
(work still in progress)

The poor creature of the last week, the one that's all eyes, now has company:
She is, despite herself, all ears.


A closer look at the jumble:


It might amuse you that the colour and a few remaining structures literally stem from a tree, shot by me and heavily tinted. Next it was quite distorted (it was a bit blurry to begin with) smeared and altered but I like that you may still hint some of the structures in the final result (see the first image).


(To be continued, I hope/fear...)

October 07, 2018

Eyes and Work in Progess




What are those eyes that stare on us?
Until we break, they're surveilling us!
What is this nightmare in ink Japanese?
(It's digital, really, might as well be Chinese)
I won't tell you now, that prospect 's bleak
I might as well tell you
-- the next week.



Not a word.

September 30, 2018

Trees, Aqua.

A little ink. A little aquarelle. A little thing whilst waiting for life to happen, if ever it does. But it's fall time. Leaves fall, bright and yellow and red. Illusions are falling too, what colours I do not know.


"So it goes", as Kurt said. While painting this I had to move several times, chased as I was by a shadow of a tree. It was cold.


September 23, 2018

Angels and Wails for a Song

Now and then Yours Sinc. writes songs. They are written (mostly in Swedish) not in order to make Instant Money but rather as a protest against this world where money is so sorely needed and all that; humoristic but bitter ditties that I intend to put out on the web with sounds and lyrics and all. And something to look at while you endure that. So this one I'll use for a song about a soul who wanted to be something and do something but does little else than to tend to three children all day long. Voilà:


The despair is soaring high...


...up to the celestial regions, where an odd Angel Band is chiming in happily. They seem to be of small discerning regarding music.


I intend to use that sheet for the title of the song.
(It won't sound like celestial music, I can promise you that.)

September 16, 2018

Half the Man I Used to Be



The title, of course, is stolen from Paul McCartney -- it fit so well.
And as usual I believe that the meaning, the truth -- if these things do not contradict each other -- is in the eye of the beholder. (You decide what it is.)

(No, meaning is not truth. We need to interpret, simplify, let the impressions sift thoroughly through the Synapse Labyrinth and what emerges in the other end is something we can understand and thus isn't true anymore. But I digress.)

And as it is well past midnight I had better stop there, finding nothing wiser to say. "Yesterday came suddenly"...

September 09, 2018

Splutterfly


"I want a butterfly."
"A butterfly?"
"Yes. It is to be drawn in this position [he showed me the position and mailed it to me] and in this manner [I had to take a picture of the screen where various, very spluttery, runny aquarelles appeared, not my normal style but, all right then!] and in this colour scale..."
"Okay [said I, a couple of days later] -- here you go."


"This is not what we agreed about."
(Oh man, yet another obnoxious bastard.)
It was, but but it didn't look as he didn't imagine.
Let me explain:

Our trade is to work with our imagination for people who don't have any.
"I know perfectly what it looks like", they would say.
But can you draw it?
Can you do anything that even comes near it? No? Then you actually don't know. In this lies the problem. People without any imagination can't imagine that they have no imagination. They are wholly insatiable and I guess that normal people won't work with them. Then they come to me. Be it love or business, I should be very, very wary when people come to me voluntarily. But my imagination only serves me in the Arts.

August 26, 2018

This Time in Green

"What doesn't kill us makes us stronger" -- How tired am I of this sentiment! Stupid little Nietzsche.
I'd say:
"What doesn't kill you now, kills you later."
As, by every lost illusion, by every lost little hope, we die.
We Die, Mr. Nietzsche!
Perhaps this was your wry little point.
Here it is, anyway.

And yes, this week we're green. You might recognize some patterns from the weary eye as you saw (or didn't see) last week.





August 19, 2018

Weary Eye

Happy Sunday!


This is an eye, a weary eye. For the artist is weary. He is, in fact, so weary that he even can't come across telling us why. So we let it be.

We're having a go at the old and well tried Dalinian trick of letting something turn into something else, textures and shapes come and go as they please. If they were sounds, they might go Schlurp, Schlop or even Meeeoww! -- You never know with the subconscious. The party is going on there in the cellar, and poor Forehead never was invited, R.S.V.P. (Moreover, you probably know that it is during these wild parties that our actual decisions are made. How much for rationality.) I also re-use my pattern from the work you haven't seen finished yet -- coming up next week, with all sound and fury! -- now you see it as the red, somewhere-between-circuits-and-veins below the sadly miscoloured whites of the eyes.



Last but not least -- guess for yourselves. Closing office soon, to join said party downstairs. Nighty-night!


August 14, 2018

Queen of Masks

Once in a while you get to meet people who have put so much soul into their Internet Persona -- see; we're beautiful, we're smart, we're dashing! -- that there is almost nothing left to be interesting about them if you would meet them in real life. Which I recently did. I'm afraid that my merciless eyes were quite quick at spotting some rather poor acting, or, at least, a stinging cognitive dissonance between whom Her Majesty were and what fraudulent pixels and words told one. As we're likely not to trouble each other again, here's a little memento. I'm down with a cold.* So this'll have to do to entertain you...


As for me, I'm not that interesting as a person. Well, I might create and say interesting things, but is that me?


-- Wouldn't think so. And next time I'd like to meet some who is smashingly boring on the web but exciting in real life.



*Sorry for the delay, Tuesday already! I aim for Sundays. Perhaps I have to put that practice down. We'll see.

August 04, 2018

Book Illustration Promo

"Din bok" means "Your Book" in Swedish; I mostly work for that market but I'm willing to try international book cover illustration too.


"Welcome on into my book", I think she says, perhaps with a slightly seductive tone...


This might be a wyvern of sorts.


The good company that I had today suggested a striped balloon instead of an all red one, and I think she was right. Up we go.

July 29, 2018

Swedish Covert Nazi Rally



This upcoming election in Sweden won't be as much about voting for something as voting against -- namely, the party called the Swedish Democrats or SD for short. They're as democratic as Hitler was and wish to come in the same way. In front, Jimmie Å. (that I've drawn before) who spearheads this Trojan horse. Behind, the woodheads of openly Nazi hooligans.

It is no coincidence that they become more numerous as the "civilized" Nazi party is gaining ground -- one might compare this relationship to the one between the NSDAP (that wanted support from respectable sources) and the SA (that wanted to beat your head in). I sense the same kind of "Good Cop / Bad Cop" setup now.

And after them, on this slippery slope, there'd be swastikas without any makeup covering at all.


And here they come.


July 22, 2018

"I'm melting!"

Sweden is burning, I am melting. Too hot for any real art; this sketch might have to do for this week. The ink misbehaved too, it just went dry in an instant (that's not normal!) and a general feeling of this-can't-go-on accompanies this humble drawing. We're melting. I'm melting.



July 15, 2018

Heart In Vitro

A picture for my little (perpetual) book project; for me it symbolises a life kept on hold for indefinite time...

What do you think it is?


It would be for the part set in Hell, i.e., a factory, where the souls of all workers are being held captive in vitro. They may have weekends, they may have vacations. But their souls are stuck back there, pickled in jars. It's not very original: Charlie Chaplin expressed this well in Modern Times, Foucault explored this thralldom with a long leash as a philosopher, and so on. The paper-filled cubicles-with-a-roof in which academics dwell (as I saw during my University days -- no room for thought in those caves!) give me something like the same feeling.

Now for something really odd: This image of captivity was painted in perfect liberty -- in my little boat, resting in the reeds (it's the best way to park it) (one has to know how to get out of this greenery, though) and it was very warm and I had to finish quickly. I think that improved the work a lot.


Let's have a closer look at the heart. The underpainting was blue (after inking and erasing pencil, as usual when I'm on a working vacation from Photoshop) then careful but quick light washes of various red hues ("God, it's hot today!") while I did my best not to boil away. Voilà!


July 08, 2018

Details from A New Work in the Age of Hypocrisy

Yours Sinc., standing dangerously near a nice little Occupational burnout, only shows you a few details from an ongoing work, made on the side, believing that Time makes perfect. The image (presently named Planned Obsolescence, for reasons that will be explained later) contains, as you see, hands...


...emerging from a hopeless mess...


...and create a great deal of mess in others.


(You also see structures from my own shots, as so often before -- I believe that it compensates for the digital lack of grain and real brushstrokes.)

I can't handle more than one mess at a time, and the past week saw me meeting one hypocrite too many in this already stressful world -- the last straw.

Now I'll go back to trying to breathe. There are days when one wonders if Oxygen is the right brew really.

July 01, 2018

An Apple and a Hand and Neither of Them is That



"This is not a pipe." This is not an apple, and a hand doesn't grow from it. Or, yes it is, and it does, but not up close. Dalí had fun with this before me; things that, up close, look like something entirely different than when viewed from medium distance or afar.

What don't we do to mess with your brains.

Up close, you can clearly see that the apple is made up of strawberry fragments, multiplied and tweaked in various ways.


The shadow of the hand is made up of fragments of Ms. Olsson, who kindly sent me the picture of the strawberries. (Among other things.)


On a serious note, we humans seem to be biologically incapable of grasping this micro and macro in the same time. For instance: I might be structurally guilty of this and that but on a personal level I might still be angelically innocent. Or: I might do seemingly evil things that are explained in the light of our unjust society, environment, What You Will. I'd like to go back to these impossible things someday, with something more pointed than apples that happen to be structurally strawberries. Or if it was the other way around. -

As for now, enjoy the fruit/berries.

June 24, 2018

Onion Tattoo

André Svensson of Salon "Ace of Spades" (Oskarshamn, Sweden) made the final and painful touch on this onion tattoo. I was asked to do the original (by someone who, obviously, doesn't hate onions) and this was the version eventually settled for:


The final result didn't stray too far away, despite the natural difficulty to satisfyingly reproduce round shapes on arms (that are somewhat but far from perfectly cylindrical -- a common issue when it comes to etchings on human bodies, or so I'm told). Well done, I'd say:


It might amuse you to see one of the other sketches -- as an alternative to fully filled versions I also proposed a more minimalistic thing, also in red and black. (These two pigments are supposed to keep better in skin than others.) But the lady that is now sporting said vegetable -- for something like forever -- found the one with the slice more interesting, and I sort of agree.


As for myself, I'm not tempted. I draw stuff. My works are to be spread wide and far like dandelion seeds (preferably without me blossoming for free, artists have needs just like flowers do) -- they are not to stay with me. Or on me.

June 17, 2018

Work in Progress

I don't know what this is yet.


It is lines, pencil lines on paper, of that I'm sure.

A closer look:


It doesn't bring me much clarity. Some sort of r.p.m. meter, some sort of dial, definitely some sort of stress. That's all that I get.

June 13, 2018

Exhaustment Monument

Since the workload of Yours Sincerely has been rather heavy (perhaps you noticed the absence of this last week's Paintistakingly) I present you with this Exhaustment Monument -- a sketch, but nonetheless:


With a bunch of onlookers too.


The life of a freelancer is an irregular one, going from pining for assignments in one moment to pining for rest in the next. Hopefully this week is to be calmer and bloggier. (Yes, my daft spelling control accepted "bloggier". But "exhaustment" was entered under protest.)

June 03, 2018

Anarchic Chorus Girls / Ronald Searle Tribute

As the title says, inspired by the charmingly twisted souls (if yet not the gymslips) of S:t Trinian's little delinquents. (I find the contrast between school uniforms and strictly un-uniform content fascinating.)


I happened to want something as a cover for the little songbook (containing a round two dozen songs that I've written during the past years) that I've recently compiled, it's somehow Trinian in spirit; many of them wry protest ditties and the like. And a good friend and excellent singer might very well record some of these somewhat anarchic works; something that I've wanted for a long time.

I think it turned out rather well?


I hope that Searle would've approved.


May 27, 2018

Industrial Chain Dance

Quite as the title says.


As Paintstakingly isn't geared for Wide Angle, we'll have to take a closer look...


The figures, originally ink on paper, are filled à la collage with footage of the spluttery patterns that have formed on my very own (once blue) garb for heavy painting. I got it from my grandfather --- generations of splutter...


I don't like Wide Angle too much anyway -- it's merely wide horizontally, and very narrow on the other axis. And wide scopes (especially in movies) often seem to make up for narrow ideas behind them. But my memory is narrow too, so perhaps I've said this before...


As for the meaning of this little scene it's up to you, dearies.

(Speaking of narrowmindedness --- Now, if you do find my Industrial Chain Dance silly, take a look at industrial endeavours in real life: People who are threatened with their own extinction are thus forced into manufacturing stuff that most people don't need at the expense of their own health -- and the ensuing waste might lead to the extinction of everything living on this planet. It's not a merry dance at all. But to critically endanger all of nature from eight to five daily -- and yourself -- is considered natural. Sleep well.)

May 20, 2018

Shipyard Dandelions


A shipyard, especially a seasonal, temporary one, is a special place. It's an entire little town made of ticky-tacky, with rows of makeshift structures of wood and tarpaulin, shacks where the boats live if they're large enough. (My dinghy stays upside down during the winter with a modest tarp sheet covering it). Dandelions grow happily in this mess, and they inspired the hearty jumble below:


The shanty town -- its ghostly, impermanent character, with some loose tarp billowing in the breeze, some sort of mirage, etc...


And last but not least, a closer look upon those very Yellow dandelions.