Because I am a proud member of New York Public Library, I have access to more graphic novels than I knew even existed. Sure, it takes a few days for them to arrive at my local library branch, but no big deal. I wait with greedy anticipation. I’ve been exploiting the collection lately –since I’m slowly working on “graphic novelly” type book (which will remain a secret until further notice)– in search of inspiration and general WOW factor at just how good these illustrators and writers are. That’s the thing about a graphic novel, it’s not just the illustrations nor the writing, but the two combined that make it a great read. In my (somewhat) distracted mind, I see graphic novels as only growing in popularity as we become more and more of a visual culture. We illustrators should rejoice! (Though I’m also worried that our brains will no longer be able to focus on one thing at a time-?) So what I’m doing here is posting examples of work I’ve read/looked at lately. I have this crumpled up list called “Doubly Talented: A Graphic Novel Booklist” that I picked up ages ago from Boston Public Library. And true to (my nerdy) form, I followed the list, just like it was required 9th grade summer reading.

This is Shortcomings by Adrian Tomine, a Brooklyn based graphic novelist. The book is cooly expressive, with a dry sense of humor (very Brooklyn). His line work is so clear, and word/image combinations so precisely chosen that I just wonder: is he ever sloppy? Nope, apparently not. Me gusta.

Here we have BOP! More Box Office Poison by Alex Robinson. His extravagent sense of humor (exaggeration wherever possible) and quick characterizations of people hit a good nerve with me. His work is like a melding of Archie and Garfield combined with a dose of Woody Allen. I plan on reading Box Office Poison, for sure.

Apparently, Brian Fies’ Mom’s Cancer was an internet wünderhit (yes, this is my own word-I TM it here and now) when he first  launched it anonymously on the web. And now it’s a published book, and a thoughtful, lovely one at that. Fies maintains his sense of humor throughout the ordeal of his mother’s diagnosis with an advanced form of cancer. He boiled down both the writing and the pictures to the absolute minimum, creating a clear, almost mathematical yet entirely moving narrative. It might make you cry a little bit to read it, even on the subway, so have a few tissues handy. But it’s not depressing and it’s certainly not dour.

Jude Milner’s Fat Free: Amazing All-True Adventures of Supersize Woman! illustrated by Mary Wilshire is a personal

I just received my copies of The Hyena and the Seven Little Kids, written by Carole Bloch and illustrated by Yours Truly. I’m usually never home when the mail people come but yesterday, I was! So the books were actually hand-delivered. I nearly went flying past the mailman as he was walking up the stairs and I was running down. Anyway, the books look great…you really never know what the finished look and feel will be until the book is in your hot, little hands. Here are photos of some interior pages:

On the hyena note, I just learned of an illustrator named Roger Duvoisin who was born in the early 1900s and died in the 1980s. Look at this fabulous hyena from the pages of one his many books…love it! Old School = Best School.

Oh my, the shipment has arrived! I now have many, many copies of uTshepo mde/Tall Enough in my possession.  This is the book written by Mhlobo Jadezweni and illustrated by yours truly. I’ll be selling the book from my website, so I’m busy figuring that out. Check out the green tape and green plastic - that’s U.S. Customs at work. Let’s just say they were not so delicate in their searching. Apparently, children’s books are a threat - who knew!

A year ago I completed the illustrations for The Hyena and the Seven Little Kids written by Carole Bloch. It’s a retelling of a classic (actually, several classics melded into one) in South African style and is part of a series published by Jacana Media. The intention of the series is to promote literacy by offering these classic tales retold with South African flavor in the official languages (11 of them) of the country. So now the book is out! I don’t have copies yet but they’re available through Jacana’s website. I’m posting the English version here but it’s available in isiZulu, isiXhosa, Setswana, and Afrikaans.  I love the effort and the intention, and am happy to be part of this project, especially by the likes of Jacana whose books I’ve always admired. Carole Bloch works out of PRAESA in Cape Town, a research unit I learned about while writing my MPhil thesis. Carole has done a lot of great work (along with her colleague Neville Alexander) around early childhood development and literacy efforts. This book project was a co-coordinated by Carole Bloche and Carol Broomhall at Jacana (yes, the two Carol(e)s!) So, yeah, I’m thrilled to be part of it. Well done, everyone!

This is a quick illustration I did for my friend Tim’s going-away card. Tim Qui Qui, is what I like to call him, modeled after the one and only comedian Bon Qui Qui. Both Bon Qui Qui and Tim are two of the funniest people I know (well, I guess watching on YouTube doesn’t mean you actually KNOW a person) so it makes sense to merge them into one. Efficiency! That’s an approach I think about more and more: all the things you love? Just mush them all together into one, big thing-like experience. In other news: I just got a new type book – from the 1960s, care of my favorite online bookstore AbeBooks. I was searching for old deli style lettering to no easy avail. I’m working on a logo for a food truck that will sell ‘old world’ Eastern European and Jewish inspired cuisine, and even though the logo is nearly done, I’m still on the hunt for that Katz’s deli kind of lettering. I have to say, though, the hunt is just as fun as actually finding the thing you’re hunting for. I love the fact that within minutes¬ – care of Google images – I can watch slideshows of shtetls in Poland from the early 20th century. I guess this goes without saying at this point (as all the 20-somethings and younger who don’t know of a time without Google would point out) but I still marvel at the accessibility.

It’s out! The Bugaboo Review (written by Sue Sommer) for which I did the cover and interior illustrations, has hit the streets. It’s a lighthearted guide to the pitfalls of writing in English so geared towards writers, teachers, students and those who dig grammar. New World Library published the book; their designer Tracy Cunningham was an absolute pleasure to work with and I only wish all illustration jobs were like this. It’s now available in bookstores as well as Ye Olde Amazon.

On the art front, I visited MOMA on Friday and got my Artist Annual Pass. For $25, working artists (and illustrators, designers and photographers) who can prove their working artist status pay $25 and receive a year-long pass to free museum entrance as well as free entrance to MOMA’s films. What you need to do is bring in proof from the last two years (art show postcard with your name on it; books with your work published in them; or proof that you’ve been commissioned to design work) and go to the information desk. There’s a hand-out they’ll give you, too, with a list of acceptable proof. And then you pay $25, and voila: the MOMA becomes your oyster. So go forth, artists, and get that pass! If you do in the next few days (well, the show is up until November), you can see the special exhibition called Talk to Me about human interactions with devices and new technology. It is fantastic! There’s such a sense of play and experimentation that I haven’t seen other art forms in a long time (other than Maira Kalman’s work). It’s a refreshing wind blowing through even if it’s unsettling to realize how intertwined we’ve become with our machines. One of my favorite pieces was “Hi, A Real Human Interface” by Roger Pujol, Dani Armegol and Christian Villacañas (all from Spain) that featured a guy sitting in a small cube, reenacting all the functions now down by a computer in the process of receiving data and sending an email. It’s hilariously poetic. Go see for yourself!

I used to hate digital books. The very idea made want to retch – the thought of losing paper books! Whaaat-?! How could anyone choose a glowing screen over real, touchable, beige pages that slide underneath your fingertips?

That was before. And now? I don’t hate digital books. I realized that the advent of e-books doesn’t necessitate the extinction of paper books. At least, not yet. If anything, those people that love paper books love them all the more. And now maybe paper books are more like art or design objects. “It’s got to be special to be in print” - this is how I make sense of it all, as simplistic as this reasoning may be. Children’s books and artists’ books fall into that “special” category, as far as I’m concerned. Sure, you can read an e-book to a kid but it is a very different experience than reading a paper picture book, one through which a kid can rifle back and forth, crinkle the pages (ouch) and see it all interact: paper, ink, words, illustrations. Better to have the book pages get all greasy and drawn on than your iPad or Kindle, right? On pages, those marks are the proof of love. On an iPad, those thumb prints are annoying. Not to dis the digital, though; I’m intrigued. And yes, I was shamelessly peering over the guy-sitting-next-to-me-on-the-subway’s shoulder yesterday as he flipped through several magazines on his iPad. It’s pretty cool. And I saw the digital version of The New Yorker and interacted with all its cool bits and pieces, and it was mind-blowing. But I still like the paper magazine because…well, it’s paper. Which brings me to paper which then brings me to books (we’re already there, actually) which brings me to artists’ books. I’ve had the privilege of helping my former academic advisor Professor Keith Dietrich (hailing from South Africa) in his research on artists’ books during his residency here in New York City. He is exploring the topic with gusto, camera in hand, and permission passes to all sorts of research facilities. I’ve been able to visit the New York Public Library’s special collections and MOMA’s research library in Queens to view some of books in their collections. I’m amazed at the range of books we’ve seen - from size to technique to subject matter. One book folded out into a poster size spread; another book (Buzz Spector’s A Passage - see photo) had pages chopped consecutively narrower and narrower until the final book was a wedge. Much like a big piece of cheese! Now THIS is something an e-book (as it stands now) could never do: be a piece of cheese. The actual book form, texture, text, and illustration in artists’ books are all equally important. I’m including some of my favorites here. I was excited to find a stash of books published by Ediciones Vigía, the community book press in Cuba that produce

I forget that a blog is not like a friendship: you don’t have to catch up on missed time. You just dip in, dip out, leaving your random thoughts (at least that’s what I think a blog is all about). So now that I’ve released myself from the burden of “Oh Man Now I have to Catch Up on Two Months Gone By”, I feel free as a bird to drop the latest seeds.
Right, so here’s an illustration for a forthcoming whimsical book (about grammar, if you can imagine…I can, because I dig grammar) that I’m illustrating to be published by New World Library. I’ve been getting into drawing these bugs, so now that the work is done, I’m sorry to no longer sit down and draw flies, ants, and fleas in clothing. This one looks a wee bit like a military dictator, don’t you think? A benevolent one. What a coup in the world of bugs would look like, I just don’t know.

I continue to enjoy cutting things out of paper - the latest is included here. I did the cutting, and Salma, age 7, did the coloring. I’m including her age just to prove that, yes, despite the fact that sometimes my drawings look like a child did them, this one actually was colored by a child. I call it “The Dog Walkers” with a corollary narrative, “A City with One Less Mouse”. I dare say spring has arrived to New York City (despite the crapola weather, the dogwoods, tulips, and dog walkers are bursting out), and I dare say that all the mice are amped up and ready to invade.

In other random news/thoughts, I ate Momofuku Noodle Bar in the East Village and nearly passed out it was so good. And I think Jonathan Franzen’s latest piece in not quite the most recent (my subway riding almost keeps me caught up) New Yorker is gorgeous. I’m thrilled to have a brand new (to me) writer to get excited about, and even better, he’s living!

On my to do list: go to Maira Kalman’s exhibition at the Jewish Museum. Sigh. She’s a genius.

I have a piece in the upcoming Multiples show (group art show of the personal work of Whole Foods Market’s store graphic artists). This coming Thursday, March 3, 7-8:30 PM at the Bowery Stadiu/Whole Foods Market, 95 East Houston Street, New York, New York 10002. Art for sale! I hope to see you there.

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I should have robot arms and alien tentacles popping out of my head, since 2011 seems like such a futuristic number. And yet, here we are, and it’s the same old same old. Well, not really, but we have not yet cyborged into robots or aliens. Anyway, happy start of the new decade to all of you reading this blog, as well as just reading in general. Viva literacy! It’s on my mind for a number of reasons, in part because I tutor children learning to read; I make books; and also am just terribly curious about where, exactly, we are (as the human species) in terms of literacy with the tidal wave of “e-”everything. Does it all make people read more or less? Does it distract? Does it satisfy? What comes next? Are we developing a NEW way of reading, with lots of bells, whistles, and flashy bits?

Apart from contemplative thought, I’m tallying my lists and already have some awards to hand out for 2011. Yep, a year in review even though it only just started.

Most disturbing cultural phenomenon: Justin Bieber has a biopic…what’s even more disturbing is that I want to see it.

Least favorite week at work: Last week - one power outage and one flood.

Best gift: A box of picture books from my dear aunt in Colorado, a retired first grade teacher…such good ones WOW! I won the lottery! And also a book from my parents called The Works by Kate Ascher…everything a nerd like me would want to know about New York City. So cool.

Favorite new (and affordable!) restaurant in NYC: Pam Real Thai

Favorite quote: “I’m gonna be just like Egypt, man…” (overheard in the shoe section of Goodwill in Chelsea, NYC)

Most surprising thought: I might get an iPad…what?! Me?! (emphasis on “might”)

Favorite movie thus far that made me want to dress up like a giant, hairy creature:Where the Wild Things Are…oh man, and I also want to live in one of those big basket dwellings.

In other news, I’m going to be in a group show of fellow sign maker/graphic artists at Whole Foods Market here in New York City, to be kicked off March 3 at the Bowery’s Whole Foods’ gorgeous café. More details to come…

So this picture is not just a little holiday greeting but also the prelude to a picture book I just finished illustrating for a publisher back in Cape Town. The book is a retelling of a classic fairytale, retold in a South African context. So this was a rejected cover idea but hey! Now it’s my holiday greeting. So from all of us hyenas and kid goats in South Africa via New York City, happy holidays! May the festivities be good ones, and may you find yourself standing in front of strangers’ doors, singing joyfully. Flash Mob Caroling!

Looking ahead to 2011 (how futuristic that number seems), I’ll be working on my own projects, starting with some collage/drawing pieces for an upcoming group show in April. And then after that, you’ll just have to stay tuned…. And for a little update on the travels on the Little Book That Could, uTshepo mde/Tall Enough is now available in Afrikaans, in a larger format (210 x 280 mm). This version is available through Lapa, based in South Africa. And the word just came from Brazil that the Portuguese version of uTshepo mde/Tall Enough just went to press…whee ha! This book is traveling more than I am. Maybe I can be a luggage carrier…

Busy times here as this year creeps towards its end. It’s still too early to hear Christmas music in the shops but I feel its just around the corner. Just saw today I’m a featured illustrator on Illustration Mundo - thanks again, Nate Williams. My ears are burning. In other news, just last month I received my own copy (hardcover this time - woo hoo!) of the Swedish translation of uTshepo mde/Tall Enough. Tranan in Sweden published the book this year, and sent little Tshepo on his Scandinavian tour of the world. I’m proud of that little guy.

I did some illustrations for my friend Lauri Lyons, a well-known photographer here in NYC who earlier this month launched her online magazine called Nomads featuring travel writing, illustrations photography, poetry and more - all about “nomadic” living. Check it out here. Here’s one of the illustrations I did for a poetic story about Nepal:

Dear Blogary,
It has been 59,040 minutes since my last entry – whoops! Time does indeed pass by faster the older you get, I now understand this. But I also think the heat has something to do with it – it’s like time is melting as fast as the glaciers. New York City has been positively tropical this summer. It’s my first summer here, and wow, I should have just spent the summer in Brazil.
And speaking of Brazil, there are a few things going on in my life and immediate surroundings connected to that luscious country. Today is the 26th Annual Brazilian Day Festival in New York City, which means several million people (from all over the country) will be congregating in lower Manhattan to celebrate Brazil through music, food (apparently they’re selling acarajé, my favorite street food from Bahia), and performances. So why am I sitting in my apartment instead of festivating (I, like Sarah Palin, can also invent words) with the crowds? Because I’m writing this blog and I’m also working on a picture book. So there. But viva Brasil, nonetheless! My own celebration came in book form several months ago. The picture book that Rogério Andrade Barbosa and I made, starting two years ago during my residency at Insituto Sacatar, is now published and out on the shelves in Brazil. Contos de Itaparica (in Portuguese) was launched a few months ago by the publishers (Camboio de Corda, an imprint of Ediçiones SM) in Brazil. I recently received my own copies – whee ha! I’m in the midst of figuring out how to order copies from Brazil – as soon as I do, I’ll post that information. But I do have the ISBN number - 978-85-60820-83-2, if any book sleuths out there know how to track down a book internationally…
In other news, I’m illustrating for my friend Lauri Lyons, a well-known photographer here in NYC who is currently putting together a brand-new online magazine called Nomads. It will be launched any day now – very exciting. She is gathering stories, poetry, photographs, sketches, and illustrations from around the world on various topics having to do with travel, cultural explorations, and, well, being nomadic in one form or another. Here’s an illustration I did for her recently.
From the bookshelf (i.e. what I’m reading) … Maus. Finally, after all these years, I’m reading the infamous and wonderful graphic novel by Art Spiegelman. After all these years of hearing about it, reading excerpts and seeing some of the drawings, I’m finally reading it in its entirety (thank you, New York Public Library). I’m blown away. His drawings are so simple and subtle in the most powerful way. Here is one of the frames that I found to exemplify how the tiniest nuance can speak volumes.
Have a grand week…and/or a grand 59,040 more minutes until the next entry!

I’ve got a nice little spider-web of things I’m thinking about. I’ll start with this past Saturday. I attended a day-long workshop organized by the Society of Children’s Book Writers. The weather outside happened to be 95 F plus so it wasn’t too much of an arm-twist to spend the day inside an air-conditioned room (at least, it was air-conditioned for the first part of the day) talking about books. Anyway, the highlights of the day started with the group critique of the homework assigned by our workshop teacher, Laurent Linn (art director of Simon & Schuster children’s books). He had given us the text (based on the tortoise and the hare story) for a 32-page picture book, and we were to select one double-page spread to illustrate. So I, of course, being chose the pages with the least amount of text (4 lines!) and started using this character I’ve been hankering to use: stripey bunny. He’s actually a mouse in real-life (it’s a vintage, stuffed animal my sister gave me.) As you can see (see image of DPS), he figures prominently. Laurent was a great workshop leader, with a good deal of useful information and a humorous attitude, just right for coaxing us into participation on a hot Saturday morning. I’d give the rest of the day a “mezze mezze” or a half-mast thumbs-up. However, it was great to meet other illustrators, in particular re-connecting with illustrator friend Faye Ryu whom I met at a Children Book Illustrators Group meeting some months ago here in the city. I love her whimsical, often edgy little line drawings. And I made the acquaintance of a new illustrator friend, Sheree Boyd, who does bright and bold, quirky yet elegant illustrations. We had a great conversation about European children’s books and how we’re both fans. She is the second person from Texas I’ve met in three days. At this rate, I will soon know a lot of Texans. Bring it on. These two ladies (Faye and Sheree) introduced some new-to-me illustrators. In no particular order:

Tove Jansson (Finnish illustrator, among other things) who wrote and illustrated the comic series all about the life of Moomin. She published many books (such as The Book about Moomin, Mymble, and Little My) which I’m only learning about now. Tim Warnes’ Chalk and Cheese – sweet. I’m waiting for my copy. Along with Dallas Clayton’s Awesome Book. It’s a quirky, sensitive and rich little book. Best of all, he’s selling it on his own, and for every book sold, he gives one away. He’s the true literacy hero, traveling the country, inspiring kids to read AND to dream. Rock on, Clayton, I ordered a book.
And then there’s Marc Simont…how did I not know about this illustration giant before? I read and looked at a tattered copy if his The Philharmonic Gets Dressed, and was beside myself. I love his characterization and whimsy. Man oh man. And finally, I just found out about Blu, the animator/muralist stor

I don’t know what it is about feathery animal masks, but they just do it for me. I’m intrinsically drawn to exaggeration, expression, flourishes and embellished features…maybe it’s the cartoonist in me, I don’t know. Or maybe it’s my childhood attraction to dolls and creatures you dress up and send shimmying across the floor of your make-believe mind. At any rate, when I walked into the converted garage gallery space of The Drawing Center on 35 Wooster Street here in NYC, I knew I’d be pleased by what I saw. Up right now is an exhibition of small framed paintings (watercolor, gouache and wash) by Dorothea Tanning, the costume designer from the late 1940s and early 1950s. As the program states, “This discrete body of work explores the dynamic intersections of dance, performance, visual art, and costume, while drawing important parallels to Tanning’s early discoveries in both painting and sculpture.” Tanning made feathery, flowing, eery and lovely costumes for Balanchine’s ballets, among others. I had never heard of her before but after reading a review one day on the subway, I finally stopped off in lower Manhattan. I’ve wanted to go to The Drawing Center for ages, so finally I was able to see their, not one, but two viewing spaces. In the main building was an exhibition of drawings by Leon Golub whose work I’d never physically seen before. The curators included a glass-lidded cabinet of his reference material: manila folders with his sharp, black writing identifying the type of images. He worked from magazine clippings most often, from fashion to daily journals to pop culture magazine to porn. He clipped out animals, copulating couples, and all sorts of moments captured on camera. His drawings are wild, rough, with marks like slashes. I don’t know that much about him as an artist, and still don’t know that much about him because I had an A.D.D. moment while reading the introductory statement on the wall; I just wanted to see the work itself, so I forgot to pay attention to what I was reading. Good thing there’s Google. I find his work riveting. I love how he blurs background and foreground, making the piece one big experiment that straddles something between painting and drawing. Apparently during one of his painting periods, he used a meat cleaver to scrape away paint. Wow, impressive and scary. And I also know he was married to the artist Nancy Spero, whose work I also really like.
So that was just 45 minutes out of a day. This is what I love about NYC. You can spend less than hour looking at fine, fine art work made by masters of the craft. And then you go have a cup of coffee, and carry on with your day.
In other news, I’m working on various illustratory things…this is one of the illustrations I did for my friend Lauri who’s about to launch a new online magazine whose name will be revealed shortly (stay tuned). So this was my wacky little ditty to one of the written pieces. And what does it mean? You’ll have to read to find out. And I’m participating (as a student) in a day-long picture book workshop (care of SCBWI) in just a week and I have yet to do my homework. Yikes, I need a condescending teacher to bear down and tell me to get my act together…

People, here it is: the day we Americans are supposed to feel independent, free, revolutionary, and red/blue/& white all over. Yes, Fourth of July. Where are you? I’m in Vermont, deeply appreciating the lack of fireworks. I don’t know…does that mean I’m unpatriotic? Call me a heretic…or just tired of fireworks. For the past week and a half, there have been fireworks in my NYC Dominican neighborhood, so let’s just say: I’m tired of bang bang POOF!!! in the sky. Don’t only call me a heretic, call me boring. But you know what? I don’t really care. I’d much rather look at my mother’s delphiniums in the dying light of a Vermont summer afternoon. One thing about living in the Concrete Jungle is that it makes you appreciate the countryside…at least, I do. After all, these are my roots, I tell ya, so I can’t help but feel like a little chink gets put back into place – like some big puzzle completed – when I come back here. What can I say but I LOVERMONT.
Anyway, the illustration: couple of things going on…the picture book I helped to instigate and then illustrated during (and after) my residency at Instituto Sacatar in Brazil in 2008 is now published, launched, and out on shelves…in Brazil! Yes, Editora SM has officially sent our (Rogério Andrade Barbosa and I) CONTOS DE ITAPARICA on it merry little way in the world of published picture books. The launch took place two weeks ago, in São Paulo. I was far way, up in the heat of NYC, but of course, I was there in spirit. Someday, I’ll get back to Brazil, hopefully sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I’m in touch via our book. I would post details of how to order this fun folktale book but I don’t know them yet. But soon I will, and once I do, I’ll post so that you can place your orders (gobs of them, I assume…) What a good time to learn Portuguese, don’t you think?
In other news, UTSHEPO MDE/TALL ENOUGH is just about to be published in Portuguese (Editora Peirópolis) and in Swedish (Trasten, an imprint of a small publishing house, Tranan.) This little book truly has a life of its own, equipped with passport and visas that will take it worldwide, it seems. I find it all wonderful, enlightening, and totally surprising. For any of you out there who are artists or illustrators or work in the solitude of your own little spaces, maybe you can relate to this feeling: when you make something purely for the act of making, and for pursuing a feeling or question or challenge and you have no other motivations attached, the work that you produce is something from your deepest little self, but also, removed and, really, is meant for the world. But you don’t really think about where it’s headed, because the important bit was that you made it. But then suddenly, it takes on a life of its own. This is how I feel about this little book. I feel like it’s some dear, distant cousin of mine who keeps writing me letters, telling me what she’s up to, where she’s headed, and what her future plans are. And I’m just kinda’ like: “Yeah, babe, go for it!” So, rock on, little uTshepo, you have my blessings.
Art: I saw the Picasso exhibition and the ‘American Woman’ show at the Met and I highly recommend them both to anyone living in the greater NYC area. I thought I was sick of Picasso. Nope. This show has works I’ve never seen before (what?!) and much to my annoyance, I had to admit that the

My friends Adam and Jennie are soon going to have twins. That means two of everything! Including art! I made two pictures for their walls, figuring that while they change the diapers from two sets of bums. Mama and Papa can amuse themselves when they glance at these pictures. And when the babes are old enough so that they’re no longer babes, they can read the pictures themselves. And hopefully, be amused; that or weirded out by the strange sense of humor exhibited.

Which reminds me, true to form, I’m about 5-8 years late in catching on to the brilliance of They Might Be Giants‘ songs for kids (everything from vowels to science). these two guys (both named John) are completely and brilliantly wacko. If I was a musician with the need to be completely authentic, entertaining and poignant, I would want to be like these giuys. If I could make visual work for kids that approximates the humor, cleverness and all around joie de vivre, I would be a happy little artist. It might be time for me to write a fan letter.

In other news, my work with kids is headed into the last stretch, wildly galloping towards the finish line of getting all sessions and programs done by the end of the public school year. and then it will be summer in NYC - hot, sticky, and asphalty. And I will be devoting 100% (okay maybe 90%) energy to finishing the picture book for Jacana. I plan on attaching a fan to my shoulder. That or somehow devise a way to work while sitting in the fridge.

And news from my ‘hood is this: other than the arrival of the ice cream trucks and the outdoor checker games, something new is coming to Washington Heights. El Sistema, the dynamic music education/social change program started in Venezuela, will start a Northen Manhattan branch with the target being my neighborhood. As Mayor Bloomberg proposes to exterminate significant amounts of funding for school (and citywide cultural institution) arts programs, El Sistema is a welcome rush of clean air. I went to a celebratory concert this week at the small, tone Lutheran church down the street. Inside. 25 of some of NYC’s top classical musicians played several pieces with vigor and passion - and without remuneration. They played for the love of music - a central tenet to El Sistema’s work of providing music education to the children of poor communities. So I’m a bit giddy these week, reveling in the fact that art and music WILL persist, with or without funding. It’s that necessary. So take that, Oh Budget Slashers…

On yet another blustery early evening this week in Manhattan, I attended the launch of an important book called Twelve by Twelve (written by William Powers, published by New World Library). I’m not trying to stroke my own ego by announcing the official arrival of the book simply because I illustrated the cover and did several ink wash drawings for the interior pages (though I’m obviously and shamelessly promoting myself because -hell- it’s my website and that’s what I’m supposed to do.) I want to shout on the mountaintops about this book because it’s daring and utterly meaningful. I read the manuscript late last fall one morning sitting in my studio in Cape Town (one of the last few mornings I would do so before my big move back across the ocean to the USA). And I sat for four hours straight, racing through the words. Bill writes with such honesty, poignancy, and clarity about what it’s like to live in a 12 x 12’ off-the-grid house for six months during a time of reentry for him as he adjusted to life back in America after over a decade of living and working in developing countries. The book is about his grappling with the huge and often daunting questions of sustainability, ’soft living’ in a time of ecological upheaval and crises, and about adhering to the demands of your own soul. It’s good stuff. And the questions he raises are haunting and absolutely necessary. During the talk this week, he said, with a grin, that the intention of the book was not to make people feel guilty but to encourage them to find their own ’12 x12’ plot in their life in which they can live as harmoniously and sustainably as possible. Well said, Bill. It is a challenging task, especially for us Americans who are taught the consumeristic, corporate mantra from Day 1. So I’m happy to be a part of this book. And I encourage anyone reading this to go out and find a copy, not only to look at the pretty pictures ☺ but to open yourself to the questions he raises. Find out more about the book on his site. Happy weekend, y’all…

Spring has arrived in NYC. I would post photos of flowering dogwoods here in this blog, but I never have a camera with me at the right blossoming moment. And my decrepit phone (no, no iPhone yet though WOW, I now finally see the appeal…) takes such murky photos that you’d think you were at the bottom of a pond. So use your imagination: think pink and white against the grey of buildings and asphalt.
I have now passed my Month 4 date of NYC living…and I’m still standing. I have many words for this city of 8.5 million: heavy; vivid; never-dull-my-oh-my; pee in the subway; spit in the subway; genius in the subway; Kentridge at MOMA; Henry Darger at the American Folk Art Museum; blossoming parks = giddy people; ego + adrenaline; job search; marketing; email bling bling self-promo…But, rather than prattle on esoterically, here are some highlights (weblinks are so much better than adjectives). First, Henry Darger and his coloring books: the man was crazy, yes, and a genius. I was so impressed with the American Folk Art Museum which houses the latest exhibition reveling in Darger’s artistic prowess. This time around, the show consisted of his collages and bits and pieces of magazines and books that were substantive elements of his work. On the wall were several information placards, one of which detailed how ‘outsider art’ begs a redefinition of the boundaries of art. Of course I believe in the expansion of previously sanctified delineations: you cannot deny this man’s vision or draughtmanship or intuitive understanding of composition…who cares if he was self-taught? Should this exclude him from Fine Art? I think, noooooooooo. Go see the show if you live in NYC. If you don’t, maybe it’s time you come pay a visit. You can stay in my ‘guest quarters’ otherwise known as the bathtub.
Another highlight: The Magic Flute – Mozart’s magical opera. I’ve never read, seen, or heard it but had the opportunity to see it front and center at the Metropolitan Opera. I love Julie Taymor – I can’t help it. I love puppets and fabric and masks, and she employs these in abundance. I should have been paying closer attention to the English translation flashing on the back of the seat in front of me, but I was too busy staring at the flames on stage and realizing, ‘what the…That’s fabric?!?!’ Over-the-top and luscious. Mozart was not an idiot. You can quote me on that.
Another highlight #2: Edward Koren’s exhibition of shaggy line drawings at Columbia University Gallery. If you have read the New Yorker for awhile (like, long while), then you know his drawings. I was so happy to see, firstly, a show that was ONLY about drawing and lines in ink (and a bit of color wash), and secondly, so much humor. Which is what I love about Koren’s work and the New Yorker as a whole. He was there, signing people’s catalogues. I was too shy to do much more than scuttle around and look at the work. But believe me, Edward, I admire your work. I passed by a 6 year old (-ish) chatting wi

Friends, Romans, and Countrymen…greetings on a Sunday, the day before April 19th when apparently, all hell might break loose in the World of Terrorism. I listened to a radio report this morning, rehashing all the terrorist activities that have transpired on the fateful date. So here’s hoping that people who are so inclined towards terrorism will have a change of heart, a flash of realization, a moment of insight or even just a big sneeze that will rock them out of their fanatic thoughts long enough to realize what a bad idea it is.
Anyway, up here in northern Manhattan, the sky cannot decide if it should shine or if it should shroud itself in puffy clouds. And I cannot decide if I should do my own work or put other people’s work on my walls. I have a little stack of drawings and fond photos by and of other people who are dear to me; this stack is slowly gathering dust. So today, in celebration of Domesticity Day (I have copyright on this day, thank you very much), I stuck some of those things in frames, hammered rather vaguely (what does it mean if the nail you’re hammering suddenly feels like rubber and won’t go any further-?), and then adorned some walls in this apartment. This is called “Settling In” and I’ve realized it’s a very important thing. There’s nothing as unsettling as a pile of boxes and either living out of or around those boxes. You start to feel like a guest in your own room; you start to feel like you’ve invited yourself to crash on your own couch. So I’m moving away from that feeling and into Nesting Mode. Chirp chirp.
Part of Domesticity Month (yes, I have copyright on this, too) includes Exploring My ‘Hood. And a ‘hood it is. I feel foreign enough here to keep it interesting. I’ve grown accustomed to seemingly spontaneous parades, the brave ice cream truck (doesn’t seem to matter if it’s cold or windy, the truck persists, convinced that it’s summer). I live on the edges of things: the border between Inwood and Washington Heights (spliced in there with Puerto Ricans, Dominicans and Hassidim); the urban/nature line of Broadway Avenue and Inwood Park and then further up the street, Fort Tryon Park. There’s a lot to draw and photograph – both of which I’ve done very little. I don’t have a theory for this lack of drawing activity other than ‘weariness’. All my energy is going into my calves, I think, to keep me walking. I think I actually have shin splints. I’m unaccustomed to so much pounding of pavement.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not drawing in my head. And starting to reactivate the creative juices. I’ve been in somewhat of a survival mode these past two months; and slowly, I’m moving into ‘living mode’ which means that doors in my brain are starting to creak open again. I’ve been reading about visual literacy and literacy, inspired by my current tutoring work with children who speak English as a second language. They’re learning how to read in English without first knowing how to read in Spanish – not an easy task. Teaching them about vowels and sounds leads me to contemplate of the fact that at some point, a letter n

Right, so it has been about 8,000,000 years since I last brought this blog up to date. Ready for some abstract, random thought associations? I like to think I’m the ‘Eddie Izzard of Illustrators’ – oh wow, did I actually just write that -?! I’d like to think he’d be flattered – if he even knew who I was.

Anyway, life in NYC…yes, I’m still here. I’ve just moved and finally, after over four months (well, actually, after over a year), I can start to unpack. I’m now a Manhattanite – who’d a thunk…? I’m in the northern reaches of Manhattan - Inwood, about two blocks from The Cloisters. I can see treetops from my 6th floor apartment. If I squint long enough, I can see farmers tapping the trees for sap. Just kidding. I may think I’m in Vermont for two seconds when I look out to the treetops and blue sky, and smell clean air. But then I hear the beat of somebody’s bass thudding from their car, 6 flights below; hear the ubiquitous car horn (why do some people feel the need to lay on their horn? WHY?); hear the hiss of the steam pipes that can only mean NYC, and I remember where I am. All is good, as good as it can be, I suppose for a recent immigrant such as myself. My neighborhood is distinctly Dominican Republic, though all sorts of folks live tucked away up here. Other writers and artists, apparently, also seeking some flavor, affordability, and a bit of isolation since Inwood is certainly not hip (in the Brooklyn sense) and not hectic (in the lower Manhattan sense). I love that there are no less than three parks in my quick walking distance. And there’s the Inwood branch of NY public library about ten minutes away - so entirely thrilling to me. I don’t care what Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Borders will try to tell me: I will always remain a library junkie. I don’t need to own the books; I just want to read them. Plus, how cool is it to have a card (library) that allows you access to so much information all contained in one building (and well, the world wide web…)
Work-wise, I’m carrying on in several streams: working on a book project from back in Cape Town, for Jacana Media, which is quite exciting since they are my favorite large SA publisher. Now that I’ve moved and have set up a workspace again, I can put down the boxes and pick up the brushes, and get back to work. In the other part of my life, I’m tutoring children for whom English is a second language so I’m getting first-hand experience of how pictures can help a reader figure out how words work. It’s entirely fascinating. My Spanish is coming in very handy, and I dare say I’m improving. My goal: utter and absolute fluency. Yes, maybe by the time I’m 80. I need to up my ante, though, and learn to speak Dominican Spanish, which is about 1,000 times faster than the lullaby Spanish I speak. The lovely thing about subway travel in NYC is that is offers ample time to read, text on my new, very non-swanky-but-I-love-it-anyway device called the Peek that allows me to access and send emails – YES!!! And subway travel gives me time to study Spanish. Yes…I’m the dork with the workbook; the ear buds and iPod Spanish sound files, and the dictionary. I’ve found myself glowering at people who jostle me (unavoidable, I’ve just got to realize this…), nearly spitting out, “Hey, watch it! You’re sitting on my Advanced

My fellow design-y, artsy colleagues Pete and Parusha Lewis over in London have featured me in their wonderful ‘interview chain’ zine/website which you can check out here. It’s such a great idea, and Pete and Parusha are doing a great job both visually and content-wise. How it goes is that they interview and profile (with all sorts of pics) an artist, illustrator, designer or whatever kind of creative type they know; and then that person recommends someone and so on and so on. A funky global chain. I look forward to reading each ‘issue’ that they post, so I was pretty chuffed (my favorite S. African phrase) when Parusha asked me. Woo hoo! She also let me do the hand-lettering for their banner, too, which was very fun because I actually got to write the word ‘jeepers’ in large letters. It’s my new favorite word!

In other news, it looks like my stop-frame ‘Through the Peephole or My Third Eye’ is going to be part of the Cape Town Design Indaba Expo film exhibition coming up in February (26th-28th). Unfortunately I will not be there for the screening or for the Indaba itself but I’m sure it’s bound to be yet another glorious event.

It is currently snowing in NYC and I’m drawing wily hyenas strutting about in suits. Not a bad way to pass the time. The drawings are ideas for a book-in-progress with Jacana Media back in Cape Town. Bring on the animals in clothing! Definitely one of my favorite things to draw.

Finally I’ve posted to the web the stop-frame animation I made a few months ago. It’s a 4.5 minute (give or take) little surreal romp through my imagination as affected by an experience in Brazil. I included in my show (<i>Através do olho Mágico</i>/Through the Peephole) at AVA Gallery in Cape Town this past October, selling limited edition copies on DVDs. For your viewing pleasure, check it out here:

Through the Peephole

Matthew Gair did a fantastic job with the sound and with techy stuff. All the rest I did with bits of paper, a camera, and that beast called Photoshop. Copyright 2009 Hannah Morris.

I am one of the about 8 million people who saw Avatar, the movie about the blue, tall cat people on Pandora. And I can say that, yes, it rocked my world. I don’t care what people are saying about the ‘thin’ plot or the fact that the story line took second seat to the special effects (well, duh…it WAS a 3-D extravaganza, and it WAS big-budget…) I bought it all: hook, line, sinker, and 3-D glasses. Maybe it’s because of the era we’re living in – the world heating up, forests falling (still, despite the fact that people are slowly waking up), and centuries of colonization behind us (and continuing) – but that movie haunts me. Or maybe it’s because I’m an illustrator, and the first one willing to fall prey to a good story in its entirety. Whichever the case, I found myself behind those big 3-D glasses at the IMAX theater near Lincoln Center, clutching the arm of the friend who accompanied me. I was absolutely enthralled with the color blue, among other things. And with the trees. I had no idea this movie was such a tree hugger film, in the best of ways. It was like Greenpeace and Wounded Knee for the masses. Sure, it’s over the top and exaggerated; it’s simplified, glorified, and predictable. But there I was, close to three hours later, wanting the film to go on and on. And my bum wasn’t even sore. The guy in front of us had long since chowed down his nachos, and sat there, spellbound. After the movie ended, we sat watching the credits roll – these were also 3-D. I surmised that about 8,000,000 people had helped make the movie. We watched all of their names slip vertically off the screen, and again, I was amazed at the process of artistic creation. Imagine having a fleet of 8,000,000 people at your artistic disposal? James Cameron must be a proud man.
So, trees are on my mind. But not only because I saw Avatar, but also because I visited a rainforest in the middle of New York City. Yes, I had the pleasure of accompanying young Joseph (6-year-old going on 7), the son of good friends of mine, to the Central Park Zoo. I’m not a fan of zoos. I don’t picket or protest them, but in general, I don’t like the idea of animals behind bars. Seeing the snow leopard, for example, perched at the top of his rocks, staring out towards the skyscrapers, made me feel slightly woozy. His real home is in the Himalayas – a far cry from 64th Street and 5th Avenue. But then again, little Joseph, standing to my left, was enthralled. And this was perhaps the only time he’ll ever see a snow leopard – in the wild or in captivity. I don’t know what’s right or wrong, in this case. His wide eyes, taking in the beauty of this creature, made me just stand and watch.
But I will say, if you’re feeling confused, culture-shocked, and groundless (which I am, admittedly, at the moment), I would suggest going to this zoo (if you’re in the vicinity), go with a 6 year-old, and go to the rainforest exhibit. It renewed my faith in everything…I’m not really sure why. But being around such lush vegetation (waiting for the Avatar people to peek out from behind the trees), and all those crazy, beautiful birds and little, trotting, bizarre-legged rainforests deer – I felt something akin to taking a shower in a warm waterfall. I felt like I was waking up again to how beautiful this world can be. It’s so odd to

So I could pretend that it’s all things glamorous in New York City…and it is. But not necessarily on my street or my little plot. Which is really no plot at all – yet. I’m renting part of a house from a friend (very gratefully) in Middle Village, Queens. Saying you live in Middle Village to most Manhattanites and Brooklynites (and surely even to those who live in Astoria) is like saying you live in Texas. “Wow, that’s far…what line are you on?” Meaning which train. To which I respond, “Well, end of the M line, and a twelve-minute walk to the R…” and so on. “Twelve-minute walk to the train” is like saying you’re hauling potatoes over the Andes. But I’ve figured out that a twelve-minute walk in Manhattan is different than a twelve-minute walk in Middle Village. Same distance, different passage of time. In suburbia, you walk by fewer people, more houses that look the same, and at the moment, a lot of inflated and billowing Santa Claus and reindeer decorations. In the city, you pass by camel-hair coated bankers, black-jacketed coffee-drinkers, and a guy on his roller-skates, gliding back and forth over the same patch of smooth concrete, so blissed out beneath his headphones that you would’ve thought he was a bodhisattva. This is the allure of a city such as New York – the contrast, the craziness, the anything-goes. I love it. But it’s not mine – maybe it’s nobody’s-? It’s a human experiment…maybe every huge city is, I don’t know. People would disagree – those that have lived here their whole lives and carved out their niche, they would tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about; maybe even get rude about it. And probably they’re right. I just speak what filters through from these eyes that do feel foreign. To be here is a privilege; but I feel like I’m just another drop in this grand chemical experiment…
Part of the privilege is the art. The museums! The galleries! The culture, oh my! I went to Chelsea with my dear friend Scott whom I met in Brazil last year. We hopped, one gallery to the next, because Scott knows NYC like he knows how to whip up a tasty, rich dish with notes of New Orleans (he’s a chef, yes). And he knows the art beat. Off-handedly he says things like, “Oh I want to show you Gagosian Gallery, I think you’ll love how they use light.” So in we go, and voilá! There are two Richard Serra sculptures. Nautical, over-arching, heavy-but-light steel concentric shapes designed for entry and then later, for exit. We sang as we walked through, testing the echo. They’re misleading, these sculptures. You think you’ve arrived at the center but there’s yet another sharp corner to round, and another swath to walk. And then there you are - right at the heart – directly in the middle of whole shebang. I’m feeling that same way about creativity at the moment. It’s actually a simple and direct path, but it’s fraught with doubt. At least for me it is. There are probably 8,500 (maybe more) other artist/illustrators out there who would say differently, and who would say it’s like smelling roses or daisies or whatever other floral, lovely thing. I would really like to know because I do believe that I missed that seminar - that “Smelling the Roses” breakout session where you walk away with notes, a brand new pencil, and a big smile. I think I’m meant to deal with Fear, Anxiety, and Their Accompanying Banshees in this life…I just know it. It’s like finally recognizing that you will always have curly hair, and that no amount of straightening will make that frizz lay flat; at the end of the day, it’s still curly hair. So deal with it, right? Welcome in those banshees. Are you kidding me