Of The Unknown

All my life i've been drawing in black and white. First it was pencil only, because i thought i really excelled at it, so i never ventured outside of what i've known. Always sticking to what i thought was my strenghts,God forbid i try something new, or i fuck up a drawing (as if i have a deadline). This i dont know what to call it, reasoning, logic, whatever it was kept me from discovering other things in drawing, or art in general, so i never gave a chance to some other things, until i started thinking, "well...it's flat, it doesn't stand out". That's when i started trying new things.

Now, now im not afraid of fucking up for the sake of something new, that's how i gave inking a chance. I wanted my shit to stand out, and have that kind of marvel comics look, or those heaviliy hatched Jim Lee look. Sometimes trying new things is the way to improve, like looking at the world with an altered perception of realism, or switching from quill pen to brush, or using both to get what you want. Anyways, my inking still sucks...but it can only get better...right?

And after a while of just inking, i see my drawings lacking, they dont look lively, they need something else, so i started reading tutorials online and dusted off my trusty old pal photoshop cs2. To say it was uncomfortable is an understatement, after all, we will always be wary of stuff that we are unfamiliar with, so at first i treated Photoshop like that friend of a friend that hangs out in a different social circle, and quite probably i wanted to leave my project half-way and say to myself "thats what you get for thinking you can do this"; but my father's voice came into my head, nagging and always comparing and findind my defects and somehow magnifying them so i look and feel vile. That's when i decided to stick with it, to have one over the old man. So it was still tough to go on, but i like to think it's not Photoshop's fault, but my own demands of what i'd like to see, and i somehow can't get it out of Photoshop. When it was finished i felt satisfied that i finished, and i liked how it looked, but im still pissed that i couldnt do some of the other stuff i had enviosioned.

Rest In Peace

Holy shit! Mike Wieringo passed away...actually died of a heart attack i dont know why comic art community puts passed away as if he died of old age, no the guy died at 44...and it seems such a short time for such a great career. Man, it was his artwork (and mark waid's stories) that got me hooked to fantastic 4, and i confess, mike wieringo's departure from the title affected my decision to keep collecting the book...so he left and started peter parker spider-man and he also proved that he can draw spider-man with such artistic frenzy as fantastic 4 (you can tell these things because when the artist is replaced by another you suddenly lose interest). But now he passed away, and i was hoping i would see him again in some other project i dont know when down the road, it is kinda sad when i think of the possibilities of some unknown project out there that never got to be made.

Anyways, the guy was a great artist. In the world of comics there are those who stand out, and those who mimic those who stand out. For example when Jim Lee became legend everybody was doing the Jim Lee thing, even my favorite artists, the Kubert Brothers. Then when Joe Madureira became the next messiah of the comic book world everybody started emulating his style...and i think people in america also discovered manga (or were more open to it). Not to mention another artist like Bryan hitch or Steve Mcniven...also a matter of time before people begin to emulate or copy their styles...anyway...in this world of comic books where everything has been seen or copied...Mike Wieringo created his own style, and made it original, fun and bouncy...and very dynamic his action scenes were always intense, and his establishing shots and backgrounds flawless...all filled with HIS uniqueness...i admire that, and i kinda hate that he died before i got to see more of what could have been...well, there's nothing i can do

To Be A Cynic Is To Be An Artist

Last time i checked a survey about the best kind of employees, or about what type of qualities make an employee an asset in an enterprise i was very surprised to read that it is not based on skill. What makes anybody an asset in the workplace just boils down to "interpersonal relationships" (by the way, last time i read a survey was like 2 years ago for my psych class). Interpersonal relationships are basically the way you act and react not only to the environment around you, but with the people that interact in said environment.

Yes, its a shock, in the end it does not matter how well you do the job what matters is how well you take it up the ass and smile as your boss and co-workers fuck you. Its a hard lesson to learn, it was difficult during my first job, but then you learn to appreciate how difficult the porn industry really is. Anyways, as with everything that is fucked up in this world, we cannot change it, we can only...adapt i guess.

We all struggle in a job, and its sad that its come down to smiling as you know your boss is driving an imaginary phallus deep into your imaginary rectum, but hey, we deal with it, because we need to, because lately having a steady job sounds more like an urban legend than the truth. We all put up with it, and i want not only to congratulate myself, but also to congratulate you if you sometimes feel like an abused spouse who mistakes a spit in the face with love...(lets take a minute to contemplate on something as fucked as society's values of what gets the job done). But what we cannot and what we should not permit is to sell our principles, our ideas or our very souls to ingratiate ourselves with our bosses. That means let's not be the workplace whore, you know who im talking about, that guy or that chick that never does any real work, but makes it his/her sole purpose to be on the boss' good side, the one who asks "so mr. such and such how's the wife and the kid?" or "hey mr. such and such, i brought you coffee, extra sweet 'cuz i know you like it that way" and makes even stupider comments like "man, you must have had fun in the bahamas mr. such and such" or even worse "i bought you this cap, 'cause i know how much you like the yankees!" i mean... WHAT THE FUCK? its not like we care, your boss is and will alway be that asshole that doesnt pay you enough or steals all your good ideas and he/she ends up looking better to his/her superiors, and now our bosses expect us to what? kiss ass? since when did that become an entry in our resume? and who gives gifts to the boss? i mean they get paid more than we ever do, and they are the first to object when we ask for a raise, so come on! one thing is to have interpersonal skills, another is to sell our dignity to some asshole for scraps off his/her table...what im trying to say is if we give our dignity, our self respect...what will we have left for ourselves?

Happy Birthday

It's August 19th, the day of my birthday, and since my blog is not about analyzing the world one lie at a time (because im not that plotical, polemical etc) or since what i write is not a look a t life through sexy eyes and a touch of misantropy (though in my case it would be the opposite: Misogyny) im all for the self-celebratory kind of obligatory pat-on the back to myself: so basically, im writing to congratulate myself on 26 years of life...(kinda sad innit?)

It is: i didnt do shit, just watch the whole naruto marathon...funny because i hate naruto...not anymore...though i recognize is the same kind of mental-fuck-of a show, i mean...its done before, dragon ball, saint seiya etc, just with ninjas...and more perverted...still great fight scenes...oh and i bought Afro Samurai (actually it was given as a present) i have still to see it.

Anyways, my thuoghts on 26...are the same as when i was 25...a year changes shit...just makes you realize that the clock is ticking faster, you're not getting younger and you're not half-way to where you wanna be...Man, gimme forward momentum...or a sign...angels beaming sown from the heavens with gold trumpets and ribbons made of light and all that stuff so i know where to go.

A Life Very Ordinary

Well, what is life?, yes many repented whores, and turned to christianity drug-addicts and chronic masturbators will tell you that life is a gift from God, and everything that happens in it (from waking up, to taking a shit or finding a lucky dollar in the soles of your shoe) is a miracle. What do these people know? when they're pissed at you, instead of saying fuck you they always resort to the very hypocritical "God bless you" (which we all know is a very decent, yet rather bland fuck you).

I will tell you what life is. It doesn't matter if you think you and me live different lives, we're all trapped by the same jailer, it's called routine...you may think you have more exciting stuff going on, but...well...its only exciting because its new...then it turns into routine, then its the same shit over and over. Like ordering the #2 at McDonald's. So life? routine. Sex with your girlfriend or boyfriend? at the beginning is everyday and its an earth shattering experience that includes role-playing (with deep, intricate plots), toys and costumes, then its only reserved for wednesdays at night, and instead of the crazy marathon of poses and contorsion it becomes an exciting 15 minute romp on the missionary position and her telling you "well, are you gonna come or what? i dont have all night" so...routine, and i can go on and on talking about this...oh, and do me a favor...dont mention the gym as a routine breaker, as a escape from the mundane. Sure, you're hot with your new pecs, biceps, triceps and six-pack (if you're a guy) if you're a girl you're hot anyways, but a taut abdomen, perky boobs and thick legs never go amiss...but that is not the point...if you're in a gym you're even more trapped by routine...hell you have routines in the gym, its mondays today's yoga/pilates, cardio and biceps and chest-day.

So is it hopeless? are we doomed to a life of routine?...well...yes but what are ya gonna do? its late already in the history of planet earth to try and re-invent the wheel and find a way out of stress, job and routine, so what can you do? well, its the little things...its kinda like a legal loophole on the face of routine, for example: i work from mondays to fridays at my college, its always clock in and start working and saying "yes ma'am, thank you ma'am" or "yes, sir, i'm sorry sir, thank you sir". So what you do to get out of the mundane is...when something new occurs...like say...conflict...blow it out of proportion and make it a rosetta stone discovery event, include tears, a little of yelling and door-slamming and a couple of well placed retorts (be a man grab your balls every once in a while, just to feel you power, the alpha male plus power!!!!) and give that slimy provocateur, that little burlesque king (or queen), that little conflict tease, that attention whore more attention he/she bargained for, and et voila! you have been freed (if only for a couple of hours) from routine, and you also free other people if there happen to be espectators, because they will talk and spread this story around.

Another thing you can do (and this is a closing line) is do something completely stupid and take it from there, for example let's say you're walking down a street, depressed as hell because theres nothing new, and you happen to see a pile of shit on the road (probably left by some dog), instead of evading it, step on it! and make the priority of the day to successfully remove the dog shit from your shoe, and then to try and ignore the stench.

Sin Tetas No Hay Paraiso

Its my 3rd day of sickness and it looks like the fever that was once tormenting me has decided to slacken its grip over me...not that im complaining. During my sick period with no cable a friend happened to lend me some dvd's...that meaning the complete set of the colombian soap opera "Sin Tetas No Hay Paraiso".

I hate soaps. I only watch them so i can laught at them, at the bad scripts and unlikely situations, at the unnecessary plot twists like a character finding out he has a long lost twin brother, or even better yet, the boyfriend that cheats on her girlfriend...with her twin sister producing the ever famous "im sorry cassie, how was i supposed to know that it was maddie...your twin sister???" line, and of course you gotta love it when a character falls from the stairs or has a badly choreographed car accident and ends up in a coma or with amnesia. Well this weekend i was proved wrong by this soap. "Sin Tetas No Hay Paraiso" is a very compelling story of an ambitious girl that loves easy money, and the only way she knows to get out of poverty is to fuck as many druglords as she can so they can lavish her with gifts and money. The only problem? druglords like girls with big tits and Catalina the main character...shes as flat chested as they come, so whats a girl to do? well, she has to fuck a druglord that will finance her operation...but its easier said than done. The impossibility of Catalina having her tittties done obsesses her to a point where she associates big breasts as the answer to all the problems in her life and she transforms herself into a horrible person.

The soap opera never loses pace, its always fun, smart, sexy and poignant, all through the hour long episodes we get glimpses of this characters' take on their meaning of what is love, what means to be free to pursue your dreams, and what matters to them (though as misguided as it may be). The acting is superb, id be hard-pressed to find better acting even at some of the stuff that passes as hollywood movies today. And though it is a look at the Colombian Sub culture, at the world of drug lords and money launderers,of high-paid hookers and the poverty in some parts of the city, it also tells a story people know: The price of getting ahead. What some people do to get out of being poor, of being in some slum. So in other ways is not hard to relate at all.

And you gotta love the opening of the show, some guy assembling the hookers like barbie dolls with oversized breasts, trying to assemble a perfect woman and putting them in a rack, ready for you to buy them...if you have the money.

Sick

So im sick, i have a cold, and my head feels like a piñata, except if you hit it candy wont fall out, but a thick viscous amount of phlegm and mucosa. My voice is so fucked up it sounds like a distorted microphone, and i feel like the ghost of myself staring through the looking glass.

My convalescence period sucks, theres no tv, and the only good thing about being sick is that you can watch the morning shows like jerry springer (my husband is a transvestite prostitute!) or maury (help me find my baby's daddy!!), and after that you can have a healthy (or unhealthy) dose of soap operas: one life to live, the bold and the beautiful, as the world turns, general hospital...they're really the same shit, only with different beautiful people, so take your pick.

In the absence of entertainment from tv, and because i already read harry potter and my father stole my one hundred years of solitude (cien años de soledad, lo cual leo en español, por que leer a garcia-marquez en ingles es un insulto comparable con leer tolkien en español...o como llamarse seguidor de tolkien y no haber leido el silmarillion) i turned to my own abilities as an artist (questionable at best), its been coming from a while now that i wanna do some sort of follow up to the drawing i posted here of the guy with the tigers...except with some other animal...except nothing comes up...i hate being blocked like this...and all i do is keep drawing more out of frustration because i feel i should nail this Alas! it is not to be, but i guess i cant stop until i have something on paper, that sort of express what i wanna draw...in general, i guess today sucked because i cant turn nowhere for entertainment