2Kings 2:23-24 “From there Professor X went up to the town of Bethel. As he was traveling along the road, some boys came out of the town and jeered at him. ‘Get out of here, baldy!’ they said. ‘Get out of here, baldy!’ He turned around, looked at them and called down a curse on them in the name of the Lord. Then two she-bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the boys.”
Adam and Eve had two sons, Ren and Stimpy.
Stimpy kept flocks, and Ren worked the soil. One day, they both brought an offering to God. God liked Stimpy’s gifts much more than Ren’s. This totally pissed Ren off and he turned his face away from God.
God then said to Ren, “Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? If you do what is right I will like you. But if you don’t then sin is crouching at your door; it desires you, but you must rule over it.”
A few days later Ren took Stimpy out into the field and crushed his skull. God then screamed out to Ren, “Where is your brother Stimpy?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
The Lord said, “What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground. 11 Now you are under a curse and driven from the ground, which opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand. When you work the ground, it will no longer yield its crops for you. You will be a restless wanderer on the earth.”
Ren said to the Lord, “My punishment is more than I can bear. Today you are driving me from the land, and I will be hidden from your presence; I am now a criminal and anyone who sees me will try to kill me.”
But the Lord said to him, “Not so, anyone who kills Ren will suffer vengeance seven times over.” Then the Lord put a mark on Ren so that no one who found him would kill him. So Ren went out from the Lord’s presence and lived in the land of Nod, east of Eden.
Homer took wood for the burnt offering and placed it on his son Isaac, and he himself carried the fire and the knife. As the two of them went on together. Bart spoke up and said to his father Homer, “Father?”
“Yes, my son?” Homer replied.
“The fire and wood are here,” Bart said, “but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?”
Homer answered, “God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son.” And the two of them went on together.
When they reached the place God had told him about, Homer built an altar there and arranged the wood on it. He bound Bart and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood. Then he reached out his hand and took the knife to slay his son….
SPOILER ALERT- God did stop Homer right before he stuck the knife in Bart and told him he was just kidding and wanted to see how far Homer would go. He then gave him a lamb that was caught in a thicket. They killed it together but then Homer cut off Bart’s foreskin to show God he still wanted to hurt his son in His name. The end!
Genesis 15:5 God took him outside and said, “Now look toward the heavens, and count the stars, if you are able to count them.” And God said to him, “So shall your descendants be so numerous”
Matthew 15:32-37 (where he just finished preaching to a huge crowd along a countryside).-
“Predator Jesus called his disciples to him and said, “I have compassion for all these people; they have already been with me three days and have nothing to eat. I do not want to send them away hungry or they may pass out.”
His disciples answered, “Where could we get enough bread in this remote place to feed such a crowd?”
“How many loaves do you have?” Predator Jesus asked.
“Seven,” they replied, “and a few small fish.”
He told the crowd to sit down on the ground. Then he took the seven loaves and the fish, and when he had given thanks, he broke them and gave them to the disciples, and they in turn to the people. They all ate and were satisfied. Afterward the disciples picked up seven baskets full of broken pieces that were left over.
If you would like your own Predator Jesus you can pick it up on my Etsy store HERE
I would love some suggestions for future Bible verses and characters. Thanks
A Slightly Disturbing Coloring Book for Adultish Children and Childish Adults
This 23 page coloring book is about a hungry little creature named Tidy who travels the world eating up messes. He loves things to taste as gross as possible. Each HUGE 11×17 page is about something nasty in this world that Tidy enjoys eating. It is chocked full of lessons for children and adults to learn from,
If you would like a copy of this book- you can get it HERE!!!
I have been noticing while at friends’ homes that they do not have art in their bathrooms-other than fake flowers growing mold above their medicine cabinets or a matching towel set wrinkled up in the corner. Considering how used that space is in a normal home I think this needs changed. I decided to sit down one evening and draw something utilizing a bathroom space in mind, specifically near the toilet.
I don’t know if I achieved my original goal but nevertheless I love the result. My ideal was to make a piece that would look completely different if it was viewed while sitting down or standing up. The original is 3 separate 8×10 segments. The finished product is 3 1/5 feet framed and is meant to hang lower than most art would. It is slim and fits perfectly next to a toilet. I think the toilet is a great place to have a detailed piece, it forces those their to have something to focus on. So even if someone thinks this is a piece of shit, it is fitting.
This is a two piece set I did while watching some underwater documentaries. There are so many secrets the oceans still hold- perhaps these two are down there somewhere right now, still madly in love.
If you would like to add these two lovers to your walls, you can find them hanging around here.
Here are two separate pieces about finding one’s true love. Love holds no prejudice and is boundless.
If you would like to purchase either of these two pieces they are available online here.
Here is a fantasy style map of the neighborhoods that make up Dayton, Ohio. If you would like to purchase one of these maps for yourself and see it up close and personal you can do so here.
Everything will eventually end.
Cycle 19- In the year of the falling turtles
The Compolche walked in tight rows behind the old man, through foliage so thick that they had to twist and weave through the jungle like torn flags waving in a brutal wind. Though there were hundreds of them, they were silent, as they always were while in this part of the sacred jungle. Each tribes person walked on the tips of their toes, exposing as little of themselves to the ground as possible, leaving behind tiny indented dots upon the leafy carpet. The muscles in their calves trembled with each step. A mask of fatigue shadowed over the faces of many of them but they continued there reverent sacrifice as they continued on, deep into the heart of the jungle, to the place where only their people were allowed to step and had been guarding since the beginning.
The man in the front was weathered and beaten by both time and the struggles of living in such a hot, wet place. His skin was dark caramel and full of the bravado of a hard wrought life; it hung in small folds where his muscles had once swelled with youth and vigor. His back, arms, and head were decorated in the traditional blue tattoos of The Compolche. He wore a sash around his waist made of quail feathers and beads of river rocks. There was a tortoise shell resting on his left shoulder and tied with bands of leather across his bare chest to the sash at his waist. He too walked on his toes, though his trembling was very noticeable and he looked as if his old frame would topple over at any moment. He stepped onto a patch of low growing bushes covered in bright green berries. As he came to the last line of trees, he stepped sideways between two of them and into a clearing with the sun high overhead.
The wind pushed into him, flushed against the line of trees, and swept back behind him. The twirling gust knocked him off balance and sent his left foot to settle flat on the grass . He winced and immediately resumed his balance and arched his weight back onto his gnarled toes. He reached into a small leather satchel tied to his waist and pulled out a pinch of grass seeds and sprinkled them over the spot his foot had landed.
The other Compolche had stopped along the edge of the treeline and sat upon the ruddy bushes,using the bendable branches like cushions. They sat tightly up against each other with their legs crossed, in long rows. Each row was so tight that the tattoos the people displayed had blended together, resembling one large sinewy creature, both chaotic and orderly. Trailing the last rows were the children. The sat down in sections according to their age.
In each grouping the children were the same age with only a few days between them. The Compolche procreated every 5 years, as a group. The women communally controlled their birthing through the use of a white flower that grew plentifully in the jungle. The women drank a tea daily made from its petals that kept them from being fertile. Each 5 years women could choose to refuse the tea and bring forth another Compolche if they wanted. This process insured they were able to give each generation the proper training, attention, and discipline they needed. Each Compolche was responsible for the upbringing of another, there was no separation based on family for they were all one.
The youngest group of toddlers sat down in the last line- maintaining as much focus and silence as the others. Their tiny bodies looked unusual with the old wisdom and intensity that their eyes had. They seemed to be much older than their tiny bodies appeared.
As the old man spread the seeds, those seated picked the berries from the bushes and chewed on them. They placed the discarded seeds in their laps and watched the man as he became a shrinking silhouette toward the center of the clearing.
The man, hunched slightly over from the pain in his bones, brushed the sweat from his brow and looked over his shoulder at his people. Each one of them was looking him in his mud brown eyes, unwavering from his attention. He did not need to say anything to them. He gave them all a gentle smile, nodded his head and turned around back toward center of the clearing.
He adjusted the tortoise shell, moving it up higher on his sun-spotted shoulder. He had that shell since he was born, when he was placed in it for his first sleep in the living world. The leather strips that tied it to his waist had his name etched across it; Albacothra, “Son of Myself.”
Albacothra began to cough. With each bark of air, pain shot down through his chest, making him grab his stomach and bend over. He turned away from the Compolche, hiding his clenched expression. This cough he knew very well, it always meant the same thing in these aging bodies- that this Cycle was nearing it’s end. He was a part of The Cycle longer than a lot of the Compolche sitting in the jungle. He knew it well could feel his body, once powerful and perfect, slipping into the void and becoming dust. His breathing was shorter and rushed. His hands occasionally moved and jerked on their own as if that soul within him was trying to break through its cage within his chest. It was time. He knew the importance of entering The Cycle when the first symptoms came. He would never wait, the risk was too great. He couldn’t chance dying in this body so far away from Her children.
He walked into the center of the clearing, to a small round pile of soil. A little mound of dirt, no larger than a river pebble had slowly started pushing up from underneath the ground. He would not have time to prepare for this one so he just stood over the patch and watched the mound grow ever so slightly as more dirt was pushed up from underground. Two small black armored legs pushed up through the ground and anchored against the dirt and began pulling its body up. A bulbous, gray bug crawled out and brushed the dirt off its body with its back legs. Its four translucent wings flexed and unwrapped from the side of its body. The outer wings, on either side, had a small bright red circle in the center. The bug’s abdomen had a soft orb of flesh, gently pulsing a light from within. The bug jerked around looking from the ground to the sky and shot up into the air. It hovered just above his knees. The fleshy bulb on it’s abdomen had begun to pulse. A bright light flashed and a sound like two flat rocks being smacked together cracked at the air. After the flash, the bug was gone. Her child had vanished to the place he was readying himself to travel to, if only for a moment.
The tribes members watched the flash with excitement, taking in the brazen wash of colors like a drug. Most of them had walked The Cycle as well and had themselves stood were Albacothra now stood. To some of them, like most of the young toddlers in the last row, the memory was all too fresh. There were a few, though, who were here for the first time, they were the ones sitting very straight, eyes wide open, and keenly focused like an eagle that had found a river full of salmon spawning. This was the first time to see one of Her children dig out from the ground fly off into the Ether.
Albacothra knew it would be a few hours before the next child would emerge from the ground, so he stood in the sun feeling its heat against his skin. He took for granted that feeling, all the tiny pricks of heat spread out over his skin. Like a flood in the valley, he could feel it ebb and flow over the deep cracks in his brittle skin. He closed his eyes and sang within himself the songs from his past. One by one, the past voices within him joined into the song, each singing their part and harmonizing within the layers of his body. His people treasured the collection of inner voices they each gathered from The Cycle. The choir of voices resonated within him like a cathedral, the tones bounced off every chamber within and around him. They echoed from the top of his sun kissed head all the way out through the tips of his bent toes.
He opened his eyes and saw a group of leopards along the far treeline. He smiled to them even though did not show anything across their majestic faces but cold, intent stares. He knew that letting him see them was a sign of acknowledgment enough. Albacothra wondered if she was still among them. It had been so long ago that she had joined their numbers. He soaked in the warmth of the sun; unfocused on the passing of the hours.
Two small black legs emerged from the dirt and drew Albacothra’s attention back toward the soil patch. With his inner choir still singing, Albacothra sank to his knees beside the dirt. A bug, Her child, identical to the last crawled out.
Before it had time to react, Albacothra grabbed it and slammed the bug so hard against his head that the force knocked him to the ground with his legs still folded under his knees. A bright light flashed and a sound like two flat rocks being smacked together cracked at the air.
The body was motionless, the eyes flat white and the pupils bleached of all color. There was a splatter of blood on the forehead and in the palm of the outstretched hand.
As the body had fallen, Compolche begun to stand up, stretching out. Five women walked, on toes, out into the clearing to the soulless body. Four of them grabbed a limb and picked up the body, carrying it back into the forest like a stretched blanket. The other woman reached into her own satchel and spread a handful of seeds over the ground where the body had been. When she finished, she turned, and walked into the forest where the other people had begun pulling up on the sturdy branches of the bushes and tossed the seeds from those berries amongst the area. Within just a few days, this place would show no sign that anyone, let alone hundreds of people, had been there.
As if rehearsed a thousand times, they all turned on their toes and begun the long trek back to The Stone in silence. The four women who had retrieved the body sat it down along the treeline, stripped it naked, and folded the arms across the hairless chest. They walked off, leaving the body for the jaguars that were watching from the other side of the field.
On the other side of the mountain stood a giant honeycomb shaped fortress of solid stone, which was almost empty because The Compolche were still deep in the jungle returning. Enormous trees grew in a circle around it, hiding it, and encasing it in shadow. Deep in a corridor was room with over a dozen women laying on soft beds of feathers and leaves, each of their stomachs were bulging and eager to birth those they were harboring inside. A young woman in the back, started to scream out in pain. An old women, with her hair trailing to the floor behind her, came in and rushed to her side as she pushed her legs out and pulled them as far up toward her thighs as she could. A pool of brackish water flowed out from her and soaked into the feather down she was laying on. The elderly women squeezed the screaming girl’s hand and smiled to her with toothless reassurance. This helped calm her breathing as they both waited for the baby to break the veil and cross into the living world.
The young woman panted and clenched her eyes tight. She pushed with all her strength. From between her, the old women placed her hands into the swollen folds and helped pull the head of the baby out as the young woman pushed and screamed. As if the air rushed out of the room and carried all the sound with it, the woman just collapsed gently in relief and silence as the old woman lifted the baby up and slapped at its bottom until it let out a puff of breath and began to cry. She wiped the baby with a cloth and wrapped it tightly in a fresh one. The new mother leaned over and picked up the small tortoise shell that was beside her, waiting for this moment. She set it on her naked chest, just under her breast. The old woman took the baby and laid it in the shell so that it’s mouth would touch the cusp of young woman’s nipple.
The baby’s eyes slowly began to open, mucus separated from the lids on either sides like a melted chocolate being pulled. For the first time with these eyes, Albacothra looked upon the world. A new Cycle was beginning.
I worked at a coffee shop in a the arts district of my town back in 2007. I would sit out on the patio each morning before my shift started and draw people who walked by as zombies. I had to hide a lot of them from customers peering over and being offended. I took a lot of liberty on it obviously. Here just a few of them.
We are all survivors! It is a very difficult process to be born into this world and up until recently in human history, you were a joyful gem to have been born alive, let alone to survive past infancy. So we know, unconsciously, from birth that we were brought into this world to fight our way through it.
I know that trials come and trials go. We must learn from each one, become stronger and more agile in dealing with it in the future. Sometimes, though, they can be too hard for us to overcome on our own- or depression comes around the corner and holds us down against our will,. When these times come I have learned to process the pain through my art. I will sit down and decide to draw something that directly relates to how I am feeling. I will mask the pain through symbols and scenarios that force me to sit and deal with for how ever many hours it takes me to finish the piece.
I usually come out feeling much better and the times that I don’t I start another piece and see where it takes me. In this gallery I have some examples of art pieces I have done during some of my own personal battles. If you click on the image there is a description as to where I was in my head when I made it. I hope after reading some of them you may understand my process and maybe it can help you as well.
Here is a video of a Pecha Kucha talk I did in 2013 about how I use art to handle tough situations.
Here is a triptych I did of the evolutionary changes of intelligent life on Saturn. Here are the color and original black and white line work. This piece is available upon request if you like it. Look closely and you will see how that some Saturians went somewhere else too.
This was a lot of fun to draw and I hope to make some more like these one day. If you like this, let me know what else you would like to see evolve on paper.