Vacation's Over.

I'm back to finishing off my 4x6 portrait series. I know it's been a month since I've posted something, but I plan on returning with a vengeance. I was sitting down last night to work on a submission for the Communication Arts annual and I decided to knock out a portrait as a warm-up before I sat down to what I thought of as my real work.

If nothing else I'm pleased with how natural this one came out. I worked on it for about twenty minutes and decided I liked it just the way it was and just stopped painting out of fear of ruining it - as I've been known to do.

Aside from that I've spent two weeks delving into the work of Ashley Wood ( here and here ) and I think it shows. I've been wanting to loosen up and be more... expressive (Mark Eanes would be proud, I think) in my paintings, and I think Mr. Wood helped me do that whether he knows it or not.

I've got one more 4x6 canvas in my arsenal at the moment, so I may be calling it quits on that in the near future. But fear not! My lady gave me a stack of painting surfaces she happened across, so I'm sure I'll be experimenting on those as well.

Oh! Also, before I forget; my buddy Rusty showed me some love on his blog, so I'm going to point you over to his blog in hopes that you'll give him some love too. Here.

It's the final countdown!

Queue up the face-melting guitar solo and the synth-rock; this boy's coming home!

Oh, but I suppose there may be someone out there who wants to know what I've been up to for the last few days. Sigh. So, I guess I'll start there.

Thursday.
Thursday was a long day. Actually, I'll go out on a limb here and say it was the longest day of my trip. Well, except for maybe the day I flew in, but really, there's nothing that makes sense about leaving home at 4am and arriving at your destination at midnight. Nothing. But Thursday! I get a phone call from Jose at Avenging Angels at 8am and at that point pretty much forfeit the rest of my unconscious-time. Brian and I go out for breakfast at this little cafe around the corner with the simple idea of getting some food-stuff and caffeine. Why are the simple things always the most complicated? To make a long story short, it was staffed by three women who all spoke French (though I suspect it was one of the women's only language) and apparently had the stereotypical French attitude of serving Americans. Or maybe it's an East Coast thing. I don't know. The service sucked though and it took us about half an hour to procure our morning rations. We walked along 125th street and then parted ways so I could go pick up my portfolio.

The third guy that I was supposed to talk to apparently had a lot on his plate, so he's been in and out of the office all week, and I didn't get a chance to talk to him. However, Jose did say that they were all interested and that they'd be in touch soon. Which, you know, is promising. From here I set out on my real errand for the day. The night before Stephany told me that this bakery (which I suppose is one of the mighty bakeries in the bakery world) had opened a new shop in Rockefellar Center and had these adorable shirts that said I cupcake NY. Of course there's supposed to be an image of a cupcake instead of the word cupcake, obviously derived from the I heart NY paraphernilia. I bet Milton Glaser would be interested in these shirts... Anyway, I'm at 18th street and 5th avenue and I need to get up to 49th street and 4th avenue. It's early afternoon, the weather is nice and I'm feeling pretty chipper. I decide to walk it. I don't feel like looking up how far that is, but it took awhile to hoof it that far. I find the little bakery, Magnolia Bakery, by the by and I walk in with my head held high because I'm about to buy my lady something she's crazy over.

Or so I thought. They didn't have any shirts. Not one. Let alone the one I was in search of. Luckily for me I had written down the information of their other two stores, so I call the next closest one to where I was. They don't have any either. Joy. I call the first store, and yup, they've got shirts. Oh, the bad news is the store's back in the direction I had come from. Not wanting to walk back, I hop the subway. Getting off the train I wander (which is rare for me since I usually know where I'm going, but I swear, the streets didn't make sense) around the West Village until I find the store. Well, first I found the line to get into the store. I waited in line and get into the store, famished I pick up a cupcake and a drink and tell the nice woman I'd like a shirt. Guess what? Oh, they had shirts. Shirts for babies. Nothing else. I had been defeated by a cupcake and a t-shirt. At least they teamed up on me, I suppose. I hop the train and come home. So let this be a lesson to you; if you're looking for something specific for your spouse, ask the stupid questions. Questions like, do you have them in normal people sizes, before trekking all across an island looking for them. Trust me on this.

Friday.
This was a great day. I had an appointment to talk to an art director type lady over at Penguin books. Actually, it was Puffin books, but who wants to split hairs? I hop the subway downtown and when I have an hour to kill before my appointment so I set out to find a deli or other such establishment. Whilst I was looking around I was struck by a deep dismay. I'm only a few blocks from where I ended up yesterday. A stone's throw from Magnolia bakery. If I had only known. Dismayed but not defeated, I duck into an Dunkin Donuts and order a pumpkin muffin and a drink. All is right with the world. I finish up and go wait outside the building where my appoint is fast approaching.

While I was waiting outside, absently leafing through a Communication Arts illustration annual I had picked up, my mind began to wander. I wasn't wandering anywhere in particular, but I offer it as explanation for what happens next. I was distracted and my wits weren't about me when from behind me I hear what has become one of the most gut-wrenchingly frightening sounds imaginable; and only fans of the show Lost can appreciate this. You know that tele-type mechanical noise the column of black smoke makes as it whisps about the island sucking people into holes and generally causing mayhem? Yeah, heard it from right behind me. I whip (no, I'm serious, I freaked out) around fully intending to see a giant amorphous shape hovering inches from my face about to strike. But it was a taxi. A normal, yellow, harmless taxi. Yeah, some of them have a receipt machine or something that makes that noise. That exact noise. I had heard it a few other times since being out here, so I knew what it was almost as soon as I turned, but like I said, I was distracted.

Having had enough with the noises of the world, I decide to go inside to wait. I check in and do all that good stuff and wait. I don't wait too awful long and Jeanine comes out to meet me. As we're walking back to where the show's going to go down, she tells me that another one of their designers wants to take a look at my portfolio as she's really interested in my work. We pick her up (for want of a better phrase) and she starts telling me she's looked at my site and really likes my work. I almost die. The portfolio review goes well, if only too quickly, but they both responded well to a few of my pieces and made positive comments. Apparently my ability to leave room in a dynamic compostion for type really pleased them both. Go figure. So, business being done I head back to the apartment. Brian and I went back to the MET and then went and saw Eagle Eye. I must say Shia did a better job than I had suspected he would and Rube Goldberg would be proud of this movie. That's all I have to say.

Saturday.
Brian and I definitely called it quits. It was obvious business was done and we were just going to kind of screw around and relax. We ran out to go down to the Society of Illustrators before they too decided to call it quits for the day, but when we got down there we find that it's closed for an educators symposium... or something like that. Crestfallen, we reevaluate our afternoon. We end up hanging out at Grand Central Terminal for a while and I was actually kind of disappointed in it. It wasn't as Grand as I thought it was going to be. I had all of these romantic images of it in my head and it just didn't deliver. It was pretty, but eh, not what I was hoping for. Then, a little later that evening we went over to Rusty's house for his birthday bash. It was a good time. I spent most of the evening talking to my new friends (at least I like to think so) Kurt and Zelda about all things illustration. It was fantastic. And that was it. Drinking was involved, but I'm 3000 miles from home, so I wasn't really intending on anything happening. Which brings me to

Today.
Brian and I went out to see a show at an art gallery that Dan Adel was in and that too was mildly disappointing. To finish off the evening we decide to hop a train into Brooklyn bound for the 36th street station to see Owen Smith's murals that were installed a little while back. We figured since one of our teacher's had mosaics in the subway, the least we could do was go see them. Then, we came home. That's it really. We got all packed up and ready to go. In about two hours we're going to head out to head home. I'll post again when I get home and fill it with nonsensical observations and whimsical musing. Until then!

Back to business

Yesterday, not a lot got done, but I definitely feel accomplished. I feel... better. I decided I wanted to go exploring a little bit, so that's what I set out to do. But, no more than a few steps out of my front door, I feel the itch to call Rusty. I end up going out to his place where we talk shop. He shows me a couple things that I didn't know about that he thought I should know about, and most importantly, there were twenty-five cent chicken wings. I was in hog heaven. Also, his dog Magnus, which apparently has a natural aversion to tall thin people, fell in love with me. Rusty thinks it's because I'm a living cartoon. Which could very well be, in all honesty. He also read me the riot act for not having " 'strations" on the 'Stration Station. Now is not the time, but soon. Very soon.

I walked away with a renewed sense of purpose and came back to waste the rest of my evening.

Today, however, was a little bit exciting. It was the portfolio drop off day at the New Yorker, so I headed out into the world with all my facts in order. Or so I thought. Brian and I get out there and to begin with, we have trouble finding the building. But, silly me, I was looking for the front door and street number on the street the address was listed on. Eventually I spy the doors and street number on a side street, so I head on in. Then things get interesting.

The security crew informs me that I need to have a contact to get a pass to get into the building. This is after the series of "who are you here to see" questions, to none of which the answers were derivative of "the illustration department". I made a few phone calls, and eventually got a contact name. Apparently the security guard couldn't find her in the system and as she was getting ready to make me a temporary pass by hand, the other guard chimes in by asking me what I'm doing there, for the umpteenth time. (Oh yes, he was a part of the initial questioning where I outline the purpose for my visit.) I tell him that I'm there to drop off my portfolio. All of a sudden he has an answer for me; to go around to the other side of the lobby to the internal mail room. Awesome.

I walk up and when asked if someone can help me, I reply that I'm here to drop off my portfolio for review by the good people at the New Yorker. He pulls the most interesting face for all but a moment then tells me that they've informed him last week that all submissions must be done online but he'll call to double-check for me. New Yorkers are fantastic. At this point I'm thinking they get a bad rap for being impatient and rude. (Though the receptionist I spoke with on Monday apparently gave me false information.) He hops onto the line and calls up to the 20th floor. The woman asks him some questions which he promptly relays to me and he gives her my reply. This game of telephone (woah) goes on for a brief minute and the woman he's talking to decides to come down to the lobby to check this out for herself.

Another person, another riveting series of questions. She wants to know who I'm looking for. Demanding, would be more appropriate, actually. She was very insistent to know their name and extension. Now would be a good time to point out that the name I had, she didn't recognize either. Joy. I explain that I spoke with a receptionist on Monday (she wanted to know his name too) and I was told that portfolio drop offs were Wednesday from 10 am until 6 pm. Her explaination for wanting so much information is they've had problems with portfolios in the past. They've lost some, it would seem. She didn't want me to drop mine off without a contact, have it get lost, and then come back with attitude. Oh, attitude I would have in spades, but I tell her I understand her concern (even though I can feel fear creeping up my leg and spine) and ask what information I need. She promptly invites me to collect all of the pertinent facts (name and extension) and then come back to try it again. I walk off to the other side of the lobby, retracting my previous thought about New Yorkers to myself, and start trying to call up to the 20th floor again.

This time I get a receptionist, which I thought was fantastic, maybe my luck is beginning to turn. Why? Why do I even bother thinking things like that? I explain again who I am and what I'm trying to do, and further the explanation saying I need the proper name of the art director and their extension. The name he gives up easy enough, so I'm stoked on that, furiously scribbling into my sketchbook perched on my knee. I ask for her extension and apparently I asked too much. He repeats her name, and I point out that I was instructed to get an extension. He gives me their main line's extension. Bundling up all of the "pertinent facts" I walk back to the mail room and approached the woman I had just dealt with. Handing the facts over to her she pokes her head back into the mail room and asks for a Conde Nast sticker.

They don't have any; instead they hand her a blank label for me to address myself and place on the front of my portfolio. Yeah, somehow I didn't see myself placing a very sticky label onto the front of my professional portfolio. I ask for a bag or manilla envelope to place my book in to which I can place the sticker on the outside. I get a plastic retail shopping bag to put the accumulation of my skills to date in. Worry hits me upside the back of my head and nearly knocks me to the floor. Tentatively I place my book in the bag and put the label on the bag and hand it to the guy in the mailroom. He tells me that it should be where it needs to be by 2 pm (it was 1:35 pm at that particular moment) and asks if I have anything he needs to sign. My face goes blank and, even though I don't much care to do it, I answered his question with a question, knowing full well he probably didn't have an answer. I asked where I should go to pick up my book. He assumes the person I addressed it to will come down with it, and that I should probably just come back to the mailroom. Fantastic.

Honestly, I'm more than a little worried. Losing it wouldn't be the end of the world, but I would prefer not to lose it if I can avoid it. Especially after the woman who came down to talk to me put some fear in me. I plan on calling the contact I got tomorrow and checking in on my book and trying to find out when it is I can expect to show up to get it. Hopefully that goes smoothly. Anyway, after that ordeal and some sketching outside of the Conde Nast building Brian and I head out into the city. Our travels saw us further south where we geeked out in a brand new art store then decided to head up towards Central Park and the Met .

Upon exiting the subway we began walking, like you do, and my thoughts start to wander. About a block from the park I'm violently wrenched from my flights of fancy. I find myself staring into a window across the street at paintings. Beautiful, beautiful paintings. Suddenly I'm gripped by deja vu. I've been here before, and I know what I'm looking at; the American Illustrators Gallery. We head on in and guess who has a bunch of working hanging on the wall? Only my favorite artist ever! Joseph Christian Leyendecker . Oh yeah, you heard me. We spent about half an hour staring at the works of beauty, and I plan on going back tomorrow. Oh, coincidentally, the curator of the gallery is the guy who just wrote the new book on Leyendecker that's going to be coming out. click My copy has already been purchased, but I felt delightful being able to look through it before the public at large. I'm so excited.

When we leave it starts raining, so the plan for people watching and drawing were killed. Instead we decide to walk back to the apartment. We were on 77th street, and we needed to get to 118th street. We walked. According to google, it's a distance of 3.2 miles. Which, I'm going to say, feels like a lot more when you've been walking for most of the day already, and you're carrying a moderately heavy bag over your shoulder. Nice.

And that's where it pretty much ends. We got back and kind of just fell out. I layed down on the couch and didn't really get up. Then I started blogging, and here you are.

Tomorrow, it sounds like we're going to visit some museums. And I, of course, am going to try to get my book back. I'll probably make some business phone calls too. Fun and exciting, right? Yeah, that's what I thought.

This is the "arty" part...

Well now, if those weren't a few days full of excitement and... excitement. I find it difficult to write when there's nothing worth writing about. That's kind of the sad thing about being on a business trip; come the weekend, the business shuts down. I wandered the streets aimlessly looking for purpose until three o'clock in the morning. (Kidding, mom. Just kidding.)

There was a lot of excitement on Saturday, however. I just didn't get home until late, so I decided to sleep instead of blog. At any rate, Brian and I needed to take a field trip down to the art store, he to pick up some portfolio refills, me to pick up some turpentine, so that's what we did. When that was all wrapped up and taken care of, we headed out in search of a Duane Reade. I figured since it was a drugstore akin to Longs, they might do cash back for transactions, since there aren't any Wells Fargo locations or ATMs any more east than West Virginia. I felt a need to have some cash in my pocket and didn't necessarily feel like paying a surcharge to get some. I found what I was looking for, however they didn't do cash back and I just had to bite the bullet and pay a whopping ninety-nine cents to get some cash. Honestly, I'm normally not that much of a penny pincher, I just thought I was going to get charged something outrageous, which would have been a downer for the rest of the trip. But I digress; when all of that was done with we sought out some food and ducked into a place aptly titled "All About Food". No joke.

All About Food didn't really live up to their name, but it's near NYU, so I'm sure that pulls quite the crowd; when it isn't a rainy Saturday afternoon. They had a neat little salad bar type thing and pizza. That's about it. I heard tell of pasta being somewhere in the establishment, but I didn't see any. Brian and I ordered ourselves a slice of white pizza (this stuff is good and I'm going have to start making it when I get back) and sat down to figure out the events for the rest of the evening. I called my buddy Rusty while Brian frantically sent text messages to his cousin Megan. You see, it was Megan's birthday the following day and she was going to be celebrating it at a beer garden in Astoria Heights; the were celebrating Oktoberfest. A bit premature, probably, but it's what we were going to be doing. Rusty said he'd be there and planned on bringing what merryment and cohorts as he could muster. And, let me tell you, that amounts to quite a bit.

So, Brian and I kind of settle back into our seats happy with our progress. It's been a good day (aside from getting turned around on the subway once) when Brian looked to his left and almost fell out of his chair. He sends me a text message asking if the man sitting by himself in the corner is Brad Holland and almost splits a seam trying to contain his laughter. I get said text message and look over, not wanting to believe my eyes, but hoping it is Mr. Holland. Oh, it was. For those who aren't in the know, the man is one of the people on the top of the game that have been throned there for a long time. The year I was born Brad had won something like four medals in the illustration annual that year. And he was very well established by that point. He's been around forever, has been ripped off by more than anyone in contemporary illustration, and needs to reinvent himself every few years and guess what, still comes out on top. We were floored. What else could we do, but go talk to him?

For the next half an hour aside from drinking stories and inviting us out to his favorite bar for a drink before we leave town, he fills us in on what's going on with the orphan act. A quick summary of the act would be:

"OpenCongress Summary:
This bill would limit the amount of damages a copyright holder could collect from an infringer of an orphan work if the infringer performed a diligent search for the copyright holder before using their work. The goal of the legislation is to free up for reuse copyrighted works whose holders cannot be found. It would also set up a process for the Copyright Office to certify commercially-produced visual registries to help people locate the holder of a copyright and prevent the orphaning of works in the future."

And more information can be found here .

To cut to the quick, the Graphic Artist's Guild is trying to push this thing through congress and the senate and apparently they're backed by google. Which, is really scary, since google is a multi-billion dollar a year corporation. But who else would benefit from a relaxation of copyright laws but a company that offers any image on the internet? Hmmm... Oh, apparently it gets better. If you wanted to protect yourself from the evils of this act, you'll have to register your images. Which, of course, incurs a fee. A fee for digitization. A fee for file maintainance. A fee for anything else they're willing to charge you, I'm sure. But what other choice would we, as image makers, have? Register or get shut down. All of a sudden I feel like a mutant... and Brad Holland is my Charles Xavier! But you definitely couldn't sue anyone for infringing on your rights, becaues how could you prove the searcher wasn't "diligent" in their search? Oh...

So, on one hand I'm excited to run into one of the top players in my game in the midst of a city with six million people. But on the other hand, I'm sad, because he spent the last few months not working as an illustrator to fight this bill. A bill that the interested parties are trying to hotline and sneak through both the senate and congress. A bill that would make my visit here in New York pretty much for naught. The estimation for compliance to this bill would cost the individual as much as one million dollars, and depending on how many images one owns for registration could take as many as two hundred and thirty-eight years to properly catalog everything. I'm here to tell you, I have neither of those available to me.

BUT! We said our farewells to Brad and headed back to Harlem to our little home away from home. Actually we parted ways for the afternoon and I ended up walking around Columbia University for a bit before heading home. That night we got up, hopped a bus into Queens, and found ourselves sitting at a table at Oktoberfest. Rusty, true to his word as always, brought his lady friend with him. Also one of my new favorite people, David and his lady friend were in attendance. We got to talkin' when Megan and her crew showed up and we celebrated everything from New York, to Megan, to scary business ventures. I must honestly say I had a great time. And fries. The best gorram fries I've ever had in my life. I had a bunch of them. I hear tell that there's fried chees with ham that I may have to go back to try. I mean, why not! Brian and I stumbled in the door early early Sunday morning and, like I said, decided to sleep (after watching an episode of Firefly) instead of blogging.

Sunday held no such excitement for me, so I didn't feel the need to write about it. I mean really, who'd want to read about me sleeping all day and reading? 'Cause that's all I really did. And today wasn't much better. I called around trying to get information for portfolio drop offs with minimal success. Most of the answers I did get were for Wednesday drop offs, so I don't know what I'll occupy myself with tomorrow. Mayhap I'll wile away the day in a bookshop looking up new contacts. All I know is there's life drawing at the Society of Illustrators at 6:30 and I plan on being in attendance.

Uhm. That's it.

I'm King Cheez-It, and I'm here to fix your internet!