Thom Glick's Art & Sketchapalooza

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: The Council 1:7

2012-02-12T23:37:00.002-05:00

Under the control of the fully automated navigational system, coupled with the propulsion of the experimental pulse engine, The Destination quietly journeyed for two centuries across the void.

The technician slept, not dreaming.

A small blue planet, the focal planet, came into view. The Destination’s governing operating system prepped for landing. Slowly, the pulsing hum of the engine silenced. The engine and fuel containment compartment were jettisoned. All that remained was the cock-pit, containing the computer system, the technician’s hibernation capsule, and the supplies he would need for his mission.

At an incredible speed, the remaining compartment rocketed like a missile through the atmosphere. A glowing fireball. It buried itself in a cloud of vapor and dust.

The computer next switched its concern to reanimating the technician, a process that would take hours. This had been an unusually long period in stasis. Despite the accommodations - intravenous nutrients and electro-stimulation - he would be sore for days as his muscles were hurriedly put back to use.

The technician emerged from the craft carrying all the supplies he would hopefully need to accomplish his mission and started walking. The probability data had suggested that the reorganizing denizens would most probably have a established a governing political body; that was his starting point. He would need help if he expected to succeed.

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: The Council 1:6 (Second Interim)

2012-02-09T22:19:00.001-05:00

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: The Council 1:6

2012-02-08T01:12:00.002-05:00

The day arrived. The technician climbed into the cylinder, where he would spend the duration of the journey in a state of stasis, hooked up to a myriad of monitoring contraptions. The Destination was entirely self managing, from take off to touch down. All the technician had to do was wake up at the end of the journey ready to save the universe.

Despite all the prep and guidance from the Council, the technician would be working with few clues once he touched down.

The probability data, that the Council shared with the technician, suggested that a near cataclysmic event had taken place, recently, on the focal planet. Could it have been a failed Nothing Mechanism? A Nothing Mechanism, a weapon of the gods. How could such a thing have fallen into the hands of a planet like this?

Whatever it was, it had nearly destroyed every living thing on the planet. The data suggested that what life remained was reorganizing and from that reorganization a Nothing Mechanism was definitely either in play or soon to be in play. The data also suggested that an outside influence was acting as a guiding hand. Outside influence, what? Who?

The Destination, with the technician in place, was towed to the edge of the system. The newly developed, entirely experimental pulse engine charged up to full power with a hum. The towing restraints detached and retracted; the towing vessel moved slowly, mechanically away from The Destination. All the world watched as the initial pulse carried the vessel out of sight, silently. It took only a fraction of a second for the vessel to disappear into the darkness of space. And, like gentle chop on a lake, the pulse sent a wave that rocked the towing vessel. Within minutes, all was calm.

Within minutes all were on pins and needles grasping onto a hope that shined oh so dimly.

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: The Council 1:5

2012-02-06T23:38:00.001-05:00

The focal planet was far far away. Despite their accomplished deep space exploration it was rare for them to travel that far outside of their own system. They had spacecraft designed for such travel, but none that could travel fast enough to hope to interrupt the impending Collapse.

“There is an experimental craft.”

“Yes, The Destination.”

“How fast?”

“It’s a new engine. Speed, as of yet, unknown.”

“Near light?”

“Doubtful.”

“This seems the worst moment to test out a new technology.”

“We are without options.”

“Indeed.”

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: The Council 1:4

2012-02-05T22:47:00.001-05:00

“You know why you are here?” One of the Council members asked the technician.

“I believe so,” he responded. “A high level Near Collapse Scenario?”

“The highest level.”

“A Complete Collapse Scenario.”

“Complete Collapse? You are certain?” Asked the technician.

“There is no doubt.”

“Events are already in motion.”

“We may already be too late to neutralize.”

“But we must attempt. We must try.”

“Yes. We must try.”

“Details are vague, but we do have a strategy.”

“We need your talents.”

“It is without hesitation that I accept this charge,” the technician stated stoically. Then he asked, “What is the cause of the Collapse?”

“There is a Nothing Mechanism in play.”

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: The Council 1:3

2012-02-05T17:05:00.004-05:00

They were grouped around a large table covered with gadgets, 3D digital models of star clusters, and digital screens displaying data on everything from strategic probability statistics to spacecraft specifications. Finally, one amongst the group stopped studying the data and spoke.

“We have variables. Too many to account for. We need a technician.”

The others stopped to listen. Crisis of this caliber were incredibly rare. In their recorded history, which was vast and long, a crisis of this caliber had happened only twice before. And neither of those incidents involved an intelligent antagonist. Both previous incidents were resolved using unmanned strategies.

Although, technicians were trained for worst-case scenarios, they were most often used for less dire situations. Using a technician meant acknowledging an incomplete strategy. An incomplete strategy meant relying on improvisation beyond the guidance and control of the Council.

“A technician? Are you certain?”

“The path toward the Collapse is not entirely visible. The opportunistic interference is obscuring the players and the moves. Our only hope is a technician. One with with a complete skill set. Nothing less will do.”

“Do we have a technician with a complete skill set?”

“We do. There is only one.”

“He is the best?”

“Without question, he is.”

“Bring him.”

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: The Council 1:2

2012-02-05T01:22:00.001-05:00

The Council convened to discuss the phenomenon.

“It is without doubt that we are facing a Complete Collapse Scenario.”

“There is no doubt?”

“None. The focal planet has already suffered a near self exterminating event. It should have died. It is beyond understanding that it has not. An opportunistic interference has latched onto the situation and is working toward an intentional Complete Collapse.”

“Without our participation all that is will cease to be.”

“This cannot be allowed.”

“It may already be too late.”

“Do we have steps?”

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: The Council 1:1

2012-02-04T23:45:00.001-05:00

No one knows that they exist. They are whispers. Nothing more than rumors. Quite possibly the oldest race of beings in the Universe, they are calculators, monitors, fixers.

The Council was reviewing a mind-numbing array of data. One paused to consider something he saw amongst the chaos. In their native language of chirps and burbles he alerted the others.

“Something terrible. Something very very terrible.”

He pointed to a cluster of graphics and text. The others gathered around him to share in the concern.

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: The Black Fish 1:7

2012-02-02T00:26:00.002-05:00

Penelope, Blue, Karcsi, and Somerset kept to the bridge.

“Okay. List of suspects. Who’s most likely?” Somerset was greasy with stress.

“I reviewed the passenger list. Roughly half of these people are new to this ship,” Karcsi handed the manifest to Somerset to inspect. “I’ve noted the new crew members and the deceased. Counting the bodies we found this morning, just before the passengers were restricted to their cabins, we’re up to nine dead. Additionally, Smith, who found the first body, is missing.”

MANIFEST
*New to The Black Fish

Expedition Team
*1. Penelope Aberdeen - Project Leader
*2. Doug Mills
*3. Eriko Saito
*4. Jessica Paskin (deceased)
*5. Benjamin Caddock (deceased)
*6. Antal Martin
*7. James Kobayashi (deceased)

Medical Staff
8. David Moreau - Surgeon/General Medicine
*9. Samuel Clement - Surgeon/General Medicine
*10. Crystal Knots - Nurse

State Agent
*11. Blue - Security

Vessel Crewmen
12. Ernest Somerset - Captain
13. Farkas Karcsi - First Officer
14. Leroy Shackleton - Navigator (deceased)
15. Vincent Whitehouse - Lookout/Carpenter
16. Pauline Payne - Cook
17. Jeromy Smith - Cook (deceased)
18. Martin Laurent - Engineer/Carpenter (deceased)
19. Janet Greenfield - Engine Expert
20. Christopher Trotter - Stoker
21. Thomas Black - Stoker
*22. Danny Smoot - Able Seaman (deceased)
23. James Bryon - Able Seaman (deceased)
24. Wallace Smith - Able Seaman (deceased)
*25. David Laird - Able Seaman
*26. Vincent Smith - Able Seaman (missing)

The Black Fish was being tossed about violently, now completely immersed in the storm. As Somerset examined the crew manifest the two man deck guard burst into the bridge with a third man between them.

“We found him.”

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: The Black Fish 1:6

2012-01-29T22:10:00.002-05:00

Just as Karcsi had suggested the passengers were restricted to their cabins. Only the two guard details and the smallest possible operations crew were allowed to leave their cabins.

The Black Fish boasted an experimental coal-fueled steam-powered rotary engine. With temperatures plummeting the added heat from the burning coal and rotating steel would be all too welcome. The sails were stowed and the engine fired up. This helped to lessen the operations team to just those men needed to keep the fire satisfied and the lookout to keep the vessel from smashing into something.

Antal, a member of the Expedition Team, and currently a member of a roaming two man security detail called for Vincent, the current lookout, to climb down from the crow’s nest.

“Did you see the man?” Antal asked, agitated and out of breath.

“What?” Asked Vincent as he stepped from the rope ladder to the deck.

“Wallace and I saw someone on deck. There’s not supposed to be anyone else out here. We chased him, but we got separated.”

Vincent pulled a knife from his belt. “Let’s have a look.”

The two men set to investigating the night-obscured deck. It didn’t take long before they stumbled upon a trail of blood, which they followed into a corner shadowed by a stack of cargo containers. A figure cloaked in the darkness of the cargo containers was crouched over another figure, probably Wallace, working him over with a knife. Wallace was a lifeless mass.

“Get off him!” Vincent cried lunging at the shadow-man with his knife.

With lightning speed the shadow-man stepped out of the way. Vincent, off balance, sailed past him, missing him with his knife. As Vincent sailed past him, the shadow-man swung his blade slicing through Vincent’s clothing and flesh. Blood sprayed as Vincent cried out.

Antal froze in horror as the shadow-man glanced at him then dashed away. Antal dropped to his knees to help Vincent. He tore Vincent’s many clothing layers off to get to the wound; luckily the clothing had absorbed most of the blade’s bite. The other man was indeed Wallace and he was very dead. His blood was spreading out in a pool on the deck.

“CAPTAIN!” Antal’s cry tore across the night’s quiet air. As if on cue, a clap of thunder followed.

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: The Black Fish 1:5 (First Interim)

2012-01-26T00:34:00.003-05:00

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: The Black Fish 1:5

2012-01-25T01:13:00.003-05:00

“It’ll do us no good to turn around,” Somerset continued thinking aloud. “We’ll all be dead in another week, two at best, at this pace.”

“We have to find the murderer. It’s the only option,” Karcsi suggested, distractedly, as he carefully refilled his flask with booze.

“Any idea how we’ll accomplish that?”

“Blue, you’re the security expert,” Karcsi said. He, along with Penelope and Somerset, shifted his attention to the hulking off-worlder. “Ideas?”

Blue set his tea cup down and met Karcsi’s eyes. “I say we lock the ship down. Everyone restricted to their cabin. Bare minimum operations crew. One two-man guard detail on the upper deck and one-two man detail on the cabin level.”

“How’s this plan reveal the killer?” Somerset was clearly impatient.

“It might not”, interjected Karcsi, “ but at the least it gives us a certain control over the passengers’ comings and goings.”

“Sure. Done. Let’s do it,” Somerset conceded.

With the flask hidden away in one of his pockets, Karcsi was taking swallows from the bottle of booze. “There’s something else,” he wiped transparent brown fluid from his chin with the crook of his sweatered elbow, “I think you’ve failed to notice, Somerset.”

“Oh?”

“There,” he pointed aft, through the bridge window. “We’ve got a beast of a storm chasing us.”

Somerset dropped, defeated, into his char. “This is truly a cursed thing we chase.”

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: The Black Fish 1:4

2012-01-23T00:27:00.002-05:00

The three bodies dangling from the mizzen-mast yardarm were lowered and, like Smoot’s body, tossed overboard into the freezing water. It invited bad luck to keep murdered dead on board.

The following morning, as planned, the cabin inspections were conducted, without incident, which was far from satisfying. Nothing of any worth was discovered.

In an attempt to keep panic levels low, the passengers still unaware of the murders were informed that there might be stowaways on board and that an around the clock guard detail was to be introduced to the duties. The two person guard details were provided a pistol to share, whistles, and batons. Shifts were six hours long. The first twenty-four hour rotation went without incident.

With a passenger roster of twenty-five humans and one off-worlder, it wasn’t long before the absence of the murdered received notice. Rumors danced on the tongues as in the minds. This expedition was cursed. The Hope, which sought the same treasure, and its crew vanished. Maybe this is how it started for that crew; a man vanishes, then another, then another until there’s no one left.

Two more bodies were discovered during the second twenty-four hour guard rotation. Like the others the bodies were cut up, as if by a lunatic, and the same mysterious mark scrawled in charcoal nearby.

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: The Black Fish 1:3

2012-01-19T19:49:00.010-05:00

It was nearing midnight when the first officer, Karcsi, was called to join Penelope, Blue, and Captain Somerset on the bridge.

“There’s been a murder, Karcsi,” Somerset began to explain as he lit his pipe. “Someone’s cut up Smoot.”

“Who?” Karcsi, interjected as he accepted a cup of tea from Penelope.

“One of the crewmen we picked up before we left port.” He took a long suck on his pipe and let the thick white smoke ooze out of his mouth. “It was an awful bloody mess. His cabin-mate, Smith, found him a few hours ago.”

“Where’s Smith now?”

“I had him sedated and placed under observation in the infirmary. I don’t want word of this getting out until I know what our next move is.”

“What is our next move?” Karcsi had drained his tea and was switching to a metal flask he’d recovered from one of his pockets. He offered the flask up to Penelope and Blue, “Interested in spicing up your tea?”

Both Penelope and Blue shook their heads, no.

Karcsi took a healthy swallow and answered his own question, “I say at first light, we conduct an inspection of each passenger’s cabin. This is, after all, a State commissioned operation. Every man...”

“And woman,” Penelope added.

“And woman,” continued Karcsi, “ signed a contract agreeing to follow a particular code of conduct, which includes allowing cabin inspections. We'll tell the passengers it's routine and we're concerned about contraband.”

“Sounds smart,” responded Penelope.

“I agree,” added Somerset.

“What are we looking for?” Karcsi asked.

“Not entirely sure,” said Somerset. “It would have taken an incredibly sharp, razor sharp, knife to have done what we saw. Plus there was the mark.”

“Mark?” Karcsi asked.

“Like this,” Penelope handed him a drawing she’d done of the mark they’d found on the wall near the body.

“Know what it means?”

“Not a clue. And, knowing stuff like this is kinda my expertise, so it’s either gibberish or it’s something seriously obscure.” Penelope set her empty teacup down and without a word motioned for Karcsi’s flask. Without hesitation, he handed it to her.

The waters were calm. The air was cold and getting colder. Snow was drifting down from the black sky lazily and without pattern.

There was a knock on the door. A member of the crew stepped inside, clearly upset, and clearly very cold. “Captain, sir, you’ve gotta see this.”

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: The Black Fish 1:2

2012-01-19T00:05:00.001-05:00

Somerset, Penelope, and Blue followed the crewmen, Smith, to a cabin on the main deck.

This was a particularly large vessel and boasted enough cabins for most passengers to have their own cabin or a single bunk-mate. Smith shared a cabin with a man named Smoot. Both men were part of The Black Fish’s crew of able seamen.

Somerset went first, stepping into the cabin. What was left of Smoot was a massacred mess huddled in the far corner.

“Who did this?” Somerset demanded.

Smith just shook his head. He was colorless with shock.

“When did you find him?”

Smith explained that he’d noticed Smoot’s absence during the boxing match and come below deck in search of him.

“What’s that?” Penelope pointed to something near the body.

“It’s a mark,” Somerset answered. “What does it mean?”

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: The Black Fish 1:1

2012-01-18T00:14:00.001-05:00

The Black Fish, and her twenty-five human and one extraterrestrial passengers were two weeks into the renewed Vadasz Expedition and everything was going well. The weather was cooperating, offering calm waters and blue skies. The expedition team, which included seven men and women, including Penelope, was getting along splendidly with The Black Fish’s rugged salty crew. To pass the time, the passengers played cards, read books, smoked tobacco, played music and danced, and best of all, engaged in bare-knuckle boxing matches.

It was evening, on the fourteenth day. Penelope was sitting with Blue and Captain Ernest Somerset, on the bridge, watching a boxing match, below, on the upper deck, when one of the crewmen came running toward them.

“There’s been a terrible accident!” The crewman was ranting, covered in blood.

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: Penelope 1:7

2012-01-16T01:11:00.000-05:00

Penelope realized she must have been on to something with this Vadasz Find.

It was unusual to have a guard assigned to an expedition of this nature. Penelope was beyond excited to be headed back out into the field so soon, possibly on the trail of a major piece of the Doomsday puzzle, but the added State presence made her uneasy. It was added pressure she wasn’t interested in. After all, it had been hundreds of years since the last team, unsuccessfully, went in search of this... whatever it is. There was an above likely chance that whatever Vadasz thought he’d found, wouldn’t be there waiting for Penelope and her team. She was nervous; this was something important.

The State assigned their top agent to The Black Fish. Blue was his name. He was an off-worlder, a fancy way of saying he came from outer space.

Penelope was no defenceless lab-geek. She was a hardened field agent, herself. There wasn’t a weather condition or terrain she hadn’t survived. She was an expert survivalist. Additionally, she was skilled with a sword. Security seemed entirely unnecessary, to her, but standing there alongside the giant creature assigned to her safety, and the safety of their mission, she felt comforted.

The Black Fish slipped feverishly, silently, through the dark waters.

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: Penelope 1:6

2012-01-14T13:47:00.003-05:00

The three Vadasz maps were again laid out neatly on the table.

“We’ve got these three maps, outlining a course to this island,” Penelope pointed to a small landmass on one of the maps. “We're missing the fourth map, which we assume was probably lost with The Hope. Once on the island, we assume the fourth map would have led us to Vadasz' find.”

“Also, it's a small island," added Doug. "But, in all honesty, we have no idea where whatever it is we're looking for is, so we could be looking for a while. We should all prep for an extended stay."

The expedition team came alive with chatter and questions for Penelope. They were scheduled to begin loading The Black Fish, the vessel that would be carrying them toward, what was now being called, the Vadasz Find, as early as tomorrow.

What Penelope, and the rest of her team, was unaware of was that a transient named Coyote had recently sought and gained employment as a deck hand on The Black Fish. Two days earlier, Coyote had boarded the vessel for the first time carrying all of his personal belongings in a waxed canvas backpack. Inside of that backpack, amongst his personal belongings was a small ornate wooden box.

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: Penelope 1:5

2012-01-12T23:19:00.001-05:00

“Tell us more about the maps,” requested one of the two State Agents.

Penelope unfolded the maps and laid them out on the table. She took care smoothing the worn folds and placing small weights on all the corners. “It took some digging, but we connected some dots. I’m fairly certain this is the path The Hope was moving along when it disappeared.”

“Intriguing,” Agent Number Two said stoically.

“I’m not sure what this Captain Vadasz thought he found, but he thought it was important enough to die for. And, I think we can assume he did.”

“Did what?” Asked Agent Number One.

“Died for it.”

“So, what are you proposing?” Asked Agent Number One.

“I think we should complete Vadasz’ mission, so to speak.”

“Intriguing,” repeated Agent Number Two.

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: Penelope 1:4

2012-01-11T22:02:00.009-05:00

Penelope pulled a few more volumes from the shelf and immediately got to work looking for anything having to do with The Hope. Doug continued unpacking and documenting the various items from the recent find.

Sometime, well past midnight, Penelope got up from her workspace to stretch her legs and check on Doug’s progress. He’d finished just moments earlier and was enjoying a small glass of whiskey.

“Care for a bit of this?”

“Sure. Why not. We should have called it a night hours ago.” Thirty seconds later, Penelope was sipping from her own glass of whiskey. Together the two of them reviewed Doug’s efforts.

Laid out across the tables of the research lab was the entire lot of impressively weathered items recovered from the recent expedition.

Two sets of fur-lined waxed leather boots, two sets of thick wool socks, two sets of regular cotton socks, two sets of thermal underwear (bottoms and tops), two pairs of flannel-lined waxed canvas pants, two double-notched thick leather belts, two long-sleeve button-up flannel shirts, two wool cable-knit shawl collar pull-over sweaters, two down-filled fur-lined hooded waxed canvas parkas, two pairs of fur-lined wool gloves, two wide wool scarves, and two flannel-lined wool caps.

The parkas had two embroidered patches, each. Both patches were simple, easy to read text; one read The Hope, the other presumably the men’s names: Henry and Miller.

“This stuff seems pretty standard issue for cold climate expeditions, even three hundred years ago. What else have we got,” Penelope said.

Doug walked her over to another table and pointed to two sets of items. “This stuff belonged to Henry. This to Miller.”

Henry’s lot contained: two heavy wool blankets, two fifty foot lengths of rope, one pair of snow shoes, one pocket watch, one compass, two metal water bottles, one empty matchbox, four knives in leather wrap, one mess kit, one hatchet, ten climbing anchors, one climbing harness, one wallet containing photographs and paper money, one journal, one waxed canvas shoulder slung bag, two engraved metal bracelets, one leather necklace with stone beads, and six rings carved from wood.

“That’s odd.”

“What is?” Doug asked.

“The jewelry. The necklace, the bracelets, the rings.” Penelope had picked up one of the wooden rings to examine it more closely. “My guess would be this guy acquired these during their expedition.”

“Oh, like natives. They probably visited with natives along their route.”

“Each piece of jewelry looks like it came from a different group. Where could they have been?”

“The logs?”

“There’s nothing in the record books mentioning any native groups. This must have happened after that last port stop.” She set the ring back down and turned back to the table. “What about Miller?”

Miller’s lot contained: one heavy wool blanket, one seventy-five foot length of rope, one compass, one pocket watch, two metal water bottles, one hatchet, two knives with leather sheaths, one mess kit, ten climbing anchors, one climbing harness, one pair of reading glasses with metal case, one journal, two pencils, one wallet containing photographs and identification card, and four folded very worn paper maps.

Penelope snatched the maps up, enthusiastically. “Could we be so lucky?”

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: Penelope 1:3

2012-01-11T00:50:00.002-05:00

“P, hey, come look at this,” Doug, one of Penelope’s researchers called out from across the room.

She walked from her station across the dimly lit room to Doug’s station. “What’s up?”

“I think this is the name of their expedition team, or their vessel, maybe.”

“The Hope,” she spoke it aloud. “I know that name. One second,” she said running across the room to a wall of shelving filled with books and records. “It’s the name of a boat. I’m sure of it.”

“I think they call them ships, not boats.”

“Don’t be a smart ass Doug.”

She pulled a thick weathered volume from the shelf and cracked it open as she walked back toward Doug.

“Here it is.” She started summarizing, “The Hope was one of the original vessels commissioned by the State to locate Doomsday artifacts. It was one of nearly two dozen vessels. One of nearly fifty teams.” She continued skimming the notes.

“I didn’t realize they’d sent that many teams out," said Doug. "That’s wild.”

“The ship... Did I say it right? The ship? The ship was lost,” she paused to give Doug a sarcastic glance, “not completely uncommon for that campaign, mind you, but during its last recorded port stop, the captain, a Vadasz Laszlo, reported that he’d recovered a map revealing a location. A location, and I’m quoting here, ‘that will prove to be of the utmost significance to the campaign.’”

“Wild,” responded Doug. “What did he find?”

“No one knows. After stopping at that last port, The Hope was never seen again. These two guys we dug up must have been part of that team, some how.”

“What about the map?”

“There wasn’t an opportunity to copy the map, I’m assuming, so The Hope disappeared with the only copy.”

“So, now what?”

"More research, of course."

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: Penelope 1:2

2012-01-10T23:02:00.001-05:00

Penelope was returning home from a find. She’d just spent the lion’s share of the last six months with a dig team on the furthest northwestern point of the continent. Without the benefit of fossil fuels and combustion engines, it had taken nearly a month just to travel to and from the site.

What they found there was something remarkable. Two bodies, thought to be part of an expedition team, frozen in the snow and ice for nearly three hundred years. Between the two of them, they were carrying backpacks full of documents and artifacts.

Once cleared by the State, those documents and artifacts would be delivered to Penelope’s research lab for her and her team to study.

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: Penelope 1:1

2012-01-10T18:44:00.010-05:00

An incident, a horrible something, happened over seven hundred years ago. That horrible something almost destroyed all life on the planet. In recent centuries, as civilization has worked to rebuild and reorganize, this horrible something has come to be known as The Doomsday Incident.

So devastating was The Doomsday Incident that very little is actually known about the incident.

Approximately two hundred years after The Doomsday Incident, the majority of surviving people gathered together on a single land mass and established a kind of republic political system.

Approximately four hundred years after The Doomsday Incident, the State began a campaign of expeditions who’s task it was to find clues and information relating to The Doomsday Incident. These expeditions spread out across the globe, across both land and sea.

Captain Vadasz, of The Hope, one of the vessels amongst the campaign, was sure he’d uncovered a significant piece of The Doomsday Incident puzzle. He’d acquired a map that revealed a location. What was at this location? He wasn’t sure, but Vadasz, with all his heart, believed it was the final resting place of a very very significant clue.

Vadasz froze to death in his cabin, still clutching the box he’d found the map in.

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: Coyote 1:7

2012-01-10T00:31:00.001-05:00

Information that Coyote was unaware of:

Approximately seven hundred years ago something horrible happened. Civilization had reached a high point in technological advancement, but a low point in sustainable behaviors and responsible decision making. Something horrible happened and the reset button was pushed.

Approximately three hundred years ago, not long after civilization had begun to reorganize itself, a series of expeditions were launched in search of clues to help rebuild society and to avoid moving toward another eventual other something horrible. It was clear that another something horrible would completely erase human beings from the planet.

One vessel, The Hope, sent out as part of the expeditions, three hundred years ago, had fallen victim to a drastic climate shift. The Hope became trapped in a flash freeze. The crew became prisoners on a desert of ice. All but the captain trekked out onto the frozen plain hoping to walk back to civilization. None were ever seen again. The captain, left with a bottle of booze and his most important find, froze to death in his cabin.

Moments ago Coyote fell through a weak spot in the deck of The Hope. He fell ten feet onto a wooden floor. During the past three hundred years, the landscape had changed from a moving sea to a frozen tundra, entombing The Hope just below the surface.

It was dim in the strange wooden room, but Coyote could see, clearly, the corpse sitting in the chair holding an ornate little box. There were supplies, clothes, weapons, and with this little box, an opportunity.

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: Coyote 1:6

2012-01-07T02:13:00.001-05:00

He ran all through the day and into the following night. Well, actually, he ran for the first hour. After that his pace diminished to the staggering limp that carried him, unaware, from the lower country, with it’s sparse woodlands, out onto the snowy tundra of the highlands.

His luck seemed to be turning, for the better. If the creature was still chasing him, it was no where to be seen, which was reassuring; the icy tundra was eerily flat. Coyote could see for miles in all directions. What he saw in all directions was sterile white flatness. What he did not see for miles around was a huge scary creature stalking after him.

At some point exhaustion took hold. Coyote awoke, half submerged in a snowdrift, to midday sunlight. The sun with its direct and refracted light had massacred his exposed flesh. He was painfully sun burnt and chapped, red and raw.

Standing was a torturous feat. The hours of running had strained and injured most of his body, especially his legs. With tears streaming, involuntarily, down his haggard chapped face, he limped onward.

He hadn’t made it more than a few meters when the world violently changed from bright blinding white to thick suffocating black...

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: Coyote 1:5

2012-01-07T00:37:00.004-05:00

Two days passed.

Coyote managed to adapt. He’d almost finished a garment, like chainmail, but made from interlocking strips of vine. It was terribly uncomfortable. Wearing it over top the sack-tunic made it bearable. He’d also managed to capture a handful of rodents and rabbits, who’s skins were drying in anticipation of becoming clothing.

He’d fashioned knives, hammers, and lances from stone, vine, and wood.

At night he heard strange sounds. Something heavy lurking, snapping tree branches and scrap under foot.

Motivated more by fear than anything else, Coyote moved his camp several miles a day. Always in the same direction, hoping to escape whatever was lurking, but to also increase the distance between him and the clan. For all he knew, however, he could have been walking straight back toward the clan’s camp. Lucky for him, he was, in fact moving away from them.

Early, this morning, with the sun still out of sight, but casting a timid glow along the horizon, Coyote awoke to a terrible thing. The lurking creature he’d seen along the treeline, nearly a week ago, whilst the guards had hauled him away from Dragon’s tent, was looming over him.

Completely, and justifiably, terrified, Coyote, without hesitation, cried out and stabbed the creature with one of his stone knives. The creature let out a horrifying scream acknowledging its hurt. Coyote scrambled out of reach and ran and ran and ran...

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: Coyote 1:4

2012-01-04T22:23:00.003-05:00

Winter was quick approaching.

They’d drug him from the camp in a cloth sack, a day’s ride by horse, and dropped him into a shallow muddy stream. They left him with nothing, save for the soaked, muddy sack, which he had to free himself from. He emerged, somehow, wearing nothing but blood and bruises. He was almost certain that two of his ribs were fractured.

Nothing wasn’t completely accurate; he still had the little idol. He was surprised to still be holding the thing. There was no doubt that he’d loss consciousness several times during the journey from the camp to this spot. He had no idea where he was, but it was bizarrely comforting to still be holding that strange little idol.

The air was cold. He was wet, shivering. With a rock, he punched holes into the sack so he could wear it as a garment.

He was standing in a lightly forested place, moss and rocks and soft earth under foot. It wouldn’t be easy, with all this dampness, but he began collecting materials to start a fire.

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: Coyote 1:3

2012-01-03T23:32:00.002-05:00

At dawn, Coyote was brought before the clan’s leaders. He feared resolution would come as the sword. The clan was not known for forgiveness, nor leniency.

Additionally, while the guards searched Coyote’s tent, they found that he’d packed his belongings along with supplies and clothing. He had planned to steal the idol and leave the camp.

Infuriated, but overwhelmed with amusement, Dragon, who, even before this incident, did not care for Coyote delighted in sharing the council’s decision. “So, you’ve decided to leave us, Coyote? Packed your things, have you?”

Coyote stood, bound, before the council, doing his best to show no emotion. He did not respond to Dragon’s taunts.

“We’ve decided to grant you your wish. This day the sword is set aside. You are to be exiled, cast out, BANISHED!”

Coyote breathed relief. Exile wasn’t so bad; it was, after all, exactly what he’d wanted.

“Guards, gather up all that is his, and burn it. Everything in his tent and the tent itself. Leave nothing. Strip him to his flesh and burn his clothes as well.”

Coyote dropped to his knees. Desperation grabbed hold of his guts. His heart was racing. He struggled not to cry or vomit. “Please,” he begged, pathetically. The guards were already aggressively cutting his clothing from his body.

“Oh. And, here’s your precious trinket,” Dragon tossed the little idol, which landed with a soft thud in the dirt at Coyote’s knees. “I hope it was worth all this.”

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: Coyote 1:2

2012-01-02T23:12:00.003-05:00

Hours before the dawn, Coyote’s clan could be seen celebrating a recent victory. These were violent people with many enemies. They’d recently defeated a nearby clan. This night they would divide the spoils and drink and eat until they were quite drunk and bloated.

The place danced with fire light and smelled of roasted animal fat, stale alcohol, and burnt wood.

Coyote did not care to join them. He coveted something. With the clan distracted, he would stealthily worm his way into Dragon’s tent. Dragon was the clan’s leader, a terrifyingly violent and beastly man.

During a recent raid on a small village, Coyote had plucked a strange little idol from the hand of a dying priest. He delighted in its strangeness. Dragon had snatched it away almost at the very moment Coyote had acquired it. An animosity was quickly born. Then a plot was hatched.

He had his hands around the idol when Dragon flung open the flap at the entrance of the tent. Coyote, full of confidence, was quick with his knife, but Dragon, despite his size and inebriated reflexes, was quicker with his fists.

As they drug him away, to where he’d be held for the night, Coyote saw something he should not have seen. There was a strange creature standing along the tree line.

THE NOTHING MECHANISM: Coyote 1:1

2012-01-01T23:08:00.003-05:00

To pursue the unattainable is insanity, yet the thoughtless can never refrain from doing so.
- Marcus Aurelius

It was cold the day Coyote decided to break habit and speak with the clan's medium. She, the medium, was a weathered and thickly built creature who delighted in delivering the darkest of premonitions.

"A good thing you've come to me this day. You'll not be long, here, amongst your clansmen. You're made for greater deeds, if you can survive so long. Prepare yourself for a road paved with death and hardship the likes you've never known." She stared at him eerily, knowing he was a soul damned by fate as much as by his own hand. "Be gone," she said, suddenly, waving him away. "We'll not meet again."

Coyote traded the medium's tent for cool evening air. He lit a cigarette. There was much work to be done before the morning. Before his future started to catch up with him.

More Puppies!

2011-12-11T19:19:00.003-05:00

Doodlings for Valentines Day cards and the counting book I'm working on.

Things Sketches

2011-12-05T12:25:00.000-05:00

More Things...

2011-12-02T00:17:00.000-05:00

Afghan Hounds maybe?

Things Sketches

2011-11-30T20:37:00.001-05:00

Pilot Doodlings

2011-11-28T22:54:00.001-05:00

Album Cover Project - Reverse-side Sketches

2011-11-26T18:47:00.002-05:00

Sketches for the reverse-side of that album cover project. Client seems to be on board with the two-headed llama for the front-side.

Apparel Project - Sketches

2011-11-26T12:00:00.002-05:00

Some sketches from a current apparel graphic project for a fitness group, Hotdogs & Cupcakes. I'm having a real blast developing these characters and watching them sweat it out!

Album Cover Project - Sketches

2011-11-26T11:45:00.003-05:00

Some sketches from a current project I'm working on. Designing some album art for Adam John's upcoming project.

Holiday Postcards!

2011-11-21T15:13:00.006-05:00

Hot off the press, here is my first ever line of holiday postcards. To be completely honest about this, I just really like Halloween so much more than Christmas, so this is what happened. Monsters doing Christmas stuff. If you're interested in adding these sweet things to your art collection or actually using them as intended, to spread holiday cheer, hit me up at info@thomglick.com for details.

Pricing: 2 cards for $5, 4 cards for $10.

The Witch

Wolfman

Sasquatch

The Vampire

Fusebox Part One: Episode Seven

2011-08-16T00:36:00.003-04:00

1:7

It was a blur of smoke and semi-awareness as Marty traveled across a void. Something had called out to him, grabbed hold and pulled him through a fragile membrane separating his world from this world. And something else. A silent voice; it compelled him to travel, in his car. It wasn't his car. It was a mimic, a doppelganger that mirrored, in this world, what he knew as truth in his own world. Much of this second world was a mimic; it was difficult to see the differences, but differences there were.

Something was horribly wrong. There was only one way to fix it. Move forward as fast as possible across this ever more alien landscape into a growing darkness. Resolution was somewhere up ahead waiting to reveal itself.

He found consciousness behind the wheel doing fifty miles per hour down a dark country road. The gas station was long gone behind him. And, the strange creatures in the strange church, gone as well.

Fusebox Part One: Episode Six

2011-08-02T00:09:00.004-04:00

1:6

Marty woke up in the dark, in his pajamas. The room was cold, but he felt compelled to shed the blankets, swing his legs over the side of the bed and slip his feet into his well worn slippers. The room was calm and quiet and dark. There was no sound, yet something spoke, something was calling out to him. Summoning him.

Marty was unaware as something without form reached out from the shadows. The thing's quiet grip gently tugged him through a fissure into another time and space.

Fusebox Part One: Episode Five

2011-07-31T01:53:00.004-04:00

1:5

Marty, startled, turned to see a group of hooded figures lining the rear of the chamber. They started moving toward him as a horrible sound filled the space. It was like bowling, gurgling fluid and fingernails dragging across a chalkboard. He dropped to his knees, ears bleeding.

He was losing consciousness, when one of the hooded figures stepped ahead of the rest. The shadows that hid its face slid away revealing something truly terrible. It didn't have a face, just a huge gaping mouth and a slithering, writhing, tongue. It pointed a finger at Marty and started to say something. Instead of words, however, it was just the gurgling sound.

The overwhelming sound and the horrible thing coming toward him was too much. He vomited and collapsed on the cold concrete floor. The room went black.

Fusebox Part One: Episode Four

2011-07-08T00:18:00.005-04:00

1:4

He wandered the dark hallways for a few minutes hoping to find a sanctuary to confirm that he had indeed entered a church and wasn't just breaking-and-entering private property. The hallways, lit only by candles, were decorated with strange glyphs.

Marty let loose a sigh of relief as he stepped into a large open chamber. He'd found the sanctuary. The space was enormous and filled with mismatched furniture arranged like pews. It was quaint. It felt like a safe place to be. At the front of the space was an altar. Hung high up on the wall behind the altar was an object. He moved closer, standing just in front of the altar staring at the object, trying to understand what he was seeing.

It was box-like, but also like a clockwork machine with its bits and pieces exposed. Was it some kind of sacred artifact? What kind of church was this?

It was then that Marty realized he wasn't alone.

Fusebox Part One: Episode Three

2011-07-06T00:49:00.003-04:00

1:3

With a slimy cold sandwich half stuffed in his maw, Marty walked out of the gas station convenience store. The large building, across the road, was strangely inviting. I don't remember that being there, he thought. He dropped his bag of food and water onto the passenger seat of the Fairlane and walked across to the building. There were odd symbols on the door. Could this be a church, he asked himself as he pushed the door open and walked inside.

The lighting was dim. The air smelled of metal and oil.

Fusebox Part One: Episode Two

2011-07-04T15:38:00.006-04:00

1:2

His eyes were heavy. Marty had only dozed off for a few hours before moving on again. The world was still saturated in night. The road cut through a deep thick section of forest; it was driving down a hallway. The only light was from overhead, the moon, the stars. The Fairlane's headlights did what they could, but still, the poor visibility kept Marty on the edge of his nerves.

Up ahead, there was a clearing in the forest. A light glowed. It was a gas station and convenience store. He pulled in, filled up and walked inside. His gut was empty and complaining, audibly.

He grabbed up some sandwiches, snacks and some bottled water. It wasn't until he made it to the check-out counter that he noticed the strange-looking people wandering the isles.

Fusebox Part One: Episode One

2011-07-03T00:39:00.005-04:00

1:1

Darkness.

Marty woke up enveloped in claustrophobic blackness. Deep breaths. Stay calm. His memory was failing him at the moment. Where was he? How'd he get here. He reached out into the darkness, stubbing his finger tips against something solid. He was sitting in a car. It was his car. The front seat. He danced his fingers across the dash; the instruments were familiar. The smooth leather of the steering wheel. A reach up, over head, to find the little slide switch; the dome light bathed the Fairlane's interior in dim vintage light.

His eyes adjusted and his memory leaked back into focus. He'd parked, here, off the road alongside this forest to rest for a while. He'd been driving for two days straight. But there hadn't been a sign of civilization for the last four hours of driving.

Where was he going? That memory had not yet returned. The compulsion to move forward had, however. He lit a cigarette and started the car.

Recently acquired.

2011-06-20T10:19:00.005-04:00

1971 Honda CB450 SS

I picked this pretty thing up this weekend. Just need to address an issue with the clutch and I'll be mobile again.

Already got some problems.

Weekend Project For Seven Days

2011-05-31T11:28:00.001-04:00

A couple of versions of a cover that might get used for an upcoming issue of Seven Days (Vermont alt weekly).

John Sullivan, American Badass

2011-05-07T15:39:00.002-04:00

This is a piece for a group show at the Art Whino Gallery in Maryland. The theme is John Sullivan the American bare knuckle boxer from the late 1800's. If my memory muscle serves me proper, I do believe he was the first American athlete to make over a million dollars. Then he promptly drank himself into the poor house and died a fat penny-less drunk.

Crawdaddy No. 25

2011-05-06T00:45:00.003-04:00

Latest piece for Crawdaddy! Magazine. Goes with an article about Neutral Milk Hotel's song, Holland 1945.

13 Dead One: Who wants some?

2011-04-10T20:25:00.005-04:00

Finally, the first run of the 13 Dead One set of prints is available for purchase. Quantities are extremely limited so nab these up while you can.

Set includes 13 6x6 inch archival high quality digital prints that come in an envelope. Price $40 + $6 shipping.
*For international orders, please email me before purchasing.
info@thomglick.com

13 Dead One

2011-04-09T12:40:00.005-04:00

Finally, here are the finishes.

13 Dead: Halfway thru the color phase...

2011-04-08T01:32:00.003-04:00

I was hoping to have all 13 of these totally wrapped up by today, but looks like that's not going to happen. Luckily, I've got a little more time. Here are most of the images most of the way through the coloring stage. I've blocked in some tone, basically, and next I'll be adding texture, cleaning up the value and getting these pretty nasties ready for print.

13 Dead: Day 15... just two to go.

2011-04-07T01:52:00.004-04:00

Somehow the last two are gonna get done tomorrow. The whole mess of 13 is going to get colored and be ready for print by Friday afternoon. Insanity!

13 Dead: Day Fourteen... more more WIP

2011-04-03T13:40:00.001-04:00

13 Dead: Day Fourteen... More WIP

2011-04-03T11:10:00.001-04:00

13 Dead: Day Fourteen... WIP

2011-04-03T02:33:00.002-04:00

13 Dead: Day Thirteen... more WIP again...

2011-04-02T18:00:00.001-04:00

13 Dead: Day Thirteen... more WIP

2011-04-02T15:26:00.002-04:00

Next tattoo maybe...

2011-04-02T12:12:00.000-04:00

13 Dead: Day Thirteen WIP

2011-04-02T00:42:00.002-04:00

13 Dead: Day Twelve... WIPS

2011-04-01T15:00:00.002-04:00

WIP #3

WIP #1 with border. Still deciding on going with a one inch white border for these or this black border with a stripe. Thoughts?

WIP #2 with border.

WIP #3 with border.

13 Dead: Day 11... WIP Two

2011-03-31T00:52:00.002-04:00

13 Dead: Day Ten... WIP One

2011-03-28T01:22:00.004-04:00

When I work in Adobe Illustrator, I always work up the image in high contrast black and white, before adding color. This allows me to check readability and make sure the sense of balance in the design works as I want it to. I don't use the Live Trace tools, either. I still use a mouse to draw these things out point by point. I've gotten quicker over the years, but a piece like these still takes 2-3 hours. Now that this step is done and I like how it looks, I'll start adding color. Then texture. Then on to the next piece.

13 Dead: Day Nine Some More More More

2011-03-27T17:39:00.001-04:00

13 Dead: Day Nine Some More Some More

2011-03-27T16:13:00.000-04:00

13 Dead: Day Nine Some More

2011-03-27T02:53:00.003-04:00

First Draft.

Revision.

Which do you prefer?

13 Dead: Day Nine

2011-03-27T01:34:00.003-04:00

13 Dead: Day Eight

2011-03-26T23:17:00.000-04:00

13 Dead: Day Seven

2011-03-26T01:46:00.002-04:00

13 Dead: Day Six

2011-03-24T23:07:00.001-04:00

13 Dead: Day Five

2011-03-24T00:47:00.000-04:00

13 Dead: Day Four One More

2011-03-20T19:52:00.001-04:00

13 Dead: Day Four

2011-03-20T14:50:00.002-04:00

13 Dead: Day Threeish

2011-03-19T17:42:00.004-04:00

Technically, the first undead drawing was done on Thursday, so this is the third day of drawings. That said, I'll probably add some more before the end of the day.

13 Dead: Day Two

2011-03-19T00:50:00.001-04:00

13 Dead: Day One

2011-03-18T17:17:00.004-04:00

Who's ready for thirteen days, or more, of the undead?

I'll be developing thirteen of my undead drawings into finished illustrations and compiling them into a small book. Presales coming soon. For reals.

Motorcycle Art Awesome Time

2011-02-20T17:16:00.004-05:00

Running a little late on these. Here are two very freshly finished paintings on their way out the door to be shipped to Art Whino Gallery in Maryland for a Harley-themed show - Live Fast. Should be pretty sweet.

Title: Fault In Balance Part 01: Can't Have One
Size: 8x10
Media: acrylic and graphite on board

Title: Fault In Balance Part 02: Without The Other
Size: 8x10
Media: acrylic and graphite on board

And, they look like this when together:

For more info about the show, hit up the Art Whino site: www.artwhino.com

My very best attempt...

2011-02-13T23:56:00.001-05:00

at drawing a Rot/Husky mix. I think spot on, humbly speaking.

Should be in the mail tomorrow...

2011-02-13T20:20:00.004-05:00

These should be in the mail tomorrow going to their new home...

there's a fifth one, I'll post later.

Fusebox 1:1

2011-01-29T20:24:00.004-05:00

Chapter 1

1. Kale slept soundly, enveloped in the restful darkness of his quiet bedroom. Whispers from beyond the void roused him. Dreamy voices warned him of horrible things, of his friend, Paper's impending death. Something dangerous reached through the delicate film, separating this world from the next, and pulled Kale through.

He sat up, the soft glow of dawn greeting him through fogged window. It was time to get moving.

Fusebox. Starts.

2011-01-22T00:16:00.006-05:00

Introduction. This is a story I've been working on, off and on, for the last three or four years. Despite several attempts, I realize that I don't have the dedication to write a novel... at least not yet. So, I've decided to explore the story, here, on my blog.

Fusebox. Starts.

Open expanse of dry pan desert. Campfire crackling. A small gathering of lost souls encircled by wagons, horses, makeshift laundry lines and tents and outhouses. A young boy and his grandfather sit close to the fire. Most others have retired for the evening, to their wagons or tents. One other figure sits alone in the darkness taking an occasional swallow from his flask and an occasional drag from his cigarette.

"He's new," says grandson to grandfather, motioning to the solitary figure.

"Yes he is. Just joined up this morning. He slept the day away underneath Nance's wagon," replied grandfather.

"Who is he?"

"They call him Fusebox, but that's not his real name. He's an outworlder, been here a long while, if the stories be true." Grandfather rolled a metal coffee cup between his palms and tried to recall the stories he'd heard.

"Outworlder?"

"There aren't many of them. At least not anymore. There's a loose seam between this world and the next. Story has it, from time to time, people slip through." Grandfather sipped cautiously at the steaming hot coffee. "He's sposed to be one of em that slipped through."

The solitary figure, Fusebox, walked over to where grandson and grandfather sat.

"Tell us your story," grandson said shamelessly and innocently to the man.

Fusebox looked at them curiously and sat down. "Cool if I have some of that coffee?"

More stuff...

2011-01-20T23:43:00.003-05:00

Tomorrow night, I start a new story on the blog. I've been working on this thing for a while now and finally I'll share it with the world.

Glyphs!

2011-01-16T00:25:00.001-05:00

Ugh. Derailed.

2011-01-15T14:31:00.001-05:00

So, I've been in San Francisco for work. I have to go back thru my sketchbooks to see if I managed at least a scribble of some sort, per day. I'll post the lot plus bonus drawings as soon as I return to my humble castle in Ohio.

No. 8 and 9 plus 1

2011-01-09T23:36:00.003-05:00

I fell asleep without posting last night. So, here's yesterday's drawing:

And, here are today's drawings. I've been reworking my idea for an Angel of Death tattoo/graphic. I think I like the one with the hood best.

No. 7

2011-01-08T01:48:00.001-05:00

Yeah. This.

No. 6

2011-01-07T01:12:00.004-05:00

One of my many New Year Goals is to read as many sacred texts as I can get my hands on and wade through; I'm a slow reader. The idea of working through texts developed thousands of years ago is a little intimidating, but I'm excited at the idea that I'll be exploring cultures, religions, spirituality, as well as get to experience some of the passion that people have for their beliefs.

In honor of this adventure I will definitely be cranking out some more iconic figures and such throughout the year. Here's one now...

No. 5... ish... these count right?

2011-01-06T03:26:00.004-05:00

I'm hoping this still counts as a drawing a day. I finished up working the value for these three drawings. Then, per the client's request, I added color to two of the drawings. I've not really used this technique before... not sure what I think. I like how it has a cut paper more raw edge, but it's 3:30am and I have to get up for work in four hours, so I'm not sure what to think really. Feedback welcome.

No. 4

2011-01-05T03:05:00.003-05:00

Here's the full page piece for Bitch Magazine. I'll be finishing up the value on this one and the two from yesterday, tomorrow, then adding color to two of the pieces. I'll post the results...

... for now, time to sleep.

No. 3...

2011-01-04T01:59:00.001-05:00

We'll probably see these again, tomorrow. These are the under-drawings for the Bitch Magazine spots. Time for sleep.

Daily Drawing 2011: Number Two

2011-01-03T01:18:00.002-05:00

I'm working on an idea for a graphic novel sorta thing. This is maybe how the main character might look. Maybe.

It begins again...

2011-01-02T12:21:00.002-05:00

I cooked this pup up yesterday, making this the first drawing of the new year. It also marks the reboot of the DRAWING A DAY CHALLENGE! I will again, attempt to produce and post a new drawing every day this year.

This is the second drawing in a five part series.

Project No. 23, for Crawdaddy Magazine

2010-12-30T15:06:00.005-05:00

This goes along with an article exploring ACDC's song Big Balls.

An attempt at a pseudo likeness of Bon Scott.

There's been a Twin Peaks marathon going on at my home for a week, now. I think the color scheme and ambience are side effects of the walk back to the quiet little lumber mill town.

Sketches for Bitch Magazine

2010-12-29T13:42:00.004-05:00

Currently working on my first assignment for Bitch Magazine. Here's a handful of sketches...

2010-12-28T10:52:00.002-05:00

I hope everyone is enjoying the holiday season. Work is piling up for me... yay! Included in the pile is a five piece graphite series. Here's the first of the five.

Now with more vector...

2010-12-20T16:14:00.003-05:00

With trident (I'm a Pisces, so Neptune is my ruling planet. The god, Neptune's symbol is a trident.)

With tongue.

Without.

See the post below for more info on what this is...

Angel of Death, Tattoo

2010-12-20T10:19:00.003-05:00

So, while still riding high on my tattoo kick, I've decided to take a stab at designing my next tattoo myself. For some reason designing my own tattoo makes me nervous, more nervous than having some one else design a piece for me. I think it has something to do with how I'm never actually happy with the quality of my work, so a tattoo of my work would be a constant reminder of how I wish I were achieving a higher quality of image making. But, this tattoo is about facing my fear...

My biggest fear, aside from being locked in a room too small to sit down or stand up while being forced to watch 16 and Pregnant for any length of time, is dying. Being unaware of what happens next scares the crap out of me. Do we just blink out like a dreamless sleep that we never wake from? Do we show up at the big golden gates to see if our name is on the roster to get into Heaven? Do we start over, in a new body? Maybe as a different critter? Who knows!?

So, the idea is that this is my graphic interpretation of the Angel of Death. By getting it as a tattoo, it'll be a constant reminder to celebrate life but to acknowledge that death is unmoving and unavoidable. The Angel waits for each of us, perched ready to steal us from this world, to escort us to whatever happens next.

Apparel Graphics, Sketches for Crawdaddy!

2010-12-08T23:50:00.002-05:00

I've been ever so slowly working on some apparel graphics ideas for Crawdaddy. These are the latest notions.

Twenty Second Project for Crawdaddy...

2010-12-08T08:22:00.003-05:00

I knocked this little number out yesterday. It'll accompany a sad story about a failed relationship. I built this in Adobe Illustrator and then added textures in Photoshop. Let me know what you think.