American Youth Airborne

Good night American Youth Airborne or whatever your title ends up being, it was nice working on ya.  Compositionally you made me feel itchy at times.  Like a lot.  But our struggle made us friends.  I especially enjoyed the times I avoided painting you all together and instead played with the paratrooper dude.  Paratrooper dude, now that your modeling duty is done you and I have a date on the balcony and by date I mean I'm gonna toss you over the third floor railing.  I genuinely wish you a safe landing but if you get stuck in a tree or drift onto a neighbor's patio it will be okay because your mission sir has been completed.

American Youth Airborne, oil on wood, 50"x34", 2012

Pterodactyl detail.  

(Side note)  

Dear Pterodactyl,

If I were given your name in a spelling bee pre-this painting, I would have lost immediately.

Best,

Layla

Space-dude detail.

Sweet Baby Joseph

Baby Joseph, oil, 28"x22", 2012

New Studio Stills

Started American Youth at Sea painting this evening.  This is what my place looks like now because of it.  Not a bad thing.

Shark and S-ray cruise through the diving sub packaging.
As they should be.

Water pistola and various underwater jazz.

You can just make out the beginnings of the painting...a sinking ship, octopus, and what you can't see is a hula girl perched atop the bow of the boat.

Hula girl.

BB Scores New Digs

BB whispers a wish to the Sun, "Sun, I wish for a home."

BAM!  The Sun delivers.  Here is your key to Apt. #1914.  
"Kick ass", says BB.

BB high-paws her roomie.  

Housewarming party.  BB cranks up the tunes.

BB takes Too Short's advice and Get's in Where She Fits In.

"Dude, I can honestly camo myself almost anywhere here."

"What kind of sick shit is this?!" screams BB.

BB makes a friend.  "Not much Kitchen Chicken, what's kickin' with you?"

Okay, SERIOUSLY...what is up with the animal carcass trophies!

BB hits the roost with a classic.  Night, night BB.

BB's dreams are filled with home.

Ode to the Joan Vollmer-William Tell Incident

I'm not a huge fan of painting portraits.  I feel inside out and upside down when I'm painting them and suffer mega self consciousness when showing them to the outside world.  But sometimes a portrait is the only way to convey what's ticking in my brain.   

The story behind Ode to the Joan Vollmer-William Tell Incident goes like this...Joan Vollmer was the common law wife of one of my favorite authors, William S. Burroughs.  In a drunken game of William Tell, Burroughs placed what was reported to be a gin glass atop Ms. Vollmer's melon and then proceeded to miss the target.  She died from a gun shot wound to the head.  

Rounds 7 - 10ish.  Done and dusted.

Round 6

Sigh...

Round 5

Nose job...check.  Awesome.  Way to destroy and fix but now my face doesn't look like my face.  Lost the structure.  Whose mouth is that by the way?  I look all swole up.  The dang circles under the eyes are mine for sure...maybe the off kilter nose is mine as well.  Let's try again...  

Round 4

Okay, so after analyzing Round 3 I realize my nose is totes off kilter by about a half inch.  Not exceptable.  So I feel it best to smear all wet paint and reconstruct.  I was proud of this painting thus far...but knew it had to be fixed to the proper proportions.  When an image becomes precious (as this one was becoming) more than likely it needs to be destroyed and begun again. It hurts and not gonna lie tears were shed, beers were drank, then reconstruction began with goddamn vigor (and apprehension). 

Round 3

How are you childhood apple toy friend?  Good to see you again...I invite you to join my painting.

Round 2

Mugshot-action in effect.  Cap-gun, you are awesome as is.  You may stay lined-out my friend.

Round 1