Inverted Ziggy Stardust

In lieu of producing new work, I played around on photoshop today. You may notice the jarring nature of the background on this here blog. Here's an inverted and color-altered version of the Ziggy stencils I did a couple weeks ago. See earlier posts for originals.

Rick Moranis

Last night, Colleen and I watched the musical classic, Little Shop of Horrors. The 80s version. It left me thinking, why did Rick Moranis not have an immense career? He was/is so talented, although I imagine he's all old and fat now, so the boyish charm he had in the 80s has likely faded. Then again, Bill Murray has yet to lose his charm, no matter how old and fat he gets.

Speaking of Bill Murray, Colleen suggested that Bill Murray's best comedic performance may have been the single scene he had in Little Shop of Horrors. It is an amazing scene. Hard to argue. Steve Martin, however, steals the whole movie. He is incredible. If you haven't seen the movie, check it out if only for Steve Martin as a would-be serial killer who became a dentist to satisfy his sadistic tendencies.

I do love Rick Moranis, though. That is the point. He shrank [sic] the kids, he was the keymaster, and he was Lord Dark Helmet. I am hoping for a Rick Moranathon. We'll see if my giving, selfless, generous, amazing wife will agree. I know she will. She loves me.

Here's Rick Moranis, sketched in pen.

Charcoal with glasses and mustache.

Charcoal and grammar.

Got my charcoal from my dad's house, so i decided I'd give it a whirl tonight. I haven't worked with charcoal in very very long, so I started with a plain old self-portrait. Stay tuned for more, maybe.

An aside. Dear place where I work, there is a difference between acronyms and initialisms. Please learn the difference and stop calling plain old initialisms acronyms. The rule is simple. If you pronounce it as a word (SCUBA or FUBAR), it is an acronym. If it's just a bunch of letters to initialize a phrase (FTD, DTF), then it is a simple initialism. Seriously, I don't want to have to correct my bosses about this, but I may be forced to, lest I explode.

Haz Basement Cat Finally Found Love? (Page 1)

Excerpt from Henry’s semi-private blog, “Strike Force 4: The Rise and Fall of Basement Cat: A Lonely, Unwitnessed Exploration, or How to Whine to Friends under the Influence, People.”

4 Aug. 2010, 01:33 A.M.

wondedays imma get me a girlfriend. wondedays imma own that bank, then we’ll see who’s loanin what to whom, fucker. my aunt was just diagnosed with stage four wondedays. when are you going to finally toss out that old piece of trash and get you a wondedays? it looks like i picked the wrong day to start huffing wondedays. are you going to wondedays this year? i hear they’re doing face painting! hey, i’m just talkin bout wondedays. he’s a bad mother-won-de-days.

it’s a great word. i’m trying to get it to meme or turn it into a meme or something. i’m not really sure what meme means. like signifying. someone give me a concise, meaningful definition of the word “signifying” and i will give you a million wondedays.

anyway, wondedays. it’s my new word. it’s like “one of these days.” but it can mean absolutely anything. it’s versatile, much like me, sexually. top, bottom, wondedays, whatever.

no, i’m not gay, but i have dabbled in wondedays. once or twice. hey, it was college. who hasn’t succumbed to wondedays at least once in his life? let he without wondedays throw the first wondedays.                    so yeah. wondedays. pass it on. it’s going to be big.

Henry has a few blogs. This one is read by subscribers only, so four people: his older brother, two friends from his lolcatz forum, and one stranger with a female name, Jules, but the picture of a black man as an avatar.

This blog is used primarily for random thoughts and occasional hyper-personal revelations, which means he writes in it when he is drunk and lonely at night. His main blog is "Sanctuaris Felidae": a public blog where he maintains a steady stream of homemade lolcatz pictures, using his three cats. He also features particularly poignant or hilarious pictures from bigger lolcatz sites, or whatever he finds and likes on forums.

The last blog is a secret blog. He writes posts on occasion, but every entry is set to private. There are no subscribers. It's like a real diary, but he can make it public any time, which he has vague intentions of doing at some point, maybe, but who knows.

The "wondedays" entry is of particular interest tonight (August 6th, 2010) because Henry just noticed a comment. It was from Jules, the black guy. "Wondedays, you'll realize how much I love you."

It's a girl. It's Samuel L. Jackson in the picture. It must be a girl named Jules. Henry reads the comment, and the voice that plays in his head is soft and sultry. Something warm, some voice from a bygone age, is in that voice he imagines. He pictures a curly bob haircut and heavy eye makeup. He doesn't know why.

Please let it be a girl, he thinks. Who do I know named Jules, he thinks.

Libya Fist Pump

This is my wife's and my intro into posting videos on youtube. Hopefully, it will be the last.

The genesis of this video involves me hearing this absolutely terrible song on the Howard Stern show and playing it for Colleen. It is the sort of song that will never ever ever leave your head once you hear it. You will catch yourself in front of the microwave, days later, and it will be whirling in your head "I do my fist pump pump pump pump pump pump," and you will hate yourself.

So, a few nights ago, while watching CNN, Colleen pointed out that the Libyan protestors were fist pumping, and we considered what hilarity might occur with this awful song playing in the background. Only after it was made did we consider whether it might be offensive. We're still not sure.

Comics

You know you have no life if your main goal of the day is to get retweeted by Michael Ian Black.

In other news, I have nothing new to show. I did find some old comic strips that I made, though. They were stored in a box with art supplies so they are wrinkled and filthy, but here they are:

Algae and The Little Prince

I have nothing to post this morning. Tune in later for something new and original, hopefully. For now, here is an image I took when I went to visit my friend David at Cornell College, in Iowa. There was a man-made pond that washed up onto a concrete shore, which is interesting. The whole pond was covered in this neon green algae, so I photographed it.

That seemed a million years ago. The same day I found a pair of underwear growing next to a marijuana plant, feet from some dorm building. It was a good photo day. During that four or five day trip, I also stayed up and read "The Little Prince" for the first time.

If you haven't read that book, do it. It takes about two hours to get through, and it just may change your life. It is the book I have given away more than any other. I have replaced it too many times to count. So, get it. Go to Borders if there's still one open, go to the Children's book section, and get it for five bucks. Do it!

Old self-portrait, new self-congratulation

I went over to my dad's place today, so that means I smell like stale cigarettes. It also means I snagged a picture of an old piece of work I did in high school. This sucker got chosen for an art show my junior year, which means it got framed for free. It's a monster of a piece, so the framing would have been quite pricey. My dad got dibs on this one as soon as he saw it. I thought it was interesting because, while he has always been supportive of my creative side, he never really expressed interest in it until then.

Another story behind this. By junior year in high school, I fancied myself a full-on artist, and my portfolio was growing. Most of the work I did in high school was done that year, in room E-105, when I should have been doing class work. So, for the "Great Frame-Up" art show, I had quite a stack of stuff to submit.

On the last day of submission, I stood next to the pile that was collecting and I drew this on a piece of butcher paper in less than five minutes. It might have taken three minutes. I quickly sprayed it with fixative so it wouldn't get charcoal all over the other people's work, set it right on top to dry, and left for the next class.

In that submission stack, I had paintings that I had spent days on, various prints and drawings that I had worked on for weeks. I had my favorite self-portrait in that stack. The blue guy with the purple background. You've seen it a thousand times if you know me. They passed on that one. They chose this sketch. There's no accounting for taste. Still, though, it felt good to be selected.

Josh Homme

Boring day. Here is Josh Homme from the Queens of the Stone Age. He is much better looking than the sketch reveals. Looks like Craig Ferguson if Craig Ferguson could kick your ass.

A Very Open Letter to Anderson Cooper

Dear Anderson Cooper:

Please stop going to dangerous places. Please? There are so many other journalists who are less beautiful and talented than you. There's no reason for you to go. Come on, Anderson, just stay behind the desk and send Sanjay Gupta and Ben Wedeman. Nobody even knows who Ben Wedeman is! Frankly, I am not sure if I'm spelling his name right, and I'm too lazy to check! Because I don't care about him, Anderson. Not like I care about you.

I know you like excitement, Anderson. I can tell that about you. You're dangerous, and I won't pretend that doesn't make you like a hundred times more sexy, but please! Stay home. You don't get attacked at home in New York. Well, you might, but that would be totally random. You are going places where people hate you! They want to smash your face!

Your face, Anderson. Okay, maybe we can compromise. If you're going to go to some dangerous place where people want to hurt you, can you wear some sort of old diver's helmet or a welding mask or something? Maybe CNN can design some sort of Pope-mobile thing that just sits on your shoulders, so we can still see you, but no one can scar that incredible face...

Sorry, I lost concentration for a second, Anderson. Is it okay that I call you Anderson? Mr. Cooper seems so formal, and I don't see you as a formal guy. I imagine you relaxing at home in your v-neck cashmere sweater, maybe some boot-fit corduroys. Do you like oolong tea, Anderson? I bet you do. I like it with some high-quality Tupelo honey. I bet someone like you has the best honey in the world sitting in your cupboard. You probably collected it yourself, and without a beekeeper's suit. You are so brave.

But that is exactly what I am talking about, Anderson. You live too dangerously! Come on home, Anderson. Stay away from radiation. Avoid the Arab nations. Just get a flight straight home. I'll have some tea ready for you.

Love Always,

Kevin Lester

P.S.  Stay away from bees.

Bob Dylan

Here's a sketch of young Bob Dylan, before he died in that car crash and was replaced with Paul McCartney:

Paul McCartney

This is a quick sketch of Paul McCartney of Beatles fame. I'm not sure if this is the real Paul or the one they got to replace him after he died in that car crash. It's tough to remember the exact timeline on that whole thing. Anyway, ladies and germs, here he is, the best Beatle, Paul McCartney:

10 St. Patrick's Day Tips

Saint Patrick was an Englishman who, in his youth, was kidnapped and taken to Ireland, where he lived as a slave for about six years before escaping back to England. After joining the Church, he went back to Ireland as a bishop, where he is rumored to do a few great things.

Most notably, he chased the snakes out of Ireland, though, sadly, there is zero evidence of snakes ever existing in Ireland. He was also big on visual aids in his preaching. He is said to have used the shamrock as a tool for teaching the Irish about the Holy Trinity, which begs the question, "How many fingers did he have?"

He is also famous for his Shellelagh, pronounced racistly, "she-laaaay-lee." It's a walking stick. Rumor has it that when he would go up on a hill and evangelize to all the Irish folks, he'd jam that sucker into the ground. The story goes that one day, he had a whole hell of a lot of shit to say, just wouldn't stop yapping, and the stick was in the ground for so long that it took root and grew into a tree. So that's cool.

Now, the Englishman, patron saint of Ireland, is celebrated on the rumored day of his death. I can't speak for Ireland, but in America, it is quite the festival. So, here are a few tips for how to properly celebrate St. Patrick's day.

1. Bring a bag. A backpack works well, but a Camelbak is even better. If you don't know, a Camelbak is basically a backpack with a rubber bladder and a tube. Like a beer helmet for your back. You can fill it with whatever beverage you prefer, but might I recommend skipping beer. First of all, it usually only fits 100ml or so, and if it's sitting on your back all day, it will be warm and flat by the time it gets into your mouth. What I do recommend filling it with is tip number two.

2. Bring a lot of caffeine! I recommend red bull, but 5-hour energy is a more portable product, I suppose. You'll be hitting a bit of a slump in the early afternoon. It happens to the best of us. Starting the party too early inevitably leads to an earlier than expected crash. This leads to my next helpful tip.

3. Start drinking early. It's a weekday! You have work tomorrow, so If you're going to drink, you had better time it so you pass out at your usual bedtime.

4. Two words: piss jug.

5. Stay in highly populated areas. This makes all the difference. If you are going to bump into people and shout sexist, racist, and generally stupid shit throughout the day, you had better do it with a bunch of other people doing the same. It's the difference between being a publicly drunken asshole and an arrested drunken asshole. Also, when you are that drunk, you want to stay in the arena of mob rule.

6. Wear a shirt that is green, says something sexist, and has an arrow pointing toward your crotch. How else will the ladies be able to determine your intentions?

7. Do not puke into your piss jug. Splash back is a serious concern.

8. Fuck Lent. This is a feast day. Smoke your cigarettes, eat your chocolate, masturbate. No matter what you've given up until Easter, go balls out today.

9. Don't literally go balls out. The police are lenient on public drinking today, but not indecent exposure. It may be tempting, downright irresistible, I know. But fight the urge! Do not, under any circumstances, show your balls in public. Well, unless your male friends are standing around you in a circle, chanting and egging you on. Then, go for it. Otherwise, you're a fag.

10. Please don't pee on the side of my home.

Distorted features.

Some old hat. A regular sketch, much like what I have always done. A man's face with features that are vaguely similar to mine but distorted enough to be called something different. I have done hundreds of these in notebooks in class or on the bus or sitting around listening to Stern. I don't ever do anything with them. I could probably find quite a few that look not dissimilar to this one.

I enjoy working in a hasty way with pens. I have little patience for works that I can't finish in one day, in a few hours. The best situation is being able to create something in a couple of minutes.  

Thom Yorke

In honor of The Strokes coming out with an extraordinary album, I've scribbled a picture of Radiohead's lead singer, Thom Yorke. Radiohead just came out with an album that could have been a single with no b-sides. The Strokes, however, have an album coming out in a week that is just so damn good.

I choose not to bastardize Julian Casablancas' face with my pen, so I figured I'd do Thom Yorke's freak face. Bad, Radiohead! Listening to King of Limbs was like watching Matrix Revolutions. Disappointing. It was like every Kings of Leon album after Aha Shake Heartbreak. It was like listening to The Strokes' previous album! Nice recovery, by the way, Strokes. I was losing hope.

Here's an ugly face:

Rob Delaney and a stranger

More sketches. The first is comedian Rob Delaney with a mustache. It looks like a police sketch. Wanted for rugged good looks. I drew him in honor of the fact that he is one of the best twitter writers out there. He's probably funny as a comedian too. Not quite sure. Chest hair popping out of the crew neck tee is always a good look.

Next is just a random sketch of nobody, but he does look vaguely like Rob Riggle, if he were to replace his muscularity with alcoholism, a few divorces, and a beard.

Sketching in a moving car

Continuing and tweaking what I was doing last night, I'm doing some quick five-minute sketches of people. I like doing things quickly and sloppily because then they can look shitty and I can say, "I did it in 90 seconds in the dark with my dog licking the ticklish spot on my ribcage, just below the armpit." Then, it's impressive.

No, basically, I am having fun trying to make a quick sketch and seeing if it's recognizable as the person I am sketching. It's usually the eyes and mouth that need some similarity. Everything else can be squiggles. Today, I used mugshots I decided not to make into stencils for the other thing. Both are very talented people who have had crazy private lives. Charlie Sheen is not in the group. (Duh, untalented.)

Here's Robert Downey Jr. if he were a serial killer.
Here's Mel Gibson if he were a sleazy comic-book character.
More later.

A comment on comments

Frankly, I would love some feedback. I am obviously desperate for some attention. If you check this blog out, let me know what you think. Pretty please. I'm so lonely. I need your comments.

On another note, thanks Mom for the encouragement.

Here's a picture of my dad, brother, and me when we were all younger. I'm the blond one.

A new series

This series is called "pictures I draw in the dark while my wife sleeps off a migraine."

First in the series, we have Ludwig Wittgenstein. Look at him, being all like: "Uh, they're just words, man," or something like that in his stupid German accent. The semantic bastard.
Next, we have Steve Martin, being all like: "My face has ink all over it! I'm all cerebral, man," or something like that, the lateral-thinking bastard.
What jerks.

Converting the heathen

I've been thinking entirely too much about David Bowie for the past few days. I have done nothing but listen to him today. Low is playing right now. Specifically, "Always Crashing in the Same Car" is playing. But anyway, it gets me thinking about biases.

For the longest time, I rejected Bowie simply on principle. I had drawn a line in the sand in my ears, and that freak-eyed bastard would not cross. I do not know why. For some reason, on the Glam Rock front, I sided with America. Lou Reed's Transformer was enough. It wasn't until much later that I realized Bowie did back-up vocals on that album. Beside the point. I had a strong, completely unwarranted bias against David Bowie.

And we need that sometimes, I think. Sometimes we need to just reject things based on nothing. What, are we going to accept things based on their merits? Are we expected to give things a chance before we accept them? That is a ridiculous notion. If that happened, we wouldn't have any prejudices. It would be bleeding chaos!

The list of things I initially rejected for no reason but now love is pretty long. Musically, I didn't fully accept The Beatles until I was about 19. One of the biggest rejection-to-love transitions for me was the show Six Feet Under. The greatest drama series ever to air, by the way. It took me a while to accept Kurt Vonnegut. Also, I watch The Jersey Shore religiously. Judge me. I don't care. You're lame anyway.

Colleen, my wonderful wife, is also a participant in this process. I am happy to say I have converted her from blind hatred to total adoration on a couple fronts. She now likes Daniel Day-Lewis. She's turning the corner on topping food with fried eggs, as well. Howard Stern is a battle for another day. Never, probably.

But this is where I come to my point. If not for my wife, I would have lived a life without David Bowie. This is because of the simple law that governs the whole blind-hatred-to-wholehearted-love line. You cannot cross it by yourself. There is no going in to see a movie starring someone you hate and having any prejudice. You hate that person, and the movie fucking sucks going in. You need a vehicle, and that vehicle has to be someone you love and/or respect. Mostly, you need someone who you respect. They can show you the way.

And this is a very delicate process. There is no thrusting something upon someone if they have built up a wall. You must attack when the guard is asleep. This usually occurs after you have had sex with them. No, kidding. This usually occurs after you have accepted something of theirs. For instance, it is much easier to casually coerce my wife into watching a movie she will maybe hate but hopefully loves after we've watched a movie she wants. For every Raging Bull, you must sacrifice a Labyrinth. It's a matter of compromise, you see.

So, at some point, when my guard was asleep, the wall unprotected, my wife managed to give me a proper inroduction to David Bowie. She gave me Hunky Dory. And my life is forever changed. If you are not converted, if you have a wall built up against the thin white duke, Hunky Dory is a pretty heavy-duty wall smasher. Thank you, wife.



On our wedding day



The Rise and Fall of Franky Stardust and the Sinatras from Mars

I hate coming up with David Bowie puns. No, I don't. Let's call this one "Old Blue Eye." You know, because Bowie has one jacked up eye. "The Chairman of the Board who Sold the World." "Starman of the Board."

No one gets Bowie references, frankly. You could take all the madmen in Suffragette City, and it would like having a moonage daydream in a velvet goldmine, and do you know why? Because you're young. It ain't easy. It's like going up the hill backwards with a bunch of scary monsters (and super creeps) while you scream like a baby, unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed.

Here's a picture of Frank Sinatra looking like David Bowie on the cover of Aladdin Sane.

A Culkin Sane

Macaulay Culkin with the Aladdin Sane treatment. Done.

Bernie Stardust.

A Madoff Sane? Ziggy Madoff?



Bernie Madoff

Another process post. Although I like how this turned out, the more I make these stencil things, the less I like them. But I still have one more step for at least a couple of them. Another layer that will hopefully make them less plain and simple.

So, here's the stencil.

Here's the background, yellowy green with a plum sort of color. Well, you can see it.

Here's them together. The background is a little too dark, me thinks. Eh.

Abraham Lincoln

Adding to the dump, this is a scratchboard portrait I did of Abraham Lincoln some time in high school. For those of you who don't know, Lincoln was our sixteenth president. No, I mean scratchboard is basically a piece of white card paper with a thin layer of black ink or paint or something on top. To create an image, you use a sharp object and subtract (scratch) the black. The Lincoln portrait seems to be the favorite of a lot of my family members, probably because it is the most traditional.

I was a funny art student in high school. I had it as an elective for four years, and my fourth year was Studio Art AP, though I never did turn in a portfolio. I had an issue with doing assigned projects. I would generally do my own thing (narcissistic self-portraits, mostly) for the couple weeks we were supposed to be working on an assignment, then I would throw something together at the last minute for a grade. In art, you get graded for effort, so I made straight Cs. Of course, procrastination was the name of the game during my entire high school experience.

I took this one home the night before it was due and got it done on the coffee table in a little over two hours. I remember the Seinfeld episode that was on that night. Kenny Roger's Chicken. Favorite episode. I remember all the black shavings I left on the table. It got me into my first "art show" at The Great Frame Up, a now defunct frame shop on Rand Road.

Funny thing about those "art shows" at that place. Our teachers selected the works from the students. It wasn't as if it appeared in a gallery. We did get free framing though, which was badass. But anyway, I usually submitted a stack, and they would inevitably pick the one I pulled out of my ass. One year, I drew a chalk self-portrait in five minutes and the fixative wasn't even dry when I submitted it. I'll post that one next time I get to my dad's place. He's got it over there.

Another work that I got into the show for my senior year won best in show, and so the honor was they fucking lost it! It was sent to be hung in Congresswoman Jan Schakowski's office for a few weeks, and it never came back.

Gosh, I feel like this is a very braggy post. I apologize. Here's Abe, a better man than myself.

Sinatra

The cosmetic sponges are the perfect solution. I'm happier with this one than the last, but, with both, I don't believe I am finished. I talked with Colleen about an addition I wanted to make to each of these stencil things. I think it would work great on this one and Macaulay. The trouble is that I am afraid of adding more and just ruining it. We'll see how brave I am.

Brought to you from a stencil made from a mugshot, a classic crooner in his younger days, the Chairman of the Board, Mr. Frank Sinatra!





Macaulay Culkin

Stencil went down alright. I've been using a brush to apply the paint. I think I need to steal some of my wife's makeup sponges and try it that way to better control the paint from bleeding. Also, it'll get rid of the brushstrokes.

Ladies and gentlefellows, with a stencil made from a mugshot, star of one of my favorite movies of all time, Mr. Macaulay Culkin!

More Later.

The Process Post

I dropped off my wonderful wife at the airport at 4 this morning, on her way to Vegas to celebrate her mother's birthday. I have the day to myself, and I am halfway through a pot of coffee. I spent last night making stencils and priming wood. This morning I finished the backgrounds.

In case you care, I've been doing a process of priming a solid color (pink, this time), then putting another couple colors on top. I then add drops and splashes of wood stain (Minwax Ebony), and play around with it until i like how it works. I use some brushes for texture, but mostly I use a series of paper towels, some dry, some paint-soaked, some stain-soaked. Adding water and dabbing with dry towels reveals the primed color, the soaked towels add more color and stain, obviously. I play with it for no specific amount of time except until I think it looks good. As I've always done, I make it up as I go along. That's what comes from having no art instruction.

I am explaining all this because I am dreading putting down the stencils themselves. That's the moment of truth. It's when a good background can either be ruined or enhanced. There is great fear involved in using stencils because of that: what will it look like when you pull up the stencil?

Also, my wife has a blog where she photographed the processes of her culinary experiments. I figured I'd post a "process" thing here.

These are the stencils I'm working with. Macauley Culkin and Frank Sinatra.


These are the backgrounds. Both are pretty similar I guess. I like the darker one, frankly. It actually has much more purple to it than the picture shows.

I have been doing these stencils for a couple reasons I guess, but I don't know. I am sick of stencil art. I feel like a schmuck. I have a few more to do, then maybe I'll get the balls to paint plain old pictures. Although, whenever I do that, all that ever seems to come out are variations of my face. I suppose that's fine, too. I don't know.

I have an issue with art that stems from my whole "fear of failure so why even try" thing that has ruled my life pretty heavily, but less and less in the past year or so, basically since I stopped drinking and found my amazing wife. Sidetrack. But yeah, that damn fear creeps up, and it keeps me from writing and painting. I have the fear that I am a narcissist if I think anyone wants to see or hear anything I have to write or say, and who the fuck am I to think I actually have anything to contribute that someone hasn't done better before?

But hey, it's better than drinking, shooting up, beating your wife, or whatever else people do to release that thing inside them that wants to get out. Some people sit on webcams or write hate on messageboards or become addicted to porn or play World of Warcraft. Some people just have friends and rewarding careers. I write, paint, love on my wife, and start blogs that usually burn out after a couple months. As Snooki says, "You do you, I'll do me."

Later today, the final products.

Another dump

Refer to the last post. I'm just putting a bunch of old stuff up here so I can have one place for it. This is a dump of some photos and such, not that I am a photographer by any stretch, and one portrait I did of Matt, the man, with crayon and exacto knife. Oh, and one of me with the beard I grew while my wife was at training (speaking of my amazing wife, domesticmfer.blogspot.com, colleens2011.blogspot.com). This post is pointless. Read my incredible wife's blogs. More after the jump:



The Big Dump

I did most of my drawing and painting when I was between 17 and 21. Then I did a lot of, shall we politely say, performance art. Generally, being a lousy drunk. So, similar to my being an alcoholic, I have very little to show for the work I did in those years. Most of my artwork I gave away or threw away, much like, with drinking, I gave up (lost) friends and threw up (puked) alcohol. Tons of parallels, you see.

I've decided, anyhow, to get at least a digital collection of whatever work is still around. I am pulling stuff from whatever social networking sites I posted on, but I have lost a lot from old computers that broke down. Very sad. Anyway, I am also asking anyone that has anything of mine to send me some pictures. Everything I have from the internet is very low-quality, image-wise. So, a nice high-res copy would be cool. If you have anything I doodled in a notebook, anything from high school, whatever, please help me out and send it over. Kevinclester@gmail.com.

Here are some things I found on the internet. More old to come, hopefully, and definitely more new to come.

Much more after the jump!!!

Darwin

I'm really not too happy with how this came out, but I have plenty of wood left to work with. I really liked the background though. Darwin sucks anyway.

When good dogs do sad things.

Ok, I guess I'm sick of Charlie Sheen too. It's fascinating, the way exposure affects your favor among the masses. People who successfully stay alive in the realm of popularity pop up every once in a while to remind you, "Hey, I'm a genius" or, at least, "Hey, I am famous." Steve Martin and Beck and Paul Thomas Anderson and John Travolta and Marisa Tomei and Foo Fighters do this perfectly. It may be three or four years between books or albums or movies, but they leave you wanting just long enough before you forget them completely. Talent helps. Then there are those who snatch onto fame and run it full speed until people just get bored. Where the fuck is Paris Hitlon? Again, talent helps.

But this is rare. Charlie Sheen has been famous ever since his dad and brother helped him get into the business. He was outstanding in Ferris Beuller's Day Off. Also, The Chase was a movie that he was in. He hat the Hot Shots and Major League movies, and probably some other stuff. But the point is that he was on a great pace. He was in stuff every year or couple years, his name was always known. His talent is undoubtedly above Paris Hilton's, but how far above is a topic for another debate.

Back to the point, here. He was on a good pace, then just spiked. He was the highest paid actor on the worst/most watched sitcom on television. He was like Ted Danson! (Ted Danson, another great example of someone who knows how to pace himself.) And now, with television and radio interviews as many as five times a day, for a week or however long it's been, he is using up everyone's attention.

Most people have one thing. Well, most people have nothing. But most musicians have one big song. The smart, talented ones stay alive by slowly, steadily producing over years. Charlie Sheen was doing it. He was doing lots of drugs, too, sure. But he was balancing the tightwire of fame very well. Now, with all this jumping up and down, he is not only losing balance, but the crowd will be out the door before he falls off.

It takes a few things for someone to unfollow a person on twitter: shameless self-promotion, over-posting, of course. Charlie Sheen? I unfollowed him because it's no longer funny when the guy is in on the fact that he's the joke.

The first few radio and tv rants were geniunely interesting because they showed a man in a rare manic state, allowing everyone to watch. It was pure reality. Human drama. Now, he's selling fucking t-shirts.

Here's a background and my foot:

Camus, Acrylic on wood.



Nothing to show.

Started and restarted a bunch of stuff today. Very frustrating. I did manage to do a bunch of laundry though, so that's good.

Here, for the 8000th time, is a self-portrait I doodled today that looks the same as everything I do. Apparently I like red and green lately.

To-do list.

My new goal is to get more people to follow me on twitter. Seven days ago, I had two followers: my wife, and Bob Alvertos. My very annoying "please follow me on twitter" campaign has gotten me up to 15. Yeah, that's right. I have 15 followers. Most of them, frankly, are my in-laws who signed on to follow Charlie Sheen and started following me as a matter of in-law etiquette. But, no matter.

Today, I put felt pads on the bottoms of chair legs, cleaned the kitchen, did some laundry, tweeted, went to Home Depot and bought some wood, made some wheat paste, and made this "work surface" from the wood, wheat paste, and black-dyed paper. I'm not sure what to put on it. Maybe a nice picture of the Pope. The good one, not the Nazi one. My foot is also in the picture. So, enjoy.

Painting day.

I promise you, there is no theme developing for this blog. It will hopefully just include whatever I have to share each day. I just happen to be in a mood to doodle and such. So, today, for you, my loyal followers (my wife, myself, etc.), I will share what I've been painting.

My mind is on some stencil/collage thing that I did some preliminary work on earlier, but I fell in love with this wood stain I was using. If you mix it with acrylic paint and coffee and dirty water and, as always, some human saliva, some cool shit can happen. The stencil thing is on hold for tonight.

Here's what I did with my afternoon:

Materials: Acrylic, wood stain, coffee, and spit on canvas.

I do not know which side should be the top. Suggestions?

And again.

My wife is off at rehearsal for her play, and I am at the bottom of my second pot of coffee. So, here is some more doodling. I made the same picture with ink and acrylic paint, and photographed it with different light sources. Let me assure you, the only thing I did to alter these pictures was crop them. No filters. Filters are for coffee, of which I have clearly had too much.

Above, this is just sitting on the ground under and incandescent lamp. It was taken before the drawing was finished. Self-portrait, of course.

Above, I added a box and a circle with four legs, which represents your mother or something. Also, I taped the picture to a window so the light would shine through. It creates a pretty cool look, me thinks.

Above, same picture under natural light as opposed to incandescent.

So, that's that. Fascinating.