Meet Frank. He’s travelling.

Meet Frank. He’s travelling.

Dumbbell.

Dumbbell.

New gif from an old idea.

New gif from an old idea.

Ugh, you guys. Sometimes, you spend a whole afternoon working on a poster and only a quarter of it is usable.

Ugh, you guys. Sometimes, you spend a whole afternoon working on a poster and only a quarter of it is usable.

BUSINESS DAD.

BUSINESS DAD.

Hey. It’s been a while since we’ve talked. Take a seat?
So, I spent the last few weeks working on a series of spot illustrations for video cards promoting Garfunkel and Oates' new show on IFC.

Got all that? I don’t.
Anyway, one of them’s a butt heart. Check ‘em out here.

Hey. It’s been a while since we’ve talked. Take a seat?

So, I spent the last few weeks working on a series of spot illustrations for video cards promoting Garfunkel and Oates' new show on IFC.

Got all that? I don’t.

Anyway, one of them’s a butt heart. Check ‘em out here.

I’m on Dribbble now.

I’m on Dribbble now.

Been busy with legitimate work, so here’s a panel from a possible comic about the Beach Boys.

Been busy with legitimate work, so here’s a panel from a possible comic about the Beach Boys.

Spending the week doing a series of illustrations for a client.
This poor guy did not make the cut.

Spending the week doing a series of illustrations for a client.

This poor guy did not make the cut.

Happy Fourth from the Belfast Cowboy.

Happy Fourth from the Belfast Cowboy.

Long-gestating idea.

Long-gestating idea.

From kindergarten to second grade, my school had us wear self-made shirts with our name on them for PE class. Somewhere in that timeframe, I remember my mom asking me what I would be putting on mine for that following year. Enthusiastically, I responded with something to the extent of “a skull! With a sword going through it! And there’s blood!” A hissing snake may’ve been involved too, I can’t remember at the moment.

Obviously horrified, she put an immediate kibosh on the Hell’s Angel imagery and did the shirt up herself as plainly as possible. The result was a less-than-exciting Gym class, a Polaroid of the world’s surliest-looking six year-old (fig. 2), and a probable justification for why I am the way I am today.

Look. It’s just trees, okay?

Look. It’s just trees, okay?