So this is the deal. Like every other jackass in the so-called “art scene”, I started drawing as a kid. I wanted to be an animator, primarily a character designer. I was all about the giant robot cartoons like Robotech and Manzinger. I wore out my VHS of “Transformers: The Movie” running it back and forth in slow motion trying to learn how to draw. If you look super close, that bad Saturday Morning Cartoon styles is still prevalent in my work. That and Todd McFarlane. And Sam Kieth. Can't forget the turn of the century pen and ink artists, like JC Coll and Heinrich Kley. Tons of Tex Avery, Jack Davis, Bob Peak, Ralph Steadman, and all of those other amazing 60's/70's illustrators. Did I mention Francis Bacon, Edward Munch, and Egon Schiele? Billie the Sink? Of course Barron Storey.
I know those names and artwork because of a kind anonymous soul that donated a collection of art books to my local library. They blew the mind of a 10yr old kid, and the impact is still felt today. That influence is a part of my work. A part of my life. If it was a good influence, I don't know. I hope to return the favor someday. I do know that I never want to be one of those guys that forgets where he comes from. You know how it goes, those who forget where they come from will never know where they're going. Blah, blah, blah. They'll be lost, usually with loads of cash. Maybe that's not so bad.
What's the point of this? Is there a point? Isn't this whole world bullshit? I know art bios are.