With a jawbone of a donkey, I have slain a thousand men...

Samson…By far my second favorite person in the Bible…right after him there’s Job, and then Malachi…Yes, Jesus is the top bracket….but I while back I was just randomly sketching here at work like I usually do on my lunch break when I’m broke and I decided to crave out a picture or two of good ole, Samson…The pictures here are of course after and during his slaying of the philistines with the jawbone of a donkey…I mean really…dude killed heaps and heaps of armed soldiers with a donkeys lower jaw…that’s banana’s As much as I love myself some Wolverine, Logan would get his “ass” handed to him, lol…PUN INTENDED. And yeah...none of these are done and they probably won't be...but there is potential.

The Wandering Cape-Man

I was going hrough some files I had here at my desk at work to kinda clean up a bit for memory purposes and I came across some old sketches that I did on my break for a few days. If the picture looks grainy, its probably due to the flintstone like scanner we have here...either way, enjoy...this well probably be it until I'm done with the barbarian drawing...

The Barbarian Horde...

Move it along folks...nothing to see here. Actually nothing really good to read here also...but I will tell you this...apparently my good friends are doing art contests to see who does what...Well...I never have been one to finish anything. I do have awesome ideas but I never really put them to paper. I'm just merely content on writing instead of drawing as of late. I guess this time around they are doing Barbarians and it seems to be somewhere up my alley..blood guts and pillaging...Mmmmmm..gets my juices going. Anyways...I thought I have been stretched or pushed before but this time ..i dunno...I may or may not be able to do this. I mean lets look at the people in this...Adam...he works all day at his computer doing graphic design at his HOUSE in front of his drawing table...Tad...don't know much about him...Torrance...unfortunately he's got a lot of time on his hands but he spent the last 7 years drawing consistantly. Mike..well Mike paints and works in his own framing and art gallery. Me? I sit at a desk all do doing anything but draw, lol. And man, when I get home...all these temptations...the Xbox 360. Fall Out 3. Call Of Duty 4 and soon to be Gears of War 2?! Geez...whats a guy to do? But I'll tell you this..if I do this...if I even draw and get out what I want to do, I'll never have to draw again...my ideas gold and like gold, are always in demand, lol...::::::I wish::::.

It all started with a sketch....

In a quest to re-invent myself and push my skill and pencil to the proverbial limit, I decided to do something that I never did before...Anime. I love the stuff but nevere really wanted to do thatr style. I'd infuse a bit here and there but never really do I go all the way...I left that to the "Judas" known as Tanto ( Torrance). So I started drawing the usual for me. And angry man witha ball cap. Its kinda my shtick if you will. Well I looked around for a refernce of style and eventually found it in some manga video still. The style of coloring was dramatic and I didn't really want to bring that much into it. I mean, yes I wanted to do an anime style piece but it was hard for me to fully commit to it. I started drawing and kept drawing till I came up with a rough sketch that I liked. I took that sketch and placed it on a light table and re-drew it to clean it up a bit. It didn't need to be to clean because I really wasn't going to use the pencil drawing but for a guide. Here's is what that came out to be...Check side bar. So that was done and know I had to figure out HOW exactly I was going to color this piece. I was pretty decent in Illustrator so I felt confident I could pull something of in there. I can't tell you how long it took because I pretty much busted my butt on it and kept at it till my base was set. I don't even know what time it was when I started...All I know is that I was finished. Well....sort of. So there was that and

I have to admit, I was pretty proud of that. I showed around and flashed it about, receiving mulitple compliments on it. I even had a guy wanting to put it on a shirt. I don't think he did though although that would be awesome. So for the final test, I showed the art to my good and best friend in the world, Adam Meyer a.k.a Shard. I send it in an e-mail he looks at it and within 5mins, I revised version somewhere along the lines of this... He took it and defined it in a matter of minutes. And here I thought I was done with the whole piece. Just when you think you got it all said and done, someone comes and and pulls the rug from underneath you. Since then, I've tried this layer method and with decent results. Some of which are not as good the first but the people who I do them of seem to like 'em so I call it "Done." Now I'm on to the next sheet paper...c-ya, folks!

Soo....you say you wanna serve?

Samurai, Samurai is the term for the military nobility of pre-industrial Japan. The word samurai is derived from the archaic Japanese verb samorau, changed to saburau, meaning "to serve"; thus, a samurai is a servant, i.e. the servant of a lord. The samurai was dedicated to the wills of his master and the code of honor called Bushido, in which he lived by. He would never stray nor leave his master. To the ends of everything a samurai would go for his master. If his master deemed it, he would take his own life. A samurai could not live with the disgrace of failing his master for anything and thus many a samurai would commit Seppuku. Seppuku has been used voluntarily by samurai to die with honor rather than fall into the hands of their enemies, as a form of capital punishment for samurai who have committed serious offenses, and for reasons that shamed them. The practice of committing seppuku at the death of one's master, known as oibara ( I don't know how to pronounce it either). Now I'm not suggesting anyone of us do that. It's a little too extreme but the point is, A samurai is a powerful and great historical person. He lived for his master and in all things he did to the fullest for his master. And as great and powerful a samurai was, his title meant "servant" and that's food for thought.

Irony -A literary style employing such contrasts for humorous or rhetorical effect. Incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs: "Lee adores and loves the samurai customs and nature but yet, hasn't really served his Lord. How ironic…"

July 13, 2008 finds me getting out and getting ready for a church that I had almost seemed to lose hope in. I get up, wash my face, brush me teeth and get my clothes in a rush just to be 30mins late for church like I always am. I can't really say why but if society has taught me anything, the reason why would be hereditary and thus clearing me off all charges. Luckily, as late as I am, I almost ALWAYS get there just in time for PT to preach so that should count for something. Every Sunday I think, I should leave…I'm not doing anything and no one would know the difference. Every time I think that, I hear something that keeps me there. I get in and find a place to sit just as PT begins to do exactly the opposite. He gets up and the next thing I know, a baseball comes flying, excuse my cliché, "out of left field". Literally. He begins to talk about baseball and how it relates to the church. The short and sweet version is this, some people come to play and get in the game to win. Others just sit and watch the team they are one win. I thought for a minute and said to myself, "well maybe the players just suck." Maybe the team they are on doesn't work for them. Now when I say that, I mean, team equals church and work for them equals the involvement with the church. Maybe they aren't a catcher or a pitcher or a shortstop. Maybe they can't be a lead hitter or bat clean up. Some people may in fact be bat boys. Now I'm not giving and excuse not to serve, I'm just saying. Maybe the things they can do are not what the game requires. Those people could quite possibly be excellent backgammon players. Who know? But that's exactly the right question. Who DOES know? Yeah…that's rhetorical but if you don't get that joke or know what rhetorical is, the answer is God. I for one, love baseball, and can play pretty good. I love the out field but I hate right field. I can do second base but for some reason, suck at shortstop. I Love the Cubs( who at this very moment is 1 in the MLB leading by one game. Red Soxs are turds, I mean third and the Yankees….well…what about them?) That last statement is placed for comedic value. But I digress, Some people seriously want to serve and serve well but don't know where and how. Sometimes is a personal reason like some people have been burned by others using them. Maybe they feel like they can't fit in with the already pre-established team of players already playing and they feel awkward towards that group that to them seems "clique-ish." They may have all the reasons in the world for not serving and quite legit ones at that but it still doesn't refute that fact that servitude is a necessity. Matthew 20:25-28 goes like this…

"Jesus called them together and said, "You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. 26Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, 27and whoever wants to be first must be your slave— 28just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many."

If I was to read into this black people would be the on the apex of that mountain of greatness but I'm not and that was another joke. Serving the church is serving the Lord. I know its kinda hypocritical of me to say and not always do but if I was a broke clock, I'd eventually get it right twice a day. I'll say to myself, well, I did try once or twice. I tried to play the drums and somehow that slipped from me. I was approached to help with the kids. I do funny but I can't do crazy so I backed down from that. I tried my hand at drawing but I don't think it was noticed. But maybe I was doing it for the wrong reason. Maybe I was doing it to hear someone acknowledge me and give me my pat on the back not realizing that God was doing that and I never even noticed. I think I was doing it for earthly rewards…MAYBE. Hah! That's harsh of me to say that about myself but maybe there is truth to that. Again, its very hard for me to write and say this considering who I am and what I have done but I'm a writer. It's what I like to do outside of art…Albeit not a good one but I do okay. So maybe, if I can be that honest about myself, then maybe, there is still hope for me to change. Maybe I can do something what the sweet skills I have. Maybe I can draw for the church or design things. Maybe I can write up stuff for them…I dunno. I do know that there is no use for an African-american-japanese swordsman in training unless there is some underground network of Gideons that are really responsible for placing bibles on the desktops by stealthy sneaking into hotels and hospital cause that would be awesome.

Ye Ole' Hitman...

I get story ideas all the time...my mind is filled with crazy and eccentric story that to me seem awesome. I always say, Man...I've gonna do a comic of that. If you know me at all, then you know it'll never happen. I think I'd be content doing cover art and that would be that. So I got a call from a friend of mine in Cali and he's obsessed with the hitman theme. Loves it...he asked me to do a shirt for him of a hit man. I told him I would and once again, I finished something else. For at least a day, something was in the water cause I couldn't believe that I finished another piece...

But then I got to thinking and remembered that I did a story or a mock-up of a hit man a while ago that was forced to do things because if he didn't "fill in the blank" would happen. Looked around in old boxes and folders and I found the sketch that was done a good few years ago on a plane ride too or from London, England...

I looked at that and thought...maybe NOW I'll give photoshop and chance and see what I can do. I kinda figured a little bit how Torrance colored the first one so I just sat down, took a crack at it and this is what I came up with...

A finished drawing from me? Amazing...

Now this was something that, oddly enough, took years to do. I think I started this like two years ago and decided to stop on it due to my uncanny ability to never finish anything. I came back to it a year ago and added some depth and shadows to it. I wish I would've straigten out that arrrow...lol.

A few months ago I wanted to start my hand at coloring through photoshop and before I could do anything, a friend of mine got his hands on it and did his version of it...Not bad, Torrance...

Me and My Dad

There are days when I go out and walk about the area I live in and I just want to break out and run. Not the run where one tries to escape the everyday trappings of life but a run to see just how fast I really am. When I played baseball, I loved the outfield. The chance to show just how fast I could be. The ball is hit high, barreling into the air and just when the crowd thinks it's a base hit, I show up to rob them of that run or a point. I lived for that. It was my world where I felt like I had no equal. When I was about ten they started an end of season field day events. I waited for those days. I looked at every game as a footstep closer to the tournaments. One event in particular stands out to me throughout all the years past. Even today it still holds up to be one of my greatest moments. One in where I defined what I could do and who I could be. The one time in my life where I knew my dad was proud of me.

It was a bright and early morning and here I am standing at Edgewater Baseball park getting ready to compete in the end of season field day events. The park was located on the edge of a lake that I never knew the name of. Surrounding the park was a YMCA and campgrounds that held occasional fishing competitions every couple of months. It was a clean crisp fall morning and you could almost taste the misty dew in the air evaporating from the sun's heat. My father and I thought it would be best to sign up for the race considering how fast I am compared to the other kids. I was always fast even for a kid my size. For as longas I can remember I have always enjoyed running. Listening to the wind in my ears as it moves past me getting louder and louder as I run faster and faster hoping one day that I would hear the wind no more. As a child it seems as an achievable goal. My father walked up to me and put his hands on my shoulder. He looked at me with a smile that I had not seen in years and told me to just run. No matter what I do just run and I'll win. He then told me that he knew I'd win no matter what. He told me that not because he thought that I was faster but because he wanted me to know that no matter the outcome I'd be his winner. With a smile, I told my father that I was faster than everyone here. This is cake. The certainty of my voice made my dad brighter. He then pat me on the back and told me to make sure my cleats were tight and ready to go. I did as my father said and sat down on a set of belchers that had not completely dried from the morning sun. I jumped up as quickly as I could to avoid a wet bottom and ridicule from my teammates that were also here for the events. Luckily, I only had a small spot on my pants according to my dad. I kneeled on the ground and tighten my worn and dirty cleats and got up to walk towards the starting gate.

I remember seeing other contenders and feeling a certain uneasiness in my stomach. Some of the other boys were taller . Some of them had legs like stilts and as I look at them all I felt doubt began to sink in. I didn't think I could beat these other kids anymore. All my faith seemed to be sapped out of me. During the others games when I was not playing, I noticed another player stealing bases. I thought he was so quick and wanted to run like he did. Here he was stretching for the race that I was in. There was no way in the world that I could possibly be faster than he is. It was now time to line up on the chalk and race. Cheers began to radiate from the stands to the left of us. I looked over and noticed that my teammates were there standing on the metal seats with my dad alongside them. Other parents, forgetting their adulthood, had joined into the ruckus. They shouted and yelled motivating statements like free pizza and ice cream if I win. I began to regain some of the lost confidence from early and prepared to move on the whistle. We stood on the line each one in own stance.The whistle went off and so were we. Everyone moved off the line as if our lives were at stake. One by one, the runners began to fall back till there was no one there but the nameless runner and I. Slowly he began to pull away from me. The wind began to talk, teasing and taunting me playfully. Telling me to try and keep up. Telling me to move faster. I ran as hard as I could, never giving an inch. The finish line was close now and soon I was past it. I slowed my run to a trot and then to a brisk walk. I turned around and noticed the other runner looked winded. He had both hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. Walking towards the judge, my friends were running over yelling at me. I couldn't hear anything. The only thing I wanted to hear was my name announced as the winner. Instead of elevated screams of joy, I let out a sigh of disgust as the judge proclaimed that it was a tie and the race between the two of us had to be ran again.

Once again I find myself at the starting line but this time instead of multiple enemies there is only one. He looked down at me and told me that I was very fast. I replied back in kind and got ready to move. I did not want lose this race. I didn't want to lose at anything I ever did. Losing just didn't sit well with me and I think my father knew this. But he never knew the reason why and to this day it still eludes him. I now knew what the running had in him and I knew I had more. I could feel it. It was almost when a warrior on the field had met his match in battle. And as the warriors locked eyes, they knew that this was the moment that they waited for. The one time in life when everything they ever done had begin to make sense. Neither side giving an inch and fighting with everything they had inside. But the fight was all that they lived for. Not the chance to kill but the chance to be better than they were when they step on the field.

Now I felt like I could beat this guy. Now I felt empowered. I felt that he was nothing to me in this and I was determined to prove it. All I had to do was get off of that line and not look back. This time we both got down low to the ground at the line and waiting for what seemed like an eternity. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as I looked ahead at the traffic of cars on the road just past the parking lot well beyond the finish line. I could feel my heart inside beginning to beat harder and faster like a jack hammer with anticipation. Once again, the whistle went blaring into the air and the race was once again in progress. I pushed off that line like a bullet out of the chamber of a gun still smoking. Every step I took pushed me closer to the finish line faster and faster. As I ran all I did was concentrate on the run. There was nothing else in my mind. All I had to do was run. The wind began to speak but I could only make out hushed whispers as it began to die down while the race moved on and I moved faster. Everything that I am was in even step that I took. My legs burned and my muscles stretched and reached for every once of energy. My arms were pushing and pumping me forward and soon all I heard was silence. My eyes locked onto the goal and before I knew it, the finish line blurred past me . I slowed down rapidly and fell down. As I tumbled across the wet and freshly mowed green grass, I noticed that I still could not hear anything. I came to my knees only to be dog-piled by my teammates. There were a multitude of words none of which I heard save for one thing. Winner.