While Doing Other Stuff (Tasty Sketchwork)

Since I'm doing commissions, and awfully busy with that (and a life of spiralling complexity) I have little to show you these days, sorry. But you may see the sketch of an onion that is not a final result.

Pencil on paper. (It was later inked in and then tinted, the electric way.)

Ällyphunt

Poor thing. It doesn’t know how to Elephant anymore (if it ever knew, we can't remember now) and hence its botchered name. Ällyphunt tries to toot. But all the trunk does, yet oversized, is to go bubble bubble. The work, ink and aquarelle on paper, most likely stems from a deep feeling of inadequacy and magnificent failure that no brain nor soul can tralala away. (And I’ve merely translated those sentiments into Surreal Savanna, nothing strange to that.)

“It’s all in your mind”, the usual helpful dimwits would say. I hope they’ll never break a leg — while I’m nearby. The temptation would be too great, this urge to tell them:

“It doesn’t hurt! You only think so!”
“But my leg hurts; it does hurt, because it hurts for a reason!”
“So doth my thoughts.”

As for existentially lost Ällyphunts, I don’t know if they have anything but strained and confused thoughts left.
Poor thing.

Midsummer Madness

"Life keeps you busy", as a cousin down "Cali" says, and obviously there was no post last May. My life has been madness instead, an ardous journey. But it's still June at least, and Midsummer Eve on that. So this little piece we'll call Midsummer Madness, what about it?

The grinning cat is loosely modelled on someone that might be slightly off the rafters too. But I fancy her very much. I must be mad too.
"We're all mad here", said the Cat.

Sad Hen Boat

For reasons that might not interest you, I’m not cackling with delight. Or well, here goes: I was assaulted by a demented and suddenly very violent family member — this after many years of his confused tranquillity, so I was totally unprepared and took quite a beating. And in order to prove to myself that I’m still alive, despite all evidence to the contrary, I drew this:

Ink and aqua colours on paper, A4 (≈ letter size).

It is anybody’s guess why the hen is so sad. But I once had a boat with red sails, one of those lost paradises that one might have. And this boat was resting under alder trees, so between the deck and the hull they often tried to root, little catkins and all, so they brought inspiration to this piece.

But I still can’t account for the crying hen. This is a very small detail, less than three inches high.

But it’s Easter Monday, and I’m still in pain. Note to self: The ulnar bone most likely has a crack in it, something near the tailbone also hurts, so I’m not wagging it. I’ll try to see doctors on this Tuesday, when Easter is over, and if they want to send me home with painkillers — as if this wasn’t how I spent Easter, the Holiday of Pain in the first place — I’ll raise Hell.
But frankly, I’d like a Hen Boat to just sail me away.

February 31:st — a Phone Poster

“Waiting for Her Call / Toxic Memories”.
This might suffice as a title and explanation.

But well, since you’re here anyway, I might as well show you around in this merry little corner of Hell. (Hell is a place where you get taken to Heaven first, so that you may really savour Inferno with all its nuances later.) Let us start with the hand that lures you there:

“Come, come!” — then it gets a bit more mysterious. We have the phone itself, complete with what a friend of mine call “icky thoughts”…

…but since the whole contraption is upheld with merry balloons I suppose that we have nothing to worry about.

Zuppa artistica

This is what one can do in three hours and thirty-three minutes -- dinner break not included -- it amused me to see if I still have it in me, speed painting like when I made commerical art for newspapers and the stage, both a long time ago. And obviously, yes.
I must not tell you what the source of inspiration is -- my contract says Keep Mum -- but I spend my days drawing endless servings of different kinds of food -- I do get some artistic liberty but not to this degree. So just come and get it, please, voilà:
The soup is served.