I’m emerging from an intensely busy couple of weeks, wrapping up the Star Wars cards and the piece for the UK show (which, incidentally, will also feature THE Nick Park and much of the Aardman Animation staff). While I often say that I’d like to drown in artwork forever, and need to do nothing else, it’s become apparent that I can’t do any one thing for too long or else I get uncomfortable and frustrated. Maybe that explains why I vacillate between swirling colored pencil characters to digitally created, precise diagrams of things, and to intricate drawings in pen and ink. Maybe it’s because of self-doubt and a fear that I’m waking too far down any one path, but I think that the need to shift at the completion of each project is a necessity to keep it fresh.

I haven’t painted a robot in many months, subsequently.

I’m not sure how to dream larger than Star Wars, but I’ve concluded that the real dream is to do enough of this professional stuff to eventually do whatever I want and get paid for it – as much as I love the motivation to impress a client, rather than just express myself.

In this vein, my second Devilbox prototypes arrived.


The wooden guy in the center has been slightly restructured to accommodate a few glue points which I imagine could give out over time, making the structure more solid in general. The ‘+’ eye is just one option of a few that I had cut, but I liked it in this instance. The two removable panels were also slightly resized so that they more loosely fit into their cradles. I’m still proud of conquering the ‘square peg / round hole’ dilemma to establish articulation of the head.

As the acrylic sheets were also 6.0mm thick, I decided to test cut a version in black plastic, but I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it. I’ve assembled it with Krazy Glue, and learned that I’m not great at working carefully with Krazy Glue. It’s pretty much all over the lower body (as well as a good deal of my skin), but by the time I got to the head, I remembered some of my old model kit techniques and dotted a tiny bit on the inside of the adjoining sides and allowed it to flow into the joints and melt them together. I still think that it needs a bit of spicing up with a bit of a gold spray, perhaps.

I also roughed up my old Spacemen that the USPS destroyed and made them less breakable, and put them up for sale. Now, I’ve decided to take a few days to clean up the unholy mess that my room became while I cast aside all earthly, human concerns.


Speaking of earthly concerns, I’ve been forced to think a lot about the whole idea of ‘love’ lately. I’m in that weird place between one really bad relationship and the next horrific downward spiral of lust that’s flickering on the horizon, and I’m seeing weird love simulacrums flutter all around me and crash into each other, and while I’ve always known what I want, it’s common knowledge that I tend to attract ‘the crazies’. I’ve painted an effigy of an ex-girlfriend or two in preparation for an imaginary art show I plan on calling ‘Crazy Bitches I Stuck It In : You’re Next’, along this theme.

I want someone who will live in the insular, warm, weird world of The Magnetic Fields’ ‘Distant Plastic Trees’ with me.

My last girlfriend romanticized her role in my life to the point where it could never be organically romantic. She wanted to be, and I’m paraphrasing here, ‘the person who is described as the love of your life when they write your biography’. She wrote a song about a painting I did, and I found it atop a stack of 5-chord songs that she’d written about other boys she’d undoubtedly said the same things to.

I find the ability to be obviously passionate or excited about something, anything, very attractive, and it’s a quality that many people lack.

“Why do we keep shrieking when we mean soft things? We should be whispering all the time.”

Simplicity. It’s all about simplicity. That rare type of beauty which is not destructive. And hoping that I have not let some mysterious ‘love of my life’ walk on by. I’ve had dreams about girls who I have never met – casual encounters with these strange fabrications of unconscious perfection, and I awake lonelier than I ever thought possible, and completely certain that this exact person is out there, somewhere, and has dreamed of me also, and that I will never, ever find them.