Have you ever walked into a place that immediately brings you back in time? Where your head spins from how familiar it all is, and the emotion and force of memory is so strong that you temporarily forget exactly what year you're in, how old you are, etc?
This happens to me in the shower.
I used to think this was pure coincidence, but I'm starting to wonder if every unfinished basement in the continental United States (or at least Michigan) is furnished with a build-your-own Durastall shower. Of the last four places I've lived in, three of them have been outfitted with this same plastic shower stall. Same knobs, same no-slip plastic flooring, all made complete with a plain plastic shower curtain chosen by somebody else in the house. Usually white or clear.
So I'll be washing my hair, lost in thought, and when I'm done washing my face, I'll open my eyes to find the exact same corner of the Durastall shower, lit more or less exactly the same as it was in houses previous by harsh, artificial lighting coming through the curtain. And my head is dropped completely, momentarily, into old memories. Is it October of 2006 on the Northeast side? Or, wait, maybe this is July of 2009 on the West side after splitting up with my ex-girlfriend. When all along it's 2012 on the Southeast side.
Not even sure how I feel about this. It's funny how time can loop backward, and I'm able to revisit previous versions of my life if only for the couple seconds it takes for my brain to catch up to reality. There's comfort there. It can be odd, though, having nostalgia creep in so unexpectedly when all I intended to do was get ready to go out for the night.
I think it'd be nice if the next place I live in has a full tub and shower. But if there's an unfinished basement, maybe it should be equipped with a plastic shower stall just to keep the possibility of time travel open.
-beanforest
p.s. the Etsy shop always keeps me pretty busy, but I've been working on some new stuff that's left me with even less free time than usual. If everything goes well in getting it finished, I should have some news to post hopefully in the next week or so. Pretty excited with how things are looking... More info as soon as possible! Updates will be posted on the facebook page.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Sunday, July 22, 2012
my thug grimace is bikini-ready
Almost a month since my last post?! I'm not digging this whole time-speeds-by-quicker-than-you-could-possibly-imagine stuff.
Still don't have more than a few minutes to spare, but here are a couple snapshots from the most recent sketchbook.
Thanks for reading,
beanforest
Still don't have more than a few minutes to spare, but here are a couple snapshots from the most recent sketchbook.
Thanks for reading,
beanforest
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
something very special planned
I'm at the coffee shop drawing in my sketchbook (nothing scandalous, I promise), and this gorgeous blonde woman comes up admitting that she was watching me, started asking questions about me, about art, stumbling over her flattery a little, totally adorable, right? Right. I give her my card, introduce myself, she introduces herself (M_____), we shake hands, warm smiles both ways, awesome. Then she goes to the bathroom, comes out a couple minutes later, and walks back over to me. SWEET. I try not to notice, keep it cool, don't blow this, Vincent. She proceeds to tell me how she was Saved three years ago, and that she can just FEEL that Jesus has something very special planned for me, VERY special, and do I have any questions about the Lord? Haha, I suppress the FML smile and kindly reply, "I'm all set, M_____, but thanks so much!"
"You're welcome, and please, anything I can do! I can just feel He has something special planned!"
"Great, nice to meet you, M_____!"
"Nice to meet you, too, Vincent!"
So is it THAT obvious that I'm marked with sin and the eternal sadness made possible only when not touched by the Grace of God? 'Cause I'm generally a pretty upbeat and bright-eyed boy. Or maybe she was just canvasing the neighborhood. If I'm such a sinner that I can be eyeballed from across the room (my clothes are crisp, I'm freshly washed, I have a little scruff, but it's not too frumpy, there should be no indication from my appearance that I'm fallen), I *hope* that it wasn't a simple canvasing. Does sin have a scent that can't be masked by middle-shelf bar soap and Ban Shower Fresh antiperspirant? Please don't let me be just another notch on your Witnessing Belt, M_____! Lie to me, tell me I'm special in some way. That you walked up to me specifically, that I wasn't just ANY contemplative dude scribbling in a sketchbook.
Anyway. Just another Tuesday afternoon, I guess, where I should expect excitement to turn to disappointment in a matter of somebody else's quick use of the restroom.
That said, I will gladly accept any beautiful woman's earnest attempts to save my eternal soul. Disappointment should be expected on their part, but maybe that just makes the exchange fair.
She has my business card, so maybe she's even stumbled across my blog... If you're reading this, M_____, know that you're obviously kind-hearted (I am too; I just don't believe in Jesus the same way you do), sweet, definitely beautiful, and you know how to reach me if you're so inclined to keep trying.
-beanforest
"You're welcome, and please, anything I can do! I can just feel He has something special planned!"
"Great, nice to meet you, M_____!"
"Nice to meet you, too, Vincent!"
So is it THAT obvious that I'm marked with sin and the eternal sadness made possible only when not touched by the Grace of God? 'Cause I'm generally a pretty upbeat and bright-eyed boy. Or maybe she was just canvasing the neighborhood. If I'm such a sinner that I can be eyeballed from across the room (my clothes are crisp, I'm freshly washed, I have a little scruff, but it's not too frumpy, there should be no indication from my appearance that I'm fallen), I *hope* that it wasn't a simple canvasing. Does sin have a scent that can't be masked by middle-shelf bar soap and Ban Shower Fresh antiperspirant? Please don't let me be just another notch on your Witnessing Belt, M_____! Lie to me, tell me I'm special in some way. That you walked up to me specifically, that I wasn't just ANY contemplative dude scribbling in a sketchbook.
Anyway. Just another Tuesday afternoon, I guess, where I should expect excitement to turn to disappointment in a matter of somebody else's quick use of the restroom.
That said, I will gladly accept any beautiful woman's earnest attempts to save my eternal soul. Disappointment should be expected on their part, but maybe that just makes the exchange fair.
She has my business card, so maybe she's even stumbled across my blog... If you're reading this, M_____, know that you're obviously kind-hearted (I am too; I just don't believe in Jesus the same way you do), sweet, definitely beautiful, and you know how to reach me if you're so inclined to keep trying.
-beanforest
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
plush and rabid
Characters like this have been populating my sketchbook a lot lately. I don't know what to do with the drawings yet (if they'll become something I polish up, turn into comics, larger artwork, or whatever), but I've been having a TON of fun drawing them. The working title of whatever it becomes is "rabid."
A drunk guy at the bar saw this picture and was convinced my work is demonic. I was kind of surprised to hear this, because my feeling is: how demonic could something really be dressed in a pink bunny suit while wearing inline skates and knee pads? Creepy, ambiguous, ugly, gross, yeah, maybe, but demonic? I don't think anything truly evil would stop to think about protective sporting gear. I tried to explain all of this to him, but he wasn't interested in hearing anything to the contrary. Okay, Sir, return to your pitcher of swill beer and your quaint conviction that the devil lurks behind every stranger's sketchbook you demand to look through. Anyway. So I was going for fun and absurd. Comical outrage and fury coated in soft pastels puts a smile on my face, and hopefully that's communicated in this as well as the other drawings to come.
Hope all's well, and thanks for reading.
beanforest
Thursday, June 14, 2012
every hour has its own teeth
Thanks for reading.
beanforest
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
my whole life needs a haircut
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Monday, May 21, 2012
Sunday, March 18, 2012
heaven is in the chorus
Nuggets: I'm a triple threat
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
don't tell the doctor who you are
-beanforest
Monday, January 16, 2012
Friday, January 13, 2012
pardon my dust
Hi all,
Still alive. Still having difficulty finding the time for blog posts, but here's the way I figure it: infrequently updated blogs are obnoxious. Infrequently updated blogs authored by people that constantly promise more frequent updates but never carry through on that are even more obnoxious. Right? So I'm just gonna shut my mouth about the subject and post when I can.
On that note:
Click to enlarge.
Red Blooded Male
Cell Phone Etiquette
This one goes out to the dickhead talking loudly on his cellphone at the coffee shop for what I'm told was over 2 hours last week. I try not to draw any conclusions about the character of strangers, but dude, if you ever read this, I'm fairly certain you are a total dickhead. I don't know your name, but I and everybody else present heard every word of your side of an arrogant and totally mundane conversation you could've taken outside. You weren't talking about etiquette; that was a joke at your expense. You seemed a little unnerved near the end when you started to notice that whenever you glanced my way, I was impassively staring at you in a creepy fashion. This was because I was impassively staring at you in the hopes of creeping you out. My frustration with your lack of social protocol will be much less subtle next time.
Thanks for reading, everybody.
-beanforest
Still alive. Still having difficulty finding the time for blog posts, but here's the way I figure it: infrequently updated blogs are obnoxious. Infrequently updated blogs authored by people that constantly promise more frequent updates but never carry through on that are even more obnoxious. Right? So I'm just gonna shut my mouth about the subject and post when I can.
On that note:
Red Blooded Male
Cell Phone Etiquette
Thanks for reading, everybody.
-beanforest
Monday, December 5, 2011
a soft chuckle that says, "so there i am"
Click to enlarge.
Sorry if the writing on this one is even harder to read than usual. This is scanned right out of my sketchbook, so if any of it reads funny, it's because it hasn't been edited beyond the few crossed out words already seen. Perhaps some day I will write something that goes beyond the initial rough draft, but September 6th, 2011 was not that day. Here's the text:
You escape the room leaving the wildness of the party for a quick recovery
and go downstairs to get some water, maybe use the half-bathroom few people know about so you won't be interrupted.
You can hear the bass through the ceiling, the chorus, the shift of feet falling mostly in unison to the beat.
You know that you created the moment. Everybody contributes to the fun, but you are held responsible. The building feels smaller than usual tonight.
There's a ball of heat and everything feels close. You wonder how much noise escapes and can be heard from the street or next door,
but until it's an issue brought to your attention by someone with authority, you don't really care too much.
You finish pissing and check your face in the mirror, maybe you wash your hands and maybe you don't,
and in this moment influenced by music, alcohol, and opportunity, you catch yourself off guard with the face staring back.
You get so accustomed to being a voice in a head that sometimes it's still surprising to find that it's attached to this thing that people always see and remember you by.
If the night is going well, maybe you smile to yourself, a soft chuckle that says, "so there I am" and you're relieved to find that you have power. You look closer, still surprised to see yourself.
You have an obligation to make something happen. The night has been building toward a possibility that is always hoped for but rarely guaranteed. For a second, you forget you're looking in the mirror.
Then you snap back to attention and notice your eyes, milliseconds after dialating [misspelled- should be "dilating"], return to the pointed focus of control.
Everything is back and even stronger now. The music feels louder when it's not, the surfaces of
the banister and walls more pronounced when they're just as they were.
You return to the room recovered, grabbing the door to reveal faces pleased to see your face
the face you sometimes forget about until life commands you to live.
I remember liking the sentiment after writing it, but in rereading it for the first time since Sept 6th tonight, I can't help but wonder if it's a subconscious response to T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. If you haven't read it before and you're at all into poetry, it's short, pretty easy to follow, and worth your time (if my recommendation means anything, I have a hard time caring about MOST poetry but I've somehow managed to write two essays on this particular one).
I hate Prufrock. It's a fantastic poem and pretty crazy that Eliot, being the genius bastard that he was, wrote the thing when he was 23 years old. But I hate it mostly for the reason that I'm terrified of becoming Prufrock myself. The doubt, the bumbling anxiety of trying to find the courage (and failing) to live ones life to the fullest, all of it... The character stresses me out. I want to slap him in the face like Ryan Gosling slaps Steve Carell and be like, "come on, go dare to eat a peach, for the love of all that's worth living for."
It's entirely possible that my brain pulled the parts I like most in the comic as reactionary anti-versions of Eliot's poem. If there are any similarities, they were unintentional. Eliot's "to have squeezed the universe into a ball / To roll it towards some overwhelming question" answered with "the night has been building toward a possibility..." and my response to Prufrock's "there will be time to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet" being "...reveal faces pleased to see your face; the face you sometimes forget about until life commands you to live."
I dunno. I'm not entirely sure why I wrote all of this, and if you're still with me, thank you for your patience. It's after 4 am and I'm gonna have to get back to stamping orders yet tonight, but for now I'm wondering if any more of my art will be little more than grumpy knock-off responses to classic works of literature.
If anybody's curious about the reading list in the bottom-right corner:
Some We Love, Some We Hate, Some We Eat: Why It's So Hard to Think Straight About Animals is a fantastic and fascinating read. Non-vegetarians might shy away from this book assuming it's about why we should all be vegetarians. It's not. The author isn't a vegetarian, I as a reader am not, and it's not the book's aim. It's just a really interesting examination of the moral complications and accidental hypocrisy of human interaction w/ the animal kingdom.
Snoop: What Your Stuff Says About You was pretty good too. I heard about Snoop from Some We Love... and it's totally worth reading.
I'm 60% through The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy and my interest has waned a lot since I started it. If anybody thinks I really ought to finish it, I'd love to hear why. ...Which isn't to say that it's bad or anything. Adams is an entertaining writer, but I guess it feels thematically repetitive and I'm having a hard time caring about any of the characters.
Still chipping away at Great Expectations. Pip is getting accustomed to the big city, and I doubt I'll be able to get any more read before January.
Haven't read The Corner or Sex at Dawn: How We Mate, Why We Stray, and What It Means for Modern Relationships, but I'm excited to find the time later this winter. A Geek In Japan is like journalistic popcorn if you're at all into Japanese culture. I couldn't tell you how many books I've already devoured on Japanese culture, customs, pop culture, Tokyo, manga, etc, etc, but this one was thoroughly entertaining.
Back to work. Hope all's well!
beanforest
Sorry if the writing on this one is even harder to read than usual. This is scanned right out of my sketchbook, so if any of it reads funny, it's because it hasn't been edited beyond the few crossed out words already seen. Perhaps some day I will write something that goes beyond the initial rough draft, but September 6th, 2011 was not that day. Here's the text:
You escape the room leaving the wildness of the party for a quick recovery
and go downstairs to get some water, maybe use the half-bathroom few people know about so you won't be interrupted.
You can hear the bass through the ceiling, the chorus, the shift of feet falling mostly in unison to the beat.
You know that you created the moment. Everybody contributes to the fun, but you are held responsible. The building feels smaller than usual tonight.
There's a ball of heat and everything feels close. You wonder how much noise escapes and can be heard from the street or next door,
but until it's an issue brought to your attention by someone with authority, you don't really care too much.
You finish pissing and check your face in the mirror, maybe you wash your hands and maybe you don't,
and in this moment influenced by music, alcohol, and opportunity, you catch yourself off guard with the face staring back.
You get so accustomed to being a voice in a head that sometimes it's still surprising to find that it's attached to this thing that people always see and remember you by.
If the night is going well, maybe you smile to yourself, a soft chuckle that says, "so there I am" and you're relieved to find that you have power. You look closer, still surprised to see yourself.
You have an obligation to make something happen. The night has been building toward a possibility that is always hoped for but rarely guaranteed. For a second, you forget you're looking in the mirror.
Then you snap back to attention and notice your eyes, milliseconds after dialating [misspelled- should be "dilating"], return to the pointed focus of control.
Everything is back and even stronger now. The music feels louder when it's not, the surfaces of
the banister and walls more pronounced when they're just as they were.
You return to the room recovered, grabbing the door to reveal faces pleased to see your face
the face you sometimes forget about until life commands you to live.
I remember liking the sentiment after writing it, but in rereading it for the first time since Sept 6th tonight, I can't help but wonder if it's a subconscious response to T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. If you haven't read it before and you're at all into poetry, it's short, pretty easy to follow, and worth your time (if my recommendation means anything, I have a hard time caring about MOST poetry but I've somehow managed to write two essays on this particular one).
I hate Prufrock. It's a fantastic poem and pretty crazy that Eliot, being the genius bastard that he was, wrote the thing when he was 23 years old. But I hate it mostly for the reason that I'm terrified of becoming Prufrock myself. The doubt, the bumbling anxiety of trying to find the courage (and failing) to live ones life to the fullest, all of it... The character stresses me out. I want to slap him in the face like Ryan Gosling slaps Steve Carell and be like, "come on, go dare to eat a peach, for the love of all that's worth living for."
It's entirely possible that my brain pulled the parts I like most in the comic as reactionary anti-versions of Eliot's poem. If there are any similarities, they were unintentional. Eliot's "to have squeezed the universe into a ball / To roll it towards some overwhelming question" answered with "the night has been building toward a possibility..." and my response to Prufrock's "there will be time to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet" being "...reveal faces pleased to see your face; the face you sometimes forget about until life commands you to live."
I dunno. I'm not entirely sure why I wrote all of this, and if you're still with me, thank you for your patience. It's after 4 am and I'm gonna have to get back to stamping orders yet tonight, but for now I'm wondering if any more of my art will be little more than grumpy knock-off responses to classic works of literature.
If anybody's curious about the reading list in the bottom-right corner:
Some We Love, Some We Hate, Some We Eat: Why It's So Hard to Think Straight About Animals is a fantastic and fascinating read. Non-vegetarians might shy away from this book assuming it's about why we should all be vegetarians. It's not. The author isn't a vegetarian, I as a reader am not, and it's not the book's aim. It's just a really interesting examination of the moral complications and accidental hypocrisy of human interaction w/ the animal kingdom.
Snoop: What Your Stuff Says About You was pretty good too. I heard about Snoop from Some We Love... and it's totally worth reading.
I'm 60% through The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy and my interest has waned a lot since I started it. If anybody thinks I really ought to finish it, I'd love to hear why. ...Which isn't to say that it's bad or anything. Adams is an entertaining writer, but I guess it feels thematically repetitive and I'm having a hard time caring about any of the characters.
Still chipping away at Great Expectations. Pip is getting accustomed to the big city, and I doubt I'll be able to get any more read before January.
Haven't read The Corner or Sex at Dawn: How We Mate, Why We Stray, and What It Means for Modern Relationships, but I'm excited to find the time later this winter. A Geek In Japan is like journalistic popcorn if you're at all into Japanese culture. I couldn't tell you how many books I've already devoured on Japanese culture, customs, pop culture, Tokyo, manga, etc, etc, but this one was thoroughly entertaining.
Back to work. Hope all's well!
beanforest
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