I always found Instagram’s tiny thumbnails too hodge-podgy to look at as an ensemble. So my own feed is composed of groups of four variations on any given subject. Makes for good-looking screen grabs. Here’s one from early 2012.
About those R-rated Polaroids from the eighties everyone seems to keep a stash of: I’m sorry to report I have none! The worst I ever got was this collection, pictures of my co-workers at Portuguese weekly O Independentebaring their shoulders circa 1988. Indy was actually one of the randiest places I have worked at… but this was all I got.
Forget about the contents: I still like the labels of my illustration portfolio circa 1999. This was the postcard-sized pocket version. (Lots of watercolor landscapes within.) Of course, today the iPad performs the very same task with added dazzle.
From a series of spots for The New York Times Magazine, circa 2002. I think this was the last assignment Andrea Fella sent my way before quitting her position there. Forgot what the subject matter was, but fat cats shaking hands will never go out of fashion, will they?
This century’s first decade was filled with limited-edition books printed on a domestic inkjet and assembled by hand. Tints, a very tiny one as it is, was probably the last one I did, in 2008. (I only printed one copy; I think there’s a layout glitch.) Right afterwards I was on my way to Portugal to work on the Lisbon Revisited project, which cast a similar tint over my hometown’s landscapes.
East Village urban gardens drawn for Mother Jones circa 1999. Then-AD Rhonda Rubinstein had me illustrating a monthly column. Don’t tell anybody but, before I posted here this ink-and-watercolor drawing, I went and fixed in Photoshop a small perspective mistake.
Throughout the decades I have designed a few record covers for Portuguese singer-songwriter Sérgio Godinho. In 2006’s“Ligação Directa,” 2006 I got to work with photographs by Daniel Blaufuks, who had pulled a rather noir atmosphere out of a Lisbon parking garage. One of its signs came in handy for the limited-release single “Às Vezes O Amor” (“Love Sometimes”).
I blame the omnipresence of this boiled-egg-yellow in my sketches and thumbnails from circa 1986 to a particular appetizing hue of color pencil found in a Caran d’Ache box. Once I moved to the US I migrated to Prismacolor, with occasional forays into British imports, but the yellows were never the same.
For the visuals of my 2005 short movie Description, I just sped up Hope Ginsburg’s hand-talking a little bit. For the soundtrack I tried to rip off Wim Mertens (which of course I failed at) but had a great time in the process. All done with just one sound bite, a MIDI sample of maracas, filtered through Garage Band as a piano, as a sax, and as a bass guitar. The sort of thing that us non-musicians find very exciting to come up with.
Jason Kliot, I only met him in NYC a couple years ago. Wish it was longer ago but that’s how it played. Now I find his name in a 1987 sketchbook, among my notes for a movie Manuel Villaverde was directing and for which I was supposed to design some title cards. What ever happens to all these missed connections?
Summer of 2009, days and days up and down the A line. (Living in Washington Heights at the time). Getting busy on my early iPhone sketches, but keeping the ballpoint pen busy on the Moleskine during my subway rides. My favorite subjects were readers. This was from a series I created for a group show at Jen Bekman Gallery.
Late last century, my everyday routine included sketching average passerby glimpsed in the street, then creating a more finished ink-and-watercolor picture. The series, called The Dailies, lasted for a while. Of course, in the meantime these images went from daily snapshots to letters from the past. Think of everything that went by since 1999. Where did these people go? What became of them, how old are they now, are they alive? Even the place where this character was sketched (Virgin Records on Union Square) is long gone.