There was a time, eons upon eons ago, before the earth had fully cooled or I had graduated from junior high school, when I drew dragons. Daily. In math class. Typically surrounded by broken swords, shattered shields, and bristling with spent arrows. I’m fairly sure this is the first dragon I’ve drawn since those hallowed days of yore.

One of the things I enjoy most about doing the artwork is the research, long before pencil touches paper. Often, pieces such as this, where I know ahead of time what the subject will be, but not the concept or emotion, are the most difficult to get a firm grasp on. I have to ask myself, “What does a dragon mean to me, metaphorically, conceptually, emotionally?”. Aside from my inner (and still very much alive) middle-schooler who just thinks dragons are awesome.

Thus begins the research into the myth, mythology, and symbolism of the subject matter. Granted, it might appear that I’m wasting vast amounts of time surfing the web, but I assure you, that is not so. For example, The Japanese dragon is usually drawn with three claws. The Chinese dragon has five – at least the one which represents the emperor does. In both traditions (and Japan’s draws heavily from China’s, while also making it uniquely its own), the dragon is associated with water.

One of the thoughts inescapably running through my brain for the past couple months has been the earthquakes and tsunami of the past Spring. In my original sketches, I played up the ideas of a more violent clash between earth and water, along with a morally ambiguous wyrm. In the end, it is more appropriate that 2012 be represented by an auspicious water deity.

I’ve been playing alot recently with layering. It’s most obvious in the waterfall, which becomes more multi-hued and complicated where it merges with the dragon. The big lizard itself is an experiment in layers to push and pull certain parts of the creature back or pull them forward. Some areas of scales are above the line-work, while others are beneath.

To rip a page from the incredible Karl Kerschl, here are some of my favorite dragon-y things:

• The Hobbit
• The constellation Draco
• Dragonball
• My coolest belt
• this calendar:

(you didn’t really think I’d be able to resist the self-promotion, didja?)

Kechi (けち) is one of the most useful Japanese words you’re ever likely to find. It means cheap or stingy, but isn’t limited to just money. It expands to include emotion, time, and helpfulness among others.

Futakuchi-onna (two-mouthed woman) is all about the kechi. In one tale, faced with a food shortage, she stuffs her own child while letting her stepchild waste away. In another, she withholds food from herself, trying to please either her miserly husband or her own stinginess. Self-denial manifests as a separate ravenous mouth on the back of her head, grumbling and mumbling and, finally, satisfying itself.

It’s difficult not to associate the Futakuchi-onna with modern eating disorders and standards of beauty. Hunger-abstained bursts out from the flesh gibbering and gnawing – a metaphor for either the cause or the disease. All grabbing tentacles and unthinking appetite, the jellyfish seemed the perfect choice for the zoological avatar.

Details:

Look, if you dare, into the mesmerizing, frosty gaze of Yuki-Onna, the winter woman, the temptress of the snows. Feel the chill creep up your shivering spine. You hands shake from the frozen air and the arctic fear. Will you go to her when she beckons you out into those cold, cold wastes? Will you welcome her icy breath? Will you surrender your dimming warmth as she encompasses you in her pale arms, comfortless wintery lullabies gliding you off to frost-tinged sleep?

Lafcadio Hearn introduced me to Yuki-Onna in his fantastically spooky collection of ghost-stories and yokai-tales, Kwaidan. That frosty mix of mercilessness, loneliness, regret, and love stayed with me, defining Yuki-Onna. Like most folk tales, there are numerous versions of Japan’s Snow-Woman; icy temptress, lost soul, killer, lover, ghost, goddess.

Cut-paper is, by definition, a hard-edged medium. For reason’s I will probably never understand, I always find myself trying to push this very dry, very sharp technique to be wet, oily, and, in the case of Yuki-Onna, soft and translucent. Always a fun challenge. The pale skin tone, with the wood grain visible underneath, was achieved with at least four layers of two different kinds of washi paper.

Detail views follow:

In sleep, we live strange and separate lives. In the case of Rokurokubi, that life happens to consist of short-range travel isolated northward of the shoulders. There are any number of legends detailing the motives and origins of this yōkai. I’m partial to the ones where Rokurokubi is unaware of her supernatural nature, waking with the memory of odd locations and wanderings beyond her natural boundaries.

In Sleep I am Engulfed in Feathers is the third piece, and first official yōkai, in a series which I think of as depicting the complicated and raw inner lives of unique women. The heron follows the clever fox and the dusky crow.

When drawing, there are few things that give me more pleasure than working with long, flowing shapes and graceful curves. They’re just relaxing and fun for my hand. To that, I added the challenge of the Celtic knot, curving the neck in and around itself in a way not so different than how our dreams eschew logic and flow together.

Enjoy the sketch above and detail below.

If Thunder is a brooding mope with a tendency to fester, Wind is a bit of a dandy. He’s a powerful, blustery presence, but he spent so long picking out his outfit for this portrait that I fell asleep waiting. And don’t even ask how much time he spent getting his hair and beard to flow just right. I have to admit though, the fan is just lovely.

As different as these two gents are, when they work together they are an imposing force of nature. A cacophony of light, sound, and force. A duet of energy and motion.

Just like Portrait of Thunder, Wind pulled a healthy amount of inspiration from the Dutch masters and traditional portraiture. Below, you can see the framed version and the pair hanging together. If I could change anything, it would probably be the frames. They should be more bigger, more ornate, and just generally more fancier.

Life in Tokyo is shambling in the general direction of normal. This is a good thing. Trying to carve a new routine out of this awkwardly balanced status quo is the challenge of the day. Thanks to all of my friends around the world who wrote, called, emailed, and smoke-signaled their love and support. If you haven’t had the chance to Donate to the Japan NGO Earthquake Relief and Recovery Fund, please consider doing it now.

Thunder is not, I believe, a happy-go-lucky guy / elemental force. When posing for his portrait, he had a tendency to slip into a sort of brooding contemplation. The Brontë sisters would’ve swooned. The only thing to bring a smile to his face was his pet salamander.

Yes, somewhere in the deep, primitive network of canyons that make up my mind, there is an instinctual, metaphorical connection between lightning and amphibians.

This past year, I have been experimenting more and more with the play of bright colors against dark. Thunder, the left side of a diptych, pulled inspiration from the Dutch masters, particularly a certain Mr. van Rijn and his masterful use of chiaroscuro.

I was tasked, almost a year ago, with the daunting task of making the rabbit sexy. You see, my incomparable wife is a rabbit; or at least of the year of the Rabbit. Among a handful of other adjectives, “sexy” struck me as the least bunny-like. This, despite the rabbit being a long-time symbol of fertility, birth, and rebirth. I think there might even be a contemporary phrase which references the rabbits’ reproductive proclivities. But… sexy? Without resorting to prying open a copy of Playboy?

Here in Japan, there is no man in the moon. There is, rather, a rabbit. Making mochi. All of which got me thinking about the waxing and the waning of the lunar orb, the traditional feminine symbolism of the moon, the fertility of those bunnies, and breath as life. Toss all those into my mental blender and here you go.

The rabbit is the fourth animal in the Chinese (and Japanese) zodiac.

This particular rabbit got snapped up pretty quick at the New Moon show at myplasticheart, but I believe there may still be a Tigger is need of a den.

Woe be me to not plug my other show, Outside, Looking In, at CAVE gallery as well.

Finally, a quick shout out to Mayuko Fujino, who has recently been schooling me on how to build a sexy bunny (some of these may be a tad NSFW)

The ghost parade was born from the lucky confluence of an urge and an event.

The urge had been hanging around for ages, quietly poking around in the back of my brain. For the past year or so, I’ve been trying to work larger, to give more dramatic impact to my cut paper work. I’ve also been experimenting with adding depth, using chunky blocks of wood and refining the way layers are used. On top of this, illuminating the paper, using the translucent quality to play with light and shadow and form is something I have a million tiny ideas I want to try out. (special thanks go out to Tim Budden for inspiring me with his own paper experiments).

The event was my first solo show, “The Night of the Yokai”. With the opportunity to utilize the ceiling as well as the walls, the first thing that came to mind was to create a three-dimensional cut-paper design. Through the sketch process, this evolved into a giant cut-paper chandelier (which fit nicely into my haunted, ghostly theme). The original design called for one more small ring inside. That was abandoned in time; it might have played havock with the clean shadows of the inner ring on the outer ring. Maybe in the future, I’ll play around with multiple layers.

If I had been any good at math, I think I might have been an engineer instead of a paper cutter. I love figuring out how to make things work. The real test was the frame. It’s cobbled together from items I found at the local DIY and craft stores. The added challenge of making it transportable by train – and thus easy to take apart and reassemble, was great mental exercise. Next time, I might just seek out a carpenter, though. This first experiment has given me a ton of ideas. Here’s hoping I get to watch them play out soon.

More of the Ghost Parade and other pictures from Night of the Yokai are now available on:

Flickr
and Facebook (Facebook has the added bonus of work-in-progress shots).

I’ve been too good. Giving up my seat on the train to old people, rescuing kittens from trees,putting a stop to the nefarious invasion plans of gooey alien races. And that was just this past week. I’m tired of it all. I need to be bad. I want to exercise my evil muscles. I yearn to grow an appropriately twisty and sinister mustache.

Luckily, Kevin Conn, the erstwhile creator of The Incandescent Lava-Roid, has once again come to the rescue (remember him?). Pictured above, you can see our Molten hero cringing striking an action pose in the face of two of his most dastardly enemies. Introducing the all-new Acid Reflux and the all-improved Heimlich the Cyborg Nazi Bear. Previously known as plain, old Heimlich the Nazi Bear. And yes, that is a Hitlerian mustache under his snout.

This seems a good time to let everyone know about the next show I’ll be participating in: American Comics Exhibition 2010 ~Bad Guys~
From Anti-heroes to Supervillains opening Sept. 26, 2010 here in Tokyo. Check out the website here.

Oh yeah, and my first solo show is coming soon to Tokyo. Want a hint? Leave your Halloween open.

For now, I think I’ll go find a kitten to put in a tree.

If I learned anything during the making of this piece, it’s that you can’t hurry a whale. They are stubborn, willful critters, and they’ll do exactly what they please at the precise pace they want to do it. With that much bulk, who’s going to argue?

Surprisingly, they also have some very definite and peculiar feelings regarding color schemes. Take this massive gentle-whale above. My original intent was to create a soft, romantic mood. Maybe a little pink, perhaps a touch of lavender. After all, the basic concept for the piece grew out of love and its fleeting, ephemeral, transient nature. Not to mention nature’s loveliest metaphor for transience: the cherry blossom.

Whenever I start working out colors I try to keep an open mind, testing out all kinds of papers even though I know most of them won’t work (and the occasional one will kick off the gag reflex). More often than not, instinct works its magic and tells me which paper is the right fit. Every once in a while, the paper that works best visually runs up against my preconceived notions or my original concept. And that’s when I’ve got a fight on my hands. This whale fought. Hard. As usual, in the end, I lost. Hopefully that’s a win for the piece (and my subconscious).

So, instead of soft, pop-py, and romantic, the whale got red. RED. Instead of transient, he got tempestuous. He got sex, passion, and maybe a touch of violence. He kept the cherry tree.

As a side note, I’m pretty sure this is the biggest, largest, hugest piece I’ve done yet. It seemed appropriate for a sperm whale. Which explains why I’ve settled for posting an iffy photo of the piece. I just can’t get up the gumption to scan it in. Especially since my copy of photoshop insists on crashing during every third save attempt. One of these days, I’ll gird my loins and dive in. I’ll be sure to post a better shot then. Until that far-off day, please enjoy.