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this is a little bit of my general sketchbook at the moment, all self initiated work.

tiny bits of summer

the suns out for a change today, so heres some old summer project stuff

clowns

playing with face paint animations again, was hopefully successful, ill post the videos once they are put together, heres some photoes we took after the animations.

barcelona

love letter

he was smoke passing her lips, but hey, it was her lips right? He had invested plenty pleasent time staring at them while inwardly cursing his own, those black cracked sons of bitches, they were his crooked rusting keys to soft wet pleasure, but they left him out in the fucking rain. wet hair again. a good look for him, but he can't stop that fucking squinting, blue eyes blue eyes dart about the place. scared of what they want. don't know the fuck why they don't. maybe they're just done? done all they can and now they can and now they just killing time in his head. mission accomplished, lets just stare at pretty girls, and put them right off this sucker. i dont give a fuck, his clunky uncomfortable skull. and those teeth? oh those fucking teeth if i only had three wishes id trade for three minues alone with those assholes, im too angry for the economics of any deal, just give me fucking revenge. Music calms the savage beast. can you fit that trumpet in my ear hank? thanks for trying. theres real stamina in them wrists, drawing, writing and of course the old procreation practise. well practised of course. like any sane person, worried they do it too often, while still containing some animal, a tickle behind the ear and they squint content, contempt washing away. but red comes back, hiding in wrong looks, cold nights and rum, some motherfucker motherfucking balling your fists up for you, sticking thier chin out special for you, like a pretty girl letting you know its a night to do your best to remember. but you just do your best, give them six of the best and wonder for the rest of your years what it all meant. the same as any other fun fing. everything means the end, thats why stories end with the end. non-stop apocalypse and babylon punch lines, punctuating your sad lives, but you know how to make the world go along. scream curses at the moon in the night and you scream curses at the moon in the night alone, but fuck, and the world fucks with you. love letters? love letters? that was how i began to write, but the scrippy primal noises of a newborn aint fucking singing. its more than pen to paper, just like poetry aint just rhyming. you wanna make that point? here you go, its at the end of your pen. but be careful, some of those dicks are magic in the (this can say right or wrong) hands , you had better knot know what your doing if you want some purity, and i dont mean fucking clean, but that could be because i dont know fuck the what that means. fuck purity you dont want my soul in a love letter, thats tacky as fuck.

yours yours,

francis

X

i drew this portrait of orlando weeks from the maccabees for my friends birthday. he was really pleased with it, its got lyrics around it, and a painted message on the back. i went with an elizabeth peyton style for the portrait itself.

due to funds, i think alot of christmas presents from me might look alot like this, hope they like the personal touch.

Just came back from a cultural visit to Barcelona with my college. It was an enlightening trip, got to know my college friends better, and look at original work by some of my favourite artists.

I hadn't been abroad for a few years, and it was very refreshing to get amongst other people for a while. I enjoyed conversing in catalan, and sometimes french, and I really loved the vibe of La Ramblas.

I really got into my work, spending alot of time by myself sketching or taking photographs. I completed two sketchbooks while I was there, and I am working on a scrap book of paraphenalia that i found, as well as anecdotes and personal responses to my experiences in the city.

I love going to museums, so my highlights were the visits to the Joan Míro fundacío and the Salvador Dalí museum. Míro has been my favourite painter ever since i first saw his work, and i had never seen anything face to face, my charcoal was working through my sketchbook really quickly, copying out his line work for reference, i had to get a new sketchbook from the gift shop.