Mock Rock Poster (GD)

A friend commissioned this piece to celebrate his friend - happy to help!

Paintober: Croissant (P)

 

Paintober: Mustard Flower (I)

Last year I had this great idea to make a little painting for 31 people, a small work for every day in October. Clearly I'd had too much coffee - it definitely didn't happen. So now the goal is to get those out "by the end of this October," and I'm not even stressing over that. Here's the first one - a mustard flower for a good friend in Los Angeles! Stay tuned for more...probably.

Super Secret Super Power (GD)

My wonderfully talented friend is back with her latest creation!

ZOOBIRD! (I)

A commissioned piece for a friend, who previously commissioned this one. Glad I could make this happen for one of the most creative dads in the industry!

Happy Lunar New Year 2024

Looks like this is shaping up to be a series, starting with last year's design. Happy Year of the Dragon!

Troll Love Commission (I)

There's really no better reward than a friend loving a commissioned piece - I'm so honored to be even a small part of this! Congratulations to these two!!

So Blue (W)

This is the second round of the writing contest I entered last year. I did really well on the first round - second place - but I missed advancing to the third round by ONE point! Argh. The prompt (genre - location - object) for this one was "drama, commuter ferry, charcuterie board." Enjoy.

    “This is not well,” Jane whispered into the wind, “rash and unbridled boy. To fly the…” Her eyebrows drew together gently, concentrating. “This is not well, rash and unbridled boy. To fly the…fortunes?” 

    The sea drifted past the ferry and it caught her attention for a long moment, its deep blue, the massive ripples. The sparkle of the water was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. There were swallows, and they seemed of similar mind, lunging through the crisp winter morning, wings flashing with that slippery feeling of fragile airborne creatures, spun into being and then gone as suddenly. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky; clouds hadn’t been invented yet. This is not well, she thought happily, rash and unbridled birds…Her body seemed pleasantly full of that deep, blue weight. 

    “Excuse me,” came a voice to her right. A woman’s voice, and the feeling that the words had been repeated, perhaps several times, polite but insistent, a worried spine to them, a younger woman with a younger woman’s concern for the elderly frail. Jane turned towards her. 

    The woman smiled, obviously relieved. Her teeth were perfect and her eyes moved too much, skittering over Jane’s face, her neck, the bundles of warm wraps she wore, looking for somewhere to land, not finding it. She was wearing a surprising amount of makeup. 

    “I’m so sorry to bother you,” she said, seeming both genuinely sorry to bother Jane and eager to take up all of her attention, the one devaluing the other. This is not well, thought Jane, rash and unbridled Southern housewife. “We saw All’s Well on Friday, and I just wanted to say…” 

    Oh, the poor thing. She hadn’t thought this through. You saw a celebrity and thought you had to speak to her. But then you remembered her actual performance. Poor thing. Jane delighted in the woman’s tiny moment of misery. 

    “We…we thought you were just wonderful,” said the young woman as the spasming muscles in her face decided on ‘strenuously grateful.’ Even in the direct sunlight there was not a flaw in her makeup. Where was she from? Georgia? 

    Jane almost believed her. “Thank you,” she said simply. She let a slight smile dismiss the younger woman, her eyes sliding back to the ocean. 

    “They say this is your last one…your last play? Because of the…you can’t…” Oh, she was being ever so bold now, her voice barely audible over the rush of the waters around the ferry. 

    “They do say that, don’t they.” Jane ignored the cold in her stomach. Tried to. 

    “They do,” returned the woman immediately. “And I wanted to tell you, I think that’s such a shame. I saw you in Midsummer when I was just six years old.” 

    That was, what, three years ago? thought Jane. 

    “We came all the way up here just to see you. I still remember it. My goodness, you were so beautiful.” Jane turned and looked at her, smiling so genuinely, sparkling with rippling, stupid youth. 

    “Thank you, dear,” she said. “Hermia was one of my favorite roles.” 

    The makeup shifted with doubt; Jane was fascinated by it. 

    “Oh, we…we saw you as Titania,” she said with delicious tentativeness. “Did you do Hermia as well? On the Island? I would have come for that, too. In a heartbeat.” 

    A shadow fell over them. “She’s played almost every female role in Midsummer,” said Julian, a steeled kindness in his voice. 

    “And Bottom once, too,” added Jane. 

    “Though we don’t typically talk about that one,” said her assistant, adding immediately, “Did you want a picture with Miss Cassings?” His tone made it clear that a possible photo would be the end of their exchange. Choose wisely. 

    “Oh, that’d be wonderful,” said the young woman. Julian took her phone from her with a faint disdain that only Jane would have noticed. He snapped a picture before the woman was ready, his signature move with eager fans, and dismissed her. 

    “Thank you so much, Miss Cassings. You were truly wonderful.” And she was gone, back to her small family on the other side of the boat. 

    Julian handed her a plastic box as he sat. Through the lid she saw an array of limp meats, dull cheeses, a lonely clump of red grapes. 

    “The menu said ‘charcuterie board,’” said her son, pulling the lapels of his coat together and popping the collar up. His hair was long now, post-pandemic, and she loved the way the wind pulled his curls into the sunlight. 

    “The other option was canned salmon. You’re welcome.” 

    “Did I ask for tea?” At some point her tone might have been imperious, now it was genuine; what had she asked for? 

    “Their hot water is apparently broken. He offered to put a tea bag in tap water and I just stared at him.” 

    Jane grinned. Her eyes drifted back to the box in her lap. 

    “I think, sir, I can eat none of this homely meat,” she said. 

    Julian sniffed. “Oh, now she remembers her lines.” 

    Jane felt her chest constrict, just briefly. 

    “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was cruel. I’m sorry.” 

    She made herself reach over, patting the back of his hand. To her delight, he took her hand in his, his skin wonderfully soft. They sat like that for a long time, watching the sea roll past. They were out in The Channel now, the land – not the mainland, she thought, another island in the chain – only a tiny slice of faded green far in the distance. 

    “I thought it would be different,” she said, watching the swallows come and go. “I thought it would be…panicked. And cold. But it’s not. It’s like this.” She gestured at the view with her free hand. “The land gets far away sometimes, but the water and the sky…they’re so blue.” 

    She heard his breath catch, just once. She let him sob, so grateful to be holding his hand, for the rolling waters, for the sun on her face.