A Bloody Good Time

Anytime I see coverage of my Friday morning, the headlines read
'NEW YORK CITY CATCHES ROYAL WEDDING FEVER
AND DUMBO IS THE EPICENTER OF THE PLAGUE'

If the hotbed of the scourge included tea and crumpets -
then yes, that's what happened.

Yesterday I jumped from bed prior to the crack of dawn and started my Wedding Day March. Twenty minutes later I arrived down under the Manhattan Bridge to hold vigil with my most favorite friends (I'm qualifying most as people up at 4:30 am for another harebrained adventure). We sported smiles and our best hats to bid a proper goodbye to Prince Wills and the teenage hopes and dreams we've wrapped him up in since he looked like this:
*SIGH*

Let it be known throughout the land, that on the beautiful Friday morning I came to say 'goodbye' my smile was mostly happy and only a sliver of wistful.

I like this photo for the sun that bleaches my face Britt.

There is no room for the remnant of a Bahamian tan upon my countenance this day. I'd be royally ashamed, as Victoria Beckham should be ashamed.

Luckily, yesterday's event was the perfect venue for The Duchess' royal wave. Years of being rolled out at events such as this has allowed her to truly perfect her light bulb twisting technique.

We sit quite silent as the future Duchess of Cornwall cascades down the aisle. She reaches the Abbey's English garden culdesac. Side note: was I the only one running the Kink's Dead End Street over in my mind during this part? We collectively lean forward, sigh and then raise our arms, free to whoop and holler in the perfect acoustic bell of the Manhattan Bridge's underbelly, far away from the solemn air of Westminster Abbey.

This was one of the half-dozen cheering points that we partook of liberally with our crowd of classy new friends. I had a particular enjoyable conversation with a foil crown adorned, fur coat wearing, Great Dane toting blonde over the ratio of Valium to lace one should consume on the morn of your World Wide televised nuptials.

Of course then it was time to wave the Union Jack.

At this point we're thisclose to forming a receiving line with all our new friends.

It's true what they say, nothing brings people together like a wedding!

Now I'm off to The Duchess' Royal Salon to have my locks lopped off. My tresses are tres' excited. The cut is in honor of the weekend's second wedding which I shall attend on the morrow. I feel a tad guilty about not tending to my hair prior to Wills' and Kate's nuptials. At the same time I am also feeling slightly guilty for the blog post that I probably will not blog and the whooping that I will not most likely not whoop over tomorrow's union. Although, I am sure that it will also, in the words of the queen, be "quite lovely, after all".

Illustration Friday - A Colorful Lesson

Once upon a time I was told this story.

There once was a crow. He sat way up on a branch with nothing to do but enjoy himself while feeling the wind in his face.

Along came a rabbit. The rabbit looked up at the crow and asked,
"May I be like you and sit all day doing nothing too?"

The crow looked down and sung out
"Why not? It's of little consequence to me."

So the rabbit sat down and commenced doing nothing
but enjoying himself and feeling the wind in his face.

Along came a fox.
The fox ate the rabbit."

---Fin.

Lesson: To be sitting, doing nothing but enjoying oneself, one must be sitting very high up.

Illustration Friday - Lesson

Once upon a time I was told this story.

There once was a crow. He sat way up on a branch with nothing to do but enjoy himself and feel the wind in his face.

Along came a rabbit. The rabbit looked up at the crow and asked,
"May I be like you and sit all day doing nothing too?"

The crow looked down and sung out
"Why not? It's of little consequence to me."
So the rabbit sat down and commenced doing nothing
but enjoying himself and feeling the wind in his face.
Along came a fox.

The fox ate the rabbit."

---Fin.

Lesson: To be sitting and doing nothing but enjoying oneself, one must be sitting very high up.

I liked these little sketches enough to color them. That's a very tall compliment, little sketches. Congrats.

Inspiration Where I Am: West Village: Music, Man

Sam has a new gig in the West Village and I'm finding myself there a lot these days. I come for the live music he's playing and then wander between sets. Like the days I used to spend there in my first days in NYC these wanderings find me frequenting Bleecker Street Records. This almost too clean, but in an 80s hospital way record shop is one of my favorite places to look through vinyl. While it isn't the best record shop in NYC, it's close enough, and they maintain the perfect ratio of eclectic, kitsch and modern. It's a rare shop that finds you singing along to Sublime while leafing through vintage musical titles. That place is of course exactly where I want to be. Recently I returned to the scene of my virginal NYC existence. I've found that nothing much has changed, but that I'm a lot more in tune (hehe) to my art and I'm better able to find things that inspire me as an artist visually, instead of using the place for pure musical delight.

Case. In. Point.

I pride myself on being pretty dang knowledgeable of film must-sees, but A GLOVE STORY!??! Staring Barbara Streisand?! Who knew? Netflix is about to get all topsy turvey.

What?

Inappropriate.

If only, crazy drugged out record. If only.

I would have loved to be art directed on this baby. Gee, that photo's really intense. Let's add some buoyant font to distract from the situation we're depicting here. There. That's much better. Now try it lower cased. We have a winnnnnnnner!

Add more stars! No more. More. Um. More. OK... almost.
Make it plaid. No. More plaid. More. No more plaid. OK... Almost.

I am obsessed with this era. Most of the art books in my personal collection are nods to this bygone time when girls were best depicted as sex pots with a lot of skirt.
Adorable but smart. I live for vintage logo.
Sidenote: "An Adult Love Story"? Sign me up.

Keep it bold and do something heavy concept. The weirder the better. We don't need to use all the space. Seriously. This is always my mantra. LEAVE SOME SPACE! Sheesh. I love how free we used to be with it. Interestingly or uninterestingly(I've decided that's a word, deal with it.) enough, I feel this way about film too. For the most part I hate television with equal fervor to the passion I have for film. Why? NO SPACE!

Currently I adore the Simpsons, Parenthood and Modern Family. I leave all other TV alone. Why? These shows give the freaking audience SPACE. They let moments breathe. They don't force things into tight spaces. I have certain um.. opinions on the matter. Anyway. Leave some visual space, k?

Awesome crazy heavy handed patriotism font! Woot.

The thing that's most exciting to me on these late night excursions is recognizing the confidence between an artist's hand and a concept in these vintage covers. The almost toxic colors, ranging from ultra saturated primary to neon are completely unapologetic. The goofy illustrations are exquisitely executed. Concepts are bold but sentimental. The silly is embraced full frontal (i just like using that term where ever I can.)
I would never trade my experience as a child of the eighties. My friends joke that I would have been best suited to the 60s, where I could have done drugs, championed my causes with sit-ins and drawn the hell out of a lot of doe-eyed sailor girls, all whilst clad in baby blue tailored skirts. I'm glad for the life I lead now (where I can find contacts that can handle my prescription, etc.) I however am thankful that I have these kind of archives at my fingertips. So that's Thursday at She Sure is Sketchy. Be inspired.

Things I Throw Myself in to Tuesday

or how I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb.

"There were three times in the month of March where I needed an egg or two. When I bake I want it to be spectacular-spectacular. Cooking's just another creative extension. At any rate, and for no reason I have to explain, I needed an egg or two. I didn't need a huge carton of eggs, I just needed a few, and a half dozen a week would more than do.

I'd shlep to the shops. I'd find that once again, in my hippy Brooklyn-town, free range/non hormone/anti-chemical/vegetarian chicken eggs were so popular that they'd be sold out. I'd ask when there would be more. Some market guy would shrug. I'd put off the spectacular-spectacular.

I've been living in Brooklyn and shopping in Brooklyn for a long time now. Before I was doing those things I was the five-year old bawling my eyes out after seeing Star Treck: The Voyage Home. The tears flowed freely once I realized it wasn't so unlikely my future children would live in a world without whales. It's been a life spent picking up six-pack plastic can holders off the street. I carry them home where I cut them into something that doesn't resemble a noose. Add years of living NYC where you can, um, acquire certain personal opinions about what food is, how it should be aquired, how far it should travel, and how it should be enjoyed.... Just like that you become this overly prideful Brooklynite. You find yourself at a crossroads where there's just flat out no-way-in -hell you're going to buy an egg that isn't from a free range/non hormone/anti-chemical/vegetarian fed chicken.

But you still need eggs...

So you google 'til your fingers bleed. One thing leads to another, and then all of the sudden, well, you know, you do the thing any other organically minded Brooklyn girl would do...

I'd like to formally introduce you to Good Golly Miss Molly.

I think she is beautiful. Don't you? You know - in a Tilda Swenton kind of way?
I'm paying her rent. Don't worry, we've worked out a barter system. It's Brooklyn. We go hard.

Pushing Pattern

My Favorite Hopper

See how happy this kid is to be wearing this Amber Alvarez Original?
Oh yeah. He's stoked.

Oh! That's better.
Hoppy Easter!

If you want to know more about this, you should know it's at touch up to this post ;)

Easter Goose

Mama needs a new scanner.

I should have told the Easter Bunny about that one....
Tonight we dine on dark chocolate and expensive cheese, and for dessert we eat dark chocolate alone. DOWN WITH LENT!

Straight from the Book Thursday: Enjoy the Journey!

One of my very most extreme favorite things about coming to NYC when I was a teen was peeking at what people were reading/writing/drawing on the train. In Hawaii there is, how shall I put it, less of an industrious spirit. Hawaiian hands sit idle on public transportation. In Hawaii's defense, there is a lot of really gorgeous stuff to look at out the window. You're in not a tunnel.

I used to thrill to sit next to artists who were sketching away, because up until this point, the only people I knew like that were me and my dad. I'd peek and I'd crane to see how they used their books and what they were scrawling. The other night (on my way to see PJ Harvey) a girl leaned over and whispered "Hi". I wasn't sure I'd heard right over my blasting music, so I took my headphones off and looked at her. She was wearing jeans smeared with acrylic, too much make up and an asymmetrical top. Oh, I was familiar with this girl. Haha.
"Um... can I see your sketchbook?"

She's an FIT illustration major. She's just getting started and she hopes she can make it. She devoured my book and pointed and questioned and reminded me, of what it is like when you're hoping. I'm hoping now, but you know, when you're hoping.In honor of a certain girl, circa 2002 - in too much make-up, torn and painted up jeans and a leather jacket with a Hello Kitty tattoo slapped on it, I thought I'd show you a few pages I did yesterday at the park. You know, for old times sake.

Before It Was Something

There are 3 major ways the sketchiness you see at She Sure is Sketchy becomes marketable art. Usually I do a sketch. I look at it. I put it aside. I think, "meh..." Weeks, months or years later I am woken at 3 am with a sudden knowledge of WHAT IT NEEDS TO BE!

Sometimes I go through my box o'paper (the bane of my mother's existence in my childhood, now a tax asset). I find snibbits of long forgotten sketches in this idea house -- even if it looks like it houses a gerbil. They suddenly speak to me. From nothing - something.

Sometimes, - the best times, I do a sketch and I just know. I know exactly what it will be. I know exactly how it will look. These flamingos are some such sketches. They're the 'OH man, this is gonna be SO good' kind of work I do.

One great thing about this "Oh man I know exactly" process is how funny it is to witness. Even when I'm the only one staring into my full length mirror to my immediate left in my studio. I watch that girl there in the mirror bite her lip and scribble as fast as she can. Sometimes it looks like the page is going to combust. It's like when a little kid tells you an imaginary story. You know the kind. The kind that run off in rambles:

"THEN THE DRAGONS WOULD COME INTO THE GROCERY STORE AND THEN THEY WOULD JUMP ON THE BREAD! "
Genius.

You're staring at them and they're so excited they're half laughing while they speed talk to make sure they get all THESE GREAT IDEAS out of their heads. The brilliance is just coming so fast. These stories make you grin even though they're beyond reason. You love them all the more because they're little bundles of lunacy.

I am often a little bundle of lunacy

SERIOUSLY THOUGH, OH MAN - THIS IS GONNA BE SO GREAT!