Archive for the ‘Week 22’ Category

Week 22 – Amber Perkins

Posted: August 29, 2011 in Amber Perkins, Week 22

Road Trip 2011 DC

Betty, this week’s piece is for you.  Nothing– not space, not time… not death– can separate us from our true friends.


Week 22- Kenia Cris

Posted: August 29, 2011 in Kenia Cris, Week 22


Week 22- Kelly Bennett

Posted: August 29, 2011 in Kelly Bennett, Week 22




The wasp returns, hungover

From night’s adventure, to the vacant

Combs of  the home communally


Created – but we’d murdered

Them all – the bodies of

His family, the larvae of

The unborn aborted,

On the deck floor below.


Later, as we burned

The last remains

Of that Maine artist’s work

In the grill

With lighter fluid, paper

Towels, malice,


That wasp bounced

From beam to beam,

His dream a nightmare

Of intolerance, as he

Wondered where

He will light now,

Nurse his headache,

Eat recovery.

Week 22- Gina Marin

Posted: August 29, 2011 in Gina Marin, Week 22


Week 22- Elizabeth Fox

Posted: August 29, 2011 in Elizabeth Fox, Week 22

Not sure where my picture went, so I’m uploading it again…

Week 22- Alana Kelly

Posted: August 29, 2011 in Alana Kelly, Week 22


Brian Weeks – Week 22

Posted: August 29, 2011 in Brian Weeks, Week 22

This is the introduction to a new piece I’m trying out. Let me know what you think…



“Beach Baby”

Driving along the deserted stretch of highway, James fidgeted with the dial on the AM radio. Bright yellow stars twinkled in the ebony sky above Route 6 as he drove along, not knowing exactly how this would end up. It seemed like an eternity since he’d left the cold discomfort of home, even though in reality it had only been about eighteen hours. Mama Cass wailed away on the radio, “Dream A Little Dream Of Me,” her words drifting out the window of the beat-up 1960 Ford Fairlane like vapor, evaporating into the night. He pulled the car over when his headlights shone on the sign he had been waiting forever to see. Provincetown – 5 Miles. The radio changed abruptly to Billie Holiday. James turned up the radio and pushed harder on the gas pedal. He was finally home.

It had been less than a day since James left. At 9:00 this morning, James Brewer Finch was a member of Dwight D. Eisenhower High School Class of 1974. Diploma in hand, he walked off the stage toward his car, not bothering to see the end of the ceremony. He looked back once, hoping to see a reason to stay. He couldn’t. Getting into his car, he knew that he would never return to Lockport, New York again. He began the journey that had taken three months to plan, and eighteen years to make.

Driving into Provincetown, James made a right turn onto Commercial Street. It was just past three in the morning. Well, here I am, James thought. Now what am I going to do? Unfortunately, James had only planned to arrive in Provincetown. He hadn’t given much thought to what he would do when he did in fact get there. “What was I expecting, a Tupperware party and the Welcome Wagon lady?” he asked himself. Pulling into a semi-vacant parking lot, James cut the engine and stared off into space for a few minutes. He spotted a pier up the street a bit. He got out of his car, grabbed a Buffalo Bills sweatshirt and headed out toward the pier.

The night air was brisk, and the damp cold of the ocean gave James a chill. The streets seemed deserted, but he kind of expected that, being the middle of the night. Abruptly, he stopped in the middle of the street and looked around. There wasn’t a lot that was different from any other town. Storefronts, awnings, quaint business signs. Was this normal-looking little town really the magical, almost mythical place where all the homosexuals came to be free? He pondered this for a moment before walking toward the distant pier, further from his car.

On the edge of the pier, James sat down and looked out at the expanse of ocean surrounding him. This was a million miles away from where he could have ever pictured himself really going. Just a few short months ago, he was staring at a cache of sleeping pills he had been pilfering from his mother’s prescription bottles; wondering just how many it would take for him to drift off into an eternal dream. A permanent sleep, so he could be free of the thoughts roaming in his mind. Deviant thoughts of other boys, and wanting to do things with them that he had only imagined.

He knew that in order to survive; he would have to break free of the invisible chains that bound him to New York. But where could he go? Then it hit him, like a lightning bolt. He remembered the ferry trip last summer, during the family trip to Plymouth Rock. The Finch family had taken a day trip on the ferry to Provincetown, and James had seen things there he only had heard about. He saw grown men walking down the street, holding each other’s hands. He thought he even saw two men kissing! But he couldn’t really be sure. They were partially hidden by a bush in a park. He had heard that this place was where all the queers went to spend the summer, but seeing it firsthand was something else.

Vividly he remembered walking down Commercial Street last summer, hearing “Love Train” by the O-Jays playing on someone’s passing transistor radio, and thinking that this was the place to be. This is where he could be free to be himself. He chuckled to himself that day. I could never come here. I just couldn’t. I’m not really homosexual. It’s just a phase I’m going through. It will pass.

When it didn’t pass, he started to get worried. The worrying led to stealing the pills. Two or three pills a week, until he had almost seventy of them. It was funny, the night he sat on his bed staring at the little pile of pills, tears streaming down his face, he had completely forgotten about his day in paradise last summer. He picked up four or five pills, and was ready to swallow them when the song changed on his bedroom radio. “Love Train.” Then it hit him.

And here he was. Alone, but free. He remembered a lyric from Janis Joplin, “Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose.” What else could he lose? His entire life back home was a lie. He wondered if his parents were worried. Hell, he was worried. What if this is a mistake? What if…


Week 22 ~ Caron Thomas

Posted: August 29, 2011 in Caron Thomas, Week 22

It’s not finished. Watercolors. To be continued…

Week 22- Ashley Davene

Posted: August 28, 2011 in Ashley Davene, Week 22

We sometimes get caught up in a space where each thing has to be some great story or serve some highest good or purpose and perhaps it does on some large and grand scale, some scheme some where but sometimes we cant see that in our day – and the point of it is not to start or begin – to raise up or level off somewhere – but to just be – the random and colorful adventure that it is. Each day not trying to define anything, or boast but – buckling up your boots and putting on your hat and sunglasses and hitting the world as the adventerous one. The wanderer who knows that the wise is firm in their roots but bendable in their experience from moment to moment to moment.

treking from your car to your office building even, or the universe of opportunity that lies in great dive bars and coffee shops around the corner, or meditations to be had on lunch breaks in the field, dragonflies to meet and dafodils to dance with. Be The adventerous one, follow your heart – balance the lines of pragmatism and random

Sometimes its dances with weeping willows

Sometimes its sea spray

Sometimes its large gulps of lemonade that leaves sugar crystals on your lips

Sometimes it’s a slow dance with someone you love

Sometimes its heat yoga

Sometimes its garden green

Sometimes its hemp

Sometimes its vodka

Sometimes its cream

Sometimes its iciles

Sometimes its art

Sometimes it’s a musical venue

A coffee house

A brightly lit street

A dark and winding funnel

A skyline that connects you to the world

A familiar boy or girl

Sometimes its Everything

 “The Art of Random”

(random photos from my random weekend, in random order)



Week 22- Photobug Shar

Posted: August 28, 2011 in Photo Bug Shar, Week 22

Days gone by...

Week 22 – Devin Eldridge

Posted: August 28, 2011 in Devin Eldridge, Week 22




Week 22 – w.c. pelon

Posted: August 28, 2011 in w.c. pelon, Week 22
“Cartoonized Portrait”

This week’s submission is an exercise in transforming a portrait photo into line art which can then be digitally colored to look like a cartoon.  There are many different approaches for such a task, but I think this tutorial has the best suggestions.

The original photo. Subject: Bryson Eldridge, age 10.

The tutorial above makes a great guideline, especially the steps for changing the photo into line art.  While effective, it does leave the image looking a little “dirty”.


transformed into line art

Once the lines are established, it’s time to color!  I got a little sloppy with this step, but the details are easy to clean up later.


rough stages of coloring

From here, I tidied up my coloring, started playing around with different filters and layer modes, and incorporated the original background with a little twist.


Bam! Cartoonified!

Week 22-Michael Mooney

Posted: August 28, 2011 in Michael Mooney, Week 22

The Back Rooms of My Mind - Door 28811


Balloons make Billy happy!


Happy Hurricaning ya’ll!


Week 22- Sue O’Connor

Posted: August 28, 2011 in Sue O'Connor, Week 22

Bike Spokes Early Morning Light

Week 22- Kevin Contreras

Posted: August 27, 2011 in Kevin Contreras, Week 22

Phoenix Art Museum FireFly Exhibit

Hopefully this isn’t squished too bad.  An on-time entry!  Before the hurricane  D:

Here is the September wallpaper calendar I managed to finish before September.