In light of Rwanda joining the commonwealth.... thought I'd post a vaguely, vaguely related piece. Last month I illustrated an album cover for the hilarious & amazing, singer-songwriter Sarah Barry... there are few people in this world who share my passion for horrible grating b-movies (local cast?!), and thankfully she is one of them...

The following, is a one of the intial designs for her cover, but not the final version. It's a project I was proud to be a part of. The album was inspired by the time she spent in Zambia last year, and helps support the Esther School - an environmentally sustainable and self sufficient initiative, which will provide free education to orphaned and underprivileged children in Chongwe, Zambia.

In other news, I've started a new series. Too bad I've picked such of horrible season to start painting with oils again... go mittens!



One perk of knowing people with cute babies, is that they are ridiculously fun to draw. Another perk, is when said people, decide to start their own cloth diaper companies. Hence, an illustration I did for the lovely Canadian-made Hen & Chick.



Hallowe'en is tomorrow. What better a time then to whip out one's cowboy boots and dollar store pistols.

Incidently, tonight's rad costume party & episode taping of Late Night in the Bedroom at Whippersnapper Gallery, conveniently coincides with the last evening of my art exhibit there. While, smaller prints of that same series (girls. stripes. hats) have just started being sold at the lovely new Industrees Gallery down the street.

So go. Dress up as Micheal Jackson like everyone else, and check out some art!



Kathryn left for South Africa last week. Two years ago, it was us exploring that continent as a duo. And I must admit if there was a way I could have smuggled myself into her luggage this time around, I would have done so in a heart beat. It's funny how those four months felt like a lifetime, a completely different lifetime at that.

I really do miss it. A strange thing to articulate.

I designed this tattoo for my buddy Ryan after he'd spent some time in a refugee camp in Ghana with Journalists for Human Rights. I'm happy to see the sentiment still remains relevant as he recently took over an editing position at Me To We here in Toronto.

Cheers to friends who turn their passions into a day to day reality.

(...and k. You'll be fabulous. I miss you as always, and pray for safe travels & hilarious adventures along the way).



I think one of the best and worst feelings in the world is waking up in an overheated tent. Warm muted light and twisted sleeping bags. Air you swim through, rolling towards an exit. Camping is a must this year, hopefully, even before the month is out.

Although, I must admit I feel cheated by the weather lately. So ready for summer, and yet it is being rather withholding. Docks and lakes and bicycles in sundresses. Car trips with the windows down, oversized sunglasses and my feet on the dash. Instead, I am left with a mediocre spring. Boring.

In the meantime, I’ve been catching up on my reading (villain-off…it’s a toss up), fleshing out my selection of summer tunes ( angry acordians = true love) & drawing lots for work. Unfortunately this means not a whole lot of drawing for myself. But I am getting to establish an illustration style for existing products. It’s bizarre, creating a hybrid aesthetic. Finding consistency without losing a sense of self.

Anyhow, since I’m feeling guilty, I thought I’d post another (perhaps my favourite) from my latest series. All five inhabited the lovely Mercury Espresso Bar on queen east for the last month, and I must say between this and my show in parkdale, the response has been lovely. Thanks all.



early stages of a poster design including two of my favourite things: bicycles & victrolas.

I am already counting down the days until summer.



I wish I wrote more these days. My journal a sea of empty pages. Yet, instead of waves of illegible ramblings, I've completed a new series.

To see this work in full, and more like it, check out my upcoming exhibit:

Great Hall Gallery
1087 Queen St W
April 23rd -30th.



So, I've never owned a digital camera. For years now, me and my trusty k1000 have been attached at the hip... or should i say neck.

There's just something about shooting film. The limits of 24 frames and low lighting. The unexpected exposures, and awkward photos that go un-deleted.

However, when it comes to quickly documenting art, this creates a problem. Pieces that don't fit on the screen of a scanner, leave me to desperate measures:

web cam.
(shameful. i know.)

Web cam is a the equivelent of a budget cell phone camera. And, at least on my part leads to occasional mishaps. Tonight's mishap = myself adjusting lighting sources, to capture a new painting, and clumsily knocking my keyboard.

Yet, the eerie part, is how reminiscent I find this image to a series of windy sketches I did on a windy day, the other week. Bizarre. (do you know what's also bizarre? The fact that my nostrils are so wildly crooked. who knew? thanks accidental webcam!)

here are some favourites, from all that sketching.



So, not much to say, except that this always cheers me up. Like... always. Happy monday!



(click to enlarge)

The Bell Jar was one of those books you should have read in high school, but didn’t. I sure didn’t. It was only last summer that I bought a dog-eared copy in northern Ontario, and completed it in two days; shifting between my sun bleached dock and uneven decking.

That august, my favourite passage of hers, was this -

- Piece by piece, I fed my wardrobe to the night wind, and flutteringly, like a loved one's ashes, the gray scraps were ferried off, to settle here, there, exactly where I would never know, in the dark heart of New York.

She decribes the city, the same way I would describe the Rockies at night, as having - doused its lights in sleep, its buildings blackened, as if for a funeral.

Two summers ago, I drove across the country in that cracked-windshield-no-brake-pads-beast featured on his forearm. The first night was spent sandwiched between sleeping transport trucks on the side of the winding highway, somewhere between Sicamous and Golden, British Columbia. We drank wine out of water bottles. Ate nachos & salsa in a cooking pot. Wrapped in sleeping bags on the hood of the car. Dwarfed by silhouetted mountains.

That night, my favourite observation of his, was this -

- The sky looks like an old t-shirt under a black light.

(Thanks to the ever-talented Liz at Passage Tattoos, co-designer & executer, as well as my buddy Tristan for letting me exploit his unfinished work. yay!)



An extended hiatus. but now that my computer is finally fixed... an extended sketch from life drawing at vintage 69 by the pound.




She grimaced mid sit. Chewing sour patch kids methodically, playing with her necklace. We talked about bad roommates and the reason for a bike gang tattoo.

Of which there were many.

And while I agree with all of her reasoning, one idea resonated more perhaps, than the rest. Maybe because it is easily overlooked. Yet it is arguably one of my own primary motivating factors in using a bicycle.

The idea that to bike, is to interact with your city. To obtain a different vantage point. A way to be a part of something, instead of merely observing it.

So, here’s the final version for a lovely lady - and the only person I have ever ridden a tandem bicycle with…something surprisingly difficult when two very confident bikers are involved.



Over the past year, I've been priveledged with requests to design some tattoos for a few close friends. I must admit it is a bit of a bizarre process. A combination of personal aesthetic, with concept, with adaptabilty. Oddly enough, I think my pattern drafting past, strangely compliments tattoo design - the ability to fit a two dimensional shape to a three dimensional form.

Contrary to public opinion I often feel that tattoo art is one of the least permanent art forms. A work with a set lifespan. There is a fluidity to a tattoo. An image that will bleed and fade. Edges that will blur and slowly alter with age. It is like art in motion. A nostalgic installation piece of sorts. An image that will embody a moment, an experience, a lifestyle that will be remembered in different ways at different times.

This sketch was part of the ideation process for my lovely friend Niamh's foot. It didn't make the final cut. But I like it anyway.



Been stuck inside lately with a nasty chest cold. Can't say i'm actually all that sad about it. Bundle up kids.



okay okay.

so new year. new years resolutions. I tend to be exceptionally bad at keeping said resolutions, so I'd like to keep it simple. I resolve to begin an art blog. and update it. frequently.

To start things off, here's one of my favourite pieces from 2008. It is part of a portrait series; a redesigned deck of cards I exhibited last summer and the artist statement I never included.

I am horribly unathletic.

My mom taught me how to shuffle when I was seven. The arch bridged between my thumb and forefinger, slotting mechanically into place. Suits and suicide kings. Summers of gin rummy and euchre sliding across picnic tables. This series is a collection of the girls that fill out my existence, in my only form of competition.