Leave me Alone (a Crowhands comic)
by Brent Braaten
(as usual, click to enlarge)
Posts Tagged ‘Art’
05
Feb
2010
Feb
2010
29
Jan
2010
Jan
2010
15
Jan
2010
Jan
2010
Panties (a comic)
by Brent Braaten
Brent Braaten (BFA 2004 University of Regina) is a comic artist/filmmaker from Regina, Saskatchewan. His work explores the absurdities that dwell within our imaginations; bizarre thoughts that we sometimes shamefully bury rather than celebrate.
He has contributed several comics to the site and we will be running them weekly for your enjoyment. Click the image below to enlarge.
16
Nov
2009
Nov
2009
Shut Yourself Up
by Jody Coughlin
The sparrow of humility in the hand of a painter is worth more than any flock of honking geese flying over head.
I’ve been racking my brain, attempting to forage for some kind of dating advice for you all you gents out there. I-as they say-got nothin’. My tastes border on the absurd and unconventional at the best of times. I think Ted Danson in the most magnificent new HBO series Bored to Death is hot as hell. In his own way, of course. Then again, the cute little writer guy on the same show certainly holds his own in the hot department…and now that you mention it-the illustrator has a certain je ne sais quoi…
Ok. Wait. I have a crush on most guys. I am a true lover of men, not in terms of promiscuity, rather in terms of admiration. So, gentleman, just keep doing what you are doing and I will quietly (or not) observe from some distant corner somewhere. I can’t help myself, let alone all your lady friends out there. Enough said.
In other news…
It is time to get back to the world of all that is artistic (much to the relief of the editors of this site, I am sure). I am more or less a stay-at-home mom these days and have been for most of the time that I have been a parent, minus a stint here or there. I, at the moment, am not earning a steady paycheck. What I do is rely on the sales of my artwork and my writing and that wonderful little element in my life called husband. Without him, I would be the very definition of a starving artist. With him? I have lots to eat. Thankfully.
I, however, am the type of gal who gets a real kick out of earning my own quid so eventually, I will go back to work full time, when my daughter is a little older. Or, maybe, just maybe, within a few years I will be able to make a full time living selling my art and my writing on a regular basis (oh, to sleep perchance to dream). Actually, this is my dream, my goal. If it all falls through, and it may, I’ll probably end up at a call centre somewhere.
One thing I have been focusing on lately, is marketing. I have heard it said that a good artist should not necessarily study art, rather a good dose of business education is more important because, after all, selling what you make is a form of entrepreneurship. Artists must know how to market themselves. It is within this category in the life of an artist that I fall flat. Marketing myself makes me nauseous. I try it, but I never feel like I am much good at it.
In these modern times, we are rather lucky. Gone are the days where we have to sit in front of a television while commercial after commercial after commercial blasts its filthy face into our existence. Talk about offensive? The stuff written in Dear Asshole is risqué, for sure-but nobody is forcing anybody to read it. I remember when I was a kid though, fully immersed in an episode of Voltron and then some stupid commercial about some stupendous laundry detergent ripped me out of my animated reverie (I had a huge crush on the guy with the white hair in that show… What?!). Now that, my friends, is offensive. The commercial, not the crush. So, lest I come across as my own pathetic attempt at commercialism, I abhor the art of the self-promotion.
And then there are the types…Oh, we all know them. Probably by name if we are honest. You know what I am talking about, here. The type of people that incessantly talk about themselves and how spectacular what they are making/doing is compared to the rest of the blasé masses. There are artists out there that are so in your face about how special they are that it makes me (at least) want to literally vomit in the worst possible way. Am I like that? I sincerely hope not (if you see me getting mighty, if you see me getting high, knock me down. I’m not bigger than life).
These in your face types remind me of a guy I dated briefly in high school. Well, I was in high school, he (ahem) was not. When I first met this guy he did nothing but talk, talk, talk about his prowess with the ladies. I, being recently jilted by my boyfriend at the time, decided this guy might have something I needed. Well, as it turned out, all that talking covered up a few facts. For one, the guy lied like an oriental rug on an overdose of valium and two, his prowess was about as enigmatic as a box of kleenex. I was naive at the time, but I did learn this: those that talk the most about who and what they are, usually, aren’t much at all in the end and this guy was an idiot.
What self-admiration and swagger does is alienate people. At first, out of sincere curiosity, folks might be won over by this particular brand of charm, sure. In the end, when artists constantly talk about their process and what it all means to present day society and yada yada, I think it ends up alienating people. If the art cannot speak for itself, then it’s time to head back to the drawing board. A simple artist’s statement is all anyone ever really wants or needs in the end.
I worry the most about the fledgling artist/writer/musician who maybe just attempted their first serious piece. In the face of so much bluster, their courage may fall dead in its tracks. Nothing is as daunting as trying to make your mark as an artist in the shadow of some other artist who is determined to stay in the limelight come hell or high water. It should not be this way. Ultimately, this kind of behavior ends up killing more art than it generates and if that is the case then we all lose in the end.
On the flip side of this, I’ve met artists who have so much talent that it makes me want to cry in the best possible way, but when the gallery doors are closed or the stage lights are off, you would never know it. Some of the most humble people in the world would knock your socks off in the ability department. I am not too sure where I fit in in all of this, somewhere comfortably close to the humble side of things, I hope. Art should not be an elitist side-show. It should be completely accessible. Come one, come all.
As for marketing. Is it a necessary evil? Unfortunately, yes. It is. Everybody and their dog seems to being doing it these days simply because we can. A Facebook account is free, a blog is free, selling your work on various commerce sites like Etsy (for example) costs next to nothing. So, why not market yourself? There is a way to do it and then there is a way to do it, though. I say go ahead, give it your best shot. We are all very small fish swimming in a vast ocean. Why should the advertising giants have all the fun? All I am saying is, be careful. There are a lot of seedling, baby artists out there with just as much talent as you (and me). Talk about your art, sure. But gently and with a dose of humility and kindness. Any truly successful artist has worked extremely hard to get where they are today and those are the ones that nary utter a sound. As for the bragger types? Move out of the limelight you self-inflating arses. Let the rest of the world catch a ray or two for a change. Wait a minute… That was mean wasn’t it? Yup. Truth hurts. I can’t help it. That is how I feel.
07
Oct
2009
Oct
2009
How To Draw Toast (or not).
by Jody Coughlin
You are never too old to learn. It’s really true. What is missing from the phrase is the part about it being easier said (to learn when you get older) than done. When we are young, our minds are as new as a garden waiting to be planted. There is nothing there to occupy our thoughts other than the basics and then our interpretation of those basics. That is not too say children are simple minded. Rather, they are like a chest full of golden coins not yet spent.
As we age, we take in more information, we process it and store it and compartmentalize it and also, it is necessary to take into account the substance intake that will invariably (for good or bad) alter our brain chemistry and mix things up within the conscious and unconscious mind. Whether it is an aspirin or the fattest joint you have ever seen in your life, what goes in will definitely effect what comes out. To a degree. I think.
There is nothing more daunting than trying something new. I know this to be true from experience and also from observing this in others. The first day at a new job is a prime example of the case in point. You arrive at the office, you find your new desk, you strike up your computer. By this time (about five minutes into Monday morning) your nerves are shot. You just keep moving ahead anyway.
If you are lucky, somebody next to you will help you out a little. If you are unlucky, your boss will bark a question at you in front of an entire room of onlookers that you may or may not be able to answer. But, you pick your way through the day. You just do it because you need to. You want that pay check at the end of the week so, for the most part, you just do it.
It is not so with art of whatever kind. There is, especially at first, no incentive, no immediate payoff, save one. That one is to simply make yourself happy. That is the only immediate payoff to sitting down at your kitchen table to try out your new set of water colors or the little box of sketch pencils you bought yourself at the dollar store.
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Drawing your first-ever rendition of the half-eaten piece of toast that is sitting on a plate on your kitchen table, for anybody who has never drawn anything seriously in their life, will be a daunting task. Sure, it sounds simple. But, try it. It’s not simple at all. Therein lies the eye of the needle, educationally speaking.
That little nuance of difference in your mind between something sounding easy to the ear but translating down to be very complicated to the mind is where most artists seem to fall on the path toward their personal artistic triumphs. It’s a left brain, right brain kind of thing. I think.
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I have encountered people who say they cannot draw after one ridiculous, wet-rag attempt at a really stupid looking happy face (for example), rife with expression that reflects the beleaguered attempt from their maker. It’s sad. It’s pathetic. I have to hold my hands behind my back to stop from slapping the person who made such a sorry little face. I don’t mean to be mean (at least I don‘t think I do) but who ever said drawing or painting was easy? That you could do anything of real significance the first time out?
Is playing the piano easy? For some, it probably is. But for most of us, it seems complicated. It has to be broken down into bits of information. It has to be taken one small step at a time. It is the same when you draw. Here. Let me show you.
Take the above drawings of a piece of toast (the remains of my son’s breakfast). They are not the best drawings of a piece of toast in the entire world. Indeed, they are my first (ever) drawings of a piece of toast. I, just now, drew toast for the first time. What did I notice? I noticed that a drawing of toast requires a lot of necessary detail in order to make it look real. I am not so sure I captured all that detail in these drawings but now, I know, the next time I want to draw realistic looking toast, or impressionistic looking toast, I need to add a few details like crumbs around the edges and lots of differently sized holes throughout the bread. Those details are what toast is about. That is what I observed. I learned that toast is full of crumbs and numerous holes and it is actually a very complicated little thing. In summation: Observe. Recreate. Observe. Recreate. Observe. Create. Create. Observe. See. Recreate. Create…Catch the groove. Get going.
You can do it, too. Really. You can. I think.
14
Sep
2009
Sep
2009
Jenn, Erika and Tammy
by Adam Atherton
Below is a comic by Adam Atherton from Woodstock, New Brunswick. He resides in Toronto, Ontario and recently won a comic design contest at zudacomics.com for his creation Lily of the Valley. He will be producing a full run at that website and I encourage anyone to check it out. It starts on October 9 and continues every Friday.
(click to enlarge)
07
Sep
2009
Sep
2009
People of the World, Relax!
by Jody Coughlin
So, was my first installment dramatic enough for you? I hope so. Today, however, we must move on.
It truly seemed, once upon a time, that in order to paint, write or be creative in general, I had to hurt myself or someone else to do it. Lately though, the times are a changin’ in this girl’s life and changing in a very big way.
I am dancing to the beat of a different drum, these days. I have put down the knife, as it where, and picked up a good book; Tom Robbins for nemesis, Anaïs Nin for pain. I find myself in a strange place, a place where I seek the approval of only myself, offering an apologetic shrug to anybody who might expect more. They won’t be getting it…
I decided a while ago it was time to get healthy, to wipe the slate clean. All that snapping, darting, hurting and birthing leaves a girl feeling like she’s missing something on the internal plain; on the inside.
There has been far too much give and not enough take in my life. The well of my soul had run dry, dry as desert with no hope of rain. It was only when I went to take a drink and there was no drink to be had that I realized things had to change.
The time had arrived for a refill. This time around I came to the conclusion that the precious waters of my particular well shall from henceforth be dispersed a little more conservatively and a lot less destructively. More importantly, the time had come for me to simply relax.
I suppose creative types, at one time or another, fill the void with lots of interesting things, things that cause the mind to peel back layers of reality like the skin off a grape. Drugs, sex, booze…whatever your poison, it’s all the same trick in different hats. And that’s all very well and good, if you enjoy technicolor flashbacks and three-day hangovers. I don’t happen to like either of those negative side-effects.
My drug of choice has always been the exquisitely painful torrent of love. Or hate. Or any other similar emotional dregs. As long as it was painful, it did the trick. It generated plenty of inspiration to slash some paint across a canvas. I have been in love at least 26 times in the last 31 years, to illustrate my point. The continuum of an initial hurt was carried on via my penchant (my addiction) to emotional turmoil.
The thing is, I know about as much about being an artist as a monkey knows about being a burlesque on Broadway. The motions are there, for sure. Maybe that monkey could even pull off a fancy little ass-shaking dance now and then, maybe that dance could fool one or two folks who have had too much of the aforementioned substance intake. Who knows?
I don’t know where the world-class artists get their start, perhaps within the halls of academia. Perhaps from a master painter who has blazed a gloriously artistic trail and is now accepting minions. As for me, I started painting because I felt like I missed the boat a long time ago when all my friends where up and at’em, heading off to college or whatever escape from the everyday small town bullshit (pardon the farm reference) they might have desired.
I should have been on that boat too. But I wasn’t. I was back at port, so mired in the figurative muck of one form or another that I couldn’t seem to make it to the dock, let alone actually get on the damn boat.
I will tell you, feeling like you’ve missed out when you’re just a kid is the worst feeling in the world. It really is. It skews your view. It alters your sense of possibilty. I faced that type of despair daily, hourly and by the minute. For years.
Not one to be deterred I used that pain caused by life’s events (which I won’t describe here) to push myself to overcome whatever boundary it seemed to represent. So far, every single wall has fallen down. Flat.
Determination is a wonderful thing. It really is.
Listen, folks…Let me take the mystery out of art for you once and for all. The way I see it, we are all created beings, therefore it stands to reason that we are all creative beings as well. It is a gift, for sure and I think everybody has it in them. The only difference between Van Gogh and you may very well be the fact that he was not afraid to try. I am not afraid to try, either. I get up everyday and think about what I can create. Then, I simply try. It is that easy. I do it because it is what I want to do. To hell with anyone who says I can’t.
I have learned that shit happens and the success of your life and your happiness depends on what you do with the pain it causes. Are you going to use it or are you going to let it overtake you? I decided to use it. I used it to teach myself how to paint, how to write, to draw and how to do a million different things. Eventually a formula unfolded. My options became endless once I discovered my own personal formula required to teach myself the things I wanted to know. Find your formula and then apply it to your life. Doors will open and the world takes on a whole new meaning.
I wanted to prove to myself when I started to paint six years ago that there are other boats, canoes, rafts and various other forms of nautical travel to catch and guess what? It worked. It continues to work. I am just a lot happier doing it now. Tearing myself to pieces, emotionally speaking, has lost its charms and the nemesis, though useful for a while, has been put to rest.
Use pain to overcome even while it holds you back and then, let it go and stop taking yourself and art so seriously. As Tom Robbins so easily puts it; “Peeple of zee wurl, relax.”
Wiser words have never been spoken.
31
Aug
2009
Aug
2009
Photoshop Portraits
by Joan Reid
Joan is 26, originally from Centerville NB but now living in Fredericton NB. She is self taught in the realm of photoshop, starting by experimenting with the program 5 years ago. She says she finds that some form of creativity in her life is vital, even if its just for fun. She finds inspiration for her pictures everywhere, from Archie comics to Magritte. This year some of her work was on display at the Dooryard Arts Festival in Woodstock, New Brunswick. Some of which is on display here below. She takes photographs of her friends and with photoshops turns them into paint-like portraits.
24
Aug
2009
Aug
2009
You Gotta do What you Feel is Real
by Isaac Thompson
Art is important.
I would argue that art is as crucial as mathematics and sciences in our understanding of ourselves and the world around us. In other words, it isn’t merely important, it’s necessary. It’s how we wrestle our intangible experiences and emotions (hate, love, anger, joy, longing, fear et al.) to the ground and share them.
Scientists could write (and probably have written) a million peer reviewed studies about love, but could they ever convey the magnitude of the experience as profoundly as William Shakespeare did when he sat down and wrote Romeo and Juliet?
Think about your favourite band or musician. The one you’ve spent hours alone listening to, studying every lyric, and worshiping every note. There is an exchange going on there. Whether they like it or not, the artist is sharing every hope or fear they’ve ever had. They are giving you a glimpse of their soul, all its faults and virtues. They might not say it in plain terms, and a casual listener might no pick up on it, but it’s there. It lives and breathes in the groves of the record (or these days in the digital code of the mp3… I feel wrong just typing that.).
I’ve been an avid fan of music for so long that I’ve built up an ever-growing arsenal and armoury. It’s better than a therapist, it’s better than a diary. Whatever the experience good or bad, there’s a song that will help me express that feeling. More than that, it will help me compartmentalize the feeling and relate it to another human being. That’s where the exchange comes in. When you listen to an album or (especially) when you see a musician at a live show, you and the artist are relating to each other. You’re reporting the reality of the human condition to each other. I’m sure you can think of a million times a simple three-minute-long-ditty has changed the way you carry yourself, the way you think and the way you interact with the world.
This same magic works for all art forms. That’s the beauty of expression. Art is healing. It’s a teacher, an entertainer, a confidant, a security blanket. It can mean anything to anyone. Everyone benefits from it, we’re wired to create it, we’re wired to appreciate it, and we’ve done it for as long as we’ve been around. It can challenge our minds and our belief systems, It can make (and has made) real change in our society.
The River Valley Arts Alliance is a collection of New Brunswick artists with heaps of talent, passion and vision. They recently put together an amazing arts festival, the first of its kind in Woodstock New Brunswick. It was a great success and it looks like the Dooryard Arts Festival is going to be an annual event. I was lucky enough to take part in the festival, singing a few songs with my dad’s rock and roll band The Debarker Boys.
I’m posting our rendition of “New Orleans is Sinking” by The Tragically Hip, a band who has always meant a lot to me. I had a blast playing that song and I’m already planning a way to weasel into next years Dooryard Festival.
