Lines+ Edition7 2008+ +FINAL A4

FRAME LINES ‘Well I may not be you, and you not me’
edition Nelson Balaban | Anja Bjorli Dahle | Kareena Zerefos | Nikki Pinder | Cat MacInnes |Clara Mata | Gregory Myers | Hugo Tornelo | Jen Corace | The Ideas Festival
#7 |Rob Ryan | Ian Bowers | Nick Kind | Korshi Dosoo | Jennifer Washburn | Stacey Roy | Lisa Camillo | Sarah Fell | Thomas Engleby | Stu Hatton | Luke Maclean |
Daniel Wilcox | Sergio Ortiz | Michael Lee Johnson | Jacqueline Cioffa | Alma Sinan | Sherry O’keefe | Laurie Churchill | Abby Levine | Hannah Tinti |
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Frame Lines #7
Illustrators and the Imagination

Note from the editors...
Sarah Nolan and Jeremy Thomas
I’ve always admired illustrators.
There is a special quality about a person who is able to translate a vision, a burst of thought into something tangible, something beautiful. A connection
between their mind and hand, creating a superimposition of the imaginary onto the tactile, a breath of imagination into a swirl of life.
The human imagination runs wild with scenes both sweet and unsavoury. Dreams of love, escape, laughter and shadow; angst and introspection,
enlightenment and shame. There’s a duality present in the subconsious mind, a struggle in all of us at times, between what’s fact and fiction, dark and
light or wrong and right. The hero or the thief. Illustrators can access this nether-realm to bring forth scenes of imaginary brilliance into the world of the
conscious, the world of the senses. Sometimes disturbing, sometimes wonderful, always expressive, the artist’s mind is a treasure trove, a pandora’s
box, a portal of creativity.
Many artists featured on the following pages have always had a creative streak. All of them have persisted in their art form, and now many are living
their dream – working as an illustrator. The artists featured have come from all over the world, diverse areas and diverse backgrounds. Likewise, their
art and their areas of employment are similarly varied. We’ve attempted to gather a cross-section of illustration, but by no means is this the limit to
what is possible. In the world of illustration, anything goes, and it is an area where artists are able to really show their flair and push the boundaries
of creativity.
Through our interviews and bios found beyond, we have tried to give you a little insight into what drives these artists to create as they do. We explore
their processes, their inspiration and how they trod, or indeed are still treading the path to success and fulfilment; and even a little insight of the industry
out there that supports hopeful professionals.
As usual, our poets and writers have been working hard, plumbing the depths of their imaginations for the descriptive pieces you’ll find throughout.
We’ll also go inside the minds of artist Abby Levine and author Hannah Tinti, both from the United States, and profile the Ideas Festival, where
innovation and invention are celebrated in all their forms. All in all, we have a bumper issue of imagination and expression, packaged with the style
and enthusiasm you have come to expect from Frame Lines.
We are immensely proud, as always, to showcase these talented individuals in this magazine, and we hope you enjoy the delights found on the pages
beyond. 100% Pure Imagination: Straight from the artist’s mind.
Jeremy Thomas and Sarah Nolan
* Contributors bios and links to web sites can be found at the Frame Lines web site - www.framelines.org
The articles appearing within this publication represent the opinions and attitudes of their respective authors and not necessarily those of the publishers or editorial team. The reproduction of any
editorial or images without prior permission is strictly prohibited.
All Photography, music and all works appearing in this magazine are protected by ©copyright Reproduction without expressed permission from the artist is strictly prohibited. All images are copyright
of the artist.
2 //www.framelines.org
Contents
FRAME LINES ‘Well I may not be you, and you not me’
Artists and Writers
Nelson Balaban Illustrator // Brazil
Anja Bjorli Dahle Illustrator // Norway

Kareena Zerefos Illustrator // Australia
Nikki Pinder Illustrator // England
Cat MacInnes Illustrator // Australia
Clara Mata Illustrator // Spain

Gregory Myers Illustrator // Australia
edition Ned Evans | Nick Kind | Andrew Kidman | Yusuke Hanai | Richard Murphy | Jim Oatley | Lisa Bow | Ashliee MahRiee |
#7
Hugo Tornelo Illustrator // Portugal
Jess Sides| Jared Ward | Roy McConnell Tom | Petahegoose | Damien Luciano Venuto | Graham Nunn | Chris Pash|
Joseph B. Cleary | Natasha Narayan | Jessica Paige
Jen Corace Illustrator // USA

Imagination Korshi Dosoo Illustrator // Australia
Imagination - the ability to spontaneously generate images Rob Ryan Prints’n’Cuts // England
within one’s own mind. Some say it helps to provide meaning
to experience and understanding to knowledge; and can Ian Bowers Surf Artist // Australia
be the fundamental facility through which people make
sense of the world. A tool for training the imagination is the Maher Diab Illustrator // Lebanon
listening to storytelling around us and in chosen words is the
fundamental factor to ‘evoke our worlds with illustration and Jennifer Washburn // Writer
art, passion, music, photography, and the like’
Stacey Roy // Poet
Lisa Camillo // Poet
Cover Sarah Fell // Writer
Thomas Engleby // Writer
Clara Mata - Culture for fun
Stu Hatton // Poet
Contributors Luke Maclean // Poet
Daniel Wilcox // Poet
Sarah Nolan - Director Sergio Ortiz // Poet
Jeremy Thomas - Editor Michael Lee Johnson // Poet

Lisa Bow - Senior Creative Contributor Jacqueline Cioffa // Writer
Lorraine Berry - Hanna Tinti review Alma Sinan // Writer
Nick Kind - What We See
Sherry O’keefe // Writer
Laurie Churchill - Abby Levine Interview
Abby Levine // Artist
Renee Wiggan - Writer
Hana Tinti // Author
Simon Ofer Chen - Proof Reading
Ideas Festival // Exhibition
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Cat
MacInnes Illustrator // Australia
Cat completed an Honours degree in Graphic Design at Swinburne University, and spent one semester studying
Fine Art and Illustration at Hong-ik University in Seoul, South Korea. After working for the odd design studio she
decided to establish her own illustration & design business. Her work has appeared in Illustration publications
such as 3x3 Magazine, Luerzer’s Archive: 200 Best Illustrators Worldwide and Typotastic.
RRR poster
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CD artwork for the album Simple City
by Bogenschutzer(Matt Archer)
Björk
Tell us Cat, were you simply born an illustrator, or was it Can you describe the processes you go through when working
something that you were interested in and developed with on an illustration from start to finish?
practice?
With most jobs I receive an email or a call from a client who briefly
Ever since I was little I've loved drawing, painting and making things. describes the job and asks if I’m available. I will then send through a
When I was 2, I stuck two B-shaped nail brushes together, handed them quote for approval. Once the quote is approved I begin work on the job.
to Dad and said, “butterfly!”. In fact, I’m going through another butterfly I usually do some research for reference material (unless supplied by the
phase now, 24 years later! Dad kept the butterfly and it’s nice to look back client), sketch some roughs and send them through to see if I’m on the
and see that I was always thinking visually and into creating things. right track! Then the illustration refined and sent via email or disk to the
client.
At school, in geography class I would get really excited when we got to
draw a map or illustrate some layers of rock sediment! And I was always Which programs do you find most helpful when illustrating/
much better at drawing pretty borders and headings than I was at learning animating?
about what was going on in the lessons.
I use Adobe Illustrator for my vector illustrations. And I use a wacom tablet
rather than a mouse as it’s more comfortable and easy for me. It’s just
However, it wasn’t until much later that I realised that my real passion was
like using a pen, but on the computer rather than paper! And for some
illustration and that I may even be able to make a living out of it. This
of my hand painted work I use Adobe Photoshop to make touch-ups or
realisation happened during my 6 month stay in Seoul, South Korea. I
to change a colour.
studied Fine Art and Design at Hong-ik University where illustration was
a big thing. I was so inspired by the culture, the people and the passion
I have never been very naturally good with technology but now I have
that everyone had for art.
to be. And now I even enjoy it! Working on the computer all day long
requires me to understand many different processes and ways of thinking.
I now work for myself in a studio with other freelance designers and
I still have panics every now and then when my printer does something
illustrators. I work for many clients including ACMI, Mattel, Mitre 10 and
strange! But once I calm down, it’s easily fixed.
Oxford University Press. I enjoy the challenge of meeting the brief in a new
and creative way and when I am not illustrating for clients I am illustrating
From where do you find your inspiration; whose work do you
for myself. This is something I find myself doing, whether I want to or not!
admire within illustration and animation or from outside
It is something I need to do, and I always have. Oh, it sounds so corny,
your own medium of work?
but it’s true!
Some of my favourites include: Ren & Stimpy creator John Kricfalusi,
Graham Annable animations, Uncle Remus Golden Books, Richard
Scarry, Roland Harvey and Jim Woodring.
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Christmas
I’m also inspired by artists and musicians, two artists in particular and matter how you get there or what paths you travel beforehand. Everything
for similar reasons. Since I was a little girl I have loved Frida Kahlo’s can be inspiring.
work. And John Lennon’s music. This is because their works are from My main bit of advice is not to listen to teachers if they tell you, “You won’t
the heart and they were both extremely brave and honest in the work be able to find work”, It’s really tough out there” or “maybe think about
they produced. This inspires me when it comes to creating personal dentistry instead”! The trick is to believe in yourself and to only take the
illustrations or artwork for myself alone. Without wanting to sound too advice which is helpful.
corny, I am inspired by colour combinations and patterns I see in nature.
I’m inspired by ancient Japanese art, and occasionally I’m inspired by I would also suggest to aspiring illustrators to enter work into competitions
dreams I have! The subconscious is often very helpful. and submit work to illustration annuals. In 2007 I thought I might as
well send in some work to European annual Luerzer’s Archive: 200 Best
What is your favourite style of illustration? Illustrators Worldwide. To my delight my work was chosen and this has
led to interest from other organisations, such as New York annual 3x3. It
I love the sweet and humorous style of E. H. Shepard, Mark Ryden’s bold
is certainly worth submitting work overseas as it can, of course, lead to
and surreal paintings, and clean 3D vector illustrations appeal to me too.
much more exposure and more opportunities.
I have many favourites!
If you could go on assignment to one show anywhere in the
How do you keep your work fresh? Do you need to consciously
world you wanted; where and what would it be, and why?
adapt your style or does it progress naturally?
It might be the upcoming Pictoplasma show in France. I’m very interested
I feel that I am always evolving, whether I want to or not! Sometimes I
in character design and all the different ways of creating them. Pictoplasma
want to go back and recreate something I did 5 years ago and it doesn’t
always does amazing things!
work. I am always learning something new with each job I do. And so I
am constantly gaining more skills and learning new ways of doing things.
This excites me and is one of the things I love most about my job. Where would you like your work to lead you? Have you any
aspirations or plans for the future?
Is there any advice you can give about your experiences that
I do portraits of famous musicians and actors in my spare time. And
would be interesting or helpful to others aspiring to succeed
my portrait of Björk has been selected to feature on the cover of the
in this field?
latest edition of New York annual 3 x 3: the Magazine of Contemporary
I am glad that I studied Graphic Design because I learnt so much about Illustration. What I would love is for Björk to see it, and love it! I’d really
design principles and layout and how to work with clients and solve visual like to do more of these portraits and for it to become a bigger part of
problems. I think that if illustration is what you want to do then it doesn’t my work.
Stu Hatton
Poet
Pollen
night air aroused

drawling with spring
pollen delivering words

like raw silk
through the secret
caverns of my nose
in the middle of the street,

also high on pollen,
dead kids play lazy karate
halogen lamp oversees

glossy ‘for sale’ sign,
spraying its light,
mistakenly conjuring
tilts of red from garden roses
on a nature strip,
legless ergonomic chair implies
a silent office of Zen
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Nelson
Balaban Illustrator // Brazil
I am a young art director and designer born and raised in Southern Brazil. I work from the home studio for
a big list of clients, including acclaimed brands and magazines, respected professionals of fashion and the
biggest advertising agencies of the world. The good side of the story is that I still find time to produce personal
experimental artwork and enjoy the smell of wet grass of shiny Curitiba.
I began messing out with Photoshop and scanned drawings and sketches when I was 13, then I met 3D and
typography at the age of 15. I first worked for a major client at the age of 17, that was the famous Brazilian band
Cansei de Ser Sexy. I believe that I have always been appreciating beauty and developing my sense of aesthetics
ever since my childhood, back when I used to answer “Drawer” to questions like “What are you going to do for a
living, when you get grown up?”.
Uno Dio
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Jefferson Kulig “Tecnorganica”
Untitled
Omegacode “Resistance”
Ears On The Wind (Untitled Series)
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Gypsies and Pixie Dust
by Jacqueline Cioffa
I exist therefore I am, mistakes and imperfections one and all. I don’t want to be considered an artist. I want to be thought of as a student of art.
I want to ingest the human condition, live and breathe it. I want to eradicate all traces of ego and relate. I want to roam the globe and hear the
stories, while not missing out on the neighbourhood tales right next door.
I am a travellers and connoisseur of fortune and mishap. I am a believer in fate and love and a hopeless romantic at heart. I have fallen in love
many times over, sometimes while others hadn’t. I am a gypsy leaping joyously headfirst into the new and unknown, forever anxious for a fresh start.
So much of our lives are spent in the world of what if, instead of the place that is right now. I am present, I am now and I am looking up towards the
sky and watching as the pixie dust falls. For today I will repeat that statement over and over, every time my mind starts to wander to a different road.
I am present, I am now and I am looking up to the sky. Watch for it, you might miss it if you’re not looking towards the heavens as the pixie dust
falls.
I miss my friend. She was 90 years young and taught me many life lessons. I started visiting her out of duty and obligation and continued out of
delight. She once said to me, “I wish I had known you when I was younger, we would’ve been great friends.” And I replied, “You know me now.” I
only realized the weight and validity of that statement by her passing and what it truly meant. To spend time with another being and listen to their
choices, the many paths and winding roads.
I love all kinds of travels: roads carved out by dirt and gravel, uphill wood and branch-covered trails, 6-lane freeways that go nowhere in particular,
Route 66 and the generation beat and all that trip meant. I adore white finite sandy beaches with no end in sight, and enjoy the lazy comfort of a trip
taken in an old woman’s living room filled with black and white pictures and endless stories of a life well-spent.
There were many days when I didn’t want to get on the train and make the hour-long commute to her tiny modest east village apartment. She’d tell
me the same story over and over. And I’d listen intently as if hearing it for the first time and nod my head, a smile on my face. I believed her when
she spoke to me, for I could see the pixie dust and angels flying all around.
I’d study her face, the lines sketched deeply over time, and listen to her travels and I’d love her all over again. I knew the journey downtown was
worth it. And our voyages were forever melded and meshed and she was no longer a little old lady that was alone. She was a storyteller who was
deeply loved, admired and respected; an old woman who had 90 years, but was forever young in my heart. When I would leave her apartment she
would give me a hug and say, “Get home safe.” And I felt giddy and well-loved. I was a journeyman whose life had a purpose. She made me miss
my mother who is still here, but far enough away.
You don’t really have to go anywhere to be a traveller if you stay alert. Sometimes others make the journey for you. I remember curling up under a
crocheted blanket with my mother on our cozy couch in wintertime. I was five and we would magically cover our heads and end up in Ireland. The
land of County Cork and the Blarney stone and dumb Irish luck. The land where her father left the only home he knew at eight and crossed the seas
towards a new beginning. He would live stoically and walk tall throughout life. He would make a family that would prosper and procreate and live
on. His would be a life filled with honor and purpose and the quiet elegance of simplicity in a rural American town. It would be a small village, no
place in particular, but his journey would be filled with substance galore.
Stories have been the essence of my life. Since I was old enough to recall I’ve been asking my mom about her stories so I could get the tales
right. I would travel back in time with her to her youth and the trip made sense. That’s how I’d grow into the gypsy with a love for words and new
undiscovered lands in her heart.
I’d travel the globe. I’d walk the Champs Elysee in Paris savoring a chocolate crepe. I’d smell the age of the earth rise up from her streets
and admire the Seine by its yellow lights and the dark. I’d fall in love with Chagall and the Pompidou and grow to appreciate Brie and Sunday
afternoons and La Tour Eiffel from the park. I’d scour flea markets in search of the perfect vintage leather coat. I’d fall out of love with a man and
cry real tears and learn to hate the person lying next to me. I’d wish I was anywhere but Paris with this lover who had outstayed his welcome and
squashed my zest for adventure with every beat of his soured heart. The days would become long and the streets would appear dirty and food
would lose all flavor as I lost my appetite. Summer would feel like an old maid and I would silently pray for wintertime when he would pack his
bags and leave me for good.
A finality that would lead to a different kind of voyage, a much needed repose from an outdated life.
Spring in Paris would magically reappear much like the Easter bunny and I’d fall head over heals in love with a different kind of man. He’d make
music in the rain and Paris would come to life again. His would be a short visit, but long enough to renew my broken heart. The city would appear
pretty again - she was soft like talc and every bridge oozed newfound sex appeal. Sometimes love appears for a mere millisecond, yet your journey
is forever changed and your lives are intertwined. You remain not together, no. However bittersweet the visit, the gleam of admiration in his eye
and his presence in your world is felt. His trip makes your trip valid and you feel the sparkles, accept the magic and gladly move on.
Steadfastly, you recognize your good fortune. You tuck it away in your hope chest and you walk straight and tall. There are many beaches to visit,
many stars to count, many fish and sea turtles to swim with. There are rickety old wooden bridges to be crossed and mountains to trek. There are
fears to be faced head on. There are dreams to be realied, cards to be dealt and bags to be packed and unpacked.
I’ve loved all sorts of travel. Trips to exotic lands in first class, the ripped leather seat of a beat-up bus on my way back home, a road traveled so
frequently I know every sign, every rest stop along the way. I love the endless possibility of a new road, but as I grow older I learn that I am a deep
lover of the familiar journey and all the comfort she holds.
A look shared, a glimmer of hope, pixie dust and perpetual movement. I exist now. I am present doing nothing in particular. I am ok with that. I
am full. I am a traveler, a student of art, and a lover of the human condition. I want to be pliable; I want to bend like the next road I find myself
upon. I want to savor the journey; I need to remind myself to look up. Remember to keep looking up. It’s there, the pixie dust. I know it is; I’ve
seen it. It’s the infinite possibility that a battered old duffle bag holds hanging in my closet whispering my name.
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Anja Bjorli Illustrator // Norway
Dahle
I am a Norwegian illustrator and artist who loves looking at the small things in life, next to big issues such as
politics and society. I believe that it helps us get a better perspective at life, if we consider everything equal and
important. A little bird taking a sand bath deserves the same attention as the US election. A little note that
someone has lost on the street can give just as much meaning to you as today’s newspaper. This is what I want
to express in my work.
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“I have always been drawing, and there has never been any
doubt what field I want to work in. It is just a part of me and
who I am.”
Foto
Annika
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Amber
Waitin on title
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Club
Skade
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Morpheus’s Pen
by Alma Sinan
She yearns to escape into dreams.

For days, her sleep has been as thin as vellum. I feel the weariness in her limbs and the aching of her mind, confined by reality. Like all
creatures stalked by wakefulness, she has lost sense of herself.
She lowers the shades of her eyelids and watches – waiting, hoping…
“Please,” she whispers, and I hear her.

My pen pricks the parchment of her mind and she is anesthetised. Her imagination, thick and rainbow-skinned like oil, seeps onto the page.
I smile and dip my pen into the glorious palette.
Her agony rips through me and I cry out in surprise. My pen slashes upward, creating the lip of barrier. Possessed by her pain, I sketch in the
details of her prison. A crumbling wall curls around her. Ginger lichen smears the stones and I cross hatch the obsidian flush of shadows.
She awakens at the bottom of a dry, ancient well. I feel her terror. Quickly I relieve the darkness by drawing in a bright, crescent moon. The
light spills in and illuminates her body.
Her skin is stretched by pillows of fat. Through her, I feel how the excess flesh smothers her spirit. I peer into her face. Something resembling
a scarlet mould invades her chin, nose and forehead. I try to look into her eyes but they are concealed behind a veil of greasy hair.
“This is not you,” I whisper, but I know that she can’t hear me. This is who she thinks she is. This is what the waking world tells her she is.
The walls rumble.

She scrambles, looking for a place to hide. Dust showers her. Every stone in the wall of the well cracks open and the rocks peel back their
lids.
Eyes. Hundreds of them look down upon her. She crouches, trying to hide from their cruel gaze. Then, the pupil within each eye puckers,
forming lips and tongues. The chamber starts to speak. Voices rise together and accuse her with the authority of a chorus. “You’re worthless,
fat, stupid, disgusting!” The taunts tear holes in her flesh. Acid words seep in, corroding her body, her soul.
“Silence them,” I plead. “Open your eyes and they’ll speak no more!”
The muttering of demons continues. She whimpers and covers her ears.
My heart weeps for her and every eye in the chamber weeps too. Tears splash down the walls, baptizing her. Her arms thrash as the water
level rises rapidly. Salty tears lap at her wounds and she screams out in pain.
“Be still and let me bathe your hurt,” I tell her.

Her head tilts to the side, as if she’s heard me. Gradually, her panic subsides. The well fills with tears and the liquid lifts her off her feet.
“See how light you are!” I murmur.
A flame glimmers deep within her. I gently blow upon the embers of her spirit and the glow spreads within her body. Her soul, like a thousand
candles, shines through her translucent skin, illuminating the murky water.
The chamber floods and she floats closer and closer to the opening of the well.
She treads water for a while and looks up at the sky. Slowly, she extends a graceful arm and grasps the crescent moon. It reels her out of the
well and into an aubergine twilight, gleaming with polished stars.
As she hangs from the moon, I notice how beautiful she has become. The well of tears has washed away the grime and fear of the waking
world. Around her slender body, I shade in a frosted opal gown that shimmers with the colours of her imagination. Peacock wings unfurl out
of the two strokes I draw between her shoulder blades.
“You can let go now and fly on your own,” I whisper.
She shuts her eyes and sharply exhales. With the greatest faith, she releases her grip on the moon and floats in the amethyst twilight. She sways, unsure
of herself at first, but soon discovers that the slightest movement engages her wings. She giggles, then, like a comet, shoots through the sky. I watch as
she pirouettes, tickling the twilight with her wings. She skips along the edge of the horizon and the heavens echo with her laughter.
She waltzes through the constellations that bejewel the sky, each star a mirror that reflects her true self. She pauses before one of them and peers into
the crystalline surface.
“Do you see how beautiful you are?” I ask, tracing her luminescent image
into every facet of the star.
She gazes at her reflection.
“Who are you?” she asks.
What a pity she can not recognize herself. “It is you, your soul.”
“I see myself, but who are you?”
I freeze.
“Your voice is so familiar and I can see your shadow,” she says. “Won’t you show yourself to me?”
Should I answer her? I put down my pen, wondering what to do.
Her hands press against the surface of the star. “This is all just a dream. I can do anything,” she says. Palm to palm with her reflection, she smiles and
steps forward. The images meld as she steps through the mirror. Sparks explode as she crosses through the quicksilver barrier.
I wrap my cloak closer around me and pull the cowl across my face.
She stands before me, an extraordinary being of light.
“Is it you I have to thank for all this?” She asks.

“I require no thanks,” I say quickly and a tremor shudders through me. It is rare that such confrontations occur.
“Who are you?”
“Morpheus, illustrator of dreams.”
“You! It was you who created all these beautiful visions.”
“The visions are yours -- your imagination the ink and sleep the canvas. My pen only fleshes out images that already exist within you...and you are
exquisite. I merely held up the mirror to show you what was already there. Remember that when you return.”
Tears glisten in her eyes.
Slowly she approaches. Before I can retreat into darkness, she reaches out and grabs my hand.
An icy current spirals through me. My mind reels. I step back, but her grip is firm.
“Thank you for holding up the mirror.” She leans forward and kisses my hand. The ink of her imagination is wet upon my fingers and it smudges across
her lips. I feel the softness of her mouth and the dampness of her tears. I tremble and shut my eyes. A mortal kissing an immortal’s stained hands –
The light around her intensifies and her form quickly starts to fade.
“No,” she cries out, as she’s pulled away from me and back into the waking world.
Before the last light of her is gone, I grab my pen. Letters fall across the page in an inky filigree, forming one word:
Remember.
25
Kareena
Zerefos
Illustrator // Australia
Holding hands
27
Kareena Zerefos
From beginning to end, what approach do you normally

take with your work?
I spend a lot of time thinking about ideas, sketching little thumbnails and
collecting inspiration and reference material before I officially put pencil
to paper. Once I’ve done all of this, I get all of my materials together and
will start with a fine pencil drawing, then I work up layers of softer pencil,
Biro, felt tip, ink and gouache, and sometimes add a little Letraset to finish.
For commercial projects I often work on each layer of a drawing

separately and take it into Photoshop to put it all together. I can work
in some extra textures, add random elements and sometimes I’ll work
in Illustrator to do a little extra colouring too.
Kareena Zerefos
From where and who does your inspiration come from?
I am inspired by many contemporary illustrators and artists such as Cecilia
As an intro for the readers out there, tell us a little about Carlstedt, Audrey Kawasaki, Eduardo Receife, Banksy, Kill Pixie, Carson
yourself, and how you came to be known as an illustrator. Ellis, Anthony Lister… They all use different techniques and mediums
to me – oil painting, collage, digital – but I find they have all had an
Growing up on acreage in Dural, Sydney, I spent a lot of time climbing influence on my work, and inspired me to start doing illustration/art. The
trees and over barbed wire fences, horse riding and playing with most defining moment that inspired me to follow the path of illustration/
animals. I always loved drawing too, unicorns and fantasy lands mostly! art was when I saw the figurative and portrait work of early 20th century
After school, I went on to study design at the College of Fine Arts and Austrian artist Egon Schiele at the Leopold Museum in Vienna in 2006.
worked as a graphic designer for a couple of years, moonlighting as an
illustrator just for fun. Last year I was lucky enough to be able to drop the I’m also inspired by classic stories and fairytales, like Bambi, Thumbelina
day job and put all of my time into illustration. and the BFG, and Jean-Pierre Jeunet films [particularly The City of Lost
Studio
Children]; my collection of old super-8 footage from my dad’s childhood, In hindsight, would you have done anything differently?
vintage postcards and photos, children’s books, my italian greyhound In hindsight, the only thing I would have done differently would be to
called Pelle and delicate fine bone china tea sets… the resident owl have had the confidence to start sooner.
that lives in the mango tree behind my place. I’ve been quite inspired
by steam punk aesthetics and dystopian fantasies, although this hasn’t
Do you ever have creative slumps? If so, how do you pull
started coming through in my work a whole lot let.
yourself out of them?
How would you compare your work to that of your Definitely! To be honest, most of time I find if it’s not working, I just leave
contemporaries? it and work on something else for a while. If I’m on a deadline and I don’t
have that kind of luxury, I’ll have a look at books and websites, which
I enjoy working with other creative types the most - musicians, designers
usually helps to get things started.
etc. Everyone has their own unique style and use different methods,
so they’re hard to compare... a lot of the illustrators/artists that I have
What do you do for fun when you’re not working?
exhibited with have a stronger, bolder, more pop art aesthetic where mine
I play fetch with Pelle [my puppy], draw more, go to the beach, travel,
is very delicate and subtle. It’s always an interesting contrast.
see live bands, do some exercise, eat thai food, watch films, ride horses,
drink a soy mocha with a friend, go to art shows…
How do you continue to push your work in a forward
direction?
If you’d just won the lottery, what is the first thing you would
Most of the time I feel that my work has a kind of natural progression, just buy?
because I find I might start feeling restless about doing the same thing
I’d want to buy a nice terrace that I could live and work from, but I’m sure
all the time so I‘ll become interested in a new technique or material, or
I’d need a few months to find the right place, so the first thing would be a
a different subject matter. I find that my commercial and commissioned
new Mac Pro... my computer is on death row at the moment!
work can push my style into different directions too.
At the moment I’m working on some artwork for Bob Evans [aka
Kevin Mitchell], which is a lot of fun and I recently finished a couple
of pieces for Von Zipper. Last year I worked on a lot of great projects.
29
Shibui print
Carnival horse
Forty dreams
31
Hot air balloon
Sebastien
Girl with rat on head
33
Lion
Blue birds
Hello owl
35
Jeremyville bumblebee
Bumble bee girl
37
Courageous Puppet
by Luke Maclean
Courageous Puppet
Dear John, tonight is New Year’s Eve and I find myself confined to the seclusion of a
hospital bed and the staple furnishings which so often accommodate the dreadful
experience of surgery, with the exception of the standard bedside flowers. Why no love
you ask? Self inflicted pain. You see, I had to bite my lip to get myself in the situation I
am in and it only seems fitting that I do the same now. Why decide to suck it up on a
celebratory day such as this? Well, the answer to that question is a funny one. The act of
deviance I embarked upon led to a long list of similar followers of individuality.
“Followers of individuality”, sounds a bit odd doesn’t it? It seems the ripple effect of a
generation keen on branding has left me amongst the herd of formers and conformers
who are lucky to get on a waiting list. Why there is a shortage of competent laser
dermatologists is beyond me. Nobody saw it coming. Have we ever seen a medical
profession boom over the consequence of art? No, but it got me thinking and possibly
conjuring up a few theories as to how I’ve come to find myself in this predicament. It
isn’t easy to be yourself. In fact it may actually be the hardest thing to do in life. We
don’t live in a society which fashions individuality. We put on a show because we can
relate to the mediums which influence us as a whole. We communicate under the
confinement of what is deemed as acceptable and expected.
A stumbling stage fright of parodies

and a pull-tab fateful embrace
of masterful marionette moments
A hunchback prances upon us
A jailbird’s glow erupts…
In some cases of our defiance of what may be considered the norm is in all actuality a subsequent marketed culture, derived from the same attitudes
we originally hoped to avoid. The ongoing reliance on media influence and necessary illusions leave us with sub, pop, counter, and anti bullshit. Are
there only two sides to the fence!?
Happenstance scissors debate

string orchestrating folly
for calamity’s indifference
and the plight of my posturing
A junkyard prowess in meadows…
Follow these steps to a freedom of expression that will leave you feeling empty,
soulless and yes, cliché. But don’t tell anyone about the short term satisfaction. Instead,
replenish your false identity with the latest trend of omniscient fashion and we’ll call it
addiction.
Mediocrity tempts me
her boxcar racing rats
its wheels pushing pennies flat
for a prairie boy’s pastime
Her only escape, a duress of the heart
An empty canvas beckoning one nourishing stroke…
Tattoos which are plainly visible are very bold statements. They attract an audience and not only invite but encourage people to judge me. The passing
preconceived notions have prepared me for the ensuing sympathetic stares reserved for the likes of lepers and burn victims, at least until these bandages
come off. But what do I care what other people think? So much so that my body screams fuck the world, take notice and come to the quick conclusion
that I don’t care what you think without ever really getting to know me.
The reason the action is one which takes notice or regard is obvious. I am saying this is who I am, while the rest of you fart around pretending that you’ve
got it all figured out at best. I revel in a robust form of self-expression only to find myself pigeonholed and victimised by a bird’s eye view.
The ongoing process of life

culminates a magnitude of wishes
over the backdrop of logic and reason.
39
Gregory
Myers Illustrator // Australia
Born in Sydney, Australia, Gregory Myers studied at the School of Art, Australian National University in the
Graphic Investigation Workshop under Czech printmaker Petr Herel.
After working as a designer and illustrator producing educational materials, Myers went to Japan on a
Japanese government post-graduate research scholarship and studied under Akira Kurosaki in the Printmaking
Department at Kyoto Seika University.
Since then he has been working freelance as an illustrator, working mainly with scraperboard and pen & ink.
He also uses Photoshop and Painter. His artwork has been published in the in-flight magazines of JAL, ANA
& Cathay-Pacific; The Nikkei Weekly, The Mainichi Weekly newspaper, Kyoto Journal, Tokyo Journal, Japan
International Journal, Soccer Digest, Slugger, Sports Yeah!, Bunshun Capitao, Whole Earth Review; to name
but a few....
In 1988 he was a prize-winner in the 5th Noma Concours for Children’s Picture Book Illustrations (UNESCO)
and his work toured with The 3rd World-Picture-Book Illustrations Exhibition to Tokyo and Bratislava.
Firefly
Banana boy (year of the monkey)
41
Manga
Bull
Sherry O’keefe
Poet
A Bag of Made-Up Words
In dem winterhausen where I snowshoed

in retreat, I’m face-down on the plank floor,
playing with words to suit the mood
I’m in. Mellowdrama,
Melancrapeola, Melantequilacholy.
Where is the worm when I need to eat it?
Silence drags across the room, settles

on the rag rug in the entryway,
waiting for footstep shadows to break
the dumb sunlight crawling
through the threshold of my bolted door.
When the world looks at you, what does it see?

“I don’t know,” my daughter once told her teacher.
“I’m too small for anyone to see.”
Invisible.
Indeshitable, incapable, impossiloveable. Maybe
he is travelling tough. Riding light, spurs
digging, reining in at my front porch. Maybe
he’ll storm the door with Eastwood words
of firm resolution. But more likely
if he comes, he’ll come carefully in barefeet,
having raced from his sleepy affair, coaxing me
with it-meant-nothing tidbits. Once,
we watched a movie where love was revealed

by never giving up. He could be waiting for me
to let him in, waiting in the snow storm
just like in that film. I reach for another
made-up word, but they scatter like marbles
across the slivered floor. I listen to them spin.
43
Hugo
Tornelo Illustrator // Portugal
“I started drawing, and drawing, and drawing, drawing, and drawing, and drawing....then I discovered
Photoshop, and Photoshopped...”
“I am a 27 years old guy, living in Lisbon and just trying to do what i like, and illustration is a part of it.”
45
Lemur album
Daily misconceptions album
Happenstance
by Jacqueline Cioffa
I am lost in my own city. Most days I put on my iPod and jump into the an Armani gown in Rome strutting down the Spanish steps, all the while
train running around on this or that errand or job. I try to take the time secretly praying I don’t trip. There’s another one, a black and white image
to remember to actually look at the people on the train. To jot down a of me in a Moschino skirt and Dolce and Gabbana hooker heels on the
mental note of what’s going on around me. “Today I saw 5 blonde girls, streets of Milan. There are so many pictures, I’ve lost count. I have to
pretty young tourists all looking at the subway map trying to decipher it, laugh today, wondering, Who was that person? Could that really have
laughing out loud and I was suddenly envious.” been me? It must have been, because the images were frozen in time.
I wish I were laughing with my friends in a foreign city discovering the I’m sure of only one thing from those years. And they were many, more
new and unknown. I remember that feeling well. There is something than I like to count. The camera and their photographers loved my face. I
very decadent and liberating about being lost in a foreign land. If you worked with the best of the best. Fabrizio Ferri and Gastel in Milan, Michel
can just stop and look at all the beauty in the strange place around you, Comte in France. I was always photogenic and made a great picture.
it’s the best kind of lost to be. But, alas I’m not in a foreign land. I’m in Europe always loved me and was very kind to my career, yet most of
freezing, slushy dirty New York riding the A train once again. I must have those years seem a blur. Contrary to the stereotype, there were no drugs
taken this trip more than 10,000 times. The monotony of the up and clouding my perception. I was sober and hyperaware of my surroundings.
down, the same stops over and over again: 81st Street, the Museum of Fancy five-star hotels, the St. Regis in Rome, the Principe di Savoia in
Natural History, where everyday I stop and think, God wouldn’t it be fun Milan, the Hotel Meurice in Paris with the Tour Eiffel as my backdrop.
to go hang out in the Planetarium?; 59th Street and Columbus Circle, There were Venetian gondola rides, glorious orange-blazed sunset-filled
where I sometimes get out and go to Whole Foods for a salad, or better black-sanded beaches on some island or another.
yet, Sheep’s Meadow and the park.
Alone. Most of the time, when the job was done I went back to my room
Most days I ride downtown and then back up to 125th Street and home and was alone. Very, very young and alone. I was too young to be alone,
again. Thank God for the music blasting in my ears to kill the time. too young to live that kind of life. To actually take hold of it and appreciate
Right now Yusuf Islam and Joni Mitchell are helping to ease my boredom all the privilege that came along with it. I couldn’t quite get a grasp on it.
and bring some sunshine into these long winter months. Then I have a I was lost in a world where I existed on some fantastical superficial level; it
half-thought. Let me just lift my head and look up and look around me. just never could fulfill me. I never fit in the supermodel’s skin.
I just might be missing out on someone or something new and different.
My mom keeps my past in a trunk full of pictures in her house in a forgotten
Let’s see; there’s a pretty put-together black woman with a braided bun room. Sometimes when I feel nostalgic, I go home and open that chest.
perched atop her head. She’s talking to an older gray haired man sitting I hardly recognize that person anymore. She no longer resembles the
across from me. I secretly wonder to myself, what is their connection? woman I’ve become. I am lost today when I look in the mirror, because
Are they co-workers, lovers, did they just meet on the train and strike up I’m still learning how to fit in my new and improved skin.
a conversation? In a city of 8 million-plus where most of us wander our
days alone they intrigue me, because somehow, I’m stuck. I don’t know
when exactly it happened or how. It just did. Limbo arrived like a bad
habit revisiting an old friend. I do know it’s momentary and that this
feeling will pass. I just need to ride it, kind of like the A-Train. Sooner or
later the ride will smooth itself out. For right now, I’m a visitor in my own
home, in my own city. For a gypsy who spent half her life living out of a
bag (sometimes a chic Prada bag and other times a plain old duffle bag
depending on cash flow), that is the worst kind of lost to be.
When I look at my face in the mirror today, I am lost in my own skin. I

flip through old issues of Italian Vogue, French Elle or even Land’s End
with pictures of me from my past with curiosity. I see the page, and
shake my head half-heartedly, trying to convince myself that it is in fact
me. There I am in full make-up wearing expensive Bulgari jewels and
47
Jen
Corace Illustrator // USA
Could you sketch in your background for us, where you grew Maybe a year or two into this process I received a letter from Chronicle
up and why you decided to become an illustrator? Books, offering me the illustration job for Little Pea. I had sent them
postcards and mailings maybe two years before and was 'on file' with
I grew up in the suburbs of southern New Jersey and I’ve always been
them. My patience had finally paid off and the ball really started to roll.
the sort of person who is happier with a lot of alone time. I spent a
good deal of my time growing up in my bedroom, drawing. My
Were there any particular obstacles that you needed to
mom would enrol me in after school and summer art programs... so
overcome?
I have always had support insofar as that is concerned. In fact it was
my mom who suggested that we look into art schools for college. I think in the beginning of any career, learning patience can be pretty
tricky. I started or concentrated on my career right before the internet
My visual perspective has always had a narrative quality to it. I like telling became a popular place for illustration portfolios. It just didn't exist. I
stories even if it is only a single panel editorial illustration. I also like to spent a lot of time sending out mailers and tear sheets, had little money
work under tight deadlines... if I have too much time to work on a project to do so, and heard back from a very small percentage of what I sent out.
I tend to change my ideas over and over again. During that time I learned a lot about patience and persistence.
Was there a person from your childhood who encouraged And so how long have you been working as an illustrator?
you to pursue your artistic talent? I became serious about becoming an illustrator when I was 27. I had bits
My mom was definitely my greatest cheerleader. and pieces of work before that and did a lot of pro-bono pieces. But 27
was the turning point.... so I would say eight years and I have been full
Do you remember the very first piece of art that you worked time (no day jobs) for the past four years.
up?
What was the best piece of advice you received since you've
The first paying job I worked on was a piece for Cricket Magazine in
begun your career?
1998.
The best piece of advice came from an RISD instructor of mine, Oren
If you can, describe your journey on the road to success in Sherman. He always said that if you end up with a fifty dollar job be sure
your field. to do a two hundred dollar job. Those weren’t his exact words - I am sure
that my dollar amounts are off - but what he was essentially trying to say
I graduated RISD in 96 with a BFA in illustration, but due to personal
was that putting in the greatest effort on the smaller jobs get you the next,
events I sort of dropped out for awhile. I didn't want to chain myself to
bigger job.
the illustration career path right out of school, I wanted to travel, move
around a bit and give myself some experiences.
What inspires you as you begin a new project?
I turned 27 in Seattle, working retail, and I did a cover piece for The Projects and jobs are so different than what I do for gallery shows. I think
Portland Mercury: Portland, Oregon's city paper. It was then and there of myself as being inspired when I do gallery work... because it's whatever
that I knew what I wanted to do, that I wasn't going to be able to do it in I want to do. It's all me.
Seattle. I moved back to Providence, RI where life was more affordable
and I had a community of people invested in similar interests. With illustration projects or jobs it's different. It's a little more dry. That's not
to say that it stays that way. It’s just that it starts out as someone else’s vision
The cover job turned into a monthly job with the paper, that caught the and as it comes together, it goes back and forth and I become more involved.
eye of a Portland gallery which gave me shows and eventually represented
me. The gallery work took off, far more than the illustration work and I
think that it helped me to hone my style and my visual voice.
Corace tentacle
49
Oceans don’t freeze
Skaters
Would you say that a mechanical or manual process Once all art is approved and finished I will work on the endpaper and
(computers as opposed to pen and paper) has a more cover images. At the end of it all it gets packaged, mailed in and I wait
important role in your work? Why? for the color proofs to come back to me. If everything with the printer is
I don't really rely on computers very often. Because I generally work in okay then that is that... a book is born.
children's books all of the artwork gets sent to the publisher for scanning.
I do touch ups from time to time for editorial work, but that doesn't Could you reach into the depths of your mind and tell us
happen that often. So I would say that the manual process is more what your dream project might be?
important.
Right now my dream project, an idea that I have had on the back burner
for a while, is to create a series of paper dolls.
What is your process when working with clients? Can you
run us through a typical job?
And finally, what projects or exhibitions are you working on
With books I have an agent that I work with; he will find manuscripts at this very moment?
that may be appropriate for me to work on. I read the manuscript, make
I have a solo show at the end of February at Art Star in Philadelphia. I am
some notes, get in contact with the editor and hash out a schedule of
currently working on wrapping up my sixth book, Mathilda the Orange
when what is due: sketches, second sketches, finals.
Balloon which is being put out by Balzer + Bray, an imprint of Harper
Collins.
After the initial hashing things out I start working on the character design.
After character design I work on thumbnails to get down the pacing of
the book. From the thumbnails I work out the first round of sketches
which get emailed into the publisher. The editor and designer make
notes and send back a mechanical - the book laid out with text and
sketches - and from that I try to finalise the sketches so that I can start
working on the final art.
51
Bernice O
Ada F
Lady W
Josephine M
53
Bear suit
Holding on
55
Maher Diab Illustrator // Lebanon
Born in 1980 in Lebanon, Maher graduated from the Lebanese University of Fine Arts with a certificate of
excellence from the Minister of Culture. As an Art Director in Advertising, he was introduced to various visual
approaches from photo montage and layout design to digital illustration. His professional career has only served
to enhance his creative pursuits and help him create a perfect balance between visual fine art creativity and the
fast-spreading era of digital art. Maher’s attention is focused on issues that create a difference.
Can you describe how your approach to art has evolved to What’s with the evil children? Did you get bitten by one
the myriad of styles and colour we marvel at today? when you were young?
My art is a reflection of what lies beneath… a description of reality, In my view, the children are not evil. They are a personification of strength
illustrated in my own words, through the language of the ancients. From at a tender stage in life. I believe that life is only beautiful when you
the early days of my childhood, I lived in a world of my own. The statement are strong, which is why I try to portray a bright touch of life even in the
is not a cliché as much as it's about the most accurate description I can bleakest and darkest conditions, where my characters are young souls
explain my views through. At points, I used to believe that I am not from in appearance but have that magical power of overcoming it all. This
this Earth and that I belong to the moon, swimming, like a mermaid, side magical power portrayal is what I wished I could acquire when I was but
by side with the Loch Ness monster. I was always under the impression that a child, facing the challenging situations.
I was being followed by monsters.
Tell us about how you approach the typical piece from idea
When I grew up and it was time for me to exit my childhood cocoon, I to final product. What comes first, the image or the medium?
found myself metamorphosing, within another cocoon, into a butterfly, Is the medium something that evolves as the idea does, or
and that is when I entered the School of Fine Arts. It was probably then do you just say to yourself “It’s 6:15 on a Thursday evening
that I have felt, for the first time, that I am safe from this world's ogres. It and I feel like airbrushing something”?
was only then that I realized that the secret gate to the outside world exists, The feeling is just like any other; hunger or thirst, but the only difference
and it actually had a key: the key of Art. in experiencing an artistic feeling is the rush that comes with it; When
you're hungry, you eat.. When you're thirsty, you drink, but when you feel
I'm interested to find out from where an artist such as an artistic rush, you go above and beyond, trying to channel out this rush
yourself draws inspiration. in ways that you can't predict. As you're going with your rush's flow, you
As is the case with many artists, I was fascinated by the greats before see yourself expressing it as an artwork, attending a party, a real hug from
me, and as I acquired a better understanding of the visual realm, my your mother, enjoying a great fuck or watching a dramatic movie that
fascination developed into a mature appreciation of self-knowledge. I moves you to tears. Eventually, something will come out.
am a person who believes in constant development; I look at myself now
and I see that there is a vast space for me to still develop and explore the I don’t have a favourite medium to use. In university, I started off preferring
several virgin paths within me. oil painting, but as I was discovering the other forms of expression I
moved to pastels and swayed over to acrylic and have been stuck there
I’m inspired by anything, from a flying bird to a dead man, all the way to since; it is a medium that gives a powerful effect and is much faster
an abstract placement of objects that I glance at randomly while walking to apply than oil-based painting. Usually, when I commence working
to my work place. Recently, I would say my muse has been music, but on an artwork, I start with pencils. Later, when I have created a close
such an element can’t be decided. It’s as variable as a colour spectrum. image of my instantaneous inspiration, I scan it and this is when the real
work starts: with the computer; it is much faster and allows me to see my
creation without having to wait for the oil to dry or the acrylic to solidify.
At the end I’m still on my way of discovering new ways to deliver my
message, so I’m moving to Montréal in January 2009 to start a course in
video art, I guess I’ll never stop!
After so many hours
57
Sleep walking
Crying elma
59
Waaaaaa
Grand bas
61
Pup
It’s funny, I can deal with all the children running around, to be further strengthened in position the more connected we become,
but there’s something about the hair in the mouth that hence becoming more justifiable than it was ever before. In a place like
grosses me out. It’s kind of pop art gone wrong. How did the Middle East, you’ll witness an intense art movement full of shapes and
you come up with this one? colours that will scream out loud for the rest of the world to hear.
Honestly, this artwork was a result of a deal I have made with an online
Where will people be able to see your work next?
friend of mine where he proposed that I create a book that contains 365
forms of art done in 14 minutes (3+6+5), daily, till the end of the year. In March I’m preparing for a big mobile exhibition with many artists and
The “hair” artwork was done in less than 10 minutes, during which I felt film-makers, under the same topic “of the individualistic impact on the
a compulsory force pushing me to that artistic direction. Pop Art Gone environment”.
Wrong might end up being a good title for this artwork.
Further examples of Maher's work can be found online at http://
Tell the world a little about the various creative projects maherartwork.blogspot.com/
in which you have participated in the Middle East. I am
very curious about modern Middle Eastern art and culture,
especially in countries which are currently experiencing war,
corruption, controversy and oppression.
War, corruption and oppression are common occurrences the world over,
but they vary in intensity. Lately, with the limitless age of Internet and world
wide web, everyone is tangled with one another; so, whatever that is
happening in Lebanon or Brazil will affect you directly and indirectly. Then
comes the role of art, the ambassador of such destructive forces, only
Lust
63
What is Race?
by Jennifer Washburn
Race is a ratty old army blanket they wrap around me at birth. In stenciled white letters, it says CAUCASIAN. They put it on me so they’ll know what
I am. They put it on me so I’ll know I’m white.
I know I am white because I have blond hair and blue eyes. But most of my friends are different from me, and from each other. We always try to shrug
off the blankets. How can you double dutch if you are wearing the blanket that says CAUCASIAN? You can’t! Because it makes you clumsy and you
won’t have rhythm and you can’t even turn because you are heavy handed and that throws the black girls off. Only they can jump. They try to teach
me, but lose patience quickly. It looks fun though.
We see what everyone is; we ask the required questions, like, “Where are you from?” and “What religion are you?” And then to no one in particular,
we whine, “Now let us take these blankets off,” but we can’t. This is how the world is.
I know I am white because my mother is white. Even though her hair is strange and they called her “liver lips” while growing up, she is white. She
says it’s because she is half Spanish-- from Spain, you know. I repeat this to people for many years until one day a Puerto Rican woman puts me in
my place: “We are all Spanish-- from Spain, you know,” she says.
Some girls only say they are Jewish. I never understand this. I am other things before I am Catholic. I am Danish and Ukrainian and Spanish-from-
Spain, you know. “But what else?” I ask. They don’t know. They are just Jewish.
I know I am white because they tell me I am white. I hate this stupid blanket. It’s wool, and it’s so itchy. But it’s a war, you know. I think I am allergic
to lanolin. Some people aren’t, but I am. I scratch a lot and some white boy calls me a nigger lover. What the hell is that supposed to mean?
I go to a brand new middle school; children are admitted based on what color they are. We are ALL bused in. They want it to represent the population
of my borough, my Queens. We are the pioneers. We are the children born in 1968, the Age of Aquarius. We are the children who are supposed
to manifest what our parents worked for in the 60’s. (We’ve failed. I think we’ve failed.) The first year I hang out with a lot of black girls. There is
a large, fat and dark girl called Precious White. We snicker at the irony of her name. The Spanish girls don’t reach out; they stay huddled together
under their blanket that says “HISPANIC”. What did they know that I didn’t?
I know I am white because that is what box we check on the application. The school is named for Louis Armstrong. I learn to play the trumpet, just like
Louis. Except not like him exactly because he puffs out his cheeks and that is the wrong technique. We have to do it the way the teacher wants.
My first kiss is from a boy name Jorge- (Hor-hey). He is half Puerto Rican and half Black. It was a sweet, tender, delicious honey kiss. He kissed me
on Junction Boulevard, near the 7. His lips were full and soft and gentle and just-moist-enough. It was perfect.
His hair is in a short afro. I want to touch it but I am shy.
I want him to kiss me again, but he never does.
I like him, but he lives in a bad neighbourhood.
It is at puberty when we start to pull our blankets back on. I don’t know who starts it really. Is it the black girls or the white girls? I don’t know why,
either. But it starts. I go with the white girls because we are on the swimming team and we grow close.
And because I know I am white.
Race is a ratty old army blanket that we begin to hide under. Only our heads peek out, so you can see that our eyes and hair match the stenciled
white letters that tell you who I am.
I know I am white, and so does everyone else. Nobody notices that my blanket has some holes in it. There is a Jewish hole and a black hole. Possibly
even a god-forbid-Polish hole. Too bad I told all those Pollock jokes in the late 70’s. Too bad nobody listened to my grandmother when she talked.
The first boy to bring me to orgasm is Chinese. I’ll always appreciate him for that. His mother hates me because I am white. Well, that and because
she catches us naked and in bed. He’s dead now. He got shot in a gang war in Chinatown.
When I am in college I take the blanket off. I never answer the questions about what race I am, because I resent it. I don’t want to wear this stupid
thing anymore. It suffocates me. I hate it. I am distant, I am alone because of it.
I am mad because my cousin, who is even blonder and bluer than me gets minority scholarships because she carries a Spanish-from-Spain patch on
her blanket, in the form of her last name. Her appellido is Yanez. It is my mother’s maiden name.
I consider using this as my pen name. Should I?
I’m a little browner than I thought. It turns out that my Spanish-from-Spain ancestors, were Spanish- from-Spain, except by way of Cuba. That would
explain why I tan so well. I write this on my census survey in 2000. Paul laughs at me. I want them to know that I am not only Caucasian. I want
them to tell the cable company that there are people here who speak Spanish and we would like some Univision. It didn’t work.
I’m a little browner than I thought. Last year, for the first time, I saw a photo of my mother’s father, he who was Spanish-from-Spain-by-way-of-Cuba.
Why did no one notice that he was clearly passing? And why did no one notice that my mother’s twin brother looks like a white black man? He
noticed, and got a DNA test. It said that he is 41% African. I’m browner than I thought.
I guess I’m like rice and beans. I can live with that.
65
Korshi
Dosoo Illustrator // Australia
I become obsessed with things quite easily. I’m learning to embrace this in my art and trying to channel particular
obsessions into works that express the cluster of interests and feelings they inspire in me, as well as probing into
the larger social or environmental forces that created those obsessions. My work is strongly illustrative, since most
of my artistic influences have been illustrators and one of my main interests is telling stories visually. I suffer
from red-green colour blindness, so a lot of my work is monochrome or uses simple colours as a way of coping with
my fairly unexciting disability.
The killer ape is dead
67
My mum likes to tell people that I was the only child she knew who could look at lambs playing in
the field and think of lamb chops. When I announced age 21 that I was becoming a vegetarian she was
fairly incredulous. I’ve always been fascinated by animals, and as a result fairly good at drawing them.
On the internet I’ve discovered thousands of people who share my fascination of endless email forwards
about tigers adopting piglets and You Tube videos of unlikely animals engaging in mortal combat. These
drawings are my response to the strange symbiosis of cruelty and kindness, beauty and horror that exist in
this thing we call nature. All of my animals are drawn life size, and I research those which are extinct as
carefully as possible so that the anatomy (if not the colours) are reasonably accurate.
The closest living relative of the T-Rex is the chicken
Yummy mummy
69
Hornets are orangy and taste like...
Early bird catches the worm
Only the good die young
Snuggleriffic
71
Tiger head
Baby goats are called kids
73
Daniel Wilcox
Poet
Mean ‘Wile’
The HD TV vivid
lies
skulled face up
in the dark hut in Darfur,
the swaddled soil of a child
and her jointed, bamboo-stick arms

on the mud floor
her bloated stomach
a greedy balloon of air ex p a n d i n g, rising
toward the (mean ‘wile’) civilized world--
The latter politicians

plane
over
their lush land escapes
to their surfeited thoughts of juicy sirloin and a cocktail
of their problems galore. They fixate

flustering,
buffeted by the windstorm

in their nostril;
I-doctoring their digital Iris
they sleuth for each speck, each jot and tittle…

Titillation.
They worry over the tempest

in their shot glass;
yet their future is the parched abyss,

the hungering earth.
Sergio Ortiz
Poet
Talking to Ron
Ron spent mornings trying out words,
Texture missing in his personal life.
Routines didn’t matter anymore.
It was the touch that was important,
Recognition of strings, fibre and
A cup of coffee. Comrades didn’t understand.
He was tired of their Let’s Sell an Image shit.
His tissues needed embossing.
He was stepping out of suffocating outlines,
Wearing dashiki, braiding his hair again.
He wanted holograms of Marilyn on his lips.
You see, he was honest about his affection.
But what did it get him, a political conscience,
An eye to eye conversation with God?
I said: Ron calm down, it’s just a phase.
And if it isn’t, get a house on the beach, swim,
Breathe in the salt, pick up this trash,
Go back to school, become an embalmer.
You’re not listening, he said, words enter and exit
Surface I haven’t explored. And he showed me out the door
75
What We See with Nick Kind
Part 7: Street Illustration

Since the 1960’s when tagging started in New York, there has been public debate as to the
merits of graffiti, mainly centering on the big question: Art or Vandalism?
The word Graffiti is defined as unauthorised writing or drawing on a public surface,

which places prehistoric cave paintings as an early act of graffiti. Ancient forms of public
inscriptions can be found on the walls of Pompei, and in the catacombs of Rome, giving us
insight into the culture of that time. Through the ages, this form of communication has been
a valid form of expression and an important part of our cultural history.
In contrast, graffiti is now more recognized as an expression of street culture and as an act
of vandalism. Whether it be tagging, political slogans or more illustrative works, it is hard
for society to decide the value of this as an art form when it can seem so destructive. While
the skill, talent and imagination possessed by many graffiti artists cannot be denied, there
is a constant struggle against councils and governments who are trying to ‘Ban the Can’
and keep the streets clean.
But don’t forget about the support and appreciation of all the viewers. Melbourne is a city
known for its street art, not only amongst the street art subculture, but by the general public.
Guide books direct tourists to special graffiti hot spots, placing Melbourne on the map as one
of the world’s capitals of street art.
But we’re not here to discuss politics. For the next few pages let’s overlook the vandalism and
the damage and concentrate on what’s left - raw talent.
I decided to use the subject of this month’s magazine as a platform to show some of the great
works around our city of Melbourne. This could be the last time you see some of them.
1. What we see...
77
2. What we see...
79
3. What we see...
81
4. What we see...
83
5. What we see...
6. What we see...
85
7. What we see...
8. What we see...
87
9. What we see...
89
10. What we see...
91
Impulse
by Thomas Engleby
Marissa was at a nightclub in Darling Harbour. Impulse, the orange and black lettering above the door said. Fitting, definitely. Most of the people here
came on one. The music was loud; you had to scream to hear the person next to you. The music was coming hard and fast, the electronic beat was
chaotic, hypnotic. Marissa was in a frenzy, the hysterical movements of the head was like a black blur. The black spectre of womanhood raged. This
is what you come here to do. To lose all inhibitions, if you had any to start with. The hysterical music, alcohol and amphetamines made it all possible.
The dance floor was a mixture of short skirts, tank tops and tight jeans. Women’s liberation at its finest.
Marissa started grinding up to a young man in a fashion that left little to the imagination. The environment ensured anonymity. His name was Nelson
but she did not know that. She did not want to know his name, nor he hers. He motioned towards the bar. She followed. The room was completely dark
with the exception of the streaking multicoloured beams of light. The lights flashed like ethereal beating hearts of pure electricity. Through the flashing
lights, people from just about all walks of live could be seen, it was the melting pot that Liberalism had promised all those years ago. The archetypal
gay and lesbians in riotous outfits of shiny latex and leather, the youths from the western suburbs with crew-cuts, sneakers and coarse language, the
lonely over-thirties crowd, inspired by Carrie Bradshaw. And just about anyone else you were lucky enough to spot in the systemic chaos. The bar was
dead in the centre of the establishment; VIP rooms flanked its left and right with velvet ropes on silver poles. The bar was a beacon of activity, people
mulled around it like it was a scene of a violent crime.
“What do you want?” Nelson screamed in her ear, in order to be heard. Cupping his left hand in a drinking fashion, like cavemen would have done.
Marissa noticed that his hair glistened from the multicoloured lights coming from the various light machines on the high ceiling. The stillborn heart
radiated off it. It was from copious amounts of hair product in his hair, which was moulded into a single spike similar to the original Punks of the
seventies. Nelson reminded her of a pretty boy Sid Vicious. A nerd behind him had a shirt on that said, Do you Yahoo.
“Vodka and cranberry,” Marissa screamed back. He ordered a whisky on the rocks. While she was looking away, he added a clear liquid to the vodka
from a small vial.
This guy, she noticed wore very tight pants. Marissa received her chalice and consumed the drink in one go. Nelson observed this and did the same;
they then headed back to the dance floor. To Marissa, the lights were getting exceedingly bright. Marissa was conscious of fast losing the ability to
string together syllables into words and words into sentences for communication. It was like being stuck in a bad episode of the twilight zone. She
nevertheless continued dancing, which more resembled an uncoordinated flailing motion or a vain plea for assistance. She further started to reel
inward as an uncouth drunkard. A one-sided smirk, or grimace, depending on the viewing angle, appeared on Nelson’s face. Black crowns began
to appear in her vision.
He led her into the unisex toilets. On the wall to wall mirror of the sleek toilets, he patted down his white dress shirt and studied his hair. Cigarette
butts, used condoms and other trash defiled the shiny black tiling of the ground. She was pale, dazed and confused, he noticed. Marissa fumbled
through her handbag with one hand searching for a cigarette and lighter and lit one of her menthol cigarettes with the white butt. Her plastic bic
lighter caught the tobacco aflame.
“Smoking is bad for your health,” said Nelson, “you realise that don’t you.”
“That is…” Marissa attempted, “That is, yet to be proven.”
“Sure, whatever.”
She sat on the toilet seat inside the cubicle on the far left, and smoked. Head down, smoke drifting up in her eye, barely conscious. Her shoulders
stuck out in a masculine fashion. The smell of sweet menthol scented smoke filled her nose.
She passed out; lost consciousness, what Nelson had been waiting for, paring his fingernails. He looked in the mirror once more to see if his hair
was as it should be. Nelson’s olive skin under his white shirt flushed with pleasure, glistening with sweat from the exertion of dancing. His cheeks were
aflame. He stood over the nameless girl passed out in the white walls of the cubicle. She was Asian, pretty and thin. He locked himself in the cubicle
with the unconscious girl. Despite being filled with people, nobody took notice. Nelson knew how his hips felt moving against hers, but he didn’t know
her name. The red symbol on the other side of the door said occupied. A glint appeared in his eye which signified the confident feeling of dominance.
Conveniently detached, the futility of existence became apparent. The buckle on his imitation brown leather belt unhinged, the zipper on his black jeans
unzipped, they fell to his hairy, knobbly knees and covered his sheepskin boots. The expression on his face was stoic.
In sobering daylight Nelson Gioulbaxiotis is a much harassed, much demeaned publishers’ assistant. He was limp. He rolled up his sleeves to his bony
elbows to get a better grip. This revealed a praying hands tattoo with a Greek biblical transcription underneath. To thine own self be true. On his chest
was a Jesuit fish. He was limp. It worried Nelson some. He beat the foreskin of his sexual organ frantically. Back and forward. Forth and back. Nelson
chanted Eastern rites. He eyed the object of his desire. He was aroused, though the young man was limp, like a dead fish. This was because of all the
ecstasy he had consumed that evening. Still he persevered. It was utterly useless; his penis lay in his hand deadlike. He eyed the girl again. He zipped
up his black jeans, buckled his imitation leather belt. Sexual frustration, unfulfilled impulses.
Emasculated, he cusped Marissa’s jaw in his hand. He admired the face; it was that of a porcelain doll. He wondered what she was thinking in
her unconscious state. What dreams she was having, or has she receded into the blissfulness of oblivion. Nelson felt like Hermaphrodites; horribly
androgynous. She was not what convention would call a classic beauty, but she was an attractive girl nonetheless. He let it fall. He ripped her grey cotton
dress down the middle to cusp her breasts. The vandalized dress revealed a black brassiere with a tiny heart in the middle. He was still limp. They felt
nice and wrong in his hands, a weird sensation. The criminality of his actions was enthralling. Her body was faintly perfumed, he could tell.
He picked up her head again, which was resting upon her very own shoulder, exposing the muscles and veins in her neck. Holding it there, Nelson
shifted his weight, allowing room for his right elbow and arm to extend back in the claustrophobic cubicle. With frustration and angst long repressed,
he punched the face of the girl whose name he did not know with an unreserved closed fist. It landed squarely on Marissa Liu’s cheekbone. He thought
he heard something crack, impossible to know with the incessant thumping of the music in the background. Tucking in his white shirt, he kissed the
assaulted cheek lightly with his lips. The girl was still passed out. Maybe I gave her a little too much. Agnus dei. Nelson kissed her once more, on the
pinkly glossed lips. Her dry lips briefly remained stuck to his dry lips; pressure quickly removed the conjoined lips. Nelson unlocked the door of the
cubicle, the symbol turned green and said vacant. Nelson made his re-entry to the dance floor.
Marissa remained unadulterated until six am the following morning, when the thickset Maori bouncers forcibly removed any patrons who had the
indecency to remain. Some time during the night, Marissa fell off the toilet seat and was curled up in the corner of the cubicle, head resting against
the wooden white wall of the enclosure. When she awoke, her money, mobile phone and jewellery was gone. The kindly thieves in the night left her
identification and phone SIM card at least. Nevertheless, hobbling out of the nightclub, designer heels in hand Marissa felt, and looked like fucking
shit, fingering her purple swollen cheek.
Thomas Engleby.
Sydney, July 2008
93
Clara Mata Illustrator // Spain
Your emotions in the first place
Heart
Could you begin by sharing with your audience how you good or bad. In fact, I’ve made many bad collages with really gorgeous
became a collagist? images, and also very good ones with garbage.
I’ve been stealing, cutting and pasting images in my notebooks my whole Old textbooks and novels are a recurring theme in
life, but it’s been two years ago that I chose collage as my language. your work. What is significance to you for say, having
Just when I was supposed to become a product/industrial designer, I saw a novel open to a specific page? Are you using the
accidentally two pieces of one of the best collage-artist nowadays, Sean actual pages of the novel in your artwork, or just
Mackaoui, [hung] on a friend’s wall. For the first time I was facing exactly photocopying the image of one and pasting it in?
the kind of images I always wanted to see. That’s how it all started. A few
months later, I bought my first professional scissors, and started to get in Guess what? I never noticed that, but yes, that’s right, the book is one of
contact with magazines where my work could fit. my most used elements, always as a shape, more than by its content. I
mean that my work as illustrator is to translate words and ideas to images;
You’ve collected material from all over the world here I prefer not to complete the information I want to give by adding text or
- Switzerland, UK, USA, France, to name a few. Are you any writing. If I did so, wouldn’t I be going backwards?
inclined to just take your big scissors and try to chop up
everything in sight? Why books? I don’t know; maybe because I live surrounded by my
Sure! Why not? I consider every image I see as a possible victim; but I grandfather’s library, and that’s what I’ve been looking at my whole life.
can’t get anything in sight; my scissors are not that big. In fact, they are An open book is a good shape; it’s clean, harmonic, very attractive,
really small. despite of what’s inside…
As one of the world’s cultural hotspots, Madrid has a lot to

Speaking of which, tell us about where (and how) you
offer the world, not just for its great nightlife, but also has
keep all your little titbits you plan to use sometime
a burgeoning subculture and artist scene. Tell the rest of us
in the future.
what the Madrid art community represents to you.
I collect lots of magazines, but I keep the best pictures (or the more
interesting by any reason) in a flat cardboard box, all mixed up. Once I I think Madrid has grown up; it’s not anymore the “teenage” city it used
tried to classify this stuff with a rational criteria: people, things, animals, to be, you know, just for fun. Nowadays there’s something really exciting
landscapes, etcetera…but It didn’t work; I couldn’t find anything, so I and fresh going on here, mostly coming from disciplines peripheral to art,
went back to my anarchic system. like industrial design, architecture, advertising, illustration…
In regards to the artist scene, galleries, museums and so, I’m afraid I
How do you approach a certain piece? Do you have a certain
cannot be very helpful; the last exhibitions I visited made me feel as if I was
idea in your head of what you want to achieve, or do you
in a funeral: everybody walking in line, dressed in black, serious faces…
just rummage through your collections and see what fits?
But lately, here in Madrid, there’ve been many cultural initiatives to take
Hmmm... both. When I receive a text to illustrate, I always part from an art out of these ‘coffins’, and bring it to the streets, which hopefully will
idea of what I want, but in the process I try to play or to experiment as re-connect it to the people. I wish...
much as possible, just in case I’m accidentally inspired by some other
unexpected idea. That’s the best part of all the process; it always include
some surprise. My collages are never what they were supposed to be
when I started them.
Aside from an intuitive sense of composition, you have a

great sense of humour. Is your drive to create art partly
fuelled by everyday images around you and the absurd
combinations in which they can be placed?
Maybe. However my combinations are usually intentional. I always try
to combine ideas that fit conceptually, get the proper images, put them
together, and try to get the visual fitting. With my work I try to find new
relations between images that already exist. It’s kind of a game. Besides,
collage allows me to work very fast; to get immediately an answer to
what I try to say. However, I’m an illustrator, more than an “artist” (as it
is traditionally understood). I find it much more challenging to illustrate
someone else’s thoughts than mines. And also much more funny.
Which sources do you find yourself looking to over and

Clara Mata
over again? Do you have any favourites, or is it all just stuff
you’ve come across randomly?
I kkeep any kind of stuff, but I have my favourites, of course. Old National
Geographics or París Match, Reader’s Digest, and so. But I don’t like to
work just with old images; I like to mix them with actual images, in order
to get a piece not linked to a specific moment or time. You know, collage
is very often related to vintage, and vintage is itself something beautiful
and irresistible, but the beauty of the images is not what makes the piece
95
Rent a car
Joy
97
How to drive a bike
Absin the esquire
99
Sherry O’keefe
Poet
An Evening Walk on Rex’s Farm

My son has his Sunday socks on. What this means
we don’t ask, but we wait while he finds a pair of Mondays
in the back seat of our truck. He’ll be the first the lambs
run to when we reach the flock. We know this
about him even though he doesn’t.
My daughter says she hopes it doesn’t rain because she’s trying

to have a cute day. Our puppies pounce at her flip flops,
her rolled-up jeans and those soft pink toes with green
nail polish. She has no idea her sky is blue slate,
wiped clean every time she laughs.
It won’t matter that the field is one large land mine of manure
and mud. She’s got a chocolate in her pocket, extra shoes
in the truck bed, blankets for the dogs. A coffee can
of skipper rocks. Just in case there’s water.
I’m trying to decide how I feel
about something I can’t quite remember at the time, but we need

to get started soon or it’ll be dark before we return. My sister
is casual, wears a headlamp around her hat. Reminds us
there is no rush. Once it gets dark, it doesn’t get
any darker. The sheep will wait for us.
Stacey Roy
Poet
Before the Beginning
Red backpack
hunches, a clot
miscarried on the floor

of our rented room.
thick straps anchor me

to the round world,
pressing into my imaginings

of unknown places.
empty mouth ready

to be fed, the bag
crumples its waterproof

fabric and insinuates,
it’s time to go. there’s

no home here.
101
Nikki Pinder Illustrator // England
Ever since I could first pick up a pencil I’ve always loved to draw and I am a creative and curious thinker who loves to draw, paint, invent, learn,
create. When I was a child I used to invent new worlds inside my head write, explore, and receive challenges. I also love helping other people and
so I could pretend I was in a jungle one minute, and a desert the next. I a lot of what I do I hope will always inspire others to challenge themselves
can remember once collecting the plants from around our old three story too, or experiment with a new venture in their lives. I’m in love with the
Victorian house (there were millions) and putting them all into one room countryside and nature, so whenever I can, I go for jogs down the river or
so it looked like a dense forest. I’m not sure how pleased my mum was walks in the forest taking lots of photographs along the way and collecting
when she saw what I’d done though. I’ve always drawn, every day as it interesting objects I find. I love working with people and hearing what
makes feel really happy. I even used to get me detentions at high school inspires them, and how their experiences have affected their lives. I want to
for drawing in Maths and History lessons, but I just saw it as practice. keep learning, growing, evolving my ideas and skills, and travel the world
with a sketchbook and camera so I can capture everything I see.
I’ve also always loved making things and inventing something new out
of objects I’ve found. Also, I’ve always been completely fascinated by I do what I do because it feels so natural to me, and it’s as if I have to
antiques, curiosities, old books, ephemera, and anything which tells a create and express how I feel otherwise I might explode as I have so
story or has an interesting history. So ever since I can remember I’ve loved many ideas and thoughts inside my mind. The main reason why I create
dirty old wunderkammer shops and bookstores. though is because it is what I love to do, and I couldn’t ever imagine doing
anything else. I always have a sketchbook, camera, pencil and pen in my
When I think back to what I used to make and enjoy as a child, it was bag and that’s all I need to be happy.
forming the building blocks for what I’m creating today, so I began in
my current field by becoming fascinated by the world around me, and
by inventing my own. I studied art, design and illustration at college and
University to learn as much as possible and open up my eyes to what
creative opportunities are available. Whilst studying I would work on
self-initiated projects to experiment with working with people and testing
peoples responses to my work and ideas. I also did work experience
placements whilst at University. Then immediately after graduating I set up
my own business and began to work freelance.
Dissolved girl
103
The bird man
Rogue taxidermy
105
The hand that feeds
Carry your heart
107
The Ideas
Festival
The Ideas Festival is a six-day festival of ideas, innovation and invention, and is Queensland’s leading open public
ideas event. The 2009 event, presented by the Queensland Government, will be held at Brisbane’s South Bank
from March 24-29. The festival was established in 2001 to present ideas, promote public debate, and to foster
and celebrate innovation.
animals, food, and symbols of some of the major movements
in our history. Sue has created a vibrant and unique identity for
our festival that illustrates our festival perfectly – it’s a place to
discuss anything and everything and we encourage combining
established ideas to form new and exciting concepts. She’s also
demonstrated one of the major aims of the festival by bringing
these ideas to life.”
While creating the sculpture, Sue said she kept the need for a
strong logo in mind which would appear on all of the Festival’s
promotional materials and carry through to future festivals. Her
work formed the basis of the complete branding and image
for the festival, created with Brisbane design company design
front.
To help document the creative process, photographer Gary

Mitchell installed a digital camera onto the ceiling of Sue’s
studio. A series of 300 photographs were developed into a
Excess of Evil stop motion animation of the creation.
“With the camera set up overhead I randomly laid out all of the
objects onto a white base. As I moved the objects, I would take
a photo. My shot list would include 300 photos so I needed to
Ideas into Action: The inspiration behind the Ideas Festival be aware of the progress of each of the letters coming to life.
My intention was for the word ‘ideas’ to slowly reveal itself and
not entirely form until the final shots.”
When Brisbane graphic design studio Design front were given the task of creating
a new brand identity for the fourth Ideas Festival they commissioned artist Sue Sue and three helpers took three days to complete the photos,
Loveday to bring their concepts to life. The result was a fun fusion of found objects which were then animated by design front and set to a piece of
that represented the five themes of the festival. quirky original music by Brett Harris. The finished product can
be seen on the festival web site.
Sue said her brief was to create inspirational imagery “that reflected the Festival’s
philosophy of creativity, optimism and connections, and presented the festival as
an open, welcoming and experiential event.” The objects on each letter of the sculpture relate to the five
program themes:
“Our aim was to make the sculptures from objects found in everyday life. The use
of familiar, everyday materials helped with identifying a festival that was inclusive I – Innovation and Invention
and accessible. I find it hard to throw things away and I love old things so I have D – Development and Design
quite a collection of all kinds of found and second hand objects collected over the E – Ecology and Ethics
years. Friends also helped out with some hard to find items.” A – Action and Advocacy
S – Self and Society
An interesting collection of oddments made its way into the design, each relating
to the themes of the Festival. Festival Director Michael Peterson said each of the
items helped complete a picture about the Festival:
Find out more on the Ideas Festival website: http://www.ideasfestival.com.au/
“Looking closely at the sculptures you’ll see things like test tubes, buildings,
109
Rob Ryan Prints‘n’Cuts // England
Rob Ryan is a London-based artist who creates papercuts, screen prints and porcelain with wild abandon. He
will often weave a sumptious poem into the mix for good measure and have us all in a whirlwind of romance
and fantasy.
“All of my ideas for pictures come from sketchbooks that I work on at Rob has previously designed book covers and decorated departments
any given time but mainly in bed before I fall asleep. I jot down thoughts stores. Vogue even received their very own dress out of paper, and in his
and stuff and as such the drawings and words sort of end up getting own words, “Everybody I worked with [at Vogue] was really lovely and
entwined.” very professional. Its funny, like most jobs you don’t get to meet to people
in person, you just speak through e-mails and on the phone.”
Rob Ryan is a London-based artist who creates papercuts, screen prints
and porcelain with wild abandon. He will often weave a sumptuous poem He estimates that his papercuts can take anywhere between 1 and 200
into the mix for good measure and have us all in a whirlwind of romance hours to produce. They are amazing pieces of art and we think they are
and fantasy. worth the effort!!
“I don’t want to think about things too much, I don’t want to change them “I must admit I am a bit of a mess and a fan of everything in the world of
or rub them out. I want to kind of have the idea and let’s do it! And I illustration, I love English illustration: the Erics – Fraser, Ravilious and Gill;
mean paper – cutting paper – is the ultimate extension of that really, Edwards-Bawden and Ardizzone, but I revere Titian and Raphael.”
because you can plan the picture to a certain extent. And I don’t plan
them totally. I kind of have an idea of how it’s going to work and I draw Look for Rob Ryan’s exhibition in 2009 in New York with Earnest Sewn.
and cut it as I go along. It has to interconnect to hold together because Want to know more about this unique artist? Visit www.rob-ryan.blogspot.
they’re always one sheet of paper. It’s quite important that it’s from one com
sheet – there’s nothing added to it. It’s one simple thing. A beginning
and an end. It’s quite a nice thing to do, you know, it’s sort of satisfying.”
Other planets red
111
Kissing gate yellow red
Boat people
113
Big book print yellow
Stacey Roy
Poet
Sick
my brain is a huge
aching globe
spitting off hot metal.
I don’t need water

anymore. it’s unnecessary.
water makes me retch retch retch.
i’ve been taken back

to my real parts. my voice
is gone. i’m a wise mute
with a puffed face.

my body a hot crucible
leaving little. i think i’ll float.
i imagine you as heavy

stone, a warm weight holding
down my shining toes.
my stomach cramps
in its pure religious
emptiness.
115
Ian Bowers Surf Artist // Australia
So Ian , could you tell us about your background, where are So when did you first find an appreciation for art?
you from? I remember the very first time I was conscious of my work going on a
I am originally from Rugby, Warwickshire in England - the birthplace of wall for people to make a judgement or comment upon. It was in Grade
the game Rugby. My mum and dad moved me and my older brother to 3. My teacher had stuck my drawing (of a motor bike!) onto a piece of
Braunston, Northamptonshire in 1971. I was one year old. These places black sugar paper creating a frame, and in my opinion making it all the
are right in the middle of England, I skated before I surfed. Skating was an more special. Not only did this motivate me to create more work worthy
awesome scene in England during the eighties and nineties. I remember of display, but it made me realise that paintings, drawings etc. did not
my best friend’s Dad going to work in America and bringing home this only appear in books but were hung on walls in houses or galleries and
blue piece of plastic on wheels. We spent the whole of summer riding it, were really precious and unique items.
trying to negotiate the corner at the bottom of the driveway. Before long
we started to ‘bomb’ the biggest hills we could find! Hitting speed wobble, Art became the single most important subject at school and one of
keeping control, catching the buzz. the major interests outside of school. We visited galleries on school
excursions and also during family holidays and weekends in London. I
School I found hard. I could not find my place academically. There were looked forward to these visits and loved really getting close to the work
positive results in sport and art, but the more ‘formal’ subjects I found and looking at the textures, the colours, the brushstrokes. I liked how
difficult. It was also around this time that my imagination was fired by artists had been creating images for centuries, I also enjoyed the way it
the images of surf photographer Leroy Grannis. A photo of Eddie Aikau had evolved and been through various transitions and genres.
and Billy Hamilton dropping into a huge wave at Waimea Bay publicised
in ‘The Sunday Times’ started a lifelong passion for the sea and the surf. During my degree course in Wales I became more and more aware of
The closest I got to white water at this time was in my kayak as I travelled the diversity of how artists make and create art pieces. It was great to
around the country tackling the rapids with the local kayak club. be creative everyday and be encouraged to broaden your perspective
of what art is. My appreciation grew and I was consumed by the way an
During school I basically put most effort into art and sport. This culminated artist could often be the most powerful social commentator, they could
into scraping through an erratic school experience, leaving with just illustrate a political issue without having to physically vocalise a point of
enough qualifications for further education. I continued to skate; I went to view. Ultimately an artist can simply make the viewer exasperated, create
college and met various people that would impact on my life positively - enjoyment or admiration through what they produce, I loved that. They
people of the same age but years ahead with their interests and tastes in can also receive negative comments, the viewer can say “I don’t like that,
contemporary culture. As my wife often jokes to me, I was just a country that sucks, its crap, a child could do that!” Whatever, it is a powerful and
boy. I really got into the whole skate culture, it became a major part of exhilarating, creative experience and egos can be seriously dented!
my life along with music, film and art. It was a very happening, happy,
all-consuming experience. In your art, what is it about surfing and/or surf culture that
inspires you so?
Afterwards I went to the University of Wales to continue my art education In England my perspective of this culture was fairly narrow to say the least.
and undertake a Fine Art degree. The area’s coastline drew me in and I was aware of its rebellious and subversive edge. I liked the idea that
I started to get into surfing. It was a hit-and-miss affair. The surf was it could consume someone’s life to the point that it was all they wanted
sporadic and totally fickle to say the least, and to negotiate a consistent to do. There were names I was aware of during the eighties in England,
approach of improvement seemed impossible due to travel time and the most notably the guys in the Leroy Grannis images such as Eddie Aikau
nature of the ocean in the area. During this time my mum and dad were or Gerry Lopez. I also remember seeing the obituary for the Hawaiian
involved in a car accident which resulted in my dad having a stroke. This surfer Mark Foo in the Times newspaper, I tore it out and still have it to
devastated me and I made some bad choices in my attempt to remove the this day. The story although immensely sad provoked ideas of heroism
impact from me personally.
Alex
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juxtaposed against the ocean environment. On the whole I think surfing is
just such a joyous experience, it is such fun, yet it has immense complexities
running through its core, and it still frustrates me beyond belief.
Your art takes a wonderfully refreshing, minimal and

contemporary approach to the surf landscape and surfers,
what made you approach the subject in the way you have?
My friend Grant Forbes who owns Tigerfish Gallery in Torquay said about
my work, “sometimes it takes an outsider to bring a different perspective.”
I really agree with that statement. I was so enthusiastic to see the culture
that exists here that I immersed myself in it very quickly. When I meet
people involved in the scene I listen to them and mentally record their
stories and opinions and I believe that those things impact on my work.
I am very lucky to have been able to have the time I have with a variety
of shapers, and even shape with them. When I have painted the shapers
it made sense when I was working out the composition to have it very
symmetrical and balanced as they apply the same approach to creating
a surfboard. It seemed logical to have strong shapes and sharp lines and
show the character of their studios. I also use very strong contrasts of light
and dark which illuminate the shaper and surrounding objects from left
and right of the canvas. This is in keeping with the way they have the light
in the studio, the florescent lights placed either side of the board so they
can see the board taking shape.
Two artist that have really inspired me are Andy Warhol and Robert
Rauschenberg. Both of these artists involved themselves with the screen
print medium; I often paint following the basic sequence that is used in
screen printing and often limit my palette of colours. For instance, I will
often start off with the silhouette of a person or object as a flat colour,
and then using a contrasting colour, paint in all of the detail. So I build
Ian Bower up layers as you would when you screen print. My work is starting to be
produced using more complex processes and I would like to move away
from some of the realism. I think it is essential that my work evolves in this
and for me it just seemed the most pure and ultimate of pursuits. I also way to keep it fresh. I stopped being so particular about the work being
came across the name Wayne Lynch, I loved that idea of a pioneer who planned to the last detail and now I think it is [now] a much more organic
travelled up and down the coast and sometimes across the planet to find process.
waves, someone who studied and respected their environment and built
the craft that they could use to enjoy the ocean environment further. Your art has a very interesting multi-media/collage feel to it,
what materials do you use?
It was not until my first visit to Australia in ‘89 that I realised how much I have mentioned Warhol and Rauschenberg but I am also inspired by
surfing was a cultural movement here. After that visit I promised myself the materials and processes that various artists have used. One such
that I would live in Australia one day. I have lived here now for almost five technique is called ‘Declomonania’ which was created by the surrealist
years, and since being here my appreciation has broadened and become Max Ernst. It is a process where a material or other surface is pressed
more respectful and knowledgeable. on to the face of the painting while it is wet, and then taken off. This can
create some great textures and I like the way you can never be sure of
In England I was inspired by surfing from the images in books and what will happen. I also have used very traditional wallpaper patterns and
magazines. At that time if I exhibited my paintings my subject would be created stencils of these and incorporated them into the canvasses. This
rock stars and the music scene as it is so accessible in England. When was originally inspired by the flowers you see in a lot of Hawaiian prints;
I arrived in Australia it was instantaneous, I knew I would paint the surf now I am choosing more of a diverse range of patterns and repeat prints
and the culture surrounding it. From my first visit to Gunnamatta it was and incorporate them into the work.
a sealed deal.
Whilst I paint predominantly in acrylic I also like to mix it up with spray
I started to photograph the local scene, anything related to surfing - the paints. I particularly like using the spray to resist areas that are wet. I have
cars, the boards, the contests, anything. I became an addictive buyer also found that I can spray onto wet varnish and water and shift the film
of surf magazines. I think the most important and defining moment that of spray around and create a variety of textures.
really started it all was a visit to Mick Pearce’s (local Peninsula surfing hero
and shaper) shaping bay. Mick afforded me over 2 hours of his time as he When I paint, I have a range of different shaped and sized brushes readily
shaped a retro twin fish from templates he had created over twenty years available, and these are what I mainly use. However, I also use bits of
ago. This opened a whole new world to me and allowed me to bring so plastic, wood, cardboard, foam, and sponge - anything to apply the
much more interest into my work. The portrait of Mick was eventually paint. I also move the canvas around to different locations, turn it on its
donated to Clean Ocean and auctioned off for $1700. side upside down and flat on the floor. This helps me control really wet
paint as I let it run and dry. I often mask off large areas and use lots of
From there, I had so much respect for what these shapers do; they are masking tape and this creates more of that collage feel. When you see
artists themselves and often the unsung heroes of this pastime/sport. I the paintings for real I like the idea that the process is visible, that this has
am so inspired by what they do - I love the environments they work in, taken time, it all adds to the story of the work. I also often photocopy my
photos and play around with the exposure mode, this can give an image The figures are a very important element. They are required to ground
an entirely different feel and I like to use some of those changes in my the work as they often look photographic compared to the rest of the
work. I think digital photography has allowed me to explore the content painting. They are often the very last thing that I paint and the attention
of my images further. to detail is very precise and time consuming. It is great when people look
at the work and say “that’s Dave Rastovich isn’t it?” To be able to create
I also am influenced by the adverts for surfing and skating that I see that person to be recognisable is a real buzz. I do have my own photos
in the magazines. Some of them are very cool, incorporating a variety of various people in and around the area I live, it’s all surf related and I
of imagery. I am really drawn to them and I think subconsciously they eventually want to be at the point where I use all of my own images start
influence what happens in my work. to finish and I believe I am almost there.
The human form seems an important element in your art. You have recently created a series of beautiful and unique
Could you describe these surfers, are they people you pieces of art for an exhibition down at Torquay at the
know? Tigerfish Gallery, could you talk about that?
I have met and know all of the shapers who I have painted. The images When I originally contacted Grant Forbes at Tigerfish I sent him through
come from photographs that I have taken and the quirkiness of the a load of images from a previous exhibition that I had at Sorrento on the
painting is dictated by their individual characters, the stories they have to Mornington Peninsula. They were of both shapers and surfers. I wanted to
tell, and the feel and organisation of their shaping bay. do some of the major figures from the industry over in Torquay and also
some images that I had planned to do for a long time from the Grannis
For example, I painted a guy called Steve Friedman who has become a book that I had recently got.
great friend of mine. Steve was born in California and learnt to shape
there but really refined his technique in Hawaii. He knows some pretty I ended up creating the Wayne Lynch piece and one of Russell Graham
impressive names such as Jeff Ho (Steve knows a lot of the Zephyr crew glassing a board. Alongside those were three really nice size paintings
still now and is in regular contact with Skipper) and Gerry Lopez. He tells (about 80cm x 80cm). They followed that collage vibe again with
the best stories. When I spent the day with him for the portrait he did not these great stencil prints incorporated into the paintings. The colour
shut up, [telling] story after story. He is a very entertaining guy. When I combinations were my tried and tested combo’s. The images were of
created the painting I focused on him marking out the board with his Joel Tudor in classic laid back nose ride stance, Tom Curren busting a
templates but I had three of him surrounding the board doing this. That turn over the lip and some guy from a Grannis photo ducking underneath
is what it was like - this whirlwind personality, like three guys talking to the lip and getting a cold shower. I was so pleased with all three of these
you at the same time. images and how I approached them; I actually laid out each of the
images by spray painting free hand onto the canvas before going in with
I painted Neil Oke (Chok) of Oke surfboards. Neil is a lovely bloke, really the acrylic. I also actually spent an entire day of daylight trying to get Tom
genuine and warm. He was very bemused by my request to paint him Curren’s face right; when you consider it is an area approx 2cm by 2cm
but went along with it anyway. I really loved the Oke factory and wanted that’s just stupid!
that image to have a ‘factory’ feel about it, and to also capture Chok’s
amusement at being photographed for the painting. So the painting is I also used some of my photos and developed a technique to transfer
split into essentially three images - what’s known as a Triptych. The first them onto paper. These were used to create some black and white collage
part has one of those hideous male air-host dummies you sometimes see prints of the shapers in action, they are really nice and I am going to use
outside travel agents. The guys in the workshop had actually stolen this this technique in the future as a way of developing an image before I
from a travel agent and I think it had received all kinds of abuse over the start painting, almost like creating a sketchbook. I also created some lino
years as it was knackered. In the centre and the main part is Chok in the prints which were displayed on stretched canvas, these were just black
shaping bay, he is going for it with the plane, it’s a great image! Then and white. They looked really classic, very retro.
In the last part I painted Chok again, overalls off and cracking up. He
seriously found it all so funny, he later bought the painting. How do you feel about your work and surf art in general?
Overall I like the majority of the stuff that I have done so far. I think it is
I have been fortunate enough to meet and paint Wayne Lynch. That
natural to look back on work from a few years previous and be slightly
was really awesome. I tried to keep that one really mysterious. Although
confused as to what it was you were trying to achieve. In particular there
many people know the name, I liked the fact that Wayne had shunned
have been some colour combinations that should simply have never been
the spotlight and focused on what he really wanted to do. The painting
thought of, let alone committed to canvas. On the whole I like what I do
looks kind of spooky and Wayne is completely absorbed in examining
but it is always progressing as I learn more about how I paint. I think the
the board that he is shaping.
nicest thing is that I am at the point where I have stopped trying to paint
like someone else. I am always seeing stuff that I think to myself, ‘I wish I
The paintings of people surfing are mainly from the images in magazines,
had thought of that’, or ‘why can’t I do it like that?’. But that’s ridiculous,
so no, I don’t know them. I don’t just choose any image; it has to translate
I paint how I paint and I think I will always be trying to figure out different
into a painting. There are things in photos that you can accept like the
ways to do it, but those should now be generated from my own ability and
positions of legs and arms. There are some pretty strange poses caught
my own experiences, not someone else’s.
by the camera in surfing. If I was to paint those I think people would say,
“He’s caught the expression well, but what’s going on with the arms?” I
The art of surf culture has so many varied forms. When I think about surf
cannot cope with the idea of that and neither can my wife, and believe
culture imagery I almost always think of Rick Griffin, I think still of Surfer
me, she will be the first one to spot it.
magazine. Griffins stuff is just so good, I love it. I have also been inspired
by the old rock posters from San Francisco during the 1960’s and 70’s;
There are two female surfers whom I have painted, Erica Hosseini and
Rick Griffin was a major force during that era. The works of Wolfgang
Kassia Meador. They have both contacted me via email and love the
Bloch, they are such beautiful seascapes. Andrew Kidman has certainly
work. I am actually sending Kassia her portrait in the next few weeks.
cemented his place in surf culture. His new book Ether is fabulous, really
She is sending me some photos of her surfing in return which I am so
nicely put together. The kind of diverse depth of imagery he presents in
stoked about.
his photos and words is how I would ultimately like the body of work I
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Kassia
create through my art to be perceived. The first time I saw the book was at inspire your work?
Wayne Lynch’s place, he was raving about it and that to me was a definite
seal of approval. There are so many things that inspire me; I should make sure that I have a
camera with me more often. I should also learn to use my sketch/idea book
So many boards are now manufactured by a machine. It would be terrible better as I forget things fairly easily. I am really lazy with organisation and
to think that the art of hand-shaping a board could eventually disappear. systems and stuff like that, [I’m] one of the world’s biggest procrastinators.
The board shaper is part of the culture which needs to be preserved and Every time I am at the car park at the surf there will be something I see that
passed on. That process of talking to a shaper about what it is you want could start me off on another painting idea, it could be a car, a board, a
to achieve when you are in the water is an essential component [of the bloke, a girl, a tree, a plant, a sign - almost anything really.
culture]. Buying off the rack just isn’t the same and none of the people that
I personally know do that. My main inspiration now comes from articles or books that I read. I have
read a lot of stuff by the American skater Scott Bourne who now writes in
The film Blue Horizon gave a great insight into surf culture, I wish I could France. I like what he has to say and the choices that he has made and
have seen it when I was sixteen. As a whole, it’s the kind of thing that I I find that kind of thing inspirational. I am reading a book about Lance
think people should see as it showed its two very diverse sides. Personalities Armstrong at the moment, he is inspirational for the obvious reasons (his
such as Dave Rastovich are the kind of people that can change and take battle overcoming cancer) but I find his physicality and the way his brain
surf culture into the future along with companies such as Patagonia. I works equally compelling. Films also often provide me with stimulus, I
like the way Dave Rastovich has started to create his own vibe with his saw the film ‘Into the Wild,’ and would suggest to anyone who reads this
spirituality, art, music and films and drawn people into that. As a culture that they see it if they haven’t already. Also the last two sections of “Riding
that era of selfishly following your desire to catch the next wave at all costs Giants,’ are great, that’s that heroism stuff that I talked about earlier, right
has gone. If we are to perpetuate what we love doing we need to change there in a movie.
the way we manufacture what we ride and change to a large extent how
we interact with our environment. Surfers and surfing as a pastime have If inspiration is what drives you forward and makes you better, then my
the perfect platform to be vocal and proactive about that change. biggest inspirations would be my wife and children. It was my wife Abi
who suggested that we move to Australia. She has inspired me so much
How has your art evolved over the years? over the years and has given me the drive to achieve the things I want to
achieve. Having a family gives you the determination to challenge yourself,
I have always painted, but a lot of my previous work was for big to become better and provide. I am not saying that I get it right every day
corporations. One of my favourite jobs as a professional artist was during - I don’t - but there have been times when we have been unstoppable; an
the 90’s working for Warner Brothers in Germany. This work was both unstoppable force in achieving our goals. That inspires me.
two- and three-dimensional. After that I worked for Sir Frank Lowe at
his mansion in Chelsea. Sir Frank is an advertising genius, he had such So where do those who want to see your artwork or purchase
vision. I worked for him at his mansion painting murals and pictures on his originals or prints have to go?
walls and ceilings. I painted to deadline everyday for two and a half years.
This enabled me to improve my techniques and skills very quickly, I also Tigerfish is my main viewing space at present. I love the way Grant works
learnt how to create various paint effects such as wood graining, bronzing and I love the space; it’s also great to exhibit in Torquay. I am having an
and ageing and worked for a number of years as a scenic artist on sets. A exhibition there on the 3rd of April to the 1st of May this year; there will
lot of those techniques now appear in my work. be an opening, but for what date we are as yet not sure. I also intend to
put a website together. In the mean time if people want to get in contact,
I mentioned earlier that I painted rock stars in England. At that time my I have my email address at ianbowers@live.com.au.
paintings were very precise and very clean. The background would be flat
colour with the face or figure of the artist I was painting placed on top. What does the future hold for your art?
There were never more than two colours used in these paintings and this is I have in my mind that I will become more competent at this pastime that
where the inspiration for a lot of my colours I use now comes from. I love so much. I would love to get a waterproof housing for my camera
and start taking some shots out in the water and put some really personal
Now my backgrounds are taking on a far more dramatic feel. They are feelings of those moments into my paintings. It’s that different perspective
somewhat like the works of Joseph Turner; this certainly has not been a you see when you are sitting out there on your board looking back at the
deliberate move but just something that has occurred over time. I was beach; when you’re out there with everyone else waiting for the next set.
always a big fan of Turner’s seascapes and I am certainly not making my To capture that anticipation, and the fun of it all.
paintings comparable to his.
I also see it evolving further and maybe at some point a shift to oils. I think
Out of all your artwork’s to date, do you have a favourite? this question is really timely as I have just finished a massive art installation
It is hard to pick! There was a very early painting which was derived from with Steve Friedman which involved putting imagery into fibreglass. That
all of my own photographs called Bi Focal. It showed a guy checking out opened up a million more ideas for me and some of them I certainly
the surf from his old Holden Ute with a pair of binoculars. He was painted intend to pursue. Along with that I want to continue my shaping journey,
up close, down the bottom of the canvas. Above him is his car with this time is always against me. I feel perpetually busy, but Steve has given me
monster single fin longboard shoved in the back, this image is repeated the green light to have another go at a board in the near future. At the
three times. Then above that are three power poles. The idea was to show moment, as Grant advertised at the last exhibition, “It’s pure surf!”
this guys journey to that point where he is checking the surf. It was a very
ambitious piece of work and a style that I would like to repeat again at
some point. It sold for $2300 which is another reason to like it.
My other favourite is the image of Alex Knost that I did last year. It was one
of the first images that I used the spray paint in and I also extended the
amount of colours that I used in this work which was a major step forward
for me. There is a real nice fresh abstract quality to it.
Are there any other artists, individuals or organisations that
121
Joel
Curren
123
Rasta
Pacey
125
Wayne
Tim
127
The Unknown
Michael Lee Johnson
Poet
Harvest Time
A Métis Indian lady, drunk,
hands blanketed over as in prayer,
over a large brown fruit basket
naked of fruit, no vine, no vineyard
MRWMHI¢ETTVSEGLIWXLI)HQSRXSR
Alberta adoption agency.
There are only spirit gods
inside her empty purse.
Inside, an infant,
refrained from life,
with a fruity wine sap apple
wedged like a teaspoon
of autumn sun
inside its mouth.
A shallow pool of tears starts
to mount in native blue eyes.
Snuffling, the mother offers
a slim smile, turns away.
She slithers voyeuristically
through near slum streets,
and alleyways,
looking for drinking buddies
to share a hefty pint
of applejack wine.
129
Jeremy Thomas
Poet
Eye Imagine
Eye Imagine. Everything I see superimposed on everything
I be.
Eye Imagine. Shapes within melt and morph on stage set
morning at three.
Black clouds Tuesday through Saturday,
Meaning like they matter they
Are projections, gas injections of dizzying brightness,
Dark and alightness.
Function without form, never tired never worn.
An endless smear;
Words slurred or tumbling tear.
Spinning colours fantastically,
Supposing drastically, this has to be
Me?
Neither
over
nor about
but within.
Without.
Lost love leaps laughing from a ledge,

Breaking twigs as she drops from the edge.
All land in laps of loved and likewise,
Left I to bring forth such tears to their eyes.
Lies provoked, sustained and joked,

Like ants all pour out of the holes that are poked.
Desperate echos from distant chasms;
Eye half-open twitches and spasms.
Thoughts ingested, digested, re-invested,
It’s suggested, inferred that I messed it,
Up.
Missed it.
Misted up.
Futility reigns.
And reins.
And rains.
Michael Lee Johnson
Poet
Rod Stroked Survival with a

Deadly Hammer
Rebecca fantasised that life was a lottery ticket or a pull of a lever,
that one of the bunch in her pocket was a winner or the slots were a redeemer;
but life itself was not real; that was strictly for the mentally insane at the Elgin
Mental Institution.
She gambled her savings away on a riverboat
stuck in mud on a riverbank, the Grand Victoria, in Elgin, Illinois.
Her bare feet were always propped up on wooden chair;
a cigarette dropped from her lips like morning fog.
She always dreamed of travelling, not nightmares.
But she couldn’t overcome, overcome,
the terrorist ordeal of the German siege of Leningrad.
She was a foreigner now; she was a foreigner for good.
Her first husband died after spending a lifetime in prison
with stinging nettles in his toes and feet; the second
husband died of hunger when there were no more rats
to feed on, after many fights in prison for the last remains.
What does a poet know of suffering?
Rebecca has rod stroked survival with a deadly mallet.
She gambles nickels, dimes, quarters, tokens tossed away,
living a penniless life for grandchildren who hardly know her name.
Rebecca fantasised that life was a lottery ticket or the pull of a lever.
131
Against the Grain: Abby
Levine’s Wood Sculptures
by Laurie Churchill
Marathon, Texas is still pretty much the sleepy, one-street town I had first I enjoy the time in the town prior to meeting Levine, reconnecting with
visited twenty years ago. The Gage Hotel (“historic” Western digs) is still this place after a long hiatus, and musing about how an artist might be
the centerpiece; some B&Bs have sprung up since I visited last, a few more here. How does she sustain inspiration/stimulation? How did she choose
galleries and kitsch shops, an internet café (Mirabile Dictu), and a gym Marathon? Or did Marathon choose her? What are her connections with
for Gage patrons across the railroad tracks. The Gage is simultaneously Big Bend, the land, and surrounding areas?
lovely and goofy. Hotel guests are asked to sign an agreement not to
steal any of the artifacts from the rooms. The rustic ambience and air of The next morning I am up at 5:00 AM and drink coffee in the lobby
pretentiousness seem out of sync with Marathon’s funkiness. of the Gage before heading to the gym. I have the place to myself.
Next, a glorious sunrise run, waning moon behind me, as I jog through
I am here to interview Abby Levine. I have seen only a few of her pieces, the side streets and eventually find a dirt road that leads north, birds
whimsical wood cutouts of cowgirls. Levine and I have exchanged a few singing blessings in silk trees with their big pineapple blooms, absolutely
emails; other than that, I have no context for this interview, no idea of magical. I am reminded of running in the villages in Spain, rolling out
what to expect. the door and into the magic. I pick up stones, pieces of metal and glass
along the way.
I want to reacquaint myself with Marathon and so I explore side streets,
chancing upon the Catholic Church. Two old Hispanic men are seated in Back at the Gage I meet Levine for breakfast and an initial conversation,
the pews, praying; it is Holy Thursday. The crucifix is draped with a sheer a warm up, before the “formal” interview. She is lovely, a sprite; a small
purple cloth, a remnant of Lent. To the right of the altar are large pots Jewish woman, late forties I think, with big hair, bold glasses, wearing
filled with white lilies, and a bank of white candles glows. patterned pants and light gray leather elfin shoes. We are both wearing
denim jackets with a twist: hers decorated with copper studs, mine with
A windy night and the train rolls through periodically, the tracks running a motley collection of buttons. The jackets give us a palpable indication
parallel to the main drag –the route to Alpine. Tourists also roll in and that we will hit it off – yes, the connection is immediate. Abby comments
out of here – of a more upscale variety than I recall, likely from Dallas that she had feared I would be flamboyant and intimidate her. She had
– decked out in their cowboy gear and driving slick cars; also high-end imagined I’d be wearing a big hat. I am pleasantly surprised by her as
bikers, also likely from Dallas, wearing spiffy black leather chaps. I speak well. Over the course of the interview, I learn just how political and smart,
with one of them – yes, from Dallas – driving through on the annual perceptive and well-researched her art is, lots more going on here than
Harley “guys only” Easter pilgrimage to Big Bend. He is having problems cowgirl cutouts.
with bees making their way into his pants and stinging him.
Levine works in wood that she cuts, carves, layers and paints into complex
Lovejean’s is now Evans’ Gallery. Jean left for Austin and James has 3-dimensional pieces. She primarily uses Japan color because it is light-
filled what was once a much more eclectic collection of art and craft fast and dries quickly. One of my favorites is La Frontera III in the shape of
with his photographs – wonderful work – but the space is gallery-ified, its map of the US, bordered with a chain, pennies strewn within the borders,
spirit and vitality diminished; a few of Paul Wiggins’ concho and beaded and the emblem of US Department of Immigration and Naturalization at
belts hang on the wall. I overhear James say that the belts don’t sell very the top, with a drug dog logo in its center, his long red tongue hanging
well. Outside, an elderly couple backs their pick-up up to the front door out and overlapping the government seal. The Golem is another favorite;
and begins washing the gallery windows. “Making some cash to cover this one of George W. Bush in his military gear, standing on the flaming
expenses,” they explain to James, returning from El Paso where just they ruins of the World Trade Center and surrounded by cutout heads of
buried their son. Condi and Colin, Rummy and Cheney and the rest of the gang – like little
putty witnesses to the apotheosis. Beneath Bush’s feet are images of the
Not all of Marathon’s rough edges have been rubbed smooth. twelve hijackers. Levine explains that the golem is a figure from Jewish
folktale, a kind of clay man who seems like a real person, but lacks
The Golem
Excess of evil
133
The Golem
La Frontera III
135
depth, intellect, and spirit, a kind of hollow man. In subsequent email
Levine refers to Bush as the “Proxydent.” Her acerbic wit is unrelenting. Levine rarely makes art that is autobiographical, based on her own
experiences or origins. And twice during our conversation, she says that
Levine arrived in Marathon from Seattle in 1991. She was raised in New she wonders if this is a deflection – a way of not dealing with her interior
Jersey and attended Tyler School of Art in Philadelphia. Her interest in self, her “personal issues.” One of the pieces she shows me in her studio,
cowgirl iconography inspired a search for the Cowgirl Hall of Fame, in the however, refers to a childhood experience. “Hebrew School Blowback”
proximity of which she had envisioned opening a restaurant. The Cowgirl is a replica of the collection cans that were used for donations to the
Hall of Fame (closed on Saturdays) at that time was located in the dusty United Jewish Appeal. The coin slot on top is in the shape of an uzi
little town Hereford, TX – and, after her visit there, Levine realized that and the center of the cylinder is cut out and exposes an interior that
it probably wasn’t the right location for a restaurant. She did, however, houses the Hamas logo and a Palestinian woman suicide bomber. On
sell some of her cowgirl cutouts, presented to Hall of Fame inductees in the back of the can is the “Plant a Tree” logo from the Jewish National
1993 or 1994. Fund. Levine explains that “the ostensible purpose of these collections
was to ‘plant a tree in Israel.’ We were taught that Israel was a barren
Brochures of other places in west Texas led Levine to consider Alpine and wasteland populated by do-nothing, lazy Arabs, and that it took the Jews
Ft. Davis, where she and Gary, her partner, initially landed. She wanted to ‘make the desert bloom’…we gladly put our nickels in the cans…Now
to live separate from mainstream culture, in a town without a Walmart. it has become common knowledge that the money collected aided in the
During that time she showed her art at Lovejean’s Gallery in Marathon establishment of settlements in the Occupied Territories, which in turn
where she eventually relocated. Her cowgirl cutouts were featured in a have led to the rise of violent resistance organizations such as Hamas. It
magazine and this connection, together with ads for her work, gave her is difficult to realize that one has been subjected to propaganda – and
a year’s worth of income. participated, even unknowingly, in ethnic cleansing.”
When I ask Levine what Marathon is about she tells me that it’s a place for Her time in Hebrew School “coincided with the Six Day War, which
those who want to be left alone and live under the radar – the population heralded not only the increased militarization and aggression of the
is about 800. Its heyday was in the 1940s, when minerals found in the Israeli government, but also the advent of what is known as the Holocaust
area were mined for the war industry. Nowadays locals work for the Gage Industry – that shameful use of past oppression to justify more death in
or in construction. There are eight or ten other artists living in Marathon. the present. I feel that it is somehow necessary to disassociate myself
As we walk from the Gage to her house, she comments that she likes from the actions on the Israeli government, and this piece is my attempt
living here because she sees a lot that is not man-made and that it’s to acknowledge and atone for my complicity.”
not an artists’ colony: “the people here are all different.” She shows me
Marathon’s first house and schoolhouse. She mentions that she doesn’t Indeed, Levine regards her art as a way of paying for her time on
drive. the planet. Her work is obsessive, detailed, and learned, clearly the
expression of someone well-read, astute. She refers to an essay by
Levine’s homestead is wonderful place. The yard is filled desert plants and Baudrillard on “The Spirit of Terrorism” (LeMonde, 2/11/02), an analysis
inside the walls are different shades of green with accents of yellow. In the of how hegemony invites terror. Levine loves the additive process and
kitchen the counters are covered with tiles in saturated yellow, orange, detail that draws the viewer into her work. She creates visual texts that
brown and green. There are wood floors throughout and the space is must be “read” and in this sense her work is as textual as it is textural.
open and light, gallery-like, and yet homey, warm, and inviting. Off of She’s influenced by toys and board games; loves to miniaturize, making
the kitchen is her studio, filled with in-process and finished pieces, and small versions of big things, and to incorporate things from the past. She
illuminated by the intense West Texas light. often uses verbal rather than visual clues and loves doing commissions
because she gets to understand things outside herself, beyond her own
When she moved to Marathon, Levine began to incorporate more range of knowledge.
political content into her art, shifting away from the cowgirl cutouts. She
tells me that it is difficult to show her work in this area because of the Laurie Churchill is the Director of Assessment at New Mexico State
social-political commentary. “It’s hard for me to do work that people University in the USA. The above essay can be found in the forthcoming
want to see or hang on the walls of their homes.” For her, Marathon is a publication West Texas Women Artists: From the Panhandle to Big Bend
place to live and make art. She comments that she is much happier than (Texas Tech Press)
she is successful and she is relieved that she doesn’t have to spend her
life “marching around in black and attending every art opening.” Not far Further works and photographs of Abby Levine can be found at http://
from here is the town of Marfa, which Levine regards as a place where the www.abbyart.com/
New York art scene has been reconstructed on the cheap. I tell her about
having seen an article several years ago in Living magazine, all about
BBQ and designer homes on the range, Martha does Marfa. We laugh.
In college Levine studied with a graduate student who was writing her
dissertation on Alexander Calder. One thing that impressed her was “the
seamlessness of Calder’s art and life, the manner in which he satisfied
his requirements by being self-sufficient…he solved his own problems by
using his hands and the materials available to make what he needed,
rather than thinking of artists as elite professionals who manufacture luxury
objects to titillate a bored and attenuated upper class…” Calder made
functional things, not products. Levine has always regarded Calder’s
work as kindred with her own which she describes as having “occupied
the same border territory as his, where art, craft, and toys elbow one
another.”
Chicken Stew
by Sarah Fell
She looked across at him through the serving-hatch and watched him page through the Daily News. She stood chopping peeled carrots, two at a
time, into little orange medallions. Onions sizzled in a pan nearby. She glared at the face hidden behind the printed pages, thinking, “How nice for
you to come home and put your feet up, read the paper, watch TV, while someone else cooks you dinner, bathes your children, and then lies waiting
for you in bed.”
As she chopped, the heavy blade knocked against wood: hollow, sharp, a high-pitched resonance that jarred in her mind. She tried to focus on the
growing mound of orange, but was increasingly aware of the pile of dishes in the sink next to her. The night before last, he had offered to wash them
after dinner. “Don’t worry Honey, I’ll do them for you. Tonight can be your night off.” The kids were at her sister’s. They had made love against the
fridge, up on the stove, the plates cold against her bare skin, and then he had carried her upstairs to bed, leaving dishes and shoes and underwear
for a time when things like that mattered. The next day, she had had a sick child to look after and a husband that had come home drunk and so the
dirty dishes sat for another day.
And she watched him as she began to peel potatoes and thought, perhaps she wouldn’t do them today, see if he’d notice. See if he’d even care. He
probably wouldn’t notice if a plate went sailing past his head right now, straight out the window. That would save her some time. She smiled as she
imagined herself picking one up, pausing as she thought, the potato peeler in her hand, poised in mid-air. In her mind, she picked up the plate, and
drawing her hand back for some momentum, adjusted her aim to her husband’s balding head that was peering at her from above the newspaper. She
imagined hurling the plate so that it smashed on his skull, pieces of white porcelain bouncing off the walls and scattering on the floor in all directions.
He would look up in surprise, cry out, and his eyes would widen as she reached for another to fling at his cowering form. She looked down at the
potato in her hand and continued peeling, but this time with a little more fervour as she envisioned his head, his anguished squeals as slices of pink
fell from the peeler to the chopping board. Moving onto the chicken, the delight she felt as she ripped flesh from bone rose to her face that was
beginning to look a little flushed as she continued to smile to herself. Her eyes sparkled when she added the meat to the pan, as the fat sizzled and
spat; and while boiling potatoes hissed and sang she stood, hands flat on the counter, and she listened.
After chopping and mashing and frying every little part of her husband that she could conceive of, she dished up a plate heaped with steaming
chicken stew and took it to her husband with a knife and fork. She placed her hand on his shoulder and beamed down at him saying, “There you
go, Honey.”
And he, lowering his newspaper and looking up at her with adoring eyes said, “Thank you Darling, that looks delicious. And don’t you look lovely
today.”
137
The Good Thief Interview by Lorraine Berry
I have the perfect book for both of those situations. Hannah Tinti’s The
Good Thief is so good, it will make you forget time, the weather; it might
even cause you to lose sleep as you read just “one more chapter” in an
effort to find out what’s happening.
Men often came for children. Sometimes it was for cheap labor, sometimes
for a sense of doing good. The brothers of Saint Anthony’s would stand
the orphans in a line, and the men would walk back and forth, inspecting.
It was easy to tell what they were looking for by where their eyes went.
Usually it was to boys almost fourteen, the taller ones, the loudest, the
strongest. Then their eyes went down to the barely crawling, the stumbling
two-year olds—still untainted and fresh. This left the in-betweens—those
who had lost their baby fat and curls but were not yet old enough to be
helpful. These children were usually ill-tempered, and had little offer but
empty stomachs and a bad case of lice. Ren was one of them.”
And thus we meet Ren. Ren should be among the older boys—the cheap
labor that farmers come to the orphanage to find. But Ren’s left hand was
severed in an event that happened before he was left—anonymously and
in secret—at the orphanage.
Somewhere between his entry into the world and his delivery through the
door of Saint Anthony’s, Ren had lost it. He wondered where the hand
was now. He closed his eyes and saw it clearly, palm open, the fingers
slightly curled. He imagined it behind a dustbin, inside a wooden box,
hidden in the grasses of a field. He did not consider size. He did not think
that it would no longer fit him. Ren simply looked at his right hand and
thought about its match waiting patiently somewhere in the world for him
to retrieve it.
Ren knows that he will never be one of the chosen. Who would take on
a crippled boy to help with heavy farm work, dangerous work in a mill or
smithy? And then, that proverbial “one day” happens. A man shows up
and when he sees Ren, he falls upon him, claiming that Ren is his long-lost
Hannah Tinti younger brother for whom he has been searching for years. The stranger
tells a fantastic tale (and as a reviewer, it’s a story much too good to spoil
it for you) and before nightfall, Ren has left with his brother to begin his
new life.
Sometimes, it can be odd to be writing content for a magazine that is in
another hemisphere. Here, in the Finger Lakes of New York this January In the Nineteenth Century, writers, most notably Charles Dickens, had
morning, it is -3F, with wind chills that are blowing up to -20F. It’s the kind their work serialized in weekly or monthly magazines, and people would
of day that makes you want to do nothing but curl up with a mug of tea wait anxiously for the next installment. (Not unlike the Harry Potter
and a great book. phenomenon of recent years.) One can easily imagine Hannah Tinti’s
book in this tradition. Each chapter ending dares you to continue reading,
Of course, summer often provokes the same feelings in me. The sun, if only to find out what happens next, and then, once you’ve done that,
the warmth, the beach, and lying on a blanket, sipping a cool drink and you continue because she’s introduced you to a new character or plunked
reading a great book—that all sounds fantastic. you into a new situation, and you just have to know.
The Good Thief written by Hannah Tinti, 2008
139
Tinti is a clever writer and she creates whole-cloth, a world in which the Ren was one of the most sympathetic characters I have identified with in
living and the dead, the real and the make-believe, mix and mingle in recent readings. How did you feel about him? And where did he come
such a way that her fictional world seems more believable than the one from?
we find ourselves in now. Ren first appeared when I was writing a sketch of a scene. It was a graveyard
at night, and behind the cemetery gate two men were robbing graves. On
The Good Thief is pure joy. So, grab a copy, fix yourself a drink, pull up a the other side of the fence, I knew they would have a horse and carriage
chair, and prepare to get lost. and lookout of some kind, probably a young boy. As I was describing the
boy, and how frightened he was, I realized that he was missing his left
Hannah, those of us who live in the United States are familiar with Salem, hand. Once I discovered this, it opened him up as a character. I wanted
Massachusetts for a number of reasons. Could you explain to our readers to know everything about him—how he lost his hand, and how he ended
in Australia why growing up in a town like Salem could have had some up with this group of thieves. After writing a few chapters, I backtracked to
influence on your writing? explore his history, and before long I realized he was going to be the hero
Salem, Massachusetts was established in 1626, but it is perhaps most of my book. What I like about Ren is that he sees the good in the worst of
famous for the witch trials that happened there in 1692, where hundreds people. He’s also not an ingénue. He steals things and commits crimes,
of people were arrested for witchcraft, nineteen were hanged and one but he has a strong sense of morality, even as he bends the rules.
was crushed to death with stones. It is also the birthplace of the famous
American author Nathaniel Hawthorne. There are some houses from this “North Umbrage” is a fantastic place name. Why did you choose it, and is
time period still standing, but most left in the historical parts of the city the reader supposed to find symbolic meaning in its definition?
are from the 1700s and 1800s. I grew up on one of these streets, so I wanted the town to be dank and dreary. It carries a heavy history with
there were constant reminders everyday of the people who had lived there it—all the men of North Umbrage were buried alive in a mine—so it
before us—from the cobblestones to the back staircases and dumbwaiters made sense to use “North” (I come from the North shore of Boston, where
and giant fireplaces. My novel, The Good Thief, is set in New England everything is colder—the water, the air, the snow). “Umbrage” is most
in the early 1800s, and so it was easy for me to imagine the setting, and often used as a feeling of offense or suspicion, but it also means shade
what it might feel like to walk through the towns of North Umbrage and from the foliage of trees—and trees figure significantly, throughout the
Granston. book. So although this is a frightening and unfriendly setting, it is where
Ren at last finds a home. Good things, I think, are often hidden in dark
You have set The Good Thief back in the 19th century. That’s ancient places.
history for Americans and Australians, but fairly recent for many other
cultures. Why do you think that the 19th century holds such fascination It’s interesting that as the United States was eradicating entire cultures of
for American writers? Native Americans, they could still stand as the bogey man for children. Do
It was a period of great change for America. There were also parts of the you think there are modern day equivalents in our culture?
country that were still wild and uncharted, and I think that is why writers I think that bogeymen will always exist, whenever people do not try and
are fascinated by that time. Immigrants would come to America for a fresh understand others’ history, and cultures are reduced to stereotypes. Right
start, for an adventure—and that is what every author is looking for, when now, in America, you can see this with the depiction of Iraqis and the fear
choosing a place to set their characters. of the Middle East—in the last election, for example, now President Barack
Obama had been called an Arab and a terrorist—a ploy by the right wing
In reading the The Good Thief, I was reminded of a writer like Charles to frighten those in our country who do not understand the difference.
Dickens, although I also felt the gothic horror that permeated the work of
both Poe and Hawthorne. Were any of these writers an influence on your Nearly all of the characters in The Good Thief are male. As a female
own work? writer, did you have any trouble assuming the voice of men?
I would say that all three were an influence. When I started working on the I’ve always been a bit of a tomboy, so it wasn’t a problem for me. That
book, and realized that it was going to be a novel, I definitely looked to the said, I feel most comfortable writing in third person, where there is a bit of
structural form of Dickens’s work—his books were serialized in magazines distance between myself and the characters I’m writing about. That way I
and newspapers, so each chapter has its own narrative arc. It was the only can observe them, and usually they show me what they want to do next.
way I could think of going about writing a novel—up until that point, I’d
only written short stories. As for Hawthorne, I grew up in Salem, the same What advice would you give to a writer who is just beginning to explore
place where he was born, and so I’ve read his work since I was a little girl. his or her voice?
His story “Young Goodman Brown” still haunts my dreams. And Poe has Try everything. And then follow your instincts.
always been a favorite of mine—not only did he invent the classic detective
story, he was also completely unafraid to go to the darkest places of his
mind.
For me as a reader, I found this book “unputdownable.” What was the

writing process like for you when composing this book? Did it come out in
a rush, or was it slow, steady work?
It took me six years to write the book, from start to finish. Of course, I had
to put it down a number of times during that period, and work on other
things, but it took a long time. Parts of the novel came in a rush, like the
first scene I wrote, where they resurrect Dolly, as well as the following
chapter, where Ren and Dolly become friends. That section has barely
changed, and now falls in the middle of the book. But the story has gone
through many, many drafts, expanding and contracting like an accordion.
I slaved over every paragraph, so the fact that it now reads so quickly
makes me very happy. Writing is like pulling off a magic trick—it should
look effortless.
Lisa Camillo
Poet
Why Ravens Are Black

The raven goes, it never rests,
Flies away when in danger,
Smart, dark, steals to survive.
The raven used to be content
Wind beneath his white wings
Flew high and free
Loved life and everyone
The world was a great, full place
No danger in the horizon
Pure soul, pure wind, free spirit
The sky was blue, no clouds around
Everything was provided to him
The sky was limitless
And he wanted to reach it.
He flew above oceans,
Rocky mountains,
Green curvy valleys
He wanted to take me with him
On the top of his white silky feathers
To share the joy
A wonderful bright world.
One day things changed forever
A pretty little boy
Threw a rock at his candid wing
How could somebody do that?
To a happy bird that was flying in the sky?
Paranoid, he was scared of everybody
Fire, dirt, rain and blood
To turn his feathers black
To hide himself from harm and pain
To avoid turning into somebody’s gain
He doesn’t want to take me up there anymore
But hide with me
Into the darkness with his black shiny feathers
141
Artist Classifieds
143
Artist Classifieds cont...
Frame Lines
Submissions
Edition #8 Contrasting Landscapes
Frame Lines takes you beyond the spaces in which you live and think. Join us in our trek across cultural and architectural landscapes, from
wide-angle to closeup, from the big smoke to the great outdoors, from well-trodden paths into places not many dare venture. What’s your
story? How does your home compare with those you’ve seen? Send us travel tales and poetry about places few and far between...
Submissions Close - 15th March
Distributed: May 2009

Booking Deadline: 15th March
Deadline for advertising content: 1st April
Edition #9 Hit the Decks

In this edition, we step lively at street level, immersing ourselves in streetwise culture, deck design, vehicle art, urban sport and the musical
arts of turntableism and hip hop. We meet with outreach groups and find out what life is like for the people that call the streets their home.
We will discuss many of the problems facing life on the street, and speak to those that have used art to help them get their lives back on
track. Que pasa por la calle? (What’s happening on the street?) Put your ear to the ground and you’re sure to find out.
Submissions Close - 1st May
Distributed: August 2009

Booking Deadline: 15th Juune
Deadline for advertising content: 1st July
Edition #10 Under the Radar

We fly low to discover what lies on the cultural horizons. Futuristic fashion, funky tunes, and concepts to blow your mind. We’ll talk to the
creative minds that are constantly pushing the envelopes of style, substance and stuff of dreams. We’ll shed light on hip trends from the past
and present, ranging from the uber-cool to the frankly bizarre in this study of what it is to be subculture.
Submissions Close - 1st August
Distributed: November 2009

Booking Deadline: 15th September
Deadline for advertising content: 1st October
145
Frame Lines is a non-profit organization and creative community dedicated to showcasing and supporting creative
work from around the world, it is totally independent venture run with the creative dedication and passion of Sarah,
Jeremy and Lisa, along with our crew and regular Frame Lines contributors!
Our energy comes from our passion to nurture the development, production, and promotion of our contemporary
artists and writers. Our task is to engage broadly and investigate profoundly what it is to be alive, to be human,
to be and to be a citizen of the world. Our artists and writers allow us to channel this by letting their art shine the
pages of Frame Lines.
We are dedicated to enlivening the senses, stimulating the mind, and provoking discussion
about diversity in the world in which we live ....

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FRAME LINES ‘Well I may not be you, and you not me’

Illustrators and the Imagination

Sarah Nolan and Jeremy Thomas

I’ve always admired illustrators.

Jeremy Thomas and Sarah Nolan

Anja Bjorli Dahle Illustrator // Norway

Nikki Pinder Illustrator // England

Cat MacInnes Illustrator // Australia

Clara Mata Illustrator // Spain

Jen Corace Illustrator // USA

Contributors Luke Maclean // Poet

Daniel Wilcox // Poet

Sarah Nolan - Director Sergio Ortiz // Poet

Jeremy Thomas - Editor Michael Lee Johnson // Poet

night air aroused

pollen delivering words

in the middle of the street,

halogen lamp oversees

Ears On The Wind (Untitled Series)

She yearns to escape into dreams.

“Please,” she whispers, and I hear her.

The walls rumble.

“Be still and let me bathe your hurt,” I tell her.

“Is it you I have to thank for all this?” She asks.

From beginning to end, what approach do you normally

For commercial projects I often work on each layer of a drawing

deviance I embarked upon led to a long list of similar followers of individuality.

relate to the mediums which influence us as a whole. We communicate under the

confinement of what is deemed as acceptable and expected.

A stumbling stage fright of parodies

Happenstance scissors debate

The ongoing process of life

A Bag of Made-Up Words

In dem winterhausen where I snowshoed

Where is the worm when I need to eat it?

Silence drags across the room, settles

When the world looks at you, what does it see?

we watched a movie where love was revealed

Daily misconceptions album

When I look at my face in the mirror today, I am lost in my own skin. I

His hair is in a short afro. I want to touch it but I am shy.

I want him to kiss me again, but he never does.

I like him, but he lives in a bad neighbourhood.

And because I know I am white.

I consider using this as my pen name. Should I?

The closest living relative of the T-Rex is the chicken

Early bird catches the worm

the swaddled soil of a child

and her jointed, bamboo-stick arms

a greedy balloon of air ex p a n d i n g, rising

toward the (mean ‘wile’) civilized world--

The latter politicians

to their surfeited thoughts of juicy sirloin and a cocktail

of their problems galore. They fixate

buffeted by the windstorm

I-doctoring their digital Iris

they sleuth for each speck, each jot and tittle…

They worry over the tempest

yet their future is the parched abyss,

Part 7: Street Illustration

The word Graffiti is defined as unauthorised writing or drawing on a public surface,

Your emotions in the first place

As one of the world’s cultural hotspots, Madrid has a lot to