Mary Blair - Disney Paintings

Peter Pan Animation Concept Painting (Disney, 1953). Captain Hook and one of his crew explore an exotic island by lamplight. Rendered in tempera on heavy illustration paper, the art has an image area of 9.25" x 5.75".


Cinderella Animation Concept Painting Original Art (Disney, 1950). Cinderella's magical coach makes its way towards the Prince's castle. Rendered in tempera on heavy illustration paper, the art has an image area of 7.75" x 6.25".


"Cinderella" Animation Concept Painting Original Art (Disney, 1950). This exquisite concept painting by Mary Blair features Cinderella's castle in all its regal glory lit up against a dark night. Rendered in tempera on heavy illustration board, the art has an image area measuring 8" x 6. 5"

"Cinderella" Animation Concept Painting Original Art (Disney, 1950). Cinderella rushes down a flight of stairs in her ball gown. Rendered in tempera on heavy illustration board, the art has an image area measuring 6.25" x 5"


"The Adventures of Ichabod Crane" Animation Concept Painting Original Art (Disney, 1949). Ichabod Crane finds himself sitting backwards on his horse with the Headless Horseman close behind. Rendered in tempera on heavy illustration paper, the art has an image area of 8" x 7".

Wikipedia article on the artist here.

Three New Paintings

I have been in a real art slump these days (this year), or maybe moreso I just don't seem to find the time I used to to sit down at my table and get some sh1t done. It might be that I have too much normal adult life stuff to do, or that I am losing my drive as I age, or that I work too much, or that I drink too much, or that my pills take away my emotions, but luckily, I was aksed by a local organization to do 3 new pieces for their charity show they do every year where about 100 local artists provide pieces that they frame in 10 x 10 black frames and display in a giant room for one night. All the charitable folks from around the town show up and buy the pieces off the wall and everybody wins. Last year I even made money from it, which was beyond me because I thought I was doing the work for charity. These are what I came up with. They do not mean much or say much, but they are pretty and most anyone can appreciate them. They are inspired by female ejaculation.

Re-Entry

Pandacrew

Pandacrew

SvartKonst #1- Out now, into the void

I think I posted some of the drawings I sent off to Oscar Pastarus a while back for his new zine series.
Just got the word that it's out now and can be purchased Here


It looks pretty cool. I think I'm getting comped a couple of copies, so maybe I'll offer up some real thoughts on it when I get them. I can say now though, that having been in print only a few times, it's still strange to me to see my work presented in such a way. It's sort of a thrill, but it's also jarring in a way, like a minor tear in the fabric of reality has transported the inky paper from my drawing table to some other dimension..



On a similar note, I just received a thick envelope in the mail from the guys at La Centrale , full of screenprints of drawings I sent them months and months ago. I nearly forgot about the whole thing. They are pretty modest, in terms of size and production, which I think fits the images very well.



As my work gets out there a bit more, even in modest venues, I'm having to think more and more about what I hope to present to "the world"; I'm forced to regard this giant abstraction that involves unknown peoples' perceptions , my motives, etc., etc.
It's a whole ball of nothing in particular, so I'm just sort of rolling with things, keeping with known quantities, like how I feel about whatever it is I'm doing, the daily practice of trying to plug myself into the drawing table and how it all jibes with the realities of my life as it's lived, rather than getting too hung up on the unknowable aspects of some kind of shadow media world; that dimension where these things I do move along to after they leave my table and my real world.

The two prints, for instance, compared with my stuff in the zine; I'm not sure if people would recognize them as being by the same person- they have very different feels to me - but all I can do is accept them for what they are and move on. It's silly to feel forced to decide upon one single approach if you view art and drawing as primarily being about something simple: it's something you do to help lead a more meaningful life, a lens to interpret the world, or the means toward personal edification. With this in mind, the process itself becomes the end.

Good Times

Some scans of an interview with John Hinckley from an old issue of Penthouse magazine.

Body Snatchers

An old man named Ronnie walks down a quiet road on the outskirts of a small Midwestern town. As he burns through a pack of cigarettes he notices the stench of death in the air. At first he assumes a possum or raccoon’s splattered remains are hidden along the road, the wind blowing the stench to his nose. As he walks the smell grows stronger, maybe it’s a larger animal, a deer perhaps. And then he hears the sound of distant clanking metal, scraping clicking grinding mechanical sounds, somewhere in the dark ahead.

He approaches an old abandoned factory with a large graveyard to the side of it. Distant strange shapes are outlined by the yellow haze of a security light near the middle of the cemetery. The old man considers teenagers digging up bodies as a prank. Maybe it’s some diggers working overtime to move bodies to another site? A normal explanation tries to find its way into Ronnie’s head but nothing can explain those odd shapes and unusual mechanical sounds. The grave is dozens of yards off the road, a few security lights are scattered about, one near the edge of the grave where the old gravel road comes off the main street and weaves its way through the land of the dead. Ronnie decides to investigate and walks into the grave, careful not to trip over the gravestones. He approaches the odd shapes and noises towards the center of the large cemetery. A security light nearby illuminates the scene as Ronnie steps behind a large oak tree to avoid being noticed.

He drops his cigarette in disbelief as he sees what appears to be half a dozen large crab like things the size of cars, their bodies made of metal parts. He watches in horror as several use their mechanical arms to dig up graves in a systematic fashion. One pulls a coffin out of the ground, cracking it open like a giant peanut shell, scraping the body out and lifting the corpse in a suit onto its backside. It slowly and methodically moves down the old gravel road, making that odd clanking clicking grinding noise as its legs pull forward into the dark. Another one places the coffin back into the freshly dug hole, filling the dirt in and packing the earth flat. Others appear out of the dark and begin digging up other graves.


Ronnie carefully and quietly walks back from the dim illumination of the security light, afraid of being seen by these nightmarish devices. He hears one of them clicking and clanking along the gravel path closer to the old abandoned factory. He weaves through the trees and gravestones towards the sound, curious to see where it goes. Ronnie stands near a large stone as he watches the mechanical creature move to the edge of the grave. It climbs down into a stream that separates the graveyard from the factory. Its tall spider like limbs keep its machine body out of the water. After crossing the stream it pulls itself into a large circular opening of a drainage tunnel that leads into the ground, towards the old abandoned factory. He listens as the echoing clicking sound of its legs disappear and all that’s left is the noise of running water pouring out of the tunnel and into the stream.

Terrified, Ronnie gets back to the road, constantly looking behind him in fear of being followed by the mechanical spiders. He races towards the police station, a place he’s spent more than a few nights in lock up for various intoxicated reasons. He tells his story to a deputy who asks old Ronnie how much he’d had to drink that night. Angrily, Ronnie slams his fist on the deputy’s desk. “I’m not drunk goddamn it! Go out to Oak Hill Cemetery right now and you can see for your goddamn self!” Ronnie shouted at the officer.

The result of this outburst gave Ronnie a familiar room to sleep in that night, with metal bars for walls. After being locked up and told to sleep it off, Ronnie sat down on the mattress. He wasn’t entirely upset at being inside a cell tonight, at least it was safe from those things in the cemetery. An inmate nearby ran a cup up and down the bars of his cell, making a familiar clanking sound that old Ronnie went to sleep trying to forget about.



- - To be incorporated into that previously posted story idea.

Orgonized

Internet Archive

That Old Factory Smell

Was out walking the night, passing by old abandoned factories at two in the morning when I started dreaming up a weird story. The following is more of a sketch of the first half, where I needed to throw the idea out there before it left my head. It leads into something really horrifying and involving something like Transformers from Hell...



On the edge of the west side of town is an old abandoned factory. Nobody remembers what was built there, some claim it was used to make parts for mining machinery. Others have said the factory built components for military vehicles. Whatever it was, the factory was shut down after a horrible accident in 1999 that left more than 150 people dead. The newspaper claimed it had something to do with the assembly line machinery malfunctioning . Strangely, no one inside the building survived and the majority of the workers could only be identified by dental records. Whoever owned the factory went bankrupt or sold the building and land soon after the incident. Others bought the property but something always happened that caused the building to go up for sale again. With time the building slipped further and further into disrepair. Grass grew through the cracks in the parking lot, windows shattered from the weather and a never ending barrage of bricks and rocks thrown by the local kids. The terrible incident in 99 had a depressing effect on that entire side of town, several stores nearby went out of business, leaving the entire area feeling like a ghost town.

In the summer of 2009 a couple of local teens were bored and wanting to smoke some weed. They'd heard a group of friends were going to be hanging out in the parking lot of Corpse House, the nickname given to the old factory by the local kids. Jason and Rob both had family members who had died at the factory and felt uneasy about hanging out there. Jason lost his grandfather and Rob lost an uncle. Rob was five years old when it happened and was at the funeral for his uncle Joe who had one of many closed casket services that week. Rob's grandmother was really upset about not being able to see her son before he was buried and caused a scene at the graveyard. At some point after family and friends had arrived she threw uncle Joe's coffin lid open. She made a scream that Rob could never get out of his head, a shrill howling noise that sounded more animal than human. She was hustled away from the graveyard and taken home, but everyone there got a good look at uncle Joe, including Rob. He stood on a chair to look over the shoulders of his brothers and the rest of the crowd, staring in awe and horror at the bizarre mutilation and disfiguration of uncle Joe's remains.

That horrible memory was brought to life for the millionth time in Rob's head as he and Jason walked down an old side street and crossed a field, climbed over a couple of fences and down an old railroad track through a wooded area. Soon they came upon a large parking lot covered in cracks and giant cratered holes, then walked towards a couple of parked cars with loud music blaring and headlights shining onto the old brick walls of Corpse House.

After a few hours of smoking joints, listening to metal and throwing old bottles and rocks at the walls and what was left of the windows, someone suggested going inside. Nobody wanted to but somehow Rob and Jason ended up being pressed by the others to go in. They were the only ones with family who had died in the building and apparently the others thought they had something to prove by going in there. One of the guys hanging out mentioned that he had been inside Corpse House the previous weekend and left a spray paint can with a devil drawing on it in the basement. He went to the trunk of his car and grabbed a flash light, which he threw at Jason and told him to go get it. Reluctantly, the two climbed up a loading dock nearby and opened a large rusted door. The headlights of the two cars now shining on them like spotlights. Some of the teens were shouting over and over, "Corpse House! Corpse House! Corpse House!"

The dim flashlight cut a yellow beam into the dark interior. A large section of the roof had caved in near the center of the building, letting the moon light illuminate much of the space. There was a long metal staircase that ran up one of the walls, extending onto a cat walk that weaved around the ceiling, parts of it hanging loose from where the roof had collapsed. Rob noticed something with the flashlight and approached what appeared to be a large metal object in the middle of the large room. At first it appeared like some long abandoned factory machine but on closer inspection the details became clear. A giant hand made of strange mechanical pieces lay palm down. It must have been the size of a car, the fingers stretched out menacingly in every direction, curled slightly off the ground, sharp metal claws extending from each tip. Large gears and cogs could be seen jutting through the metal tendons pulled across the top of the hand. It was an amazing work of art, which is all it could have been, the idea of something like this being used in the factory seemed insane. Rob mentioned to Jason that a local artist must use the place as some sort of studio.

Against one of the walls was a giant circular door frame leading into a partly lit corridor. The moon shined through holes in the ceiling, partly lighting the way down the long passage. As Rob and Jason walked down the corridor it began to curve inward. "Where the hell is the basement in this place anyway?" Jason said. "Fuck if I know!" shouted Rob. Neither mentioned it but they were both wondering where in this surreal nightmarish place their uncle and grandfather had met their grisly fate. A large rusted metal door stood ajar further down the curving corridor. Jason pulled the door open, it was heavier than he'd expected but once he yanked it open, the door slowly swung outward and slammed into the wall, creating a loud bong sound that echoed down the corridor.

They entered a small office room with a gaudy green and yellow patterned carpet that looked like something out of the seventies. There were cabinets knocked over and papers everywhere. As they passed through another open door into a dark cavernous space, the metal door behind them began to swing shut. It made a grinding noise as it slammed closed. Rob and Jason raced back to the door just as it shut. There was no door knob and something was keeping it from opening. Rob held the flashlight as Jason kicked at the door, then ran across the room and slammed into it with his shoulder with no effect. Rob sat the flashlight on a desk nearby and began banging into the door along with Jason. "This door won't fucking budge, man!" Jason shouted. "What the hell are we going to do now? We're stuck in this shit hole now." Rob said. Jason gave the door one last hard kick before saying, "Alright there's got to be another way out of here. Screw Todd, forget the basement let's just find our way out of this fucking place!"

Rob picked up the flashlight as the two entered the dark space beyond the office room. The ceiling in this room had more holes, letting the moonlight give a small amount of illumination to the space. The flashlight revealed a huge circular room with a giant machine at the center, it was the size of a small house. "I wonder what this thing was used for?" Rob said. He pointed the flashlight around the machine. The beams of moonlight shining down gave it an almost skull like shape. Rob pointed the flashlight towards the bottom of the machine. The lower half had what resembled a giant lower jaw with sharp tooth like shapes running along the bottom and top of a wide dark opening. Whatever it was used for, the machine could probably tear a semi truck to shreds. Rob moved the flashlight up, strange metallic curved designs weaved around what could almost pass for cheekbones. And there were two giant dark holes where the eyes would be, inside them were two identical gear like shapes, the metallic surface reflecting the flashlight in an eerie design. It was as if it was a giant monstrous mechanical skull staring back at them. Rob stared at the machine in a trance until Jason called out from across the room, "Rob, I can't see in the dark, get the flashlight over here."

Matt Kish -- Check His Stuff Out

Lovely work by Matt Kish:

Sea Ghost & Ice Lights

Death Rides An Ugly Horse

Here's a t-shirt design I recently made for Unholy, inspired by the death tarot. I think this is going to be made into a promotional poster for the band as well.

No Age Can Destroy It

Fun reading on the double-headed eagle.

Bike Helmet

new ink "Congregation"

Several Types of Skin

A Cosmos of Kirby, Jack