Illu Frito – White Wedding

White Wedding – You may now kiss the bride…

The topic for this week’s Illustration Friday was ‘Hitched’ and I have an idea that 80 % of the people thought of something marri-age oriented. I know I did… The colors are a lot more vibrant on the original, but they looked like absolute poop when I scanned them, so I had to mute it down a bit, but there it is… a white wedding in a spring field (or a cyclone, as this scan would have it.) [I didn't draw all the wedding clothes, I'm sorry, I don't like drawing clothes... ]

And, moofs? Anything interesting going on in your neck of the woods?

Not much here, except that the Munich spring was officially welcomed last weekend (or was it two weekends ago? Time is going by like a motherfucker.) Spring in Munich does not start, incidentally, when a groundhog pokes his head out of his hole; when a certain flower deigns to burst forth its bloom, or when a certain bird is seen circling in the sky. It’s officially spring here in Munich when you go down to the Isar river and have your first picnic, and as you innocuously roast your wienies and clink your beers, you look up and spot a crazy Japanese man running around the shores wearing a black mankini ala Borat. The front barely covers his junk; the back flosses up his high, tight butt, he runs up and down the shores while tens, perhaps even hundreds of people whip out their camera phones and take a picture. Women squeal, men shake their heads or grin knowingly and then, and only when you have spotted the crazy man can you can sit back with a smile on your lips, thinking, ahh. Spring.

It has finally come to Munich.

Thorn Collar, Lace Collar – Illu Frito

Or 'The Thumbsuckers' This is a picture for everyone who wants to return to the womb...

For the last two Illu Fritos, I was so unhappy with what I had drawn, I did not submit >< But this week, I am okay with this drawing, maybe. I sucked my thumb for a horribly long time. I won’t say how long. But I remember how amazingly comforting it was to suck my thumb. I wish I could go back there, to those times. Just pour the bathtub full of water and sit in it and suck your thumb when you’re scared or down…. Go back to the womb. The first picture I saw of my kid in the womb, he was sucking his thumb too… Too bad prolonged thumb sucking fucks up your teeth AND your thumb. (I learned this the hard way….)

But yeah, that is my submission for the prompt ‘Return’.

In other mews, the Baby Nazgul will be officially celebrating his first year tomorrow ^__^. Wow, can you believe it? One year with the little soul-eater. It’s gone by so fast. Let’s review his skillz, shall we? He can rage poop. He can parkour (In fact, he has successfully parkoured into the kitchen and off of both flights of stairs..) and he can almost walk. He can say ‘yes’ in Russian and ‘Change my diaper now or I’ll fucking kill you and your unborn children’ in Nazgul.He has already attempted his first french kiss with a man at the age of seven months, which is how I knew he was, indeed, my son.

Thank you to everyone who came to the unofficial birthday at Aunt Paintblotch’s…. and for all the presents and the baby bath soap I will be using while I sit in the bath tub and suck my thumb and read my lesbian zombie book be using to bathe the little curly brace. It was wonderful to see all you moofs. Have a great week and Happy April to all. <3

Abraham Lincoln Says: Draw Tails

 

And if I were you, I would listen to him.

My art lessons won’t start for another two weeks or so, but until then, I have been instructed to draw ‘real’. Don’t stylize. Don’t prettify. Draw what you see. I decided to try that out this night with a little sketch of two guys in communion with each other, telling myself–okay, don’t make them FANTASY guys, you know, just normal pretty and there I was, feeling pretty happy with my quick sketch when who would come visit me at one in the morning in my living room?

Yup. You guessed it.

Abraham Fucking Lincoln.

Holy shit! I thought to myself, seeing a vision of him at 1:06 AM… That’s Abe Lincoln!?!? Mark Ryden, my art hero, gets visions of Mr. Lincoln too! How fortunate must I be to see the very self-same apparition! And then Mr. Lincoln (can I really say that I saw him? It’s more I felt his presence, unholy glowing eyes and all) anyway, he sort of took a peek at my drawing, or I should say I had the feeling of him peeking and I was thinking perhaps he thought it was pretty fine, but then he just sat on the couch and didn’t say “I like it” or “I don’t like it.” He didn’t say anything like that at all, only this:

‘Draw tails.”

My eyes went X X.

Draw tails? What does that mean? Did he mean the boys should have tails? That could be the only meaning, I surmised. But boys DON’T have tails, everybody knows that! And this was supposed to be a realistic drawing, no tentacles, no vines, no fleshy explosions, no unholybeautiful Rapunzel haired huffy mouthed angel boys, just two dudes getting it on as real as I could depict it–I glanced over at the couch and thought I should say something to this effect…

Did I mention Lincoln’s eyes glowed??

I don’t know about you, but what I figured right then is that when one of the greatest undead presidents of the United States whispers anything to you at one in the morning, you don’t ask ‘Why?’ or “Excuse me?’ Your only question could and should be “How many tails?”

So I asked him, sir, how many tails?

“Three on the seme (pitcher) and two on the uke (catcher).”

Done and done! I drew the fuck out of those tails, let me tell you–I didn’t have the guts to ask him what kind of tails he wanted exactly–rat-tails or crocodile tails or horsetails? (Surely no?) So I settled on dog-tails for the top and cat-tails for the bottom and that, my dear moofs, is the story of the picture “Boys with Tails.”

PS: I won’t be showing it to my art teacher.

 

 

A Shout to All My Lost Boys

I’m too tired to write. So I’m just going to throw some pictures at you, moofies.
Hope you like them ^^

Boy Kiss. Only with the power of Skrillex can the Moof draw so. Much. Hair. (A picture for a friend.)

[Oh, and just to clarify, all these pictures are of males. Just so you know...]

A shout to all my lost boys. Go easy on those wrists, kids. : /

Snot. [This picture grosses my mom out so much, she can't look at it. ... is it that bad?

A little sketch of the painting I'm working on.

All right, lost boys. Nothing more to see here.
This moof… is off to bed.

TGIF!!!!
And if you have no energy: Skrillex. Bangarang. It’s like coffee for the ears…
‘Yo… I’m eatin’ fundip right now… not givin’ a fuuuuuuuck…..’
~_~

The World Needs…

…beautiful men more than anything else!!

And Elizabeth Peyton gets that, which is why I like her work. Check it out!

In the meantime, yesterday…. to commemorate crossing over to the dark side, I was gifted with a box of acrylics by J. Wee! Paintblotch and I will be participating in the Munich Stroke Art Fair at the end of the month, and it occurred to me a few days ago that I may have to PAINT something there.

And since I don’t really…. DO paint….

I thought I’d practice in my sketchbook. Ja~~~n!

the boys are in the bathroom, kissing in the d-a-r-k, d-a-r-k, d-a-r-k, dark dark dark!!!!

It’s kind of amazing, how many colors you can make with just two colors and white… That’s what the internet told me to do, anyway. It said ‘don’t use too many colors at once, or you’ll fuck it up’. But damn, acrylics dry fast. I guess there are all these special magic sprinkles you can mix in them to make them dry slower or make them do groovy things like fetch you hot toast, but that’s for another day.

Now I need my bed. Left tonsil swollen like a mofo. Hope your tonsils are doing better!

Color Fascism

Scars. Flamingos. Some grapefruits. Are pink.

Cold lips. Blue jays. Blueberries. Are blue.

Hydrangeas with little aluminum sulfate in their soil are pink.
Hydrangeas with more aluminum sulfate in their soil are blue.

See a pattern? (I don’t.) So why then, this rampant color fascism?

I blame the binary tendency of the human brain. It’s gotta be 0 or 1. Black or white. Pink or blue. Girl or boy…

My mother in law is going nuts. “You haven’t found out the sex of the baby, so I never know what to buy for clothes!” She wails each time we meet. “Oh, I can’t WAIT to find out it’s a GIRL! I’m going to just PILE UP the pink things then!!!!!”

I sit in the back seat of our car barreling towards IKEA and picture the moment (–) comes out and should present herself as a girl: we’ll both be drowned in an avalanche of bismuth-colored tutus, footies, cappies, booties, bubbies, snuggies, and all the damn rest. What does a few drops of red in white have ANYTHING to do with being a girl, I wonder?

To a lesser extent, my own mom also complains that everything is geared towards one sex or another in the moiling baby industry, ‘sex’ being defined by pink or blue. I tell her “Just buy pink AND blue and … every other color. They DO sell other colored things, right?” Oh, but you can’t dress a baby boy in pink!! I’m told.

Why not?

I can’t REMEMBER being a baby, but I bet it kind of sucked. You shit yourself, you piss yourself, you’re so weak, you can’t lift your own head, and if you live in certain parts of the world, your parents VOLUNTARILY let a piece of your dick get chopped off right after you got squeezed through your mom’s *%23, then went home to spend 18+ hours of your day lying on your back and staring at shiny stuff dangling over your face.

…you think a person in that state gives a SHIT about what COLOR they’re wearing? I highly doubt it. Of course, the whole gender color pink/blue kerfuffle is for the parents. It’s the very first step in getting their little moofie on the right step of non-ambiguous binary human thinking.

Incidentally, back in the day, pink was the boy color and blue was the girl color, pink being the ‘little brother’ to ferocious, vivacious red, and blue evoking the soft, feminine mantle of the Virgin Mary. No green, no puce, no lavender, no red, no black, no tangerine. Then the Victorians came and decided even two colors were a little too improper (or maybe it was the Calvinists, scared that all that two color hurdygurdy was going to piss pissy God off even more), so they just started putting males and females in dresses. Until you were like… six, you wore a long white dress and that was that. If an old lady saw you on the street, and you were under five, she had a fifty fifty chance of correctly guessing what gender you were.

THEN came WWI. A lot of blue uniforms. The vierge’s colors were pushed into the masculine sphere. THEN came the Nazis, who randomly decided a big pink triangle was what gays needed to wear. Pink was pushed towards a more feminine sphere. And sometime by the American fifties, pink was cemented as the girl color, blue as the boy, and nobody ever looked back.

I, for one, would like to look back. I mean, would YOU like to wear one color for years? I bet not. So why not truss up the little meat pies in different colors, like you do with yourself?  It can be done–the other day, we were at a “Baby Barn” type kid’s outlet, and I noticed plenty of clothes that were all sorts of hues–(yes, ‘scanty’ when compared to the overwhelming sea of pink and blue, but still voluminous and adequate.)

So down with this color fascism! We started with the kid’s room–blue? Pink? Screw it. It’s ‘Velveeta cheez’ ( NOT what the paint company called it, but probably due to copyright issues with Kraft, so they had to settle with the less-evocative ‘fresh pressed orange juice’. ) And then, I’m going to dress (–) in nut-brown, and lemon-yellow, and violety-violet, and chikadee blue and cotton-candy pink.

We are in Europe, after all >:P If grown Bavarian men with hair on every square centimeter of their bodies can rock a pink shirt, I’m sure a little baby can pull it off.  Even if she is a boy. ^-^