'NIGHTLIFE' MY ARTISTIC TRIBUTE TO THE VIDEO STORE

This year marks the seventh time I've happily been a part of Gallery 1988's Crazy 4 Cult. It's the art show that started a well-worn trend, and is said to have "launched a thousand shows" just like it.

This time, rather than celebrating a particular film, I focused on the now romanticized video store. It's a look back to a time when home viewing stakes were higher considering pitfalls like uninformed movie selections, potentially damaged tapes, late fees, and the investment of time and gas money. But those things were outweighed by the social interactions, the free popcorn, the looping previews, and the ritual that could turn a Friday night into an event. All the legwork and logistics gave weight and value to the movies, even the awful ones. Although one can't truly understand their value until you've had to spend eighty bucks to replace a tape that melted in your car window.

The piece is also a tribute to one of my favorite artists, Edward Hopper. He often used American storefronts as a stage for lonely, isolated individuals. In this case, loneliness emerges in the wait for your long-overdue ride. So long that the option to go back inside vanished when the door was locked and the lights went dark. In a broader sense, we're all locked out of the video store.
(Sheesh, of all the things to get poignant about, I pick movie rental.)

Process wise, I assembled a photomontage first and then painted digitally on top of it. I'd say I was 'cheating' if it hadn't taken so many dozens of hours to complete.

This evening, as I was in the middle of writing this entry, I was reminded of the downside of physical media by making a dark, rainy, thirty-plus minute round trip to use a stupid Redbox promo code on the only copy of Ant-Man in a sixty mile radius. I got to the kiosk to discover that the touch screen was out of commission. I returned to my family empty handed, and spent another twenty minutes on customer chat to null the transaction. ("Krista" the service rep promptly disconnected once I started in on my sob story.) And here I am commemorating the dying industry that I helped kill off in favor of a disc dropping robot that chose to ignore me tonight.

Anyway, if my hypocrisy doesn't disgust you, and you want one, then signed and numbered prints are available for $20 through Gallery 1988's site.

(Also, here it is as 1900x1200 desktop wallpaper.)

WHERE I TWEET

As you can see things have been pretty slow around here recently. That won't always be the case, but if you want some secret fun to tide you over until my next posting spree then I invite you to visit my Twitter page and follow me.

"What sorts of things do you tweet about?" you might ask. Well, nobody would ever really ask that. To answer your question, I tweet found links, current happenings, and some 'secret fun' type photos.  Here are some of the photos I was talking about in that last sentence...

 

 Treasures of which lost temples? Oh, THOSE lost temples.

On occasion I'll type a sentence or two that I think is amusing. Then later I'll realize how unamusing it is and delete it. Here are some that I haven't deleted yet.

 "Weather.com says that it's the "Anniversary of Deadliest Tornado." Happy anniversary tornado!"

"Whenever something bad happens to me I mentally hear the sound of Pac-Man dying."

"Tickling is like a God-given child Taser."

"I've always been a firm believer that the quality of a cassette deck can be measured by how slowly it ejects."

"Another Friday the 13th, sigh. I'm dreading the day when I must finally tell my son that there's no such thing as Jason."


Now that I've shown you my "A" material, here's that link to my Twitter page again. 
I can't believe I do this for free!

MY ART: CARNIVAL PRIZE MIRRORS INSPIRED BY 1980s HORROR

Once again I have the joy of participating in Gallery 1988's Crazy 4 Cult art show (opening December 12th) in which nearly a hundred artists pay tribute to cult films. This year I tried a new format, and created a set of decorative mirrors like the ones that were offered as carnival game prizes throughout the 1970s, 80s, and 90s that featured the cultural icons of the moment.

Before we take a closer look at my stuff, let us review the enthralling history of prize mirrors. The concept seems to have emerged in the '70s, and the mirrors were quickly rumored to double as a handy surface to cut n' sniff cocaine. When they first showed up in the carnys' trailers most were nearly as large as record album covers, and contained in semi-sturdy wooden frames, with the images screen-printed onto the glass...




Over the years their quality devolved dramatically.

Some of the earlier mirrors were marbled with decorative colored veins, but this feature was soon discontinued for the most part...

(photos came from ebay)

Multiple sizes were available to accommodate the "Small" and "Large" prize categories, but as the '80s progressed the big ones were mostly phased out in favor of the six by six universal standard...



The wooden (and sometimes metallic plastic) frames were downgraded to cardboard.


The next degradation was replacing the mirrors with regular clear glass, and printing the image on back.

 

In their chintziest form the prizes consisted of a piece of glass slipped in front of a cardstock printout in a cardstock frame.

 


However, in recent years the spirit of the carnival prize mirror lives on in its descendent, the framed poster.

All that said, my mirror creations are meant to emulate those middle years when real mirrors were still in use, but the frames were low-end.

One wonders if any of the imagery was ever officially authorized, but bootlegging was certainly rampant, and some fascinating "off-guide" artwork could be found...


While the format changed dramatically, the visual themes remained constant. The subjects revolved around the sex, drugs, & rock formula, and in my neck of the woods there was also a healthy dose of pro-gun and confederate pride propaganda.

This was the inspiration for my tribute to John Carpenter's 1982 version of The Thing...

Naturally, Kurt Russell's character is all-American, but as you may recall, the Thing is first unleashed in a Norwegian research camp in the Arctic, thus the Norwegian flag that gives the design its confederate flavor. Since carnival mirrors are rife with misguided typography I happily took the opportunity to use the font Hobo. It's a typeface I try to work into as many projects as possible, yet sadly my efforts are almost always shot down.

(In case you can't tell, the images are placed on real mirrors. They just look a bit weird because I blurred the reflections in Photoshop. )

I've always enjoyed the way that traveling fairs embraced 80's Heavy Metal music and then refused to let go long after its heyday. Just last year I heard a Gravitron proudly blaring Poison and Cinderella. Since the majority of prize mirrors are rock related I aimed high by mashing up Evil Dead 2 (1987), a quintessential horror flick, with Iron Maiden, the embodiment of carnival life.

Occupying the airbrushed tropical beach babe slot is this homage to Predator (1987). It's not so far-fetched once you reflect on how purely sexy that helmet is.

Lastly, representing the common theme of substance abuse, I chose to pay tribute to another John Carpenter joint, They Live (1988).  It seemed fitting since the aliens in the film use media as an opiate. Of course the Zig Zag man would be one of them.


My mirrors will be for sale as a set once Crazy 4 Cult begins on December 12th. (EDIT: They sold!!) Here's the link to all the art.

FOOT: PHANTOM OF THE FOREST

In 2004 FunKo founder Mike Becker and I co-wrote a short film called Foot: Phantom of the Forest to accompany a Bigfoot Wacky Wobbler. We employed the extremely talented Vance Reeser to bring it to life under our co-direction, along with music and sound from Jamey Clayberg. Four complicated years later the film debuted at the San Diego Comic Con film festival and was sold with the Wobbler as planned.

No doubt most of the DVDs are still "mint in pack." Fortunately the fifteen minute short was semi-recently made available for all to see, including you, if you would kindly put on some headphones, click play, and then hit the "full screen" button...

MYSTERY SCIENCE TENENBAUMS

When you're a freelancer, jobs are usually finished with zero fanfare, often in the middle of the night. Sometimes I'll celebrate with a trip to the 24 hour grocer for a pack of Cookie Dough Bites and an all-I-can-read visit to the magazine section. That's why I turn to you, dear internet user, to share my latest creations.

Earlier this year Wired presented a history of Mystery Science Theater 3000. It's a history that I was a part of early on, as a fan who didn't have access to Comedy Central, but did live in a dorm where VHS tapes of the show could be tracked down with a bit of sleuthing and bartering. The show rose to power at the perfect time for me because college was the most emotionally perilous era of my life, full of failed relationships, sticky family situations, and the loss of my dad, but turning on MST3K always felt like spending the evening with friends when the real ones weren't available.

Recently I've been able to claim a miniscule spot in the show's official legacy by creating some designs under the art direction of Joel himself. As the article reported, efforts have long been underway to reboot the show which will most likely happen with a crowd sourcing campaign. These thrive on donor rewards, and that's where my designs come in. Here's the one that's been officially revealed...

Front

Back

It's for a "breakfast cereal kit" and the toy will be included. There are other even wonderful-er rewards that are still under wraps, but the whole campaign is laden with complexity so it's still a crossed-fingers situation. Thankfully, we'll always have those VHS tapes.

Wait, please don't click away yet, I'm not done. As some folks know, I've somehow formed a cottage industry out of drawing fake family portraits of fictional families that sometimes include images of real people at a younger age. Oh, you know, wacky sort of stuff...goofin' with art...crazy times and what have you. Anyway, I recently did one for comedian John Mulaney that he birthday-gifted to his fiance (now wife) Annamarie, and now her "whole life is complete!"

This will be even more notable in a couple of months once his new show on Fox becomes the sitcom of the millennium. Each time you watch it please think of me, and speak a little message to me out loud. Same goes for Mystery Science Theater 3000.

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS PAINTING?

The only existing photo of the missing painting, laden with compression artifacts since it was taken in 1999 with a cheap digital camera.

Missing since: July 18, 2003
Location last seen: 2003 San Diego Comic Con
Artist: Me, though the painting is unsigned by me.
Description: An oil painting of a unicorn standing in the foreground with a thought bubble asking, "Why?" There's a nuclear power plant in the distance.
Other identifiable markings: Signature of Matt Groening, drawing of Bart Simpson on the bottom right corner. (Not seen in above photo)
Size: 18" x 24"

The story:
I longed to visit the San Diego Comic Con since I first read about it in the back of the 1986 Overstreet Comic Book Price Guide. It took seventeen years for me to find friends with the same wish, but once we discovered our common goal the other pieces quickly fell into place, and soon we were packing our bags.

I was thrilled to see Matt Groening on the list of attending guests because no work of art is wedged deeper into my psyche than The Simpsons.  Then a natural fanboy impulse occurred to me; I wondered if I could get his signature. I was no autograph hound, I did own a couple that I happened upon at some small sci-fi fests, but this would be the first time I had a chance to get something signed by a true cultural hero of mine. The fact that the autograph roster had no listing for Groening didn't deter my hopes. 

I was searching for the perfect autograph-ready object when my wife suggested that I bring an oil painting that I did during the summer of 1997. My painting (seen above) is a reproduction of a cartoon painting that appears in the episode "Brush With Greatness" (Season 2, Ep. 18). In the show, this piece is a finalist in an art competition before it gets narrowly defeated by Marge's depiction of Homer passed out in his underwear.

Though it only appears onscreen for a split second I've always considered it one of the highlights of the episode. It perfectly satirizes what happens when an artist has a message, but no sense of subtlety. I was tired of pausing my VCR to get a laugh at it, so I decided to paint it. It was like bringing a Simpsons prop into the real world and hanging it on my wall.

I was hesitant to bring it to Comic Con for many reasons: I didn't want anything to happen to it, packing it would be tough, and it seemed weird to ask Groening to sign something that I had created, I thought it might even be forbidden.  But all of my other options were typical licensed trinkets, so uniqueness won and I stuffed the painting in my suitcase.

When I arrived at the San Diego Convention Center my first task was to locate the Bongo Comics booth and get the scoop on Groening. I was told that there would indeed be an unannounced autograph session the next day! But you had to have a Bart Buck, a ticket they issued to control the number of autograph seekers. Also, the Bart Bucks were all gone. Oh, well.

At Friday morning breakfast a buddy shared a rumor that another round of Bart Bucks would be issued at 10:00 AM. I leapt from the table, but was defused when I saw that it was already 10:30. However, this second round gave me hope. I raced to the vendor floor and it turned out the Bart Bucking was rescheduled for 2:30 that afternoon!

At 1:45 the booth was empty enough to roll around on the floor. (I did not.)  It seemed we had time for a quick bathroom break, but this was the thinking of a Comic Con novice. Upon our return, the booth and surrounding aisles were congested with legions of Buck seekers to the extent that officials were discussing fire code violations, and even shutting down the session. The rest was a sweaty blur. A line was roped off around us, and after snaking through it for about ten minutes I was handed a slip of green paper bearing Bart's face. Only about a half-dozen people behind me got one before the supply was cut off.

The Buck entitled me to enter an enormous sun-lit greenhouse of a room where I walked past Lou Ferrigno, Peter Mayhew, and the guy who played The Greatest American Hero before seeing the winding serpent of lucky Groening fans sitting on the floor in wait.

I'll summarize the next three hours. I talked with my friends Erik and Todd. I read every comic, pamphlet, and button I had accumulated. I grew more and more worried that he would not sign my painting. At one point two of the four main hobbits occupied the table next to us...

Once they were done, Kevin Smith took the slot for more of the same...

I never thought I would live an hour watching Kevin Smith talk to people. You might think this situation would merit at least one anecdote worthy of at least one extra sentence, but it did not. If you stop and imagine the moment right now, I promise you the real event was in no way different than what you just envisioned.

Once Groening was in viewing distance I understood why the line was so slow. He was chatting, posing for photos, and in most cases, drawing character requests for every fan he met. It was really amazing. I also noticed a sign on the table that said "NO SKETCHBOOKS" which I still don't understand given the many drawings he made. But it was enough to stoke my fears anew for the final forty-five minutes.

We made it to Matt's table and he looked beat. He was sweaty and lethargic and nearly opted out of the photo that my friend Erik requested. Matt's assistant asked my name and wrote it on a piece of paper. When it was my turn he slid it over to Groening as I nervously pulled the painting from my bag and said, "You may recognize this image."
He squinted at it and said, "Oh, yeeeeeaaaahh." clearly unable to place it. I explained the context as other people around me chimed in with comments and questions. Matt continued to stare at it.
Fearing his thought process I said to him, "if you have any problem with signing someone else's work, you could just put "not painted by Matt Groening" or something like that."
"You sure you want me to sign it?"
Wondering if that was a hint that he didn't want to, I said, "I would love for you to sign it."
He began drawing Bart's head and a word balloon saying "Great art, man!" Then Groening asked, "So this was a Marge painting?" and I explained again.
Then he told me, "It's amazing."

He complimented me on the originality of the idea, and told me that I should sign it too. He's right, I should have.

I walked away from the table and stood in awe as I took in the signature and the one Bart drawing in the world that was made with me in mind. I always feel foolish admitting how exciting a celebrity encounter can be, but that meeting coupled with his reaction was exhilarating.

My other friend, Todd, was still at the autograph table and handed Matt a comic book to sign. Groening looked up at Todd (not knowing he was with me) and said, "That was un-believable."
Then someone tapped me on the shoulder and pointed at Groening who was shouting "Hey!" to me. I looked over and he yelled, "That is UNBELIEVABLE!"  With my eyes all full, I yelled back a thank you, and walked away with a feeling of elation that I seldom reach.

The story, part II:
With cinematic timing, my friend Scott came running over and interrupted my afterglow to tell me we had to get to the masquerade area immediately. As a first timer, I wasn't even sure what the masquerade was, I just knew that it's considered a high point of the weekend, and contrary to my first assumption, it is not a costume ball. Best of all, we'd been invited to sit in the VIP section by David E. Allen, one of the masquerade judges who was promoting a werewolf movie he produced called Dog Soldiers which still has a large cult following. I know David because we're from the same small town, fifteen hundred miles away from San Diego.

David E. Allen, Image via Twitchfilm.com

However, this whole seating opportunity was very shaky. We wouldn't know until the last minute if there was room for us. This was a gamble because literally thousands of people had been standing in line for the event for hours, so if this didn't work we would miss it.

We shuffled over to a roped-off hallway outside of the masquerade backstage area where we joined a couple dozen more potential VIP seaters. We arrived just as the group was permitted into a room to receive instructions on how to behave as a VIP. I quickly learned that this privilege was very serious business. I don't know if that's always the case, or if it was because it had been less than two years since 9/11. A stern man with a headset and a clipboard told us to listen up because failure to follow his rules would result in removal from the premises. The rules went something like this:

1. There's no way of knowing exactly what time we'll be called, IF we're called, so we must REMAIN ALERT!

2. We have to be prepared to RUSH into the auditorium at a moments notice. So we must have everything ready to go IMMEDIATELY! If we don't make it in with the rest of the group, we don't get in.

3. We will NOT HAVE BACKSTAGE ACCESS or be given passes of any kind. We will only pass through quickly to our seats.

4. As we are being ushered through backstage we MUST STAY CLOSE TO OUR GUIDE, or we will be thrown out.

5. Once we are seated we are NOT PERMITTED TO GET UP FOR ANY REASON! So go to the bathroom now.

6. Once inside the auditorium we MUST STAY THERE FOR THE DURATION OF THE PROGRAM.

7. Once the show is over we must REMAIN IN OUR SEATS until we are ushered back out.

After the briefing I was both excited and stressed, and I had a new appreciation for the opportunity I'd stumbled into. The orders had momentarily distracted me from my Groening victory. I pulled the painting out of its large plastic bag for another look, and settled back into bliss.

For the next while we were in a true hurry-up-and-wait situation. The call could come at any second, but the interim stretched until anticipation turned to boredom. It felt longer than it was given our confinement to a small conference room with no windows and no smart phones to check, being that it was 2003. Some people started spilling into the hallway where the door opposite revealed a sunny outdoor balcony. My buddies and I opted to step out for a quick photo overlooking the San Diego scenery. I put my camera on self-timer and captured a split second of our—"GET IN HERE, IT'S TIME! NOW!"

I scurried to get my camera back in the bag while slinging my backpack over my shoulder and trying to catch up with the group that was quickly funneling into the backstage area. We made it to the back of the speed-walking procession. With all the efficiency we'd come to expect, we soon found ourselves seated in the front row. I turned around in my seat, careful not to raise my body into anything that could be misconstrued as standing, and I saw thousands of eager people sitting in a room that was larger than a football field.

Then the lights went down. The cheers only sounded human for a moment before my ear drums capped out, and my physiological hardware could no longer offer my brain anything it could make sense of. The energy was unlike anything I'd felt. Frisson tingles sparkled all over my head and neck.

With no introduction, a fan film appeared on the giant suspended screens called Batman: Dead End. Without spoiling it, the film combines several beloved characters, and it's impossible to exaggerate the ecstatic response from the crowd. This was followed by a string of movie trailers that had yet to be seen anywhere. The crowd was so hot that even the preview for I,Robot got explosive screams. Then Robert Englund took the stage, the man who played Freddy Kreuger! 


As an official Freddy Fan Club member I took a moment to reflect on how surreal it was to see Englund just after meeting Matt Groening, and again I was reminded of the joyfu—WAIT! WHERE IS THE PAINTING!? I felt all around my feet and frantically asked my friends about it. Oh, no. Did I even bring it in the auditorium? My mind flashed to our hurried exit from the balcony. The balcony!

I started to stand when the tirade of rules flooded my mind. I was trapped. The painting had only been unattended for about fifteen minutes and the balcony wasn't accessible to the public so I still had hope, but still, I was trapped.
"I think I've got to go back." I told my friend.
Erik's eyes widened and he laughed in disbelief. Then he thought about it and said, "Do it."
I sat frozen and looked past rows of people to the backstage door which was very small from this distance.

I stood up and race-walked towards the forbidden area. Everyone in the auditorium was too busy looking at the stage to care. I reached the backstage and found it nearly empty. Then I heard, "Sir?...Sir!" and I quickened my pace. I realized that I didn't know where our waiting room was and remembered that it wasn't a straight shot out. I veered down a couple dead ends before getting back on track. In the process I encountered more staff, but I decided to play it confident, looking them in the eye and nodding. It worked a couple times, but then I heard, "Excuse me!" and I broke into a trot.

I burst through the waiting room door and out to the balcony. The whole place was deserted, but also absent was the painting. My next move was to scan the nearest portion of the massive vendor floor, but there was a problem. The painting was in a large Tokyopop bag that I'd received as a freebie promotional item. Literally thousands of these bags had been handed out since the first night of the convention.

I rounded the corner to see hundreds of suspects bearing the identical sack. I could only think of Raiders of the Lost Ark as Indy faces the multitude of baskets in the marketplace, knowing that one of them contains his precious Marion. I eyeballed some closer than others, and peeked down into a few, but deep down I knew my search was futile. I sought out "lost and found," but they were unavailable until the next day. (I filed a report, but the painting was never submitted.)

Soon I was wandering aimlessly in a cloud of heartbreak. To top it off my friends wouldn't be released from the VIP section for at least an hour. Having nothing left to lose I decided to reclaim my front row seat in the masquerade. I pushed open the backstage door and walked through the halls with a steady, solemn stride, like a grizzled action hero walking away from an explosion. Someone appeared behind me. "Hey!...Sir!" I continued on. Then from the other side, "Can I help you?!" "Hey!" But I'd made it back to the show where my seat awaited me.

I updated my friends, and then tried to lose myself in the festivities. I discovered that the masquerade is primarily a costume showcase where cosplayers (a term that may not have existed yet) took turns parading around the stage.

There were some truly incredible entries, but in my lousy mood I couldn't understand all the hype. I asked my friends if they wanted to leave early with me. Their initial response was, "Are you serious?" but moments later the three of us walked the unauthorized, yet familiar path to the exit, unquestioned by the authorities. Then we carefully considered our options, and the only one that made any sense was to take a train to Tijuana, but that's another story.

Epilogue: 
During the plane trip home I wrote an account of the whole experience (which is why so many of the details survived.) I ended by saying, "I will paint another one. Two actually, one for Matt and one for me. This is just the beginning."

During the months that followed I couldn't bring myself to watch The Simpons. But I did make good on my vow, and repainted the scene twice. 

Miraculously, I was able to return to the convention the very next year because a short that my friends and I made was accepted into their film festival. I also managed to run into Groening the first day and tell him my tale.

He was prohibited to sign or take anything in the common areas, but Bart Bucks were bestowed upon me, and after another three hour line he took my gift, signed my new painting, and posed for this wonderful photo...
 

He said he'd hang the painting near the bathrooms at the Bongo Comics headquarters. He joked that it would reside "right next to the other one."

At this point I'm at peace with the loss of other one. I do regret that my reproductions ended up with a less natural look and color pallet, and weren't quite as finessed as the original. But now I have my story, my new painting, and I have a resolution. Best of all, I no longer associate The Simpsons with feelings of heartache and loss. I wish I could say the same about Family Guy.

 "Why?" version two, signed by Matt (and me). 

Still, I'm extremely curious about what happened to the original, even if I don't get it back. I'd love to hear about its journey, or even see where it hangs, if it's hanging. If you have any information regarding the first painting, please comment on this post or email me. You can do so anonymously if you wish. I also invite you to share my story anywhere you see fit. I can't offer a grand reward, but I'm sure I could come up with something fun.

SECRET FUN BLOG MINI RENAISSANCE

Hey Folks! As usual I've been reminiscing a lot lately, but these days my focus isn't the mid 20th century or the 1980s. Lately I've been looking all the way back to the year 2008, to my glory days of blogging! That's when I spent the bulk of my creative time sharing things, thoughts, memories, and stories that had been collecting dust for decades while meeting new like-minded bloggers and commenters, and feeding off their enthusiasm.

In time, other creative projects came along and derailed me from this place. Some came to be because of this place. I'm thankful for all of them, but I do miss the feeling of posting something that I think is great in the middle of the night, and waking up to find a wave of hits, and responses, or to discover that it's already been shared elsewhere.  I miss having an excuse to dig through my old boxes, and rethinking old times with a new perspective. I've also been missing the simple joy of writing.

The blogosphere is far from dead, but many of my favorite blogs are on hiatus or shut down now, and I feel I'm partially to blame because when I'm too busy to blog I'm also doing less blog visiting. But I understand the need to stop. Once you get a site going and get a stream of regular traffic there's a funny realization of "So now I guess I just keep doing this until I die." And maybe I will! But neglect is more and more inevitable. For me it took a long time for that constant icky feeling of not updating to finally dull, though it's never left. Five posts in a year is just shameful. And I'm well aware that I really jumped the shark when I started inundating the place with my other projects, especially my art.

So to remedy all of this I've decided that starting now, for a limited time, I'm gonna blog like it's 2009! I've created a few new mega posts, I've finished some of my years-old drafts, and I've got some old fashioned filler ready. So get ready for some frequent updates. Sometimes I'm going to hit that publish button a couple times a day! So please join me for the next indeterminate period of time (at least a couple/few weeks) for some all new secret fun!

MY NEW TRIBUTE TO NATIONAL LAMPOON'S VACATION

 

When Gallery 1988 opened in LA in 2004 they popularized pop culture based art shows like nobody had before. The notion was eye opening to me and I managed to get involved with them in 2008, and it's remained a treasured creative outlet for me ever since.

Their format has been hugely successful, thus it's been imitated endlessly, and today pop culture art is ubiquitous. So for the gallery's 10th anniversary show they've opted for a different take on the trend with the theme "The Subtle Art of Pop Culture." The idea is to make the references less obvious even to the extent that the art could appeal to people who are entirely unfamiliar with the source of inspiration.

My contribution is this assembly of authentic vintage (and one not-so-vintage) postcards. The first eleven designs all appear in the opening credits of National Lampoon's Vacation...

 The series is punctuated with an original colored pencil creation of mine...

I owe my postcard getting ability to ebay.  I was thrilled to track down so many of them, and actually only about twenty of the postcards that appear in the credits really exist, the rest are fabricated specifically for the movie, made from photographs by author and photographer, John Margolies.

That combination of vintage graphics coupled with Lindsey Buckingham's song "Holiday Road" couldn't do a better job of capturing the spirit of the American road trip and priming me for the cinematic joyride that follows. This is my love letter— I mean postcard— to the film.

My piece is for sale here.

See all the artwork here!

PAINT BY NUMBER PEE-WEE

Gallery 1988's 7th annual Crazy 4 Cult art show is going on right now, and once again I had the honor of participating in it! This year I chose to celebrate one of my all-time favorite movies, Pee-wee's Big Adventure, with this paint-by-numbers style acrylic piece.
(It's for sale HERE.) UPDATE: SOLD!

Applying this look to Pee-wee's world made perfect sense to me. Not only does the fun, colorful, scenery translate to the format nicely, but both his movie home and his television playhouse are decorated with paint-by-number art.

I have a couple old paint-by-number pieces hanging in my bathroom too, which probably explains why this idea was inevitable.

This is actually the second artistic tribute I've made to the film. The first was my wallet-size portrait of the Buxtons which came with Pee-wee's wallet.


See below for more information about the show. You can view all the art HERE.