jesse joshua watson's brain on display

Boots on, woken soldiers. The enemy is at hand.

2011-12-15T23:20:00.000-08:00

Play

2011-12-15T22:10:00.000-08:00

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I get to play music tomorrow night with Simon Lynge and Greg V. Undertown in PT, 8pm. Come join us and check out my show on the walls around the place. I must recommend the coffee infused PT stout they serve.

Peace

Been a long time, been a long time, been a long, lonely, lonely, lonely...

2011-12-15T21:57:00.000-08:00

What can I say?

My last blog post was sometime during the Spanish American War. My bad.

I've been busy.

Here is our one month old boy and his fam.

photo by Starre Smith

More soon?

Hope so.
Peace,
Jesse

Ghetto Cowboy and the real revolution!

2011-10-08T23:49:00.000-07:00

Ghetto Cowboy is riding free. Candlewick's release of Greg Neri's novel this fall could not be timed more perfectly. When I was working on the illustrations, all I could think of was how much I wished something like the uprising in the book, would happen in my country. And it has. And it is.

To hear so many shouting out a phrase that I have said many times in my life feels great. It feels like perhaps this will not be a passing phase but a real momentum that good, every day people can get behind. I stand with the 99%!

I STAND WITH THE 99%!

This is not new. This is as old as it gets.

If we look to many so called religious conservatives, we inexplicably see them defending the oppressors and the evildoers, rather than demanding justice for the downtrodden. Their pitifully thin veil has begun to unravel to the point that there is no hiding the truth any longer.

This is the best of the ol timey religion. Helping your neighbor. Turning the other cheek instead of calling for vengeance. DEFENDING THE WIDOW AND THE FATHERLESS instead of crushing them down with your calloused heel.

This is a movement of people standing up for their lifestyle, their values, their morals, their convictions. If ever there were a time to stand up against the antichrist, this is it.

This is simple.

This is love in action.

Summa

2011-08-24T17:46:00.000-07:00

Hanging with my good friend, Brian and his little man.

Above: Birthday Parties by Faith. A true genius when it comes to parties. Here the kids are making their own mini frosted donuts. Cheerios with whipped cream and sprinkles. The cutest little things ever.

Speaking of cutest little things ever.

Gnome Style

Boys' Day!

When will I get to do swim lessons like my sisters and my cousins??

Ninja Style

Uptown Street Fair

Little Wing. Big Book.

2011-08-08T18:27:00.000-07:00

Hey. What's the word? Jimi.

I can't believe I am so late in doing this. I wanted to write up a sweet review of the amazing Jimi: Sounds Like A Rainbow, by Gary Golio and Javaka Steptoe. Well, I missed the train and a Coretta Scott King Illustrator Honor, NY Times Bestseller list, Kirkus Best Children's Books of the Year, etc, etc, etc, ... anyway, you get the picture. This book is on FIRE>>>>>>

Go check out Gary's site: http://www.garygolio.com

He has got a new book out about Bob Dylan now,

...plus an upcoming 2012 book about one of my all time favorite human beings ever to feel the breath of God, John Coltrane! A kid's picture book on JC. Life just got a little better!

Anyway, I am really digging his work and I think you should, too.

Lemme leave you with a little taste of something special, alright?

Peace.

Jesse

New Work

2011-07-28T14:00:00.000-07:00

The Absolution of Man. John Coltrane

24x36" $800

Full Blue. J.J. Johnson

44x16" Framed $750

Sad, Old Duke. Duke Ellington

25x31" $800

Miles

24x36" $1020

Father Drum. Art Blakey

18x24" $500

Dreams Courtesy of Bill Evans

12x16" Framed $400

Far Sight. Bob Marley

20x16" $500

Buddy Guy

36x24" $600

Ron Carter

20x20" $550

Corey Harris, Dread inna Delta

16x20" $480

Devil Music. Robert Johnson

24x30" $888

Dizzy Gillespie

24x30" $800

Ella

36x24" $980

Strong Arm of Elvin. Elvin Jones

33x21" $730

Fusing. Fela Kuti

18x24" $580

The Gears of Mingus. Charles Mingus

20x16" $500

Passing of the Ruler. Gregory Isaacs

20x16" $400

McCoy Tyner and the Rest of Us

27x24" $750

Miles Away. Miles Davis

16x20" $550

Mingus

14x23" $530

Thelonius Geometrics (updated 2011)

24x30" $800

Queen Nina, Muthaf*ka. Nina Simone

12x12" $300

Screams of the Paper Doll. Billie Holiday

16x20" $400

BlueBeck. Dave Brubeck

30x24" $580

Son of the Delta. Son House

20x16" $400

Taj Mahal in Port Townsend

35x20" $800

Painting the Sounds of America
Jesse Joshua Watson

This body of work is part of the story of our music. Just one small part. Though in school we are presented with a history that is much more centered around wars, this history is as vast and intriguing as it is fundamental to our development as a culture. The story of our music is the story of us.

For my part, I did my best to fall into the music and become absorbed by it. I tried to allow problems in to the paintings so that I could adapt and improvise visual solutions, in the same way jazz musicians find sound solutions. I felt myself getting caught up in the moment, that fleeting, timeless instant of ecstasy.

To purchase artwork, go see the work in person at the Public House in Port Townsend, or you can email Jesse directly: mail@jessewatson.com.

Peace

Dervish

2011-07-27T16:22:00.000-07:00

I am breaking from my session, paint wet on my fingers and now keyboard, for a short minute to write down this thought rattling in my tranced out head. I have been painting furiously. No sleep. No eat. No. Nothing but the work. Work.

As I should, I allow the subject matter to inhabit my studio, my ears, my eyes, my bed, my bones, my fate and my soul. In this body of work, mostly centered on jazz musicians I love, I find the subject matter cracking the casing from which I used to create within.

I wake whistling horn phrases from Sonny, Wayne, John, Miles, Louis. I organize my paints in terms of pitch rather than color. The music roots down.

Jazz: The moment. Right now. Not then. Now.

I choose to become the art I am creating. History is crucial. The more I study, the more I ask. The more my paintings evolve. And expand. I have tasted the tip of the iceberg and I want more yet know my limitations. It is for the prophet alone to dive headlong into the unrewarded. The old paintings I did of jazz musicians were scratches on the surface. So are these. Yet, with these I see the man scratching. I may not penetrate but I know more this time around. I feel more this time around.

Jazz: Adaptation. The greatest human achievements begin with a problem. I throw problems onto my canvas. Then I adapt. I take a painting already finished and I strike through it with pink. Then I turn it on its head and start from scratch. But never from scratch. That old painting, disfigured and dismembered is the foundation for the new work.

All great music stands on the shoulders of another. There is no Miles without Dizzy. There is no Dizzy without ... There is no one source. There is all.

There is John Coltrane.

There is God.

Why do I need my painting to look just so? I have a camera. Why don't I take a damned picture if I need it to be just so? This is not about you. This is about me. This is my life and so this is my art. If I hang up thinking about you I will never let the real me out. So I go.

Jazz: Allow it to be what it is. Instead of polishing tunes, Miles releases Bitches Brew, which is a documentation of a group of individuals adapting and improvising. The documentation of the journey to discovery. Are there pieces they wish were different? Of course. But that is why it needed to be recorded. For us to see them struggle until they found the solutions. And so this art, I let be. I work as hard as I need to on some aspects, while leaving the impressions of my struggle on the rest. And in this I find great peace. Great satisfaction. I learn.

I unlearn.

I choose to forget.

I release my fear. My knowledge. My lack of knowledge. I release everything except my ability to improvise right now. Right now.

Hallelujah.

Hallelujah.

Watch!

2011-07-07T13:05:00.000-07:00

Watch this short film and pass it along!

Then visit the campaign website, here.

Old before the New

2011-06-30T10:39:00.000-07:00

This vid was down for some reason this past year, but I just found it up on Youtube again so I am sharing it again.

This video represents a decade of focus on a subject dear to my heart.

Peace,
Jesse

Surprise, surprise.

2011-06-22T16:48:00.000-07:00

I am stoked to share this video and images for our new WeGiveBooks campaign in Haiti. But... I gotta wait till I get the green. Light, that is.

Soon, though. I promise I will post it just as soon as I am able.

In the meantime, I will share a piece I have been thinking about for a few weeks. It has grown on me in its simplicity and narrative.

I was painting for Brian's CD cover. Brian is a very old and dear friend so I didn't want to screw this up. So, I did a number of paintings to find my way, and this was one that came out quietly. It was too young for the music, but as it sat in the corner of my studio, it began to grow in my mind as a piece that magically expresses my feelings toward this field of children's book writing and illustrating.

Most of this work is done in the dark.

Possibilities, hopes, dreams, pipe dreams, delusions... all created by the luminous writer/illustrator while the rest of the masses slumber.

Most of this work is done in the dark.

No prospect for success, let alone compensation. Yet, we advance. We crawl together like the melted bits of that one bad guy in Terminator 2. We crawl in the dark. We persist, against all odds and, truly, against common sense. We bloom in the desert. In the dark. We shine bright at night.

We explorers of the unborn.

The unborn idea.

Blog? In Summer?

2011-05-31T20:15:00.000-07:00

Yeah, well. Just so's you know. I realize I am as absent as my ex-blogger brother, Ben. But it is summer. Or just starting to be. And when the sun comes out in these parts, writing some forlorn or dire blog post sounds about as much fun as mowing with our rusty push mower.

So instead? Pictures. That will have to do. Until the cloud blanket is pulled back over my resistant head.

Peace.

Jammin'

We went on a sunny day- treasure hunt- drawing walk

Right out of the gate and we found treasure!

Gross treasure, but treasure nonetheless.


Battle Royale. Worm vs. Scary looking bug (Let's call it Pinchy).

Detailed drawing of the battle.

Nettle Whackers

Treasure number 2! Jackpot with all this death. I tell ya. Boy Heaven!

Baby blessing from the soon to be Ex-Youngest.

My boys love painting as much as I do.

Espwa Pou Ayiti! Finally, a Haitian Kreyol translation of Hope for Haiti

2011-04-23T14:15:00.000-07:00

Check it! I am so stoked!

Words are not enough to express my gratitude to the Pearson Foundation, Penguin Young Readers Group, and On My Mind Foundation, for making this happen. I am flying down to Haiti next week to bring kids this translation. I saw the expressions on the faces of the children I showed the English version to. They were like, "Hey! That kid looks like me. Hey! That looks like Haiti!" But they still required someone to translate the book on the spot. But now they get to experience it in a much more personal and meaningful. This could not have happened without Joanis Normil, president of On My Mind Foundation, who has skillfully translated the text into Kreyol.

As I reflect on my career and the twists and turns it takes me down, I admit that it would be nice to sell lots of books and earn royalties so that I can buy food for my kids and pay my bills. But in all truth, it is more important for me to be able to use the book as a tool for change in this world we live in. I am grateful for how my meager talents have been transformed through the work of so many, into a vehicle for hope and change and inspiration. This is collaboration at its best. From the editorial skills of Susan Kochan, the design brilliance of Cecilia Yung, art director of Putnam, and the encouragement and guidance of Rubin Pfeffer, my agent.

I also want to thank all of you, my dear friends, who have donated items or money in support of the trip next week. I will be buying the last of the soccer equipment on Monday and whatever money is left will come down with me and be left with the amazing organizations we work with in Haiti. Your generosity inspires me that not all hope is lost in the world. Not yet, anyhow.

Here are some links. Please support these organizations that strive to bring education and hope to the youth.

PEARSON FOUNDATION:
website
facebook
We Give Books

ON MY MIND FOUNDATION:
website
facebook

Peace,
Jesse

Fighting despair and boredom in abandoned post-earthquake Haiti

2011-04-23T14:01:00.001-07:00

PRESS RELEASE: OMM PIONEERING TRIP TO HAITI APRIL 29

by On MY MIND Foundation on Saturday, April 23, 2011 at 6:34am

Contact: Kim Bancsi

440.781.2355

kbancsi@onmymindfoundation.com

FLORIDA FOUNDATION FIGHTS DESPAIR IN HAITIAN CHILDREN BY FIGHTING ILLITERACY

(Lake Worth, Florida, April 25, 2011) - The ON MY MIND Foundation plans a pioneering outreach trip to Port au Prince, Haiti on April 29, 2011 that will be the first step in a long, steady walk to fight despair and boredom in the abandoned post-earthquake children of Haiti. They have developed a mobile education project focusing on playful learning in basic literacy, music, arts, and athletics.

“It is simple, says Joanis Normil, Executive Director. “Just like a single book can make a lasting impression on you for your entire life, so can a book and a teacher change the life of a child. We want to create a model for alternative education that can be replicated quickly for thousands of kids in Haiti.”

Sometimes humanitarian assistance needs to go beyond food, water, and shelter to restore hope to children who have survived devastating natural and social disaster like the cataclysmic January 2010 earthquake in Haiti. There is nothing more disturbing than the reality of tens of thousands of “rescued” children sitting day after day, despondent and dejected, heart-broken and hopeless, with no motivation to learn, play, or dream.

The goal of ON MY MIND Haiti is to increase literacy and the love of learning through creative community outreach and mobile education.

The April 29 strategic planning trip includes executive staff, board, and volunteers from ON MY MIND Foundation joined by leadership from the Pearson Foundation, the nonprofit global literacy outreach arm of Pearson, one of the world’s largest media companies with 37,000 employees in more than 60 countries.

Discussions and focus groups with Haitian teachers, child psychologists, and social service agencies are planned. Site visits to schools, settlement camps, and orphanages are scheduled in order to plan for innovative and successful mobile literary and education outreach. A building for a teacher’s resource center, children’s library, and ON MY MIND Haiti headquarters is also being identified.

Ben Troupe, NFL Player and Florida Gator Football All-Star, will accompany the April 29 delegation focusing on the power of athletics to build self-esteem and confidence despite all odds.

Jesse Joshua Watson, children’s author and illustrator, will distribute the new Haitian kreyol-language translation of his book “Hope for Haiti” (Putnam Books, 2011) as well as inspire children through hands-on art and reading experiences.

ABOUT ON MY MIND Foundation

Founded in 2010, ON MY MIND Foundation is a new nonprofit organization working to demonstrate the impact that books and joyful learning can have in the fight against despair and illiteracy in children around the world beginning in Haiti. More information on history and how to help can be found at ONMYMINDFoundation.com. For questions and suggestions contact Kim Bancsi at kbancsi@onmymindfoundation.com.

Help me bring love to Haiti

2011-04-08T21:31:00.000-07:00

Hello, my friends.

Last September I travelled to Haiti and many of you helped me bring gifts for some of the kids I encountered. And let me tell you, those kids were really excited to get a brand new soccer ball and pump! It may sound like a trivial matter, but for kids who have missed out on much of the childhood they deserve to enjoy, a soccer ball can become an invaluable resource. Play is powerful. Imagination and hope are kept alive and vital by play. It is what we do to elevate our minds from difficult times, and Haiti has had plenty of those.

Click on the Paypal button below and donate whatever you would like. I will buy the equipment right before I go down on April 28, and anything left over in the account will go to the organizations that are running the schools we will be visiting.

Thank you.

Peace,

Jesse

Use Paypal to donate money for sporting equipment that I will be delivering to kids in Haiti. Here are average prices for items I will be buying. You can choose to give whatever you like. Like my last trip, I will purchase all of the equipment shortly before leaving, allowing for the maximum amount of time for donations to be raised. Any money left over after the purchase will go to the groups I visit in Port au Prince.

Soccer Ball $15 -25

Ball Pump $9

Soccer Cleats $25-55

Thank you for doing something to make the lives of Haitian kids a little brighter. Your generous support means so much to me. Thank you.

Join me in support of Haitian children

2011-04-08T21:20:00.000-07:00

Join me in supporting the children in Haiti through the non profit organization,

ON MY MIND Foundation!

Providing Hope to Children Through Playful Learning

Mission Statement: Our mission is to fight despair and illiteracy in children through playful and alternative learning in areas of need around the world.

Purpose Statement: ON MY MIND Foundation deploys a simple yet globally replicable program that clearly demonstrates the IMPACT of imaginative education on the real lives of children struggling for survival against all odds.

Our Tactics

ON MY MIND Foundation provides in-kind support and financial resources to teachers, called F.I.R.E. Starters™ and schools dedicated to alternative education.
We are committed to creating a world-wide inventory of replicable models in “field-adapted” educational curriculum and to providing regular reports to the public via multi-media channels on our successes and challenges.
OMM instructors, F.I.R.E. Starters, teach in accord with the core philosophy of the OMM Foundation, restoring play and hope in broken children by focusing on fun through literacy, music, arts, and athletics.
Current programs are being developed in Haiti with expansion in other countries expected in 2012.

For more information visit http://onmymindfoundation.com or find us on Facebook (On My Mind Foundation).

WATCH

2011-03-26T19:27:00.000-07:00

WATCH this vid, please. If you don't have long, skip into it about 7 minutes.

Thanks to Ben Hodson for the link!

Haiti standing with Japan

2011-03-21T10:20:00.001-07:00

A friend posted this video by David Darg of Haitian kids who lived through one disaster, feeling for those living through this new disaster. It is a beautiful glimpse into the hearts of kids who are connected well beyond the physical and cultural borders. This is what we should all feel whenever we find out our brothers and sisters are suffering, no matter where. One world. One love.

Heaven, help us.

2011-03-15T22:43:00.000-07:00

Heaven help us.

But, heaven help us what? Help us out of this jam we have gotten ourselves in to?

To get into another? For our children to get into another?

Then we will cry out again for help. But will you listen?

Heaven help us.

Help us see clearly and act. Help us cast off fear; the dark rider that gallops around our bed at night. Help us break the spell of comfort and rise up out of this burning bed before the flames take our few remaining years on earth. Help us peel the truth back from the lying lips of the snake whose checks we cash. Help us breathe. Help us. Help us.

New Show

2011-03-13T15:23:00.000-07:00

If you find yourself in the Port Townsend vicinity, well then, you should pop into the Public House and see my new show.

That's all.

Peace

The Widow's Mite

2011-03-02T22:15:00.000-08:00

Once again, kids have shown me why they are, indeed, our best hope for our world.

After sharing a presentation about my book, Hope for Haiti, I was given two very special gifts from some elementary school students. One little boy approached me with an expression that seemed on the verge of cracking. He held out his fist and dropped three silver dollars into my hand. He quietly told me, "Please take these to the children in Haiti."

I thanked him and took the coins. It blew me away that all it took was for him to see pictures and hear stories of kids in need and he was on it, giving everything he had in the world right then. Well, a few minutes later, while signing autographs on bookmarks for some kids in another room, another boy approached me with a gift. He handed me his lunch money straight out of his jacket pocket. A wadded treasure of two dollars. He told me he wanted to give it to me so I could help some child in Haiti. "If my mom gave me a hundred bucks for lunch today, I wish she did because I would give it to you for the kids in Haiti," he said.

A gift given out of love is as valuable as anything in the world. There is no hierarchy of philanthropy. It is all about the heart. For some corporations to give millions away might seem charitable but then when you consider the tax benefits that doing so may bring, it forces you to question the motive. But when a kid who has two bucks wadded in his jacket to buy lunch gives you everything he owns, there is no doubt in anyone's mind where this gift is coming from. It is straight from the heart.

The gift given out of plenty is great. The gift given out of little is divine.

Take a moment to feel better about the world, won't you? Go check out KIDS ARE HEROES. These are examples of young kids finding a cause that touches their hearts and acting on it in their own capacity. It is the essence of true religion, to me. To be like God is to be like a child. Children do not know enough to sway their hearts into darkness and bitterness. They still often dwell in the present moment and they react with humanity. Sometimes that humanity is selfishness, of course, but then sometimes it is pure, spontaneous generosity.

kidsareheroes.org

I can also attest to the healing power of helping others. Depression finds a way of darkening even the sunniest skies but the act of compassion and giving can drive that darkness away. It is like medicine for the soul. For my soul. For your soul. I invite you into the light of giving like a child. It will set you free.

Peace,

Jesse

circa 1997

2011-02-19T20:41:00.000-08:00

DIE HAPPY! part two

2011-02-16T16:14:00.000-08:00

above: Pay to Play. Ink, Acrylic on Canvas. ~16" x 20"

For a long time, the only way you could ride these was if you took the poor man's chairlift.

above: Out of the Pipe. Ink, Acrylic on Antique drawer w/ brass handle. ~16" x 20"

The speed required to really get up out of the pipe is crazy. Especially the big half pipes.

above: Damien! Ink, Acrylic on Canvas. ~24" x 18"

In high school one of my best friends was Damien Sander's younger brother. So, inevitably, I ended up idolizing the dude. He tweaked so hard the earth tilted. I remember going to little skate contests he put on for local kids. First air I ever pulled on a skateboard was on his ramp. Scared the hell out of me but landing it was an epiphany.

above: Arc. Ink, Acrylic on Canvas. ~48" x 24"

Tricks come and go. This is forever. The arc.

above: Uplift. Ink, Acrylic on KAPAbloc. ~20" x 16"

I have not skied in a long time, but I still appreciate the ninja like style of these airs.

above: Take Off. Ink, Acrylic on Linen. ~30" x 24"

It is all about the search for boostables along the way.

above: Hawaiian Air. Ink, Acrylic on Canvas. ~24" x 36"

In Washington, come winter, we have a winter paradise. But wouldn't you know it? That's when the tropical itch kicks in.

above: Deep Meditation. Ink, Acrylic on Panel. ~32" x 22"

At the end of the day, a good powder run can do more good than six months on a shrink's couch.

PART ONE: click here

DIE HAPPY!

2011-02-15T21:11:00.000-08:00

Here is maybe one third of the new show. I am still finishing up and shooting the rest. Forgive the poor quality of the shots. I figure I will get em shot for real when my main man photog is back in town, but for now this should give the eyes a preview.

DIE HAPPY! is a show that has been simmering for a while. Crock Pot style. I started some of these pieces over a year and a half ago and have finally found the end of the tunnel on this show and am thrilled it is now coming into the light. Clearly this show is inspired and born of the surf art I have done. Same technique: coagulated ink and acrylic on various surfaces. The figures, for the most part, are shadowy memories, fantasies, or apparitions of either myself or you. There are a few exceptions where I had someone in particular in mind, but mostly, these are the dreams of a caged mind.

DIE HAPPY! may sound all black makeup and angry faces, but I assure you, it is not. It is about the bliss that is right here at your fingertips. To pass up the pleasures of life when they are just waiting for you to indulge seems such a waste. More sad than dying. And what for? So that you can spend your time chasing stuff? Worrying about tomorrow? Hell, we all gotta go, right?

The iconic image that shares the same name as the show is of a couple embracing, right off the slopes and cliff, and into eternity. The moment I touched the brush to the canvas I knew it would carry the banner for the entire show, and for my deep desire for you and for me. That desire? I do not know what awaits us after the final dawn, but I would hate to squander the precious minutes I am given to enjoy right here, right now.

As far as the subject matter, this is just another example of painting what I love. I love the snow. I love to ski and snowboard and have since I was a pup, but it is expensive. And my knees are thrashed, so even if I had the dough, I would have to take it easy and go just a few times a season. So, I have been away for a long time. I see cars with boards pass by and I long to be arcing through deep powder. And I hope I can again soon. But until then, this show will suffice.

I hope you enjoy. Enjoy the art. Enjoy your lives. Do not waste them. If you find yourself halfway through a wasted life, it is not too late. Today is today. Tomorrow can figure itself out.

You want one for your wall? Comment or email me: mail@jessewatson.com if you are interested. I am intending to exhibit the entire show at a big gallery somewhere, but until that falls into place, my studio can be your gallery. You want bigger or better shots of any piece, just let me know. I am happy to show more. And, when the rest are up, I will post them as well.

Enjoy.

above: DIE HAPPY! Ink, Acrylic on Linen. ~36" x 36"

If I fall tomorrow, may I run today. May I fly.

above: Morning Promise. Ink, Acrylic on Canvas. ~24" x 30"

The ferry over at dawn is always full of the promise of a sick day.

above: 401K. Ink, Acrylic on Linen. ~24" x 30"

For me, the real investment lies in experiences like this one. Hazy brained on a chairlift, feeling at one with the universe.

above: Back Nine. Ink, Acrylic on Board. ~28" x 12"

I carry such a vivid memory of hitting the backside of Steven's after a huge dump of powder. Best day on the mountain ever. No comparrison.

above: Tracking the Boundless Mind. Ink, Acrylic on Panel. ~30" x 30"

All that remains are the impressions. So much like life.

above: Withdrawal. Ink, Acrylic on Cork. ~19" x 10"

I'll take air over cash any day.

above: HIGH. Ink, Acrylic on driftwood. ~24" x 20"

I wanna get high, so high. Boosting over the foolishness of a mad world.

above: Life Insurance. Ink, Acrylic on KAPAbloc. ~10" x 20"

There is no such thing as life insurance. Other than insuring that you live it to the fullest!

above: Mars Rovers. Ink, Acrylic on Some weird surface. ~24" x 10"

Exploration. First tracks. Ah. Nothing better.

above: Pathfinder. Ink, Acrylic on Panel. ~12" x 38"

Making a way through the ancient ones. What would they tell you? Bloom where you are planted.

above: Ron's Palace. Ink, Acrylic on Canvas. ~24" x 30"

My buddy Ron on his mountain mansion.

above: Tastes Like Another. Ink, Acrylic on Birch. ~30" x 30"

Like my bro Matt always says (about beer). The last run is hard to find. Mostly because it always tastes like another.

One more, baby. I promise.....

PART TWO: click here

Tut Tut. Looks like rain.

2011-02-01T01:13:00.000-08:00

Thunderstorm over Nazaré.

Bahia, Brazil.

acrylic on canvas

RACISM

2011-01-27T21:28:00.000-08:00

The people who protest the term "racist" are the ones who the term fits so perfectly.

This is the age of unveiling of what has always been but has remained uncouth to admit. This is the age of drawing back the curtains on the men behind the masks. This is the age of a new type of lynching. The age of red faced bigots voted into power by red faced bigots.

I hold out for love and unity. But I refuse to go silently into this dark night.

Reason and truth must reign over fundamentalism. Without a society that evolves and grows we will digress to Taliban style rule. Look around you. It has already begun.

School Visits Galore!

2011-01-23T21:39:00.000-08:00

I have done lots of school visits and they remain one of the most fun parts of my job. This week I will be doing a bunch. What a fun job I have.

Mountain View library with my PT crew.

Beaten by a ten year old in a blindfold. Really. Really. Humiliating. Except for the fact that he is going to be the next grand master from NYC.

I am so impressed by him that I am gonna offer up the video:

Brooklyn can you hear me?

Young queens. Young kings. Young bishops.

Meeting fun people along the way... MY man, Greg, THE man, Melvin Van Peeples, and, the Queen of the HueMan Bookstore in Harlem, Marva Allen.

Chess on the floor of the gym. St. Louis has game but Jesse holds his own. Tomorrow? No guarantees.

Chess Rumble under the Arch

High school writers in Leavenworth

Session at the SCBWI Conference in LA

Signing with Lin Oliver, Royal Empress of Children's Literature, and Henry Winkler, Knight of the Silver Screen, the real-life Hank Zipzer, and we must never forget, Barry Zuckerkorn, the greatest lawyer in the history of human existence.

Come to the Best'O Conference in the West'O! (or East'O)

2011-01-23T12:41:00.000-08:00

Come check out the always amazing annual conference. It is an invaluable experience for those wishing to get into the field, hone their skills, and make contact with editors, agents, as well as superstar authors and illustrators. You have questions. They have answers.

I will be giving two presentations and am plotting how to bribe folks away from Santat's inevitably jam-packed session. (We will have BEERS in my session. Spread the word...*)

* not true. There will be no beers in the session... aside from the one hidden in my coffee cup.**

** that is also not true. There will be no beer hidden in my coffee cup. Only coffee. Hallowed, lifesaving coffee. Nevertheless, it will be a freakishly fun weekend so sign up and I will see you there!

Rememberance

2011-01-13T09:09:00.000-08:00

One year and a day ago the end of the world seemed imminent for those in Port au Prince.
For close to 300,000 souls, it was.

Outcry from the global community was overwhelming. Yet, as things tend to go, the corruption in the government and corporate community kept most of that money from ever seeing its intended target. The interest earned on the donated money is burning executives' pockets as we speak. I can only wonder what a just reprisal might be for such heinous crimes against humanity.

And still the people carry on. The strength of the Haitian soul is undeniable. It is that little kid, barefoot, and working in the noon sun, that carries the hope of the nation. His future is not laid in stone.

I pray for Haiti with my kids. We pray for justice and hope. We pray for opportunity, economic and social. We pray for healing, emotional and physical. We pray for the world, especially those in the west, to remember their neighbors in need and sacrifice of themselves to make a difference.

Please take a moment to watch this work of my friend Bryn Mooser, who lives in Port au Prince and takes part in relief and reconstruction there. He and David Darg worked hard to bring you this amazing 30 minute documentary on Haiti. It is a beautiful film that I am pleased to share with you.

SUN CITY PICTURE HOUSE from David Darg & Bryn Mooser on Vimeo.

Scholastic Magazine article on Hope for Haiti

2011-01-06T01:03:00.000-08:00

Follow the link to the recent story in Scholastic Magazine, written by the articulate Kaj Lund Olsen, son of Deb Lund, author extraordinaire, and brother of the models I used in the book.

Check out the story here.

New Portraits

2011-01-03T20:24:00.000-08:00

What makes a portrait special? I am learning. When I first began I thought it was making look as much like the person as I could. Now, at the end, young Skywalker... oh, sorry. Brain tangent. But now, my ideas have changed quite a lot. What are the most treasured portraits in global history? Well many barely look enough like the subject to warrant a D+ in art school. And yet... By some stroke of the artist's brush, wave of the wizard's wand, we use the ancient magic and capture their ______ (Souls? Spirits? Memory?) upon a piece of canvas. Well past the lifespan of the subject, their portrait will live on. A form of eternity.

I have spent 80% of my life pursuing artistic knowledge, impassioned with the creative drive. But only recently have I begun to learn the lesson that unravels the decades of study. I realize now that it is the portrait artist's job to give as much energy getting everything else about the painting as much attention as the likeness. For, if all you really need is a likeness, grab an effing camera, for crying out loud. This portrait is about much more than simple likeness.

Well, enough yammering.

Here's some art. There are my recent portraits.

Peace,

Jesse

Tyler. Acrylic on KAPAbloc.

Ty and Phoebes. Acrylic on canvas.

Greg Neri. Ink and Acrylic on KAPAbloc.

Bradens. Acrylic on Canvas.

Loving my paintings and why I don't feel guilty.

2011-01-02T12:32:00.000-08:00

I have been up to my ears in paint lately. The constrictions of illustration bottle up so much pressure that when all the other jobs are finished, I EXPLODE into a million pieces of light.

With the body of work I am creating right now, there seems to be cycles of discovery and finesse, and freedom. Unlike illustration, where the narrative of the story is king, these pieces can ebb and flow right out of the studio if they need to.

Ink. Acrylic. Canvas, or board, or panel, or plastic, or anything I can get my hands on mid-frenzy. (I considered the fridge doors but knew I would scare the wife.)

As I work with ink, I let the imagery out onto the canvas easily, knowing I am completely safe. If I screw up, pshhht. Who cares? I can go in with acrylics and chisel away the ink blobs until they are gorgeous representations of whatever they need to be. In fact, when I bring the canvas from ink (after it dries) over to my acrylics, I get the rare and beautiful treat of discovery. As I cut in to the territory of the ink, I am not in complete control. I, like a paleontologist or sculptor, get to find out what it is that is beneath the surface. The initial ink is only a suggestion, but often, and most rewardingly, once I begin to see into the true self of the painting to be, I get to explore a direction never intended.

I am basking in freedom.

I am basking in beauty.

I get to be stoked at how gorgeous they are. I don't have to temper my appreciation of my work because of not wanting to come off like those annoying artists who bleed on and on about their own work at openings. I mean, I know how hard I have worked to get to where I am now as an artist. I am not trying to be falsely humble or anything like that. I just normally don't have any desire to spend much time appreciating my work. I just do it and move on to the next. But this stuff... I am falling in love with it. It makes me feel amazing to be around it and just stare at it. It feeds me somehow.

I get to celebrate this work because it seems to have little to do with my skills or abilities. I am using fairly crude techniques to unearth brilliant visions. What I am celebrating is the healing power of art.

I can get used to this.

(Oh, and I realize the irony of this post, having posted no images of the work. Well... Maybe later.)

Alec B and the Tunnel of Light

2010-12-28T01:55:00.000-08:00

Apologies for the blabsence (blog absence? too soon? who am I talking to?), but my hands are too busy and painty to type.

Now that I finished Ghetto Cowboy, and have wrapped one of my remaining two portrait gigs, the other being moments away from send off, I find myself deep in the midst of a freestyle frenzy. Paint. Tunnel Vision. Late billowy night swirl. Cad Red Medium on my carpet.
Aliz Crimson on my keyboard.
Canvases. Boards. Wood.
Panel.
Desk.
Wall.
Arm.

"...turning the children orange..."

I have been listening to (watching, actually. But only corner of the eye. Corner of the eye.) seasons of 30 Rock while I paint the hell out of anything white in my house. Anyway, Jack is the best auditory entertainment on Netflix streaming, lately.

I am hooked in to a new body of work. Creating a pile of canvases. Turning the night into a long, timeless blur, interrupted only occasionally by brief, online chess, and visits to the fridge. D'oh.

Snow.

I started this show over a year ago. A series of snowboard/ski/mountain paintings. Ink. Acrylic. It was postponed because of the Haiti book, of which I am so happy. But, for the moment, it is all about the art show.

Speaking of which... what am I doing on the computer?

Later.

Arrows Away

2010-12-22T17:49:00.000-08:00

Ghetto Cowboy art is out the door. Quite like my oldest son.

Like arrows from the bow, I cannot hold anything more than a shadow, a warm feeling, memories of what I was listening to while painting it. I can only wave like the parent of a new college student, knowing they have just been rendered powerless in the future of their baby. And so, like parents, I have to trust that I pulled the bow back as hard and steady as I could, aimed true, and gave it my soul's best efforts. Then, I have to forgive my inadequacies and let go.

So, for Ghetto Cowboy art, and for you, Clay, fly free. Free of me. Free.

Hope for Haiti Book Release Party/ Watson Holiday Studio Sale! One Day Only

2010-11-28T11:31:00.000-08:00

Back Nine

2010-11-28T00:53:00.000-08:00

Ghetto Cowboy is nearing its finish line. It has been quite a journey, and .... wait a minute. Why am I talking like it is finished? There's lots that could still happen in a few weeks. I could lose my hand in a boating accident. I could sleepwalk to my studio and paint out the faces in every piece. I could obsess about each little detail so much that it drives the life out of the painting and I have to start from scratch. (Here's hoping none of those come true.)

I am nearing the last lap and this is a good time to think about how I am feeling about the project so far. One of the things I like to do is to assess how happy I am with the style at that point in time. Did I do it just because that is what I did for my last book? DO I still like this style? Am I wishing I could be looser? Tighter? More graphic? More painterly? If so, I need to find a way to bring some of that into the next project. And there is really no better way to do that than to just have a session and paint the hell out of a bunch of canvases and boards. Try stuff out. Play around. Try to tell the same story several ways. See which piece rises to the top.

As a nice mental break from book work throughout the days and nights, I set my illustrations on the counters in my studio and take quick little dips into the water of exploration. While working on some portraits and other jobs, I try out new directions and techniques. Who knows. Maybe some will turn out. If not, they can spend a few months or years in the closet. The important thing is to keep myself from getting stiff joints, artistically. I want to always be learning and in the process of finding out how to do it. The search is the destination. Otherwise, it is like a spoiled kid on the day after Christmas. No drive, no life. No goal, no soul.

Back to work. See you when it's finished.

Life is beautiful!

2010-11-08T14:40:00.000-08:00

Jesse Billauer surfing in El Salvador!

For those of you who are not aware of Jesse and his amazing story, go check it out: Life Rolls On is dedicated to improving the quality of life for young people affected by spinal cord injury and utilizes action sports as a platform to inspire infinite possibilities despite paralysis.

I have a special affinity for Jesse and this organization.

On Valentine's Day, in 1996, I was working as a land surveyor in Kitsap County, Washington, and my drunk boss cut down a tree while I was busy clearing brush with a chainsaw. We were not supposed to cut trees down because this was private property, but he was rushing it and did not care. And, he was already several beers into the morning. I did not see the tree coming. Thank God I was squarely standing, with my head down, and shoulders locked, as I cut with the saw. All I experienced was a sudden CRACK as if from a gigantic baseball bat, square on the top of the head and straight through me, and then blackness.

I woke trying to climb out of the dirt I had been compressed into, my eyes not working at all. My chainsaw was still running, I could hear it somewhere next to me. I spit out blood and bits of teeth. When I started to see again, through the blur and stars, I saw my boss running toward me from down our survey line, face white as a ghost. Then I looked at the tree that had hit me squarely on the head. It was about a hundred and twenty feel tall, an alder that was straight as an arrow and tapered to about seven inches in diameter at the tip. I took my chainsaw and cut the section that had hit my head, took out my sharpie and signed the chunk of tree. Then I sat back down in the dirt, lit a cigar, and tried to collect my thoughts. Breathing was sharply painful and my brain was not working well at all. I did not know where I was, why I was there, or what to do about it, but I did know that I was hurting from deep inside. The crack down the top of my head, where the tree met the little rivet in my Star Wars baseball cap was not painful at all. It was numb. The pain came from the middle of me, somehow. I had been compressed straight down and was sure something big was broken.

The boss tried to talk to me but one look from me silenced him. Eventually I stood up and began walking the mile back to the truck. He started to suggest we finish our line and get to the next quarter corner, but I told him to take me to the ER immediately.

When I got to the hospital, and finally got into the room, a bunch of cops and firemen came in to see my head, having been told about the guy who took a tree to the head.

It was obvious that the trainee running the x-ray machine was doing a very bad job, so when I was released with a note saying, "Jesse can return to work in two days" I ripped it up and immediately called an orthopedic surgeon who had worked on my knees, and was someone who I trusted. After getting a full MRI from him and heading back to my little cabin in the woods, he called that night with an urgent tone and told me to return to Kirkland first thing in the morning. He told me, "don't lift a thing... don't even pick up the milk out of the fridge! It could kill you!"

This was valuable news to have, though not as shocking as it might have been. Perhaps it would have been even better had I gotten this earlier that afternoon. Before the physical therapist who I had been assigned from the ER had decided to give me a deep tissue massage. It was so excruciating, I told him to please stop now. Then I just got up and told him he was done massaging me. Had he know he was massaging four broken and crushed vertebrae, I think he would have had a heart attack.

When I did get to the surgeon's office the next morning, he showed me why he had freaked out. He showed me the x-rays that the shaky trainee had taken at the ER which were so poor you could not see any detail clearly, and then he showed me his x-rays and MRI. There were crushed and fractured vertebrae and there in the center of my spinal cord, a tear that was filled with fluid, called a syrinx. Most of the tendons connecting the ribs to the spine had been torn and many internal organs had been bruised. I had chipped teeth and a whopper of a concussion, one that left me a brain with lobes that are a little more separated than most(aka. Boxer's Brain), and one that was unable to focus or finish simple sentences for months. (Not to mention the debilitating PTSD I suffered for years as a result of the incident.) And, to top it off, I was also one and a half inches shorter. No lie. Before the accident, I was 6'2.5" After, and still, I am 6'1.

The docs all said that I was lucky to be alive. Lucky to be walking. They said I was lucky, but that I may not be able to do anything active like soccer or surfing, again. It was at those words that I began to get a sense of the severity of my predicament. The idea of not being able to surf again filled me with sorrow. To taste such a thing, to experience the force of a wave ushering you into its flow, and then to have it taken away...

Well for all my pain and trouble, I count myself lucky! So lucky and so blessed. My spinal injury never worsened to the point of paralysis. I am playing soccer and surfing. I may have a long term problem of intractable pain that flares up weekly, as well as a marked change in my mental function, but it is nothing compared to losing the use of my legs or arms. And, so when I see people who have suffered such a great loss to their body I feel a combination of compassion and guilt. Why did I get lucky? Why aren't I in the chair? I have no answer for that. Nobody does. But dwelling on the question does nobody any good, and so instead, I want to pass along the inspiration I find from individuals who not only face their disability, but break through and live rich and amazing lives, in spite of the handicap that would shut most of us down completely.

Watch the video of Jesse surfing again, will you? Put yourself on his board. Put yourself in his life. If you, like me, are overwhelmed by the bittersweetness of life, find a way to support Life Rolls On, whether financially or by getting the word out.

Peace

Random fine art from the universe of JJW

2010-11-08T11:12:00.000-08:00

How Deep the Stratosphere. Acrylic on Linen.

Kids can help send books to Haiti, for free.

2010-10-19T09:20:00.000-07:00

We Give Books has an extraordinary program in place that allows even those with no means to donate in any other way, to help send books to kids who can not afford them. It is a way of letting kids take part in something that helps them feel like they are actually contributing to this, because they are.

Go to WeGiveBooks.org and each time someone reads a free online version of Hope for Haiti or other children's books, Pearson Foundation will give an actual copy of a book to kids in Haiti.

Go check it out and let your kids take part in building a better world!

Peace

October 12, 2010. Letter to the Reader

2010-10-11T21:08:00.001-07:00

Hope for Haiti

October 12, 2010

To the reader,

Nine months ago, I sat at my easel with my head buried in my hands. I had no idea what to do. I felt helpless, hopeless.

January 12, 2010. A powerful earthquake leveled one of the world’s poorest and most unstable cities. Instead of the typical devastation one might expect from a quake this size, destruction and chaos maxed out at levels truly unimaginable. 230,000 people dead with many more than that horribly injured. The government sat fatally crippled and powerless. Orphaned children wandered through the rubble, night and day. So many bodies overwhelmed the morgue that they lay piled in the streets for weeks. I cannot think of a more precise depiction of hell.

My agent, Rubin Pfeffer, knowing how affected I was from the news of the earthquake, sent me one photo and one question. And it was the spark that lit the fuse. "What would your reaction be if it were a book?" After that, I never looked back. I spent every waking hour writing, editing, sketching, and painting. All in all, Hope for Haiti was written, illustrated, printed, and published, in less than nine months.

At the time, the global media reaction to the earthquake was swift, inspiring a wave of humanitarian support. While this was both unprecedented and unexpected, the longevity of such a movement was questionable. There‘s a reason it is called The News. Nobody remembers last week, let alone last year. And, sadly, much of the money donated to Haiti ended up in banks’ long term parking. While these companies are profiting from the interest they are earning on donated funds, the Haitians continue suffering. Today, more than1 million refugees still live in flimsy tents and improvised shelters in Port au Prince, not to mention those living in the semi permanent slums. Food and clean water are still in demand, and everyday items are painfully expensive.

This is why I wanted to create this book. Because, as I sat at my easel and thought about the future of Haiti, I was sure of only one thing: We will forget.

Movies, TV, Internet, anything and everything that comes across the airwaves will fade away, replaced with the next big thing, or more often, the next lame distraction. But, books… In an age of impermanence, this at least is timeless. I want to put a book on the shelf of our collective future in hopes that we might not forget this event, nor our connection with the people who endured it.

When I traveled to Haiti, I prepared myself for emotional trauma. But that is not what I left with. While the destitution is pronounced, the sense I walked away with beyond anything else? Hope. I met so many positive, intelligent, creative, ambitious kids who have all the potential in the world, if given the right tools. If anyone can forge a new Haiti, these are the ones to do it. Helping them find ways of not only surviving but thriving, turning Haiti from an exporter of only refugees, to an exporter of all kinds of produce, music, art, literature, and anything else that might benefit the nation and its people.

This is not about a simple handout, pity, a lecture from a well off country on how to do things "right", or anything else that diminishes the culture and qualities of Haiti. Instead, we come together in support of those in our human family who bear more burden than the rest, and shoulder the weight together.

Thank you for supporting this book and the efforts behind it, including We Give Books, and my publisher, Putnam/Penguin, who, through books sales, is giving a generous donation to Save the Children’s Haiti Earthquake - Children in Emergency Fund.

Forward,

Jesse

P.S. You can order online through sites like the ones below, or you can order personalized, signed copies directly from me. Click here to order directly from me.

http://www.thirdplacebooks.com/book/9780399255472

http://www.powells.com/biblio/62-9780399255472-0

http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Hope-for-Haiti/Jesse-Joshua-Watson/e/9780399255472/?itm=26

http://www.amazon.com/Hope-Haiti-Jesse-Joshua-Watson/dp/0399255478

Updated Kid Video Interview of Hope for Haiti

2010-10-10T16:21:00.001-07:00

Ghetto Cowboy

2010-10-02T10:30:00.000-07:00

My next project is officially underway. Of course, much like an iceberg, the bulk of the work is beneath the surface, invisible to anyone but my wifey and I, and the art dept at the publisher. Photo shoots, countless rounds of sketches, drawings, revisions, sketches, drawings, revisions, ... Until, I break the paint out.

Once I am finally good to go on the drawings, which are now dozens of layers of redrawn and rescanned bits, all compiled to make the finished and approved final sketch, I have to redraw that sucker yet again. It is dangerous because as I project my sketch on to the larger sized illustration board, I am tempted to hurry and thus destroy all the drawing work I have spent months on. See, the gesso on the illustration board helps the paint not suck immediately into the fibers, but it also virtually prevents any erasing from happening once a pencil line is laid down. It sucks.

Once I get the pencil on the board, I spend hours finessing the line until I am confident I have not turned a cute girl into an ogre, a little boy into an old man, or a horse into a thestral. That is when the paint comes out. First, I lay a wash of ivory black down over the entire piece. I use a big, soft watercolor brush and a tiny spray bottle. That way I am getting this cool, water splotched effect for background texture. much of that will be visible beneath future layers of paint. And, if it is cool enough at this level, I plan ways to keep as much of it as I can. That quick, free brushwork ends up giving the entire painting a sense of carefree playful brushstrokes being the foundation. And then, I do my best not to ruin it with tight, fidgetty work over the top of that layer. But, in the case of faces, that is a very tough task. Because, of course, the face has got to look just so otherwise it is not the same person. You can't have a character who looks different in each piece. So, there is where the fussy brushwork comes in. Some places like eyes, are particularly susceptible to attracting way more layers than anything else on the page. Gotta watch out for that. The highest goal now is to get it right in as few brushstrokes as possible, to preserve the freedom of the underpainting, and to avoid slowing the viewers' eyes down with areas that have been overworked.

When my under-painting is dry, I start chipping away , one foot in front of the other. Sometimes I start in factory style, with just white. I go through each place that needs pure white and lay it down, move to the next painting, lay it down, move on. Repeat the process with the dark gray or black. Repeat with mid tones. And on and on into the night.

It is here that I bring out so many of the details that never showed up in the sketches. For this project, since the fact that it is in a notoriously impoverished ghetto in north Philly, I had to aide in the comprehension of this very tangible element visually. So I add the bullet holes, the cracks in the sidewalk, the boarded up front doors, the graffiti, the cops, the people on the corner, etc. Sometimes I add little hidden bits into signs or graffiti. In this one below, I named the bodega Mariah's, and in honor of my sweet wife who makes it possible for me to work like this. She blocks for me. She aides me with impromptu model shoots, or random odd objects that I suddenly require. I have used her arm or hand or shoe too many times to count. "Honey, can you hold these reigns for me?"

As I dive into this portion of a project, I always have a few ways of keeping sane. One way is audio books. Another is streaming Netflix documentaries. I am listening to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (again) and watching, or rather, listening, to all kind of stuff. I watched this flick on the Donkey Kong champion. It was actually a cool movie. Eighties power.

And last night I watched, Crips and Bloods: Made in America. That was surprisingly good. It was not a quick and cheesy dance through gangland set to an NWA soundtrack, but spent half the film talking about the creation of these gangs by way of LA's strictly enforced color lines, the longstanding legacy of police brutality and injustice against black Americans, the FBI's assassination and imprisonment of every black political organization in LA in the 70's, and the introduction of cocaine en masse into the ghettos. Nice work there, CIA. You the hardest gangsta out there, ever! You isolate a population you have always hated and throw in the gasoline and matches and watch them do your work for you. Kill off the political potential of generation after generation.

Moment to cool down..... ah. Ok. Here is a horse. Nice horsey.

Check back soon. I will post more progress and go off on other rants. Baby steps. One after another.

Cowboy up.

Book Review: YUMMY the last days of a Southside Shorty

2010-09-29T10:23:00.000-07:00

YUMMY
the last days of a Southside Shorty
by G. Neri
art by Randy DuBurke

Powerfully drawing you deep into the emotional turmoil of the events surrounding the real life story of Robert "Yummy" Sandifer, G. Neri is a master of HOOK and SUBSTANCE. To simply call this book a cautionary tale would be criminal. This book is like the streets. There is no master key to check your answers against. Like the streets, you draw your own conclusions. And, like the streets, the cautions are painted on the walls right in front of you.

Neri is less an author and more of a wizard, stirring his cauldron of words into a tonic that once drunk, sucks the you into that world completely. Even after closing the last page of the book, you remain deep in the realm of, in this case, south side Chicago in 1994. Yummy haunts you. Yummy's face appears when you look at your kids, playing in their safe, crime free neighborhood. Yummy calls to you from beyond the grave with not answers, but more questions.

A confident writer can pen a book that asks more questions than it answers, yet still satisfies to the core. And this is one of those books. There is no shortage of commentary on this event, but Neri only uses those various voices as fuel for the readers' own conclusions. And, in this day and age of nonstop bombardment of opinions coming from parents, teachers, media sources, politicians, everywhere.... it must be nice for a kid to pick up a book that truly honors their ability to draw conclusions using their own mental capacity. In short, Neri trusts the kids that will pick up his book. And that is an honorable trait in an author.

The use of this book's narrator is effective because you are not getting the answers from Yummy himself. You, like observers at the time, are on the outside peering in. The voices of all the neighborhood folks, the reporters, the cops, the gangsters, everybody, create a texture of noise that ebs and flows through the story.

Visually, the book is gorgeous. Even at first glance, the jacket will tell you that this is going to be a treat. Production on this book is nice and in the days of cutbacks from big publishers, Lee and Low Books has shown, once again, that they are willing to drop some extra coin to get a fine book into your hands.

The artistic storytelling of this book is very well paced, exciting, inviting, haunting, and heartbreaking. DuBurke portrays the hood in '94 with wonderful details. The use of long shadows that serve as both background for text and for directing flow, is affective. My favorite pieces are those with that dramatic shadowing. The light becomes a character in the book, one that alters how we view the characters, especially Yummy. Depending on the light, this boy can be a teddy bear hugging pup, or a cold blooded killa.

Graphic novels are hot. Will continue to be hot. But, what many of these books are lacking is what Hollywood has clearly abandoned...good storytelling, not gimmicks. Form is nothing without function. Style is meaningless without content. What makes a book great at heart is the same thing that makes a great movie, tv show, webisode, ballad, comic, and graphic novel. When it has a powerful story delivered skillfully so that the reader/viewer is affected by what they have consumed, then it does not matter what format the delivery system is. In this case, had Neri made this into his initially intended screenplay, it could have been amazing. But, I am very happy he ended up going the graphic novel route. Looks great. Format works well as a vehicle for this story. And, because there is a significant deficit of urban books for urban kids, particularly in graphic novels, I bet there will be quite the waiting list for this one at many libraries!

4 Stars. Two thumbs up. This book is sick! Go buy one for yourself and one for your local library!

Peace

Cold, Gray Blanket

2010-09-23T11:00:00.000-07:00

Waking up in the Caribbean is one of life's greatest treats. Sounds of the roosters and dogs and the heat on your skin already, even though the sun has only just arrived. Looking out into the breadfruit trees, mango, papaya, avocado. The birds, big and small, singing their wake up songs. It is a taste of heaven.

Waking in Washington, as the summer slides into fall, even though the rain and cold have been here for a while already, is like a sigh, a deep breath, and telling yourself, "You can do this. Just get up and make the most of it." Sounds kinda harsh, I admit, but life beneath the cold, gray blanket can be discouraging. Especially in the winter months, which, if you live here you know are between October and July. Still, there is a beautiful peace in living up here. Water and mountains and clean air. Crime is rare and schools are progressive.

I am happy to be home, and I will spend my time beneath the cold, gray blanket dreaming of Caribbean mornings and will appreciate the sun that much more the next time I see it.

come check out my Haiti Trip

2010-09-21T15:36:00.001-07:00

I am posting trip blogs here: http://hopeforhaitibook.blogspot.com/
Come see pics and vids and read about the trip.

peace

September 11

2010-09-11T07:50:00.000-07:00

Though this date for my departure to Haiti was not intentional, I still reflect on the symbolism.

My intention today is to leave my country of comfort and familiarity, in order to do the following:
- learn not teach
- listen not talk
- understand not convince
- build up not tear down
- give not take
- bless and be blessed

Honor the fallen (of both this historic date, as well as all who have fallen as a result) today by lifting up the opposite spirit of those who acted in violence, hatred, bitterness, aggression, ignorance, arrogance, and intolerance. I wish for my country more learning, more listening, more understanding, more building up, more giving, more blessing.

Haiti bound

2010-09-08T09:52:00.001-07:00

I am flying to Haiti this month. I will be traveling with a friend from World Viision up into the rural areas NE of Port au Prince, as well as spending a few days in the city with my friend, Bryn Mooser, of Artists for Peace and Justice. I am very excited.
One of my primary purposes in this trip is to connect with kids, educators, and child service folks. I want to learn from them and listen to their stories so that when I am doing my school and library visits around the US this year, I will be able to convey the Haitians' own words to the kids and teachers here.

I will be working with Pearson Foundation in bringing this interaction to educators and students in the states. Click here for more info on Pearson Foundation.

My hope is to make connections so that for the anniversary of the earthquake, I can come back to Haiti and do live Skype classroom visits between classes in Haiti and classes in the states. (Please email me, teachers or administrators, if you are interested. I am looking for select classes to do this with.)

I am also very excited because some good friends have chipped in money with me to buy soccer equipment that I will be hauling down there. To join them, click here. It is not about being able to afford huge cash donations, but more about the act of joining hands together to share each others' burdens, celebrate each others' victories, and be united in the small things.

One love,

Jesse

A river runs through it

2010-08-15T00:19:00.000-07:00

My fam has not been on a vacation in ages. The concept of vacation to an artist is the same as the concept of retirement- a sad joke. I have had so much important work that needed to get done, but my wifey is the one who missed out. And so we spent a week down in Cave Junction, Oregon, where she grew up. It is a unique and remote little hamlet, surrounded by bleached dry grass, oaks and evergreens, old farmers and new farmers, hippies and good ol boys, and most importantly for this story, rivers.

The Illinois River is a cool salvation to the fiery heat of summer. And, of course, fiery is the painfully accurate word. You pass lots of scarred hillsides, black from recent fires. Driving toward home this very morning, we could barely see the next hill over due to a forest fire smoke. I recall flying over a few weeks ago from LA and spotting a half a dozen major fires from the air.

I grew up in places that were also very hot during summer and cold in winter. But it has been a while, and I am now acclimated to one of the most mild climates around. Cool summers. Cool winters. Grey grey grey. And SO, arriving in southern Oregon mid august with a partially functioning AC in a van with only two windows, was, to say the least, hot. We did the wet cloth trick a few times, but mostly our survival was mercifully administered in the form of swimming holes.

A stunning swimming spot on the spectacular Smith River.

Orca Rides with my boy.

We would visit with fam and friends under the beautiful sun, swelter to the fainting point, and then dash off for a swim. Dry after only moments of walking away from the water, we would venture to the next destination. And again, pop in a river for a swim after that. Lunch. Swim. Dinner. Swim. Beer. Swim.

T Man getting ready for a swim after a long drive south.

Grandma helps get the burs out, after some exploration down creek.

Drying off takes only seconds.

I got my fill of clear water and it was for the betterment of my soul.

Ancient Being

2010-08-14T22:18:00.000-07:00

The giant Redwoods are simply not done justice in photos. They need to be experienced for one to take in the grandeur. Just like the national parks. I grew up near a massive Sequoia grove and was always stunned when I walked through. This time, right at the edge of California and Oregon, I was quieted and humbled by these trees. Trees is too glib a word. Too small. The energy that abides among these ancient beings is not exaggerated.

There is a quiet calm that surrounds this area. The Smith River winds up against this spectacular grove and both the river and the forest are mystical. And I don't mean that in a literary way. I mean, straight up mystic vibrations. There is some imminent impression of ancient mythology when you walk amongst living trees older than many civilizations. Once you leave the place, these dreams might dissolve in the sunshine. I hope mine do not. I want to write about it more and try to get to the essence of my fascination with this spot. I want to create new mythology about these giants.

I wonder how old any of us are. Not our days crawling and walking on earth. Were we around inside the mind of God before we were born? Sometimes it seems that way. Sometimes with a person or a place, song or smell, you catch a sliver of familiarity and knowing, well beyond your actual contact.

Ripple: time to bid

2010-08-06T21:37:00.000-07:00

Here is the link for my piece in the Ripple Auction.

One sold, but this one:

... is still one available as of 9:30 pm.

If you would like the original, go check it out. All you have to do is send her an email expressing interest and then go donate $50 to a charity involved in the clean up, email her the proof of that, and I will mail the original art to you.

Peace

At Press with Hope for Haiti

2010-08-06T21:28:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Susan Kochan, editor for this book, and Cecilia Yung, art director, we have a visual treat to share with you. Here are photos of the printing of the book. When I come to your school or library, I can share the entire process more specifically, but for now, take a look at a simple run through of the printing process.

This printing is done using a four color process. My original art is scanned on a big drum scanner that gets a very high resolution file of the art. Then the printer separates the file into the four colors, Cyan, Magenta, Yellow, and Black. CMYK. (As opposed to the RGB, or Red, Green, Blue, that you find on your monitor. We can get into a delightful conversation about the difference between the two types of color during a workshop sometime. But for now, suffice to say that the printed page is usually done with the CMYK process.)

Then "plates" are created that will be the point of contact between the inks and the paper. They are fastened onto a roller where the paper will pass by and collect the four colors from each plate.

Here we have the Cyan plate:

and the Magenta plate:

and the Yellow plate:

and the Black plate:

Ink is distributed to the specific plate:

The paper is fed into the press, and the fun begins. These machines crank a lot of paper, very quickly. The rolls weigh more than my car:

Each page in the book has been run through each of the four color inks, until the combination of these inks create the full color image you see on the paper:

The covers go through a wrapping machine that wraps the printed cover over the hard surface underneath. The endpapers are also glued to the cover board:

The pages are folded, the bindings are stitched:

Some really cool stuff goes on in there... (maybe that is where they give it the coating of awesomeness, I am not sure.)

And as the copies begin flying from the end of the press, the spectacular art director of the book is there, in person, to ensure the color exactly matches that of the artwork. Bless her heart:

I have been on press a few times and it is a nerve wracking thing. You feel like you have to hurry up with your color correcting because the press is roaring away, and people are all standing around kind of quietly willing you to decide already, and bins are filling by the second with printed paper. My art director, Cecilia Yung, thankfully, is not the type to get intimidated. She kept at it until the skin tones were rich, the shadows full, and the whites sparkling. Here she is with the press supervisor, color correcting:

Cecilia really knows her stuff. She has overseen and directed some of the best picture books in print. Here she is employing a secret trick of the trade. She checks color upside down. That way the person trying to match colors is not distracted by the subject matter, or the familiarity with the piece that comes from months of working with the images. Also, you can notice mistakes or questionable elements very quickly upside down. (Or in the mirror.) Try it out sometime if you are wondering what to do to finish off your piece of art. You may notice you still have work to do if you take a peek upside down.

Once the art director gives her thumbs up, the press steams ahead until the books are printed:

I would love to give a big thank you to Putnam (Penguin) for the rush printing on this project. They made it possible for the book to come out much faster than most books ever do, and ensured its message and purpose would be effective in its timeliness. The book, in fact, is something of a miracle baby. Usually picture books take up to two years, pen to product. But this book will be complete, from first spark of idea to finished book, in less than nine months.

Thanks to Rubin Pfeffer, my admirable agent and friend. When I told him I was the fastest painter in the west, he told me I may just have to prove that someday. After we signed Hope for Haiti, he reminded me that this was that very time. Right around two months later, the entire book was painted, cover and all.

Thanks to Cecilia Yung for her eagle eye for color and the way she carefully birthed this book into existence, from written word, to final product. And, a special thanks to Susan Kochan, for her editing acumen, her out of the box thinking, and her trigger finger camera skills in documenting this part of the process of Hope for Haiti.

October, here we come.

-Jesse

Old Friends and New Friends and Facebook Friends

2010-08-05T20:25:00.000-07:00

The Facebook friends are the ones I worry about. The ones that might have a nine under their jacket and who may have spent hundreds of hours in preparation for this very moment. To silence the Jesster. But, alas. I am delusional. Or am I?

When you finally meet a Facebook friend or Blogger friend in person, there is a measure of awkward intimacy... kinda like waking up next to a stranger. Or, so I hear. There really is this weird thing where you get to know these people over time, but never face to face. Sometimes it ends in shame, like the time I woke up next to the clown. And other times, with a happy ending. Uh...let me rephrase. I mean to say, sometimes it ends in an even more solid friendship, one with the foundation of the pen-palish aspects of the internet, but with the well rounded features of a hand shake or hug.

In LA, I got to meet several such people (not to mention, a very special someone with size 17 shoes and a bright red nose. But that is another story entirely). Lots of these folks I ran into and then spent time with were complete strangers to my face. I knew them by their comments. And that is actually not a bad way to meet and get to know someone. It is like speed dating, but opposite. Long dating. And not dating, but you get the point. You get used to the kind of response a person would probably have to any given thing. And then you meet them in person and you know them enough. Enough to hang out.

My artist friends who I met through blogs or otherwise online, are a ruckus crew. I really enjoyed them. The writers, as well, although, since they are all in the business of telling lies, I was more dubious. My dubiosity proved almost always unwarranted. Good folks, all in all. But, I tell you what. I love how writers do their thing. Online, you can NOT shut them up for anything on earth. They will just comment until the sun comes up. Except ...when you ask them something in person. I witnessed the silent stammers of many typically loquacious wordsmiths, when asked to suddenly give an answer or response on video. Classic! And I am the same way. I am solid if you let me write about it... actually, write about it and then go and revise what I have written for an hour or two. Then I can sound like a cross between Mohatma Ghandi and Phil Jackson. But, on the spot, I sound like a cross between Chief Wiggum and Sarah Palin. You come looking to me for a sound byte after a few mohitos and a day's worth of lectures, and I will provide you with enough lorus ipsum to fill a brochure.

One other minor point about those internet friends is this. Many times the most confident, hilarious bloggers or FBers are in fact, shy little cutie pies who, without their cloak of invisibility, just about blow away in a gentle breeze. So your job is to confirm their awesomeness. Unless they are carrying a nine and a full clip, in which case, you have got to drop them before they drop you. And, take it from me. Carrying a big sketch book is great for dropping assassin bloggers.

Peace

Charity Art Auction for Education

2010-08-04T12:28:00.000-07:00

Please go check this out. It is hot. Lots of great artists doing impressions of Santat Style and images from the book, Oh-No! The book is simply majestic in its awesomeness. It kicks booty. And now, there are all these originals that kick booty for a good cause.

THE WEBSITE
http://theeyewitnessreports.com
http://theeyewitnessreports.blogspot.com
THE GALLERY SHOW
http://www.gallerynucleus.com/gallery/exhibition/259

Click here to check out the art!

Here is the piece I did:

Pencil on Bristol Board.

Ripple

2010-07-22T17:44:00.000-07:00

	Jerry Garcia - Ripple .mp3

	Found at bee mp3 search engine

Here are the two paintings I did for Kelly Light's brilliant project, Ripple. Go check it out and buy cards and art to raise money for the gulf clean up. It is a positive action when all I mostly feel like doing when I watch news of this is to hang my head in despair. Upward and onward, led forward by art!

Let there be songs to fill the air.

ARTISTS FOR PEACE AND JUSTICE

2010-07-22T15:30:00.000-07:00

I found this link and must share it. Artists for Peace and Justice is an organization that is on the ground in Haiti, doing great work to help the lives of Haitians.

Visit their site and make a donation now. 100% of all donations go directly to the relief effort.

Mission Statement

Artists for Peace and Justice, established in early 2009, is a fundraising effort founded by Paul Haggis and friends that encourages peace and social justice and addresses issues of poverty and enfranchisement in communities around the world. The organization’s immediate goal is to build schools to serve the poorest areas of Haiti, providing an education, hot meals, clean drinking water and regular medical treatments to the children living in the slums.

About Father Rick Frechette

For the past 22 years Father Rick Frechette has worked in the slums of Haiti. He came to the country as a priest and soon saw that what they needed more was a doctor. He began studying for his degree and continued working in the slums of Port-au-Prince on the weekends. APJ is committed to supporting the community outreach programs led by Father Rick in the poorest country in the western hemisphere.

Portrait of G. Neri, Badass Pope of Poetry

2010-07-19T19:50:00.000-07:00

When Oprah got in touch about commissioning me to do a portrait of Greg, I thought he had hired an Oprah impersonator to play a trick on me. But she really loves this guy. So much that a portrait for her living room is in order. Who am I to complain.

G. Neri by Jesse Joshua Watson

ink and acrylic on Kapa Bloc

This is a portrait I just finished for my man, Greg Neri. For a few years now, I have wanted to begin a series of portraits of great writers and artists. This is one of the first in the series, which also includes Tomie dePaola. Greg and Tomie. Between the spectrum they bookend lie all kinds of beautiful and amazing people I would like to capture in paint. Eventually. If book work slows down a bit, I am on it. This one I had to finish soon because Greg is taking an extended mystical voyage to the land of techno and shorts with black socks and sandals.

The painting was inspired by the man who has written some of my favorite projects, Chess Rumble and Ghetto Cowboy. He also has done plenty of other top shelf work, including the upcoming Yummy. Imagery in the mosaic wall was derived from his past and future books, some symbolic fortunetelling on my part, and random shapes. The color palette was not because Greg loves Prince and rocks When Doves Cry morning to night. I just wanted to limit it and keep it more graphic feeling. To me, purples have always evoked feelings of monks and priests and popes and that kind of thing. Not for any historical or logical reason at all. Just because I am crazy that way. Anyway, I present you with the Badass Pope of Poetry.

*in case there are any fact checkers running around after hours, checking every claim made by mental hermit bloggers like, ahem, myself, please refer to Oprah Thompson, my next door neighbor, who can corroborate any evidence you might require about the commission of this work of art.

New Hope for Haiti blog

2010-07-14T14:21:00.000-07:00

I was doing a radio interview this morning and realized I needed a quick and easy link to give people that is not my website. So I came up with this. Hope for Haiti BLOG.

Now I have an easy place to update different things that are happening in preparation for the release of the book. (Including a very cool announcement from the publisher that we are teaming up with WeGiveBooks.org and World Vision, Intl. to give books to kids in Haiti... More exciting news to come!)

Go check it out if you like. But also, help spread the word about it. The more people we can get tuned in to the site, the more people that can tell their local librarians and teachers. We are going to unveil some very cool activities kids can be involved with to help raise support for reconstruction efforts in Haiti.

Thanks,

Jesse

LA EX

2010-07-13T21:59:00.000-07:00

I don't have any ex's in LA. (Do I?) But I have spent a lot of time there in my life. I have a weird relationship to it. I love it, but for hazy reasons. Hazy being an unfunny joke, as the mountain-hiding haze I used to inhale copious amounts of was a complex bouquet of acidity, tannins, and carbon monoxide. I remember telling my mom that my chest ached, but what could she do? It was the air we breathed. Better LA than Mexico City, I was told.

I lived in LA until I was in second grade, when we moved to a suburb of Kansas City. It was a great place to ride bikes, find crawdads, play baseball and soccer, and be deflated by some horrendous witch- teachers. And if you think I am exaggerating, I give you a day in the life of a heretofore ambitious self-learner in fourth grader:

Pat and Carol, the two poorest kids in my class, are taken to the front so that the teacher can call on different kids to point out dirty items of clothing. Pat, who only ever wore that matted, old parka, held back most tears, but Carol wept open mouthed. The teacher smiled like Voldemort at Equus.
Later that morning she slapped a kid in the mouth because he did not take his pen out of there fast enough. He ran to the nurse with a shiny new hole in his cheek. His parents made him apologize for disrespecting the teacher.
Having spent months in daily memorization, I was given the opportunity to win 50 special extra credit points by reciting the Gettysburg Address perfectly. Which I did. But after I was finished, she told me I was just trying to be a show off and she sent me back to my seat empty handed.
And, before we went home for the day, the teacher dragged up the reliable Pat and Carol for one last round of child abuse.

Ah.... memories. But this is about LA.

When we moved from KC, we drove Clark Wilhelm Griswold style. In truth, we made the drive in as close to the Family Truckster as I have ever seen. It was a pea green Plymouth Volaré with wood panels and vinyl seats and a suspension system that made you feel like you were on a waterbed. (Clearly not a good thing for a sleepy driver, eh Clark?) It was an epic hero's journey, complete with dog slobber, carsickness, breakdowns, family fights and even a fifty yard jump.

Fifty Yards.....

So, anyway, we wind up in Northern Cali in the foothills of the Sierras. A gorgeous place. A redneck place. A hippie place. A dusty, dry, wildfire place. Far from the big city and beaches. In fact, seven hours from the big city and beaches. Seven hours if you are my dad, driving a beat up Volaré down 99 with a family of five, from Calaveras County to LA. Five hours if you are me, rolling solo in my '85 VW Scirocco at seventeen. (Maybe even four.)

We got to visit my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, all of em, down in LA every six months or so. It was a washed car place. It was an M&M's and Coke place. It was a sneak beers out of the fridge and get faded in the garage place. As I became a teenager, I got to go hang out down there in Redondo Beach or Torrance for the summer. It transformed LA from brown air traffic fest, to beach paradise made up entirely of skateboarding down the strand with a beer buzz to the sight of brownish bikini'd bodies and waves. It was my own paradise. So much so, in fact, that when I was fifteen I ran away with my best buddy and we spent ten days in LA, living out of the car and selling hand made T Shirts at Venice next to the rastas. It was AWESOME. Unless, of course, you are one of my kids reading this. In which case, that was just a joke. I never ran away to LA. Didn't happen. Running away is unbelievably STUPID and DANGEROUS and you should NEVER EVER EVER EVER do it. (Ah, who am I kidding? My kids will never read this blog.)

But, had we run away to LA and driven down there in my buddy's little brown beater, we might have been stoked out of our minds with adrenaline, smoking cigarettes and dreaming of new futures. And we might have been jamming down the grapevine at dusk when the U2 song, Where the Streets Have No Name, comes on the radio just as we crest a dark hill and suddenly the entire galaxy of Los Angeles open up to us in lights. I want to run..... I want to hide......

I can still feel the goosebumps. I can still feel the potential of a fifteen and sixteen year old in a car with stolen beers, cans of chili, Ak-Mak crackers, kipper snacks, and enough money for two tanks of gas. And really, that is what LA has and always will be for me. Potential. A place I can run away to and hide in the endlessness of it.

It's been a while since I have driven the tail section of the grapevine into LA. In fact, the last time I drove out of LA was with my wifey trailing me in our Pathfinder while I drove the moving van from San Diego towards the muted grey state in which I now reside.

But I do still get the shimmers of potential whenever I fly in. And, even though I hate flying, due to my very rational and common sense fear, I still love coming into LA. And I will be coming again this summer for a SCBWI conference. Not coming home. No. That would ruin it. That would be the end of LA for me. I only come back for a small taste of potential and then I leave. Partially because I know how much living in LA sucks, and to preserve my remnant of paradise. But mostly because of the truths held in this quote from one of my fav books ever, The Prophet, by Khalil Gibran.

"When you part from your friend, you grieve not;

For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain."

See you in LA.

P.S. For anyone who comes running to the defense of teachers, bababababa, CHILL. I am a teacher. I understand. I have stood in front of a room full of students and debated walking right out the front door forever. Kids often treat teachers horridly. But I did not. I was an obedient kid, wanting nothing more than to do what was right and please those in authority over me. Well, they burned that bridge... And if I, who was deeply entrenched in not only the culture of midwestern respect, but also in the fear of the bubbling heat of Hell's ever approaching fire, can be shocked into a full 180 degrees around, how easy is it to forever turn off kids who are already halfway there?

I try to remember that when I get burned out. These kids are always on the brink of something. Don't push them over. Don't push them over. Entice them back with respect and positive vibes. Don't push them over.

Sugar Minott, Rest Blessed

2010-07-13T14:12:00.000-07:00

This was supposed to be a concert poster for Sugar Minot's Seattle and Portland shows in a week or so, but instead it has become a memorial piece. The show will go on, though, with a very special crucial Jamaican artist coming to preform instead. Wont say who just yet, but he sings A Song...

I get IRIE just listening to this jam. It brings back sweet memories of rollin through sunny San Diego in my Pathfinder, big bass hitting, Sugar keeping it slow and steady for me. Thanks, Sugar, for all the vibes. Rest well.

Water.Sun.Water.Sun.

2010-07-09T09:16:00.001-07:00

It has been three days since summer hit the PNW. And it did not just trickle in. It arrived like a hot girl at a boring party. Everything instantly changed.

In addition to my realization that I have not been acclimated to hot weather for a long time, the most drastic change is this sudden need to water the garden. It is a time consuming job but every time I start, I find myself lost in the macro. And this is where I love to be. I notice every drop of water that twinkles in the sun, each new blip of green that will become a leaf, any holes left by those villainous slugs. My worry and stress is pushed out of my brain by the elemental meditation.

In many ways, my boys are like the plants in my garden. They don't need technology, fancy clothes, expensive food. They don't need complex planning or compensation. Give em water. Give em sun. Then let them do their thing.

PRODUCTIVITY FALLS 200%

2010-06-16T09:37:00.001-07:00

This is the best reward for a long stretch of hard work.

World Cup 2010!

A beautiful game, indeed. Today I watched Switzerland beat Spain convincingly. Spain was the top pick to win the cup, coming off their Euro championship. But, as the game goes, little ol' SUI trounced them like David dropping Goliath. Beautiful!

And, yesterday, North Korea held their own against my all time fav, Brazil, losing the game but maintaining respect for very tough play. Brazil took a while to warm up and start their war machine, but we got a little sneak peek of what is to come. Maicon's extremely acute, air bending shot was so fine, it deserves it's own cup.

The opening game between ZA and Mex was pretty fun to watch as well and Tshabalala's goal was beautiful! A straight shot on the run that pierced the top corner!

Ahhh. And I owe all this happiness to my tiny rabbit ears and the blessed Spanish channel. Thank God for Mexicans (and Spanish speaking Americans). If I had to rely on white Americans, I would be in the pits of despair right now. (shocker) What is on the other channels? A whole lot of nothing. What is wrong with us? We let this once every four years opportunity march right under our noses without hardly a glance. Meanwhile the rest of the planet has stopped so abruptly that scientists have detected a sudden shift in the earth's axis.

Well, luckily, I am seeing a bit of progress in the comprehension of futbol in my own country. Normally, I see a bunch of people waving American flags and I want to get as far away as I can. And fast. (I don't want to get my dreadlocked butt lynched by Tea Party "Patriots".) But nowadays, I have seen roving groups of flag-draped folks, shouting and waving.... and I love it! Probably the first time I have ever smiled at someone yelling while holding the flag. And why? Because by waving the flag they are not swaggering diabolically about the brutality of a huge, wealthy nation taking advantage of a smaller, poorer one, killing their children and raping their resources. (Obviously, I am not saying everybody waving a flag, supporting their kids or husbands or wives in the service are like this. I am thinking of the red faced screamers at big rallies that just exude hatred and anger. You know what I am talking about. I am not making it up.) What are they waving the flag for? They are celebrating their team. They are celebrating our team. What real patriotism should be.

Life should be more like soccer. You win. You lose. After the game you go and shake hands with your opponent and move on to the next game.

Viva Futbol! Viva Soccer! Viva Football! Viva Foutbol! Viva!

Hope for Haiti, October 2010

2010-06-06T20:37:00.001-07:00

I am officially finished with Hope for Haiti.

I overnighted all the art away to NY on Thursday afternoon. I want to plop down into a couch and chhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhillllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll.

But.... that is not gonna happen. I am furiously finishing some sketches for Ghetto Cowboy and so, as I have been reminded so often throughout my life, there is no rest for the wicked. (Maybe in July.)

But it is nice to see my babies fly fly away. Much easier than seeing my big baby fly away. Clay is graduating HS next week, and turning 18. And I just had a mini heart attack just now thinking that I have an 18 year old. Dear Lord! The time machine is set to Fast Forward, I think.

whew. ok. breathe.

Anyway, I wanted to share a few images from the book before I start balling my head off about my grown up baby. These are quick shots I took with my on-its-way-out camera so forgive the lack of clarity and color accuracy. Still, I want to give a sneak peek.

I want to thank my most amazing colleague for her help... who's kidding who- this book would not have happened without her. Deb Lund, who as many of you know as an awesome children's book author, happens to be the mom of some pretty great models. Their unique character was so helpful to me in creating these images. Thank you Deb! Also, thank you to Beshir and Ricky for being great models as well. I am a lucky illustrator to have such great faces to work from.

More to come soon.

more of my dear

2010-06-06T20:33:00.000-07:00

Half marathon from near Sequim to Port Angeles. Da boys braved the rain to cheer on Mamma.

my dear

2010-05-17T20:30:00.001-07:00

Rhody Run 2010

Mariah kicking ASS

Garden Update, continued

2010-05-10T09:10:00.000-07:00

(here are a few of those plants the kid have been munching on all spring. Finally had to make room for the new and uproot the old. Death Panels for veggies.)

Dig dig dig. Dig dig dig. Dig dig dig.

The lowest paying job I ever had was (and this is not true but helps to tell the story quicker) shoveling out the foundation to what would become the old Boiler Room, underneath the crumbling downtown buildings of Port Townsend. Now it is a wonderful coffee shop called the Undertown (highly recommend you visit it! A true original). But at the time it was dirt.

And dirt is not all that bad. But this dirt was bonus dirt, because hidden in that dirt were hundreds of ancient bottles. This was a space between two old buildings, probably a dump of sorts. Clearly there was some kind of apothecary, judging by all the medicine bottles. At first my shovel broke right through them as I tasted the familiar bitterness of minimum wage. But soon I began to move like a dancer, tiptoeing over the possible lumps in the soil, brushing away clumps from the smooth buried treasures. By the end of the job I had amassed an impressive collection of hundred year old bottles, some with medicines still in them... even a tiny opium vile with a brown lump in it. Very cool. Some of these glass prizes still sit on my windowsill,

some on my parents' shelves and many have apparently packed their bags and headed out on their own, free from their dirt graves to roam again.

So what? I think that I have always had this propensity for digging. Screw the low wage, digging in dirt is one of those activities that propels me directly back to my roots. And the connection with soil in general is a ticket to your own origins. In fact, this brown matter slipping between your fingers is, in very truth, the bones of your ancestors. And their cats. Family. Friends. Enemies. From here we all begin and in this we all return.

So, when assessing our garden a few weeks ago, I decided it was going to have to get bigger, one way or another. Either dig this way or dig that way, but there would be no escape from a hell of a lot of digging. The native soil here was long gone, replaced by billions and billions of rocks, on top of clay, over which a sea of sand had been poured. So we dug and we dug and we dug until it was deep enough for the roots of the new plants to go exploring and not to meet the fate of Jesus's parable-seeds. Well, not the one, you know... the good one.

But the others. The ones like myself and every single person I know. But this is about gardening and not being choked out by weeds or trodden on hard ground or picked apart by birds.

Long story short. Dirt out. Dirt in. It's all good. And now our garden is sizably larger than last year, providing more room for the crops we know do well. Until next year, when I may discover that we need to expand, even if it is just a thinly veiled excuse to get back into some dirt.

Garden update

2010-04-19T09:29:00.000-07:00

But first, a pic of the fam on my bd. So happy that my big boy, Clay, took the time and drove up for the evening.

We have been clearing out the garden for the spring plantings, but there are a few stragglers from last year that we have left up over winter. These three broccoli plants never gave any fruit last year but were huge. A friend told us to leave them up and see if they fruit in spring, which they have. Bright, brilliant, purple broccoli that we all love.

Mr Spiderman here loves the loose buds of lower limbs more than the tighter heads at the top. After doing my own taste test, I agree with him. Those are sweeter.

Potatoes in. Raspberries in. Garlic in. Onions in. Peas in. Chard in.

Now we have some new broccoli seeds in.

Can't wait to see those little sprouts and start the process over again. Gardening with the family is my favorite pastime. It is good for the soul.

Hope for Haiti Book Trailer

2010-03-30T22:09:00.000-07:00

Hope For Haiti

2010-03-28T12:21:00.001-07:00

coming this October...

Hope for Haiti is the first picture book that I have written as well as illustrated. I am so excited because since I was a tiny boy looking at the photos my dad used to bring home from his job as a designer for World Vision, Intl., I have wanted to do something to help the situation in haiti. And finally, I have an opportunity to do so. The publisher has graciously agreed to donate a portion of the book sales to Save the Children's active relief work in Haiti. And, because when the earthquake hit I was so poor I could only send ten bucks, now I will be able to donate a portion of my advance as well. And to top it off, I get to work with the lovely and wise, Cecilia Yung, who I have been so grateful to get to know over the last five or six years. Her insights and experience have helped me to craft this book into something I am proud of. She, my wordsmith editor, Susan Kochan, and my new agent, Rubin Pfeffer, have been supportive and encouraging in this process.

But, alas, I am getting ahead of myself. I still have to finish the art. So, while I do that, you go check out the book trailer. I found it online here at B&N: Link

*unfinished artwork. Will update with the finished work when I can.

un/consciousness

2010-03-17T17:42:00.000-07:00

The battle between living in the moment and having dreams and goals...

On the one hand you have the power of the unconscious mind, which does what it is suppose to do. (Think of being caught up in the moment while playing music, painting, having fun with friends. It requires no conscious thought, but just comes out of you naturally like pure life energy.) And on the other hand, there is the calculation often needed to move yourself through space and time and activate fate. Without this you end up being a 40 year old living in a relative's basement, playing video games until your eyes are as red as your skin is blue. You have to wake up and live. But how do we live?

I live in between. I live in the muddy trenches between the French and the English on the battlefield of Agincourt. The English archers are pinning me down, and the French men at arms and calvary are blocking my retreat.

After a sleepless night of turmoil at the realization of my position, the morning brings bright and strong sunlight. And I suppose the only solution is just what comes naturally. I plan and strive and make goals, then little bit by little bit I chip away at them. And during that work chipping I begin to lose my consciousness and rise up into that zone where the mind is free. Then my best work just comes out of me. It flows because I am flowing.

The problems always arise when I am trying to go against the current. Not the current of anyone else, because I go against lots of currents. I mean, when I go against my own life's current. When I try to force it. And you can't force anything, really, can you? You see big, swollen faced guys trying it all the time. They force with their fists, but really all they are doing is postponing their own reckoning. The people we all see thriving are the ones who have discovered the ability to go with the flow. Those people laugh more, smile more, love more. I want to be one of those people. Well, naw. I want to be me. But I want to be the me that sails with the wind, rides the waves, is driven by the beat, laughs when it is funny, cries when it is sad, and takes the gifts of life and enjoys them.

Onward.

The other woman.

2010-03-05T19:30:00.000-08:00

Music, that is. The other woman who takes hold of me from time to time.

Don't remember exactly when it is but sometime this month, Ahmad and I will be playing at the Upstage. I will post it when I know it. But for now, here are some nice shots, courtesy of Kathie Meyer.

This was at the Undertown about a month ago or so. Fun session. In the pic of the three of us is also the man, Greg, on the long strings. Always love playing with that dude.

Check out Ahmad here. He kicks the old timey blues hard, plus he can let the jam out anytime he feels it, too. Fun dude to play with. All touch.

Cheers

Let the Games Begin (or NO SLEEP TILL BROOKLYN)

2010-03-05T17:56:00.000-08:00

I begin the first of my final art today for my new picture book. I do not have long to do them, and for the first two, have even less than that. I will be attempting to shut off life and focus solely on completing the last of my initial thumbnail sketches for the amazing Ghetto Cowboy by Greg Neri and illustrated by me, AND completing my first (and possibly second, though that is ridiculous to think it could happen.... it just can't) final finished painting for Hope for Haiti.

Redbull and rum. Reggae music cranked.

Let's get this party started.

See you in a week.

(Wish me luck.)

(I may visit you in your dreams, since I will be having none for a week.)

(Muahahahahahahahahahahaha)

(sorry for the villain laugh. As a penance, I offer you a bombass site where you can download DJ's mixes for free. Some great sets on here: SUBNAV.COM)

Yo, I'm a baller.

2010-02-26T19:08:00.000-08:00

But not that kinda baller. Basketballs flee even my shadow. If I walk into a game, point guards shiver. I am talkin' about the weepy kind of ballin'. And I have no problem coming clean about that trait. Tonight as I was sketching my finals for this new book and trying to watch a movie out of the side of my eye, I proved yet again that I cannot keep a dry eye at the movie, 50 First Dates. Specifically, this part.

I don't know what exactly it is, but I am gonna say for sure it has to do with Izzy's beautiful song, "Over the Rainbow" and maybe a little with the sweetness of Drew's smile when she sees her daughter, and the whole idea of seeing your whole life new and fresh, like for the first time. An overwhelming concept to me. All my blessings come rushing at me and my eyes start doing their thing. I am telling you, even on an airplane sitting next to two large gruff men, I cried like I was winning the lottery at that part. It slays me.

I don't cry much at sad parts of movies too much. I can handle myself just fine in those circumstances. But, it is the happy stuff... The "Life is so beautiful I am gonna break" stuff.

Because, damn it, life is so beautiful I am gonna break. And I break often. And I like breaking. When I hear my boys giggling or speculating or even whining. This is the good stuff! And despite the fact that I am a feast or famine artist with absolutely no retirement on the horizon and despite the fact that my wifey put one gallon of gas in the car today, despite the fact that I have been sick for three and a half weeks... this is the good stuff! The struggle only makes the beauty that much more sweet, the victories that much more important and the pleasures that much more savor-able.

So, sing it, Iz. And GOD bless your sweet soul, bruddah. I'll see you some bright morning.

Under Way

2010-02-24T16:45:00.000-08:00

My first photo shoot for the upcoming picture book went so well. Thanks to the families and models who helped me get some great reference material to work with. I loved letting my wife and dad take some pics while we just played soccer.

And what a day. Sun from ear to ear.

I was lucky/blessed to find some great Haitian models for my book. Since the book is about kids who live in Haiti, I am pleased with the special connection. And so close to my home, just a ferry ride away.

I am grateful for how much of this book's process is falling right into place. Often I have to struggle and fight to get things to fit. But this story is determined to be a book and it is bending fate to accomplish its goal. I am happy just to be watching it all unfold.

More soon...

White Boy

2010-02-18T22:57:00.000-08:00

Watched an interesting flick. Blacking Up by Robert A. Clift.

I loved seeing M1 from Dead Prez talk about white rappers and seeing the parallels drawn between certain white artists and minstrel shows back in the day. There were great perspectives from all over the spectrum, from Chuck D to the president of the Al Jolsen Fan Club. There were also some horrendous examples of exploitative commercialism. It barely scratched the surface of how big media has done that to the rap industry from day one, however. Real hip hop has always been underground and on the streets. Real music of any genre, too. Most commercially successful music is trash. Almost anything tailored for the masses just aint gonna fit me. I am a prissy bitch when it comes to culture. I like good art, good music, good coffee, damn it.

The film brought up lots of good questions without trying to answer them for the viewer. This idea of modern day minstrel shows without the makeup strikes a chord with me when I hear white (or Jewish) reggae artists, particularly the ones who sing in an accent adopted only for the mic. It is as unnerving to me as hearing garage bands from Tulsa go British when they try to sing their punk rock. Now, with some kid like Collie Budz who is white as the day I was born but is a native of the Bahamas, his accent is as real as his sunburn on hot days. Great. But when I read in the bio that this singer or that rapper is from Toronto, and then I hear the voice of someone from South Bronx or Ocho Rios...

Now, vocabulary? That is a different thing entirely. The English language is in constant evolution and so adding to your vocabulary phrases from outside your neighborhood is just fine with me. That is just natural and in fact, distinctly American. But when you have to put on a pseudo accent to make the music work, then clearly there is something broken with your music. Why can't you sing your songs about Ras Tafari in your own accent? If you did, I would listen. If you are singing hardcore punk rock and you are from Orange County, then go with it. TSOL did and they were bad ass. Even Sublime did the music they liked but didn't try to front. They laid down reggae lines and went over them with their white boy voices and it was great. It wasn't Jamaican reggae, it was their own interpretation.

Even more grating to me is going to reggae shows and seeing some white dread who can't smile. The pressure on the outside is as high as it is on the inside so the poor dude cannot relax and enjoy himself. Folks like this are battling to show that they are the real deal. But if you have to fight to show you are real, maybe there is something telling in that. Forget trying to get people to see how real you are and just live your life. They can't enjoy themselves at shows because their persona has become a lead mask. Instead they should take lead from people like Ras Elliot, who though a devout Rasta doesn't try to fake his lineage. He speaks in an east coast accent because he is from the east coast and he keeps it real. He will reason with you but not in a borrowed voice. And that is why he gets lots of respect at home and in Jamaica.

People have come at me with that accusation in the past. That I want to be black because I paint a lot of black people. One lady asked me why I didn't paint my own kind. I talked with her for a while and she ended up buying art. She even recently looked me up to buy a piece after a number of years. I knew why she was asking. But the thing I am doing is not a black thing. I am not taking on the painting styles of a certain black way of doing art. I just paint what I like. And I am a rebel. Are you gonna tell me I can't paint black people? Why?Do you tell black painters they can only paint black people or do you let them paint white people too? Sounds ridiculous, but honestly, I think there is too much of that. Too much compartmentalizing with artists. You, you're Jewish, only paint Jews. You're Cuban, only paint Cubans. It is one thing to celebrate your culture and keep it alive through your art, and it is another thing to only paint people like you. That is just living small. The future is togetherness and the world is growing over with vines that connect all of our races. We artists have got to get excited about this. More opportunities to portray the beauty of the world and not just our block.

Another important motivator in my life was that when I grew up I didn't see paintings of black people almost ever. In art history, even in college, all I saw was naked, plump white women and clothed white men. And a bunch of white Jesus-es. When I began my career in fine art I made a conscious decision to paint my artistic appreciation of black culture, specifically black music. I had just finished college in San Diego, at a very white school and after that my wife and I moved to a very white town. Instead of painting boat scenes that probably would have paid our bills, I painted Coltrane and Sizzla and Sister Carol. It was my own form of shining light. And in a practical manner, I thought that if I limited my subject matter I would be able to gauge my improvement as I painted many images. And I did. After that time of intense study and after doing hundreds of paintings I lifted my singular focus and expanded into what I do now. Anything and everything.

In the end, this mystery of where the line is between the races and how do we each deal with that line or if there should even be a line, is answered by the simplest thing, yet one impossible to judge easily. Motivation. Is Eminem pulling an Elvis? Is Gentleman pulling a Led Zepplin? I don't know. Did Led Zepplin know? Did those Brits know that by taking American blues music and singing it almost verbatim and making millions, never giving credit nor royalties to the source, that they were just creating a legacy of exploitation? I dunno. The proof is in the pudding. There are, to be sure, a lot of white kids running around with a gangsta limp, tryin to rap about the thug life they never had. No doubt. But, I do know that there are some mighty good rappers out there with skin as white as mine who don't try to be black, they just like to rhyme and do it well. Their motivation is simple- they grew up on this music and it is part of their life and they do it well. Ok, cool. The proof is in the pudding. And while I agree that the historical tendency of white culture stealing from black culture with no credit or compensation is undeniable, there is still room for progress. We can come together without patronizing or violating each other. I won't be buying the newest album from the Humbolt County white rasta briggade with their token black Jamaican (to prove they are legit) anytime soon, but I will not make any presumptions about any artist based on their melatonin levels. The proof is in the pudding. If the fruit tastes good, I'm keepin' the tree.

Sold

2010-02-14T19:41:00.001-08:00

Will keep this short, but wanted to announce the sale of my brand new picture book to G. P. Putnams Sons/Penguin this week. This is the first book I have written and illustrated that will be published. Manuscript is pretty much done, and now I have to pull a gigantic magic rabbit out of a hat (chewy? sniffy?). Must rush this art double time...triple time... so it can be printed domestically and hit the shelves by fall.

I shall elaborate and give sneak peeks once it gets rolling, but for now... Off to work.

Sis

2010-02-09T17:47:00.000-08:00

Sissy Spacebrain, to be specific. And I mean it in the nicest of ways.

This is my little sister:

She has been the beacon of our family ever since the stork dropped her off to spoil my solo party as a toddler. I tried to encourage her to get lost by smacking her on the head with a wee plastic hammer but she is tougher than that. And she has proved to be tougher than a hell of a lot more than that. I cant possibly go into enough detail on this post to describe to you what a wonderful, resilient sister she is, so I have to boil it down to one story.

I was five, she was three. We rode our bikes through Pasadena to cruise around and enjoy the afternoon at a park. (Not even going into why we were allowed, as mere toddlers, to go alone through Los Angeles.... but hell, times were different back then.)

When we were almost to the park, a group of young brothers surrounded us and one asked me if he could ride my bike. Now, being taught from infancy that when someone asks you for your coat, you give them your shirt as well... (sigh for self contemplation and religious frustration) I gave the kid my bike. He told me he would just ride it around the block. He told me to hold his "bike" until they got back. Faith watched them like hawks, her small face scrunched up in a scowl. I waited, ever the damned optimist, but after a half an hour, she took my arm and told me, "Let's go home, brother. They aren't coming back with your bike."

She wept gallons the entire way. Not only that but she INSISTED (and if you have had experience trying to persuade a Watson woman to do anything she does not want to do, you know what I was up against) that I ride her bike. I say bike, but I mean Tricycle. So I rode her tricycle and she walked the whole way home, sobbing.

Her tears never stopped and when she burst through the door and gave my parents the tale, I was oddly unfazed by it. She had taken the brunt force and absorbed it for me. My precious sister took the theft of this awesome bike given to me by my uncle and made it tolerable for me.

I never forgot that. Nor have I forgotten how she has always made life special for those around her. She has some lucky kiddos and a lucky husband. And if you follow her blog YOU WILL BE LUCKY TOO.

Check out her blog here: Sacred Dirt!

New Paintings

2010-02-09T16:25:00.000-08:00

New Paintings

Buy now and get free shipping (within the continental US).

Jamaican Lightning. Usain Bolt

acrylic on canvas. 20x16"

Don Carlos, Rocksteady

acrylic on canvas, 16x20"

Gospel of Judy, Judy Mowat

acrylic on canvas, 16x20"

Greatest in the World

acrylic on canvas, 20x16"

Come to break the Chains, Bob Marley

acrylic on canvas, 20x16"

Bob Army

acrylic on canvas

18x24"

And for a bonus, I am including a few recent designs that I have done for mi bredren Fari of Culture Yard Productions.

This show is coming soon to Seattle. Lutan Fyah!

And the yearly Bob Marley Birthday Festival that happened this last weekend

And a few oldies.

The Unstructing Mind

2010-01-20T08:55:00.000-08:00

A time to build and a time to tear down.

After all, what fun would a maze of dominoes be unless you got to knock them down?

And so our puzzles go the way of the dinosaurs within moments of being completed. Our grown up concept of leaving the puzzle up for a while to appreciate is met with blank stares. Oh, never mind. Do you thing, boys. In fact, let me help too.

And, while hours spent on a puzzle that only the second hand bears witness to might seem a waste, I liken it to the most beautiful forms of art. Those that are only here for a flash and then are gone. Andy Goldsworthy's spirals of petals that float away down the river. A barista's delicate foam design that is sipped apart in seconds.

A sunrise.

These art forms connect us with our greater selves. We are able to transcend the clock, even if it is just for a moment. For what is the clock anyway but a cage we conform to? Without plunging headfirst into the philosophical, I suffice to say that the deepest reality is that which happens outside the realm of time. The forever and the instantaneous. Being caught up by the music you are playing and even being played by. The immeasurable experience of being barreled while surfing. Sitting down to paint in the evening and being snapped out of the trance by the morning sun.

For, in the end, there is only beginning. The clock will get you eventually, but as I see it, after that we get to break the clock for good.

While the world burns

2010-01-13T00:32:00.000-08:00

Balance.

How to enjoy the beauty, the decadence, the very fiber of life, while at the same time reserving a part of your heart for those in this life who are enduring tragedy. I have several sources pouring into my psyche. A friend's family lost an infant son. A tiny impoverished nation is devastated by a 7.3 earthquake. And I took the kids to the aquarium.

This is the quest for balance. This is the struggle: to live up life without being blind to the pain, but not letting that pain consume us, halting the progress of our own lives. It is a balance I have not yet mastered.

What ends up happening for the most part is that I feel guilty as hell that my life is so good while these others have it so desperately tough. Though, when I consider the paths I have walked to end up here I also am reminded of my own pain along the way and I am comforted somehow by the inherent human condition of common suffering. What might the purpose be in forever chaining humans with suffering? My guess is this simple effect of suffering, empathy. Not pity. Pity is a dirty bitch. Empathy is a queen. Empathy is the ability to take on the yoke of someone else and really feel their burden.

There are some obstacles to empathy. Taking a side, as in religion, politics, sports or war interferes with the ability to walk a mile in someone's moccasins because when we align ourselves with a side, a team, we shut off the empathy switch. Ours is right, the rest can bite. There is also fear. Fear is an empathy blocker. But, as my father always told me, perfect love casts out fear. And that is what it's all boiling down to. Love.

And if love is your guide, you will know both empathy for the suffering and the joys of this beautiful, decadent life.

I wish you both.

(whale riding)
(my crew)

(eel)

(sharks)

(jellyfish)

(ok, so for all the splendor that the Seattle Aquarium holds, the very favorite part for my boys was this little tiny room with plastic whales. Plastic whales. there you go, folks. You can spend a hundred million dollars or you can spend ten.)

(radiant wifey, who does not support close up pics being taken of her)

(the beauty outweighs the pain and the pain outweighs the beauty)

Review: PITCH BLACK

2010-01-02T16:43:00.000-08:00

Pitch Black by Youme Landowne and Anthony Horton, Cinco Putos Press 2008

Today was Library Day here in Port Townsend. At least for my family. We dropped off a wheelbarrow full of mostly dinosaur books and picked up a new load. One was for me and it was a lightning quick read with a thunderous affect on my being. The graphic novel, Pitch Black is a long, skinny book, content perfectly matching its subject matter which takes place mostly in NY's subways. If you have not seen this book, you gotta check it out.

The cover grabbed me right away, but within flipping through the first few pages, I closed the book and added it the pile of Elasmosaurs and Dromeosaurids, knowing I would want to read it all in one sitting and not spoil anything by peeking.

The book is about an interaction between two people from different backgrounds and their exchange. It circles around homelessness but goes so much more in depth than I was expecting. And not just homeless, but living under the subways in the pitch black of the tunnels. Some real crazy possibilities. Here are some rules given for living down there:

* Always keep a light on you.
* Try to wait for a rainy day to look for a room. You don’t want to get things all set up and then find out there is a leak and you have to start over.
* With all the juice down there, there should be enough electricity for everyone
* Anything you need can be found in the garbage.
* Always have a way out that is different from the way in.

The black white and grey in the art matches the content well. It is spooky as hell, especially when you go down into the tunnels. Simple line work and cool perspectives give this artwork a real rootsy vibe. It feels on the verge of outsider art, which matches the story perfectly.

After reading it I went online for some research about it. I was pleased to find out how the story was, in fact, a true story and that the co-writer was the character in the tale. Though you only get glimpses of the character in this book, it suits the book perfectly, leaving the reader wishing for more.

Pitch Black is a haunting, beautiful, hopeful work that I highly recommend. Respect to Mr. Horton for allowing his story to be turned into art that we, all over the world, can appreciate.

I leave you with an interesting bit about this book from the NY Times:

Ms. Landowne said that Mr. Horton’s time underground was mostly spent in and around subway tunnels under the Upper East Side of Manhattan. The book depicts the spaces he inhabited as dark and dangerous and life there as anything but well-organized.

Mr. Horton is no longer living underground. He is serving time at the Mid-State Correctional Facility, a medium-security state prison in Marcy, N.Y. In March, shortly before his 40th birthday, he began serving a prison sentence of 18 to 36 months for criminal possession of stolen property in the fourth degree. He is eligible for parole in November and could be released as early as May. State records indicate that he was also in prison from 1990 to 1991 for attempted assault and from 1999 to 2003 for assault.

In the phone interview, Ms. Landowne acknowledged that her friendship and collaboration with Mr. Horton had had its ups and downs, but pointed out that his life has been filled with struggles against addiction and despair.

Mr. Horton was not available for a phone interview, but he wrote in a letter to his publisher: “I was real glad when I received my copy of the book. I thought that it came out real good. I want to thank you for the opportunity for giving me a chance to publish my book.”

- October 7, 2008

a candle for the youth of Iran

2009-12-29T01:46:00.000-08:00

May this year bring footing to the freedom fighters in Iran, trying to free the people from oppression.

Stay Informed through live blogging

Terror Continues....

2009-12-27T22:38:00.000-08:00

Israel attacked the civilian population of Gaza a year ago. There were many eyewitness accounts from foreign journalists of how the Israeli military lured entire families out of buildings with promises of safety then opened fire upon them when they left the buildings. 1,400 people were killed during Israel's "offensive" (a light and pleasant word for genocide), most of them civilians. I have not forgotten. Israel can ignore the UN, the US and anyone else, but we will never forget what they have done. Just like they will never forget what happened to their ancestors in northern Europe, we will not forget what they have done to the Palestinians.

Despite what the TV media says, the Israeli life is NO MORE VALUABLE than the Palestinian one.

Conditions for the citizens of Gaza are worse than they have ever been.

So...

What do we do?