Monday 23 August 2010

Motor City Is Burning get at least four extinguishers. Don't you think?

Well the epic gate saga is now over, the wound heals dryly and the gate has since been drunkenly re-conquered. It is not the boss of me. DO YOU HEAR THAT, GATE - ?




So there's that. I wish I had more art for you this fortnight but due to a secret secret project that soaked up a lot of my time like a sponge (very worthwhile too - you will hear about it and see it soon I assure you) I've produced very few non-secret works. Additionally there's a new chapter of the 'Nothingman' saga completed and ready for your little earlingtons on the Crazy Fox Machine myspace. It's only got five lonely plays - go and add some numbers to that why don'tchye - ?

This is a segment of a much larger drawing in unprovoked tribute to my favourite ever band ever CHROME HOOF. Who are not only glorious but COMPLETELY GLORIOUS. I urge you to stick their frenetic timings and shardy punkprogdoomdisco into your head and dare you not to be swept up in a frenzy of bopping and agreeable headshakes. Hoof hoof hoof hoof - need I say more?

This one was, for a few weeks, secret - and depicts a scene from a saga so indescribable that you can only follow these green words and go and see for yourself. Dave Thomson = wow. See the bigger bugger in yonder artbarn.

Drawn by the always-excellent James Feist - a rising-star in small press comics (not my words, gentlemen but those of Pete Wells). Coloured quite patchily by your friendly neighbourhood hole-hand. It depicts Hellboy and his BPRD comrades - fighting the supernatural with the supernatural for...WHY NIGH ON FIFTEEN YEARS IF NOT MORE THAN THAT. A bigger version can be seen at this location.

Finally - a Feral Gargantua jam (join us, join us - !) about 'Careers in Space'. Whereby I decided that only worthy profession to spacify was my own - archaeology. So here they are - a hapless archaeologist with their own wee Portakabin attached to them lovingly via oxygen hose. They trowel away at a mighty alien visage and groan at the endless laser context sheets aching to be filled out. It's a noble occupation. The bigger picture is here.

That's it then - I hope you've had as a good a fortnight last as I have - watching my wounds seal up and wondering if soon a face will poke through - and GAZE INTO MY OWN.

"What do you want?!" I'll stammer - watching it's beady eyes bloodily blink.

"I've come to warn you - " It begins in a shrill tone " - not to follow the pointing finger of the arm of Engon Falgrax - !"

Before it has time to explain I bludgeon it senseless on the edge of my desk.

"Sod you handbeast. Sod you."

O - x

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