DHL and some other east-central PA guys have started a pop group called Lunchbox of Blood. They sound a lot like Air Supply, only louder, noisier, and drunker. After an 84-groupie escapade, DHL asked me to come up with some artwork, something that would depict the "smooth, dentist-office calm that is L.O.B." (his words, not mine). Minus the text elements, this be where I'm at:
I don't know if it's AM radio enough for them.
Siamese monster squirrels contemplate the power of the all-knowing acorn. (please help me come up with a punchline for this one -- Illustration Friday, topic: punchline)
Prints: chrisleavens.imagekind.com
On Thursday, Adriana and I set off for a relaxing vacation in bucolic east-central Pennsylvania. If you're going to be in the area or you are in the area, let me know and we will collude, drink beverages, and make fun of mustaches. DHL, I expect a basement concert and I'll be bringing prototypes of your logo. Sorry, no truck burritos.
Last summer I was in Long Beach for a few days. It's been nearly a year since then, and yet the moment captured here, when I happened upon a group of local Gs keeping things real, haunts me still.
It's been said that the truest stories of a place like Long Beach aren't found in the lyrics to a hip-hop song, or in a dog-eared copy of the "Rough Guide." They're found, instead, in the hopes and dreams of the everyday people who don their tutus and headbands and go at it anew each and every day they live, always striving to do things a little better than they did the day before.
I guess that's what has stuck with me, what has caused me to wake up on so many afternoons drenched in sweat since this day, last July: The knowledge that, without warning, I came upon the naked and throbbing true heart of America's number one port city.
Real people doing real things. There is a subtle majesty to it all that damn near takes one's breath away.
In the forgotten days of monster birds, offspring were sprung from head trees. (Illustration Friday, topic: forgotten)
Prints: chrisleavens.imagekind.com
I'm actually pretty psyched about this one.
This is just a quickie I grabbed out a car window while passing through downtown. I'm not entirely sure about what it means to "envia tu dinero," though from this ad, it seems like something that's done by mountaineering construction workers who very well might perform in disco-revival bands on the weekends. In Mexico.
