size: hubcap-sized
medium: cut paper on hubcap (fiberglass?)

To everything (Turn, Turn, Turn) – Pete Seeger, from the Book of Ecclesiastes, as sung by The Byrds

The spinning of a wheel, the spreading and curling petals of a flower, the encroaching and receding tide; patterns mesmerize me. The often-colliding patterns of man and nature are among the most fascinating, pushing and pulling at each other in a constant state of unrest and upheaval.

A few months ago, gifted and magnanimous paper artist, Béatrice Coron introduced me to Landfillart.org, an organization which is encouraging ecological thinking via the recycling of over a thousand hubcaps into original works of art. Given the recurring themes of cyclical nature in my work, I had to take part. Plus, turning an old hubcap into art is just so cool.

The circle of the hubcap-canvas became the primary design element in the work. That shape repeats in the patterns of ol’ Ebb’s clothes, the shape of his hunched shoulders, and in the overall flow of the work. Not to mention the kamon.

Kamon are elegantly-designed, highly-stylized Japanese family crests. There are a lot of them (the website is in Japanese, but that shouldn’t stop you from enjoying it). The only things that fascinate me more than patterns are symbols (and metaphors, and folk tales, and fables, and fuzzy bunnies… but I digress). Marrying the circular symbolic kamon to the cyclical wheel to the recurrent tide seemed a natural (if somewhat polyamorous) union.

The kamon, in this particular case, are the calm and raging sea (top+bottom left), an Ouroboros eel (bottom right), and the morning glory – which has about a million different metaphorical meanings, my favorite being its cycle of endings and beginnings.

The LandfillArt project is still looking for artists to mangle and re-shape old car parts. While you’re there, check out the 800+ cool pieces already completed (mine is on page 17 right now). Some other angles:

size: 8 x 10 inches
medium: cut paper on illustration board

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?)

size: 8 1/2 x 15 inches
medium: cut paper on wood

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.

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