Osaka apparel designer Masako Shinya produced the clothes pictured below, along with T shirts and sweaters and sleeveless silk tops, decorated with PB images. The umbrella and the boots were my favorites, and there's also a really nice scarf.
The story was about discussing the candidates at a dinner parties, how unavoidable it is, and the things people say. Now I can hardly bear to look at this, when I think how certain it seemed that Hillary would win.
Thank you to the judges of the 3x3 Illustration Annual who selected this piece for Honorable Mention. Thanks also to my art director on this project, Ken Shafer.
Thank you to to art director Ronn Campisi. and to the judges of the 3x3 Illustration Annual who selected this piece about adolescent brain function for inclusion in this year's annual.
For "Avoision" (taxes and the wealthy, hybrid of evasion and avoidance) in Inc Magazine.
Steven's "Carrie and Lowell" will be the lead album reviewed in the upcoming issue of Mojo Magazine. The album's themes of loss, longing, childhood and the search for "something to extoll" were easy for me to connect with, but I felt so much respect for the material, listening to it as I worked, that I hesitated about how to represent this artist. I ended up following a helpful suggestion made at the beginning of the project by the reviews editor, Jenny, that he could be shown as a sort of Saint Francis character. As she said, "Sufjan does like a bit of avian imagery." And because Mark, my art director, had requested a background, I appropriated part of a sky from a painting by another quirky mystical type prone to avian imagery, Hieronymus Bosch.
This was for Smithsonian. John Wilkes Booth did not act alone. In fact, the question about the Lincoln assassination was the same one every political thriller seemed to contain (before Hollywood decided it would be good to replace lean, fun genre films and B movies with lumbering, CGI-heavy wannabe blockbusters): "How high and how deep does this thing go?!" Top Confederate military brass were not accused -- despite some conspiracy-theorizing suspicion -- but the people pictured here were, and most of them hung.
I did this for a Smithsonian special newsstand-only "bookazine" publication. Thanks, amazing art director Erik Washam!
BTW, that's Booth's "real" gun in the center -- because with a historically-oriented client like The Smithsonian, one wants things as realistic as possible. And those are the actually the footprints those sloppy, sloppy, bad conspirators left behind as they positioned themselves for my photo.
My nurturing and beloved third grade teacher, Jan Holczer, recently mailed me this drawing I gave her more than 40 years ago. She remembers me telling her "The color is a concession to you." I do still love black and white so much that color often seems just unnecessary and distracting -- though in this case the texture/tint in the background is probably the best part. I also notice I'm already as an 8 year old organizing compositions into a single silhouetted figure within which is texture, a formula both my assemblages and pen and ink drawings generally still adhere to. "Give me the child at seven and I'll give you the man," is that how the saying goes?
This Art Rogers photo, also taken in 1974, was reprinted a couple of months ago in The Point Reyes Light. My first life-drawing class looks to have been a nice mellow one (That's Marin county for ya).
This just in, a feature from a French Design magazine (why is all my work in France all of a sudden?). Here is an excerpt from the interview
1) Could you introduce yourself in a few lines?
I make images (mostly) for magazines and newspapers: editorial illustrations. The work, when printed, is meant to convey some idea of, and draw attention to, a story's content, the hope being to lure people into reading the article. My work isn't typical for my field. Sometimes I feel embarrassed about being weird (even in daily life!), but it is also true that not fitting in has helped me in my job. Even if it puts people off, work that is odd can sometimes be easier to remember.
2) When did you know you wanted to be an artist?
Actually, a long time ago, I decided not to be an artist. I became convinced at a young age that to define oneself as an artist was to risk self-importance, that it was better to just try to be a good craftsman and hope art might somehow sneak in through the back door. I still carry some negative prejudices about that word and worry that thinking of oneself as an artist might be an excuse for self-indulgence. I really, really like the structure and reality-testing that the commercial aspects of my work provide. I lovethat the images need to contain meaning that isn't just personal. When somebodyintroduces me as an artist to someone else, say, at a party, I'll correct them and say "commercial artist." That said, it's amazing to me that I struggled to support myself at first, and only when the work became more "artistic,"--that is, more personal - did it begin to do better in the marketplace. I was very lucky. It was quite a pleasant surprise that relaxing a little, and working more from feeling and intuition, turned out to be better on a professional level.
3) Do you have any thought leader,works,readings,musics...that did influence you,or did
determine,your work from the beginning?
I forget what artist said it is important to look at a lot of other work, because if you don't you will find yourself being influenced by work you've never seen --that is, you'll be influenced by an important artist's imitators, potentially, while being to naive to have studied the original.
Growing up in San Francisco in the late 60's and early 70's, I was exposed to a lot of sculptural work I now realize was created in the wake of Robert Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns. I remember these "junk" sculptures, larger-than-life figures of people made from driftwood, metal, old tires, etc, at the waters edge in the East Bay--also many fabulous psychedelic and whimsical projects: cars, and other forms, encrusted with a solid "skin" of plastic flowers, beads, tiny toy figures, dice, shells, everything that could be glued on....It was a childlike culture in some ways, even for the adults, creative and playful. There was lots of interest in crafts and textiles, pattern and texture, materials heterogeneously drawn from a number of different sources. This counterculture was all I knew when I was very little, so controversial messages such as be transgressive, and defy authority, I absorbed ( how ironic!) obediently.
In imagination I tend to make "friends" of the artists who give me the most pleasure, as part of my efforts to understand them, and maybe alsobecause I feel grateful for th e pleasure they give me. My most cherished role models feel pretty personal to reveal, maybe because it sounds delusional to say that I "identify" with someone like Iris Murdoch or Saul Steinberg! Anyway, I keep an ongoing mental list of artistic heroes who inspire me-- an archive or pantheon I am continually updating. I seem to have been conducting an ongoing investigation of how to be good, to do more with attitudes, maybe principles, about how to work "well," that with the study of specific techniques.
Ifind myselftrying to learn from and be influenced by, all kinds of artists. Ifind people and things to try to "live up to," so that I will care more, somehow. As a way of trying to raise the stakes. This seems to be better for me than emulating any particular visual artist's technique--though I have done that, too (Howard Pyle's pen and ink drawings, for example, or the collages of Hannah Hoch, who is so strong and brash about disjunctions in her figures). Mostly I seem to obsess about actors, directors comedians,playwrights, poets, musicians, and also people I know personally. Probably it is because when one is working in a collage idiom, the challenge is to make something that doesn't look like something you have already seen. For example, I don't usually even try to put things in boxes, because Joseph Cornell already has plenty of bad imitators.
Innovation is the name of the game with assemblage, which has a tendency to be pretty boring and all look the same, even to me, even when I look through books of the Dada and Surrealist era work I love, but especially, seeing horrible housewife decoupage, cheaply sentimental nostalgic mishmashes of miscellaneous ephemera. Ugh. . I generally find I kind of hate assemblage and collage work which looks like what I do--not only because I am hypercritical, but because I find it depressing, quite discouraging, to identify with, yet hard not too. Working in a collage medium is almost like being a method actor: unless you are doing what you really feel, being "truthful", and in the moment, allowing your own personality to emerge, there is a risk of making work which looks like looks like it's already been done. I'm not saying this is easy to do or that I'm good at it--being original-- just that I'm aware that it's important to try, if you want to engage someone's interest.
4) Do you have a personal definition of illustration?
I do! I notice that the word includes the root of the word for "light" --Luster being like "illumination" (as in an illuminated manuscript)-- and I love that: the idea that an illustrator might be trying to e-lucid -ate, shed light, be lucid.
5) Are you working with a gallery or a publisher?
No, in my area (print media, editorial) that is not necessary, and anyway I prefer to communicate with my clients directly. It tends to work best, and also, it can be lonely working all day by myself. The people who commission work from me sometimes become friends, a form of social interaction I value and wouldn't want a representative to take over.
6) Your work is dedicated to illustration,and brings into play characters made of
heterogeneous elements,daily life objects...Are they for you a questioning about our
emotional relation with objects and through daily life?
Objects, what they can say, without words, what we project onto them-- and also what they are in themselves--the history they carry and can subconsciously communicate --are of great interest to me, for sure. Ido sometimes engage, through my work, in emotional relationships with them, but I would not say that this is something I am questioning. It is interesting that objects can be both stand-ins for an idea, symbolic, and also so intrinsically and indissolubly physically themselves, not substitutable for anything else in any way.
7) Your scenes always have a humoristical aspect.Is derision a central element of your
Derision and parody and mockery are a kind of commentary; they come with apoint of view, and can be expressions of personality.
Mood-related things such as sorrow, or humor, or anger, emerge unexpectedly sometimes, when one is working from intuition. I believe the tone ofwork ought to be an authentic expression of one's actual inner life/world view. It is wrong to force things, to try to seem more dark, or more spontaneous, or more sweet, then you genuinely are.
Ancient physiology/psychology, gave us the the "four humors"—encompassing basically the range of human affect—and today, our word humor is still in some senses just synonymous with mood. (On a tangential note, I find it interesting to consider the relationship between humor and horror. Both are so powerful, and theydo seem to have things in common: for one thing, both are dependent for the full exercise of their powers on the element of surprise, sudden reversals or revelations, perceptual shifts. Also they have a way of existing apart from anything words can effectively describe).
I don't consciously set out to make work funny, and often I am surprised when people see humor in it. It makes me really glad when this happens. In life, and in art, I love it when things are funny.
8) What's your creating process?
When I can , I try to start with an idea--a concept--because this works best, better than proceeding from how something might look. Then I just rummage though all my collected stuff trying to find the things that seem to tell the story or get the idea across when I put them next to each other. Once I have my parts--the less, the better, I find (anything unneeded tends to detract from the reading and be very distracting, more disruptive than you'd think) I spend ages and ages making teeny tiny adjustments to the exact arrangement and fine-tuning the composition. Sometimes I feel this stage goes on too long. Sometimes I think it is important to do it. I let the thing fall apart again and again, as a kind of discipline to teach myself how best to arrange it back together. it. It's like a way tomemorize it. This is how I "refine" an assemblage. I think this making and breaking again and again is maybe a way of understanding what the object should be, what I am trying to do, what the "scheme" of it is.
9) What's your favorite materials?
I like real things. I like to be as direct as possible, and use things which actually are what I am trying to talk about. I collect things that appeal to me for one reason or another, and my favorite things to use in assemblages are things I like for themselves, anyway--not just because of what they "mean" in a picture, but what they actually are.
10) Which place does ancient image take in your work?
The ephemeral nature of the ancient image makes it poignant, the same way an effect ofsunlight some transient moment is poignant. Old things can be morbid, or just sorrowful, drawing attention to impermanence even if the object itself has managed to enure as a representative fragment of life gone by. I am alive to this perception, and my work relies on it from time to time. That said, there is this knee-jerk thing about the "old fashioned" in illustration, in general, which I object to strongly. It is as if something is automatically good, more palatable, seen through the yellowed filter of an idealizing backward look, the romance of decay andtexture. A gloss of "distress" is one way that people try to make work which is anything but, seem authentic, or (a despised word) "edgy". The fake authentic is some kind of special insult to those of us who care about the real.