quick sketch funtimes

Today, I did a quick sketch of young Muammar Gaddafi because I'm a little obsessed and he was pretty way back when. So there. Carry on.

every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man

I don't know if you people were aware, but apparently Muammar Gaddafi had a tremendous crush on Condoleezza Rice. Once upon a time, he gave her a diamond ring, and a lute, and a locket with his own face engraved in it. And another time, he had a song written for her which was entitled "Black Flower in the White House". And after his death, they found a bunch of scrapbooks he had made of pictures of her.

I find this all extremely funny.

So funny.
SO FUNNY.

So I just had to draw it. 

That outfit is not even that much of an exaggeration. I am sure he wore fruit on his head at least once. 

And come on, Condi. Just say yes. He'll drive you off into the Libyan sunset of confusion on his little golf cart. Or actually, he won't. He's dead now. You missed your chance, girl.

everybody, everybody wants to love

I am really quite enjoying that little simple loopy way of drawing things, so of course I had to go and draw some historical things, such as really random assortments of various types of people in history who loved each other.


From left to right: Emperor Nero and Acte, Alfred "Bosie" Douglas and Oscar Wilde, Eva Braun and Adolf Hitler, Salvador Dali and Gala.

OH, YOU GUYS. YOU ARE ALL SO CUTE IN THIS STYLE. EVEN YOU, HITLER. 

HEY, EVERYONE

I'M GONNA SHOW MY BEST FRIEND TO EVERYBODY IN TOWN

....WEARING SOME REALLY CUTE STUFF.

LET US SHOW YOU THE NATIVE GARMENTS OF OUR PEOPLE.

...my feelings about lederhosen are very serious.

for old time's sake

I still haven't entirely grasped the concept of Harry Potter being over.


And so, for old time's sake, I went and did some fanart.


Goofy fanart.

If Voldemort's told Bellatrix once, he's told her a thousand times - you don't spontaneously launch yourself into the Dark Lord's arms. It just isn't done. Alas. There she goes again.

Music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DIjuqDki4-4

sometimes as a writer, i have to inform my characters of awful things

Imagine for a moment that you are a pretty young heiress named Michelle Laurentia.

You are engaged to a handsome young artist named Alphonse Gray, but your parents do not approve, because he is so dreadfully poor and not from a wealthy family.

(Your mother also has a another reason: she thinks he is rather lacking in character and far too full of himself. She would be correct, but you are too in love to agree.)

So he makes a promise to your father that he is going to travel the world, showing his paintings to all different people until he finally finds someone who sees his talent, at which point he will become rich and famous and able to provide you with a respectable home.

This takes a very long time, but you don't mind. You are one of those people who has never been exposed to bad things, and you sit in your family's mansion having tea and being beautiful without ever supposing that your dear Alphonse might be having affairs all over the world.

Because he'd never do that, would he?

Anyhow.

One day, ten years later (you were seventeen when you fell in love with Mr. Gray and are now twenty-seven), a glorious thing happens! Alphonse writes to you and informs you that, thanks to this painting he's done of his new artistic muse, he's become dreadfully famous in a City Very Like Paris! He now has piles of money, lives in a seaside manor, and is a member of high society. At last, he is ready for you to come and live with him and be his wife.

That part about having a new artistic muse is a bit worrisome. He had always used to call you his muse and paint you when he was around all those years ago. But.

Your poor mother is now dead. Your father is now senile. There is no one to disapprove anymore.

And so you pack up your dresses and your jewelry and travel to your fiance's seaside manor, and you're so dreadfully excited, and you run up the steps to the elegant front doors and give them a gentle little knock, and you're all ready to leap into your dear Alphonse's arms when he comes to answer the door, and then-!

Wait. Who is this?

Who is this skeletal little creep wearing some kind of an outlandish fur-suit-cape-disaster?

Well, well, well. This is Jezebel, Alphonse's new muse.

He goes to parties with Alphonse.

He uses a great deal of Alphonse's new money to pay for ridiculous outfits just like that one.

He lives in Alphonse's grand seaside manor, did you know that?

It's apparently all part of a deal: Jezebel is constantly available for being painted,

and Alphonse gives him a luxurious life in return.

Didn't Alphonse mention any of that in his letter? No. He didn't.

And likewise, he didn't see fit to inform Jezebel of your existence. You are a great big surprise.

Oh, well. You are a very optimistic (and a very naive) girl. You and this Jezebel will surely be the best of friends. And when you and Alphonse get married, Jezebel will surely be made to leave the house and find his own living arrangements....right?

Ah, you silly girl. You are counting your eggs before they hatch.

You are still assuming that you are going to get married and live happily ever after.

You have only just arrived, and so you've not yet become acquainted with Jezebel. You have no idea about his obsessions or his easily jealous nature or his addiction to being the center of attention at all times or those nasty little hallucinations he sometimes has.

My dear Michelle Laurentia, do you see that pale little waif standing before you?

I regret to inform you that he is about to ruin your life.

the muse

I am currently working on a story which I like to describe as what would have happened if Charles Dickens and Oscar Wilde had gotten together and decided to combine David Copperfield and The Picture of Dorian Gray into one giant book, and then they asked Franz Kafka and Salvador Dali to help them write it. Why, yes, this story is the most surreal, confusing, bizarrely hallucinogenic piece of writing I have ever produced. 

To put it quite simply, it is about a young man who, among other things, travels to a City Very Like Paris, becomes the subject of a famous artist's painting, believes he's being constantly chased by a Dark Man in a Suit who wants to kill him, and completely loses touch with all reality. His name, by the way, is Jezebel, and there is a reason for that, but it shall be revealed later.

Anyhow, here he is, looking rather odd and ill, because that is exactly how he is supposed to look. I am finally getting over my bad habit of drawing everyone more attractively than they are in my head.