Of course I have a muse! Doesn’t everyone? Well, where the heck do you think all your wonderful ideas come from? Not from you — that’s for sure. My gosh, most people can’t even remember to put on matching socks… Continue Reading
The artist put a wet brush to the canvas, tracing myriad graceful lines that would coalesce, she hoped, into an abominable enough shape. Not in her eyes, perhaps, but her work had a certain reputation among her enthusiasts of late… Continue Reading
I sit in front of the blank canvas. There’s only a bright sun in its top right corner. My brush sits full of lemon yellow paint, but a dark tempest dominates my mind. I get gooseflesh as I replay Chuck’s… Continue Reading
That Winter, to me, will always be Clare in a bright red cape, puffing on a snowy street. Moving in in January, I dropped a box of my parents’ old crockery down the stairs, and never replaced it. It was… Continue Reading
He loves bright, cold nights like this. I press my form tight against the shadows as a cloud of rank breath steams into the darkness. The watch-wyverns pause at the alley’s entrance and my heart drops, though I know they… Continue Reading
So, I was talking with several of my artworld clients and acquaintances when one of them, Moll E, a concept artiste and massage therapist, mentioned a frame she had in mind for a painting. The frame would be a life-size… Continue Reading
It started out with a scribble. As she dragged a blue crayon across a crumpled sheet of white paper. The messy scrawl was an abstract piece. But like all art, it was a mark from the artist — I am… Continue Reading
I found a sort of skull in the garden. You did? Let me see. I didn’t bring it inside. It’s a skull. Well, what kind of animal is it from? I don’t know. Do I look like a zoologist? All… Continue Reading
He painted her a picture. He showed it to her one Tuesday, after she got off work. He had been working on it for a while and finally decided it was finished. He knew he was done with the painting,… Continue Reading
Jonathan Crackers dances down our street in an old, patched jacket, singing a song that only he understands, talking to people who aren’t quite there. He’s dressed in purple from head to toe. “An eggplant,” says Jamie who lives down… Continue Reading