New Sketches for Dynamic Book Illustration

Will these sell? Do my lines catch and keep your eye? If I ink and/or paint the following sketches, would you be proud to hang them up as a poster or send them out as postcards? I believe my art belongs in books, not galleries -- do you agree?  What about other subject material? Should … Continue reading New Sketches for Dynamic Book Illustration


Postcard #29: All That Blooms Under the Sun

Poetry has to wait today. My fingers hurt, wrists swollen, and, yes, I've done it again, over-extended myself and forgot to watch my posture while I did butt-loads of work. After a period of surrendering to despair, I got up to create, and, boy, did I excite myself to it!  So, I must force myself … Continue reading Postcard #29: All That Blooms Under the Sun

The End of May

I know it's that time of year again because I heard the sound of the slamming of car doors and rumbling of heavy feet on pavement. It's not hard to figure out when it is by the fading echoes of house parties, the too-soon-gone smells of backyard grilling (more like backyard bratwurst burning), the sweat … Continue reading The End of May

Postcard #28: Another Mother’s Day Without Mom

I almost did not write anything today. I almost did not sleep. My heart was sore with the familiar ache I get when I desire something I cannot touch. No matter how much I can hear and sense the beyond, I cannot break the veil, only try for a reach. I stretch out my arms, … Continue reading Postcard #28: Another Mother’s Day Without Mom

Fresh Sketches

It's been several months since I've drawn anything just for my own pleasure. No. I take that back. It's been a long while since I've drawn anything without some purpose behind it.  My fingers, wrists, joints are cold, as if tiny icebergs have grown inside, and I have to make an extra effort to rub … Continue reading Fresh Sketches

Postcard #27: Breaking Through

I am here yet not really here. My words are footprints fading on a well-worn path. I am not walking alone nor am I writing out a new trail of ink to mark my passing. I have found myself by getting lost in a dream, again. The secret key to my release is to drench … Continue reading Postcard #27: Breaking Through

Postcard #26: From Out of the Rain

Sparks... Rain drops. Crackle. Like static on the radio. Thunder whisper-rumbles from every corner. And the wind swoops through every tip of tree, the storm itself a giant black bird passing over. I am a shiver, feeling the wet down in my bones, and welcome the blanket calm of my bed. Home last night was … Continue reading Postcard #26: From Out of the Rain