Ahh, the sun is out, the birds are singing, and the daffodils are starting to push their way up. Spring must finally be on the way right? Hahaha, just kidding, it’s just a tease. A cruel, cruel tease.

I’m going to be honest, I’m pretty close to full blown grumpus. If the weather doesn’t stop toying with me soon, I might lose it. I want sunshine. I want to go barefooted. I want to stop wearing pants. Right now it’s a pleasant 65F outside. I can hear gobs of birds warbling and crooning. It smells like spring. Unfortunately, I’ve already checked the weather, and it’s going to be back down to freezing with 25 mph winds tomorrow. Oh what fun! I think I’ll start working on my blanket nest now.

Grump, grump, grump.

It seems like everybody is getting sick lately. Despite my efforts to avoid it, Mr. Boy managed to give me his head cold, icky crud. It’s that lame kind of in-between sick where you feel like crap, but not bad enough to stop you from feeling guilty about taking a day off. I feel like I should be working, but my brain feels all blurry and my face is full of mucus. I finally decided I probably shouldn’t work, because I don’t really want to make germ filled plushies. I just imagined my innocent little creatures going out into the world like so many tiny small pox blankets.

My guilt being assuaged, I decided to fill the gaps between napping sessions by continuing to fill my moleskine sketchbook. Since my attention span is a bit short right now, I’m filling a page with tiny little 2.25″ square drawings. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it yet, but I am still quite in love with my new markers. It doesn’t take much encouragement for me to break them out and doodle. Even if I don’t feel like doing anything else.

Anyways, Mr. Boy said something about a “chibi Hellboy” and somehow I ended up with Hellboy chumming it up with an octopus. I’ll pretend it’s because I’m sick. Then I tried a self-portrait. I didn’t mean for it to look like I was disgusted at the mushy cephalopod friendship above. It turns out it’s somewhat difficult to draw yourself disapproving of your own hair cut. (I got pissed off at my bangs the other day and because I’m a cheapskate, I trimmed them myself. I have sort of “seventies, Farrah Fawcett” bangs as my friends kindly informed me. I suppose it could have turned out worse. I could have ended up with a Flock of Seagulls do.)

Now I have four more little squares to fill up. Instead of coming up with the rest of them on my own, I’m offering up some little mini commissions.  Judging by the duration of Mr. Boy’s illness, I’m going to be at this for a couple of more days at least.  So for the low, low price of only $5 you can tell me what to draw in my little book for the rest of the week. If you are interested you know where to find me.

I think it’s about time I go back to sleep on the cat. And I swear the next post won’t have anything to do with markers. For reals.

Farmer Green had enough of Bert’s attitude. There was something unsettling about that chicken. It was always strutting around like it owned the place, putting on airs and looking down on everyone. It never associated with any of the other chickens. It turned it’s beak up at worms and never once had he seen it fly. It just wasn’t right a chicken acting that superior. He was in charge of his farm and no chicken of his was going to get away with that sort of nonsense. Bert was going to learn to fly or die trying.

Bert (who was actually Betty–Farmer Green wasn’t really a very smart farmer) actually did think she owned the place. From the moment she hatched, she had been secretly coddled by the farmer’s daughter. She was hand fed, petted and groomed daily, and carried around like a princess in a basket. It was perfectly obvious to Betty that she was a superior creature. All that scratching around in the dirt was beneath her. That flying business was just undignified. As if she should propel herself somewhere! So it happened that Betty was most unpleasantly surprised the day she found herself tossed out of the hayloft into the empty air. With sudden clarity, and much flapping about, she realized she was in fact, just a chicken.

I am still quite in love with my new markers. So in love with them that I’ve actually been drawing on a regular basis. I even attempted to participate in Illustration Friday, which I’ve been following for years, hence the chicken themed picture.  Of course to actually participate I should have submitted it yesterday, but I was terribly busy drinking beer and meeting lots of cool new people.

I just couldn’t help myself when the theme was “chicken”.  I have a long history with chickens. I had chickens for most of my childhood and for the most part I think of them rather fondly.  They are very silly, and not terribly smart creatures, but I still like them. I liked them so much as a small child, that  I even decided I was going to be a chicken farmer.  Other children wanted to be firefighters or monster trucks, but I was going to raise chickens.  Like other children though, I grew up and I abandoned my dreams.

Years later my friends and I are relating our childhood aspirations.  I shared my chicken farmer dreams because I thought it was amusing.  Apparently my friends thought it was even funnier.  Embarrassingly funny.  To them it was a hilarious indication that I was from a rural area. In fact they started calling me Chicken Farmer and every birthday and Christmas I recieved a slew of chicken themed gifts.  I have chicken clocks, chicken lamps, chicken plushies, chicken dishes, etc.  Eventually I gave up and accepted my new title.  It took going to college and making new friends to acquire a new nickname.  Even so, I still occasionally get chicken gifts from my oldest friends.  Moral of the story?  Don’t tell your friends about your childhood.  Even if you don’t think it’s embarrassing at the time.

Now I wish I could have chickens again.

Courageous Tillie and his faithful steed George set off to seek adventure. Who knew what exciting foreign lands and heroic deeds lay before them? They would cross the treacherous River of Eels, slay the terrible monster of Gila, and they would rescue fair Hilda. Songs would be written about them, they would be showered with untold riches, and they would get to have tea with the Queen. All the neighbors would be envious. And as long as they were back by dinner, Tillie’s mom promised they could both have cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles for dessert.

Do you remember being a kid and you just got a brand new set of markers (or colored pencils, or crayons) and you were consumed by a need to use all of them, at once, on one glorious picture?  This happened to me rather frequently.  Just seeing the huge rainbow mega packs in the store would make my eyes glaze over with longing.  This did happen to other children, right?  Well, I never grew out of it.  Every time I go into an art store, the panoply of  color still calls out to me and I am overwhelmed by a irrational need to own all of them, even the colors I don’t really like.  I guess it’s not all that surprising that I ended where I am today.

Anyways, the point of this story is that I got a set of markers for Christmas.  Fancy grown-up artist markers.  I have been lusting after a set of Copic art markers for several years now, but I was too cheap (broke) to ever invest in a set.  At $4-6 bucks a pop, they get expensive very quickly, and I was worried that I might not like them after blowing all that money.  At some point in the past I tried out some Prismacolor markers and it felt like I was coloring with very expensive Sharpies that were half dried up.  Sure, I do have a beloved rainbow set of Sharpies, but I don’t use them for artistic masterpieces.  On the other hand, I have only ever heard good things about Copic markers, and I like the look of artwork produced using them.  I really wanted to give them a try.  I was so excited when I finally got them, that I think I squealed when I opened the package.

Needless to say, I’ve been avidly tooling around with them in my spare time since then.  The illustration above pretty much sums up my childlike glee.  I am extremely pleased with them.  They are everything I wanted them to be.  They are double ended, with a wonderful brush tip on one side.  The color flows smoothly from both ends.  You can layer and blend, and there is no icky smell–the whole experience is very similar to using watercolors.  I’ve been pretending for years that painting with watercolors was an enjoyable, not time intensive, finicky, often frustrating experience.  This is really what I wanted all along.  Double plus bonus, I have also discovered that they work well on fabric which opens up all sorts of new possibilities for my sewing.  I didn’t even consider this use until after I got them.

So if you have ever considered trying out art markers, I would definitely recommend them.  About the only drawbacks in my mind are the expense, and the fact that they bleed through nearly any paper.  The expense is worth it, especially considering that they are refillable, and as long as you remember to put down a blotter sheet, the other part isn’t a problem either.  There are a few different styles available, but I found this to be a pretty helpful breakdown of each:  Copic, Sketch, Ciao, or Wide.  If you are wondering, I have the 36 B set of the Ciaos.

Now that I have this wonderful set, I am struck with a new dilemma–I only have 36 out of the hundreds of colors.  It seems like such a paltry number all of a sudden.  I need all the colors.  It’s like Pokemon, you gotta catch them all.  I suppose if you aren’t into Pokemon or obsessed with art supplies, you don’t understand.  I see you start to back away slowly with a concerned look on your face.  It’s okay, I understand.  It’s not for you.  Just enjoy the pictures and I promise I won’t tell you anything about how awesome my Charizard is.