A short, gentle comic about living with PTSD in a culture where news media is ubiquitous.
This was written for 24 Hour comic day, in October 2018. The specific news cycle at the time was the Kavanaugh confirmation hearings.
Content warning: sexual assault mention.
ink and brush/faux woodcut style
Ladd Observatory, Faizah’s new home
old-fashioned look emphasises historical aspect of tale
As always, my society6 shop is here.
In a thrilling update to the #butWHYisitsupposedtobesexy category of Thrift Shop Hell, I recently found not one but two additional sexy, bikini-wearing, anatomically-distressing pigs.
oh no
oh nooooo
(For those of you just tuning in to this project, the original #butWHYisitsupposedtobesexy pig can be seen here.)
The towel I’ve always wanted
Do you know where your towel is?
I’m delighted by the latest products added to the society6 line of home goods: towels! Not that I’m normally the sort of person who has their life well enough together to be excited about towels– this is a special case.
It’s a special case because that one of my favorite (and by far the best-selling) designs, one inspired by and a tribute to The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy…is now available in towel form.
Why is that important? I’ll let the man himself explain:
…a towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a hitchhiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have “lost.” What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is, is clearly a man to be reckoned with.
Hence a phrase that has passed into hitchhiking slang, as in “Hey, you sass that hoopy Ford Prefect? There’s a frood who really knows where his towel is.”
-Douglas Adams, The Hitch-Hikers Guide to the Galaxy
Click here to view or purchase DON’T PANIC! towels!
Apparently I have a Look. (Also I spelled “serotonin” wrong in two different ways. Oops.)
Let’s hear it for friendly taco bar guys! Everybody should have one in their life.
The problem with me and daily sketches is that they eventually just become a constant litany of exhaustion.
Stay tuned for further adventures in tiredness!
Sketch Journal: Churros and Champurrado
It was a grey and gloomy day, but nothing cheers me up like a hot drink and a deep fried dessert.
365 Days, Day 34
I’ve spent the weekend salvaging what I can from a dying hard drive. The files in the most danger (on the partition that constantly disconnects, and then reconnects with intimidating messages like THIS VOLUME CANNOT BE REPAIRED. TRANSFER FILES TO ANOTHER VOLUME AS SOON AS POSSIBLE) are mostly from my senior year of college.
It’s fun to look back at those pictures and art projects. Some are things I’d completely forgotten about; others are files I’ve been meaning to pull open again for years.
I’m happiest to revisit the self-portraits. This is an era where I took a self-portrait every day, for over a year. The project quickly became a visual journal, documenting the ups and downs of a stressful and wonderful (and stressful; it’s worth mentioning twice) year.
Mustering the creativity and courage for a portrait every day was a challenge. The good days were great! But every artist (every person, I suspect) has times when they feel they have nothing to give. Feeling that way and being under the commitment to make art anyway–and not just art, but a self–portrait–is exhausting.
“Someday you’ll go back through these photos and appreciate them,” I told myself on bad days. “You’ll be glad you stuck with this.”
I was right.
Art Heals
Tonight was my last mentoring session for the school year.
I volunteer once a week, leading art classes for at-risk youth at a residential treatment facility near my house. It’s a fun, challenging, rewarding, and sometimes overwhelming job. This was my fourth year with the program, and my third at this location.
The last session of the semester is always a strange one. It’s a celebration, but also a time of goodbyes. To ensure the safety of the youth we work with, we don’t share (or accept) contact information with (or from) them. And while I’ll be back in the fall, hopefully all of the youth from this semester will have graduated by then and settled into their post-treatment-facility lives.
It’s a funny thing to say, “I’m so glad I got to know you, and I hope I never see you again,” and mean every word of it. But it’s really the best thing we can leave them with.
Thank you. Goodbye. Keep making art.
foundbysara 