"Spots and Stripes"

Woodcut (3 color reduction)

4" x 6"(image) 5.5" x 7.5" (paper)

Oil-based inks on Stonehenge paper

Edition of 4

Available for purchase here.

At first I didn't notice when I glanced in your direction. The patterns in your coats blended into that crazy quilt backdrop, and my brain read it like a Kandinsky or African textile. But once I did notice, your forms became clear. You, leopard, perched on top of you, tiger, like some kind of savage, feline totem pole. Standing still and staring straight ahead, are you even aware of each other? Is perhaps leopard hiding from tiger in "plain view", or vice versa? If you turn your heads to meet my gaze, will you believe I can see you, too, or will you continue to assume your camouflage is effective, as does a black cat gazing out from a shadowy corner?

"Death By Honey"

Woodcut (3 color reduction)

4" x 6"(image) 5.5" x 7.5" (paper)

Oil-based inks on Stonehenge paper

Edition of 4

Available for purchase here.

Starting a new series of color woodcuts featuring toys as subject matter. Hugable predators, tiny babies, monkeys with long floppy arms... Such bizarre things. Think I'll do at least nine of these little 4" x 6" ones, probably within the next few weeks.

A swarm of bees hover over the bodies. Two more victims of gluttony. Brought to the ground, not by sting, but sweet.

"The Calling of St. Fatty" by Tessa Shackelford

Image reposted with the permission of the artist. Tessa Shackelford's website is Dumbkat Press. Check out her latest work and musing at her blog, Dumbkat's Folly.

A light shines, a voice is heard, and she turns, gripping a rail (or is that a baseball bat?) and poised to run (or perhaps mount an aggressive defense?), though her eyes are calm and searching.

Just who is Saint Fatty? Though she (and the wall behind her) seem soft, those luscious "brushstrokes" are deceptive. She is really carved in wood, each cut quite deliberate, each layer of color put down in its entirety in a matter of minutes. Firm and unmovable. She has integrity, the makings of a saint.

She seems so casual in her nondescript T-shirt, skirt, and tousled, shoulder-length hair (okay, the halo gives her away), but don't underestimate her. She has been called, answered, formed with chisels and ink, and canonized by ART.

Ludwig Heinrich Jungnickel's Monkeys

I'm a sucker for beautifully designed animal illustrations. These monkeys' bodies are described with great attention to detail, yet with a certain economy of line and shape so the image is sharp. In addition to that, as with many of Jungnickel's illustrations, the animals depicted come alive and exhibit personality.

It seems clear these are zoo monkeys. Even though there is no literal cage, compositionally, they are trapped in a box going round and round, as if pacing, as zoo animals (particularly the more intelligent mammals) tend to do. It is monotonous, but not a torturous monotony, at least for the monkey closer to us. He looks directly at us and smiles as if to say "Hey there."

The monkey in the back is a different story. Her face expresses not only quiet reflection, but deep melancholy. I find myself wondering if this is her typical state of mind, or if something specific occupies her thoughts. I almost feel guilty staring at her, as I sometimes do when I've joined a crowd of people gawking at a mother orangutan nursing her newborn infant, or a grumpy old gorilla with his back turned deliberately to the crowd.

What strangeness, to live a life on display. What a joy for the exhibitionist. What a nightmare for the introvert.

"His teeth will fall out..." (Cat Haiku #3)

Oil-based ink on gray Stonehenge paper

5 layer reduction with 2 blocks

Edition of 4

8" x 12" (image) 11" x 15" (paper)

Available for purchase here.

This is the third print for my book of twelve haiku poems about my cats with accompanying woodcut illustrations. It goes with this haiku:

His teeth will fall out.

I found one the other day.

He's old, this happens.

"Snowy Owl" by Katherine Grey

Image posted with the permission of the artist. Learn more about the work of Katherine Grey, as well as her gallery in Eagle, Idaho on her website, here.

Strange to be writing about a print involving snow in the middle of the summer, but I am sick of the heat. I also couldn't help it; I'm drawn to this image. There is something otherworldly about it. Perhaps because while the owl is quite clearly an owl, it also seems alien - such expressive, intelligent eyes while the mouth and nose are signified only by a small, black mark. Also, the stars in the night sky appear unfamiliar, as if the scene is located in some very far away part of the universe. As in an episode of the Twilight Zone, things seem backwards and out of place. The texture on the head reminds me of craters on the moon, while the streaks in the landscape allude to a long, lush body of hair. The part of my brain that knows how things are supposed to be tells me that feathers cover the owl's body, and the bird is perched on a rock in front of a mountain or hill, and yet as I look closer, every contour and shape seems to suggest something else, something more. This is no mundane wildlife illustration. The true weirdness of the owl - this lonesome, night predator, this chimera with a bird body and cat-like face - is captured in a manner which transcends the naturalistic.

"Self Portrait as Priest" by Leonard Baskin

I came upon this striking portrait at the La Salle University Art Museum today. They have quite a few prints by Baskin and Charles Wells on exhibition this summer. I'm familiar with Baskin's incredibly detailed and distinctly-creepy wood engravings, so I was surprised to see this woodcut, a fairly naturalistic portrait featuring a large area of inky, black woodgrain. With a heavier and much more economical use of line than seen in his engravings, Baskin's skills as a master draftsman come through. His uniquely expressive lines give life to the ear, mouth, and eye. His face turns back, an already severe expression made even moreso by the stark contrast between solid black and white areas and a handful of strategically-placed lines that pull the chin tight. It is an expression of authoritative judgment.

What are viewers to make of this, considering Baskin was the son of a Rabbi and included many Jewish themes in his huge body of work? So much of Baskin's art makes dark statements about the human condition. Is this portrait the artist attempting to illustrate feelings of contempt for the worst inclinations of people?