Purely Promotional

With the purchase of my own pen and ink supplies, I've recently taken to the idea of not just appreciating illustration, but enriching my own space with it by supporting artists I know. With artwork by your friends in your home, it's like they're always around!

First on the docket - Aleks Sennwald

Oh oh oh sorceror

Simply put - Aleks is phemonenal. She got me into Bjork in our highschool days (it was "Hunter," to be precise), tickles a mean ivory, and in her illustration, effortlessly taps into the imagination most people have lost before they got their driver's license. I've always been into Aleks' work and you can order this print at Tiny Showcase. Little does Aleks know that one day, when I have a respectable amount of money, I will have to commission her for something sweet. Aleks, if you read that... pretend you didn't.

Nextaroo - Lizz Hickey

Chickenhead 7

There's something about Lizz's work that kinda gives me the creeps, but in a very good way. She's been in some Giant Robot shows I'm can't wait to finally hang up the prints she sent me.

Finalmente! - Stephanie Bollow


Jeez! Don't you just want to touch all of those faces? I'm especially fond of the gent in the middle. Anyway, in an alternate universe where I never left Milwaukee, I'd probably be pretty tight with Miss Bollow. Why? Because she can bite off bottlecaps like nobody's business.

Okay, post abruptly over -- dentist time!

Double V = W

After seeing W. this weekend, all I can say is that I really miss the absurdity of That's My Bush. And what a catchy theme song!

Comedy Central supposedly canceled it to save money, but I smell a Right Wing conspiracy.

Dance, Spectacle and the Body-Rockin' Politick

I enjoyed myself at a performance tonight, entitled "sidewalk etches and other odd anecdotes." My dear pal/former resident/employee, Marlee, helped put together the dance/music/poetry/art exhibition shebang, which benefited the Prison Creative Arts Project, and despite her real-time bout of food poisoning, seemed to effortlessly move across the floor, which made the whole performance even more phemonemal (everyone else was impressive, too).

I still don't get Dance... this Modern stuff. Isn't it Post-Modern by now? Interpretive? Post-Interpretive Modern? What do I know? I have no dance vocabulary. But, what I do know is that it all means that much more when you're close enough that you can hear the pant of the performers, the sound of bare soles against the parquet, and you're nearly kicked in the face by some move from out of a capoeira circle.

Seriously... I felt wind on my face.