g i r l . n i n e

One hundred girls/days: number nine. First full body lady. Ink and brush/pen on paper. I love the way that ink smells, so soothing.

m e d i e v a l . n e o n

I found this amazing fabric in a rural goodwill several months ago. The instant that I saw it, I knew that I had to have it, although I had (and still have) no idea what to do with it. Originally I considered turning it into a psychedelic skirt or some hideous pillows, but now I think I might just tack it up in all its glory on my studio wall and let it inspire me. I like the idea of an alternate reality with lush gardens and jolly lovers wearing clothing inspired by separate centuries.

c r i s i s

I found myself dealing with a minor crisis a few mornings ago. I've already mentioned my erratic sleeping patterns as of late; on this particular day, lack of rest caused me to sleep in later than normal. So, having overslept by five minutes (which is saying something, seeing as I habitually only leave myself a 20 minute window to shower, get dressed and run out the door in the morning...oops) I, stumbled briskly through my morning routine until finally I attempted to pull on a pair of tights (as per usual, uniform = dress, cardigan, tights!). I chose a grey pair which someone had given me and were the wrong size; the clock was ticking down as I struggled to pull these tight tights up my legs and they got all twisted and weird and I realized, panic stricken within two minutes of my necessary departure time that there was no way I could survive the day wearing them but no way that I could change them before leaving.

I stuffed another pair of tights in my purse and ran out the door; with every step I took they rolled a little bit further down my bum and wiggled down my legs...and let me tell you, there's no discomfort like being wedged into an overcrowded morning commuter train with sausage casings pinching you.

f i s h i n g

Voila, new illustrations. Click here to see more fishing fun!

g o o d . t a s t e

 

f l a s h b a c k . f r i d a y . 2

Lately, it feels like all I think about is the girl in these photos: the versions of myself that existed once, long ago. I imagine them still out there somewhere, preserved on alternate plains of reality; in memory, I jump from self to self as easily as flipping through photographs, remembering.

She is me and I am her, but she's gone forever. I must finally be an adult now, mourning my childhood as if that little girl really did die.

h a z a r d s

As of late, this song is the only one that get's me through the day. I still wish this album had been made into a movie or stage play. The Decemberists: The Hazards of Love: (The Drowned).

g r e e n . q u e e n

New series in progress: golden girls.

" s " . i s . f o r . s t a b

Coloured sketch version with a final version elsewhere.

s a d . g i r l . h a p p y . g i r l

 

Cover for my zine "Sad girl happy girl" which debuted at Expozine this past November in Montreal. 

s k e t c h y

Imagine these 4 ft tall...then I could die happy!

m e l a n c h o l y . m a s q u e r a d e

Feeling dizzy today.

y o u . r u i n e d . m y . b i r t h d a y

A "drawing" from the year of no drawing.

Inspired by the story of a girl whose improperly packaged, leftover birthday soup ruined her party dress. In an ensuing memo, the restaurant manager scolded his staff but assured them that an apology had been delivered, along with gift certificates. He was sure that the girl and her family would remain loyal customers.

I'm sure that they wouldn't.

Things like that stay with you.

___

Paint and yarn on a canvas dress. It's wearable, for someone small enough.