I found myself stuck in a commission. That has never happened before.
Quick! Send for a mime!
Maybe the isolation of 2020s plague got to me. Or the medical scare. Or the general state of weirdness our culture is in.
I started the commission. Stopped.
Started it again. Stopped.
Maybe I’m just getting old.
I started it yet again. Stopped again.
I was depressed and wasn’t sure what was happening.
If I only knew …
Somewhere in there I ate an aweful lot of Oreos and received some of the most bizarre Amazon packages.
As a kid I would illustrate the situations I wanted. I called it “making things real.” I made a world where I was mystifyingly beautiful and there were winged horses and unicorns. And a cow. The cow wasn’t magic though. She was just a cow.
Correction: Cows *are* magical.
As an adult, I still “make things real.”
Bridge buns are brought to life [for me] and I fall in love with every one I draw.
EVERY.ONE.
They “speak” to me and I talk to them.
But there I was: stuck. Like a truck in mud: the wheels spinning but I wasn’t going anywhere.
This bun wasn’t talking to me. Stubborn boy.
One afternoon while chasing around the hot mess that is Snow – she stole one of my pencils – I realized something …
This was the *first* pencil-in-hand project that I was doing without Lance. My muse. My companion. My critic.
He would snuggle under my drawing board in and stay for as long as I did. I’d take a break and he’d look the project over, judge it, judge me, judge my existance as a whole … the way rabbits do.
I brought the hot mess that is Snow back in studio. She bit all the tips off my color pencils. She slid my rough sketches and models across the floor. She flopped a foot away from me.
Welp. It’s been another long strange year. I moved. I am now in a farmhouse with my buns and an upstairs art studio (my bed, complete with Batman sheets, is up there as well).
Batman 66 is the ONLY Batman
I *love* rural life. Truly. I was born in a farming community, spent all my formidable years in one and now, it appears, I shall be buried in one.
This is fine
And – that’s fine by me. Suburbia never knew what to think of me anyways.
Karen (after her yoga class) crossing the street to get away from Yours Truly.
I found a chicken cam on YouTube. I swear to God – only in Ohio … FOWL OHIO
In this, the apocalyptic year of 2020, expect the unexpected. I received notice today that our very own mad plague doctor himself, Doctor Sammy, has been spotted.
No need to fear it as a bad omen. In fact it is quite fortuitous in that tomorrow is the warren’s all time favorite holiday: HALLOWEEN!
A big “thank you” to the reader who sent this in – there truly are no words.
RAGING BUNNIES / STUDIO566 just got the HOP AHEAD for the Midwest Bunfest 2014!
This event, sponsored by the Ohio House Rabbit Rescue, is one of the highlights of my year. All bunny people from all over show up to this event to share, show off and just BE all things rabbity.
This includes: health and welfare, rescue, Glamour Photos (they even make a calendar out of said shots),
treats, care, nick-nacks, art *ahem* and all-out celebration.
It is glorious to know that crazy bunny people have a peer group. I have made entertaining acquaintances
as well as life-long friends (and some of those friends are even the human kind).
I heart the Midwest Bunfest HARD.
Needless to say, I am excited!
This year for the 2014 Midwest Bunfest, Raging Bunnies is donating THIS for raffle:
18″ x 18″ Black Tote
My inspiration: Samuel L. Jackson (The “l” is for “LOVE“)
Sammy and his BA Buns of Anarchy Biker Jacket
If you are around during the 2014 Midwest Bunfest, stop by the RAGING BUNNEHZ table and say, “Hi!”
I always enjoy meeting everyone and hearing about their furry beloveds.
Where there is light, there must be shadow, where there is shadow there must be light. There is no shadow without light and no light without shadow …
― Haruki Murakami
When I was 17, my interest in symbolism caught fire. It began in a literature class when I studied Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. I ran the gamut of that study from Biblical symbolism to feminine symbolism. I’m not sure how my American Lit teacher felt about it, but I am proud to report that I received the only “A” in the history of that class for that project. ::takes an overachiever bow::
MOBY BUN
In college, I discovered the works of Carl Jung and the concept of the collective unconscious. (The idea that we are all connected through an invisible cosmic web – communicated via symbols).
AT PLAY IN THE COSMIC WEB
This is when I dove head-first down the rabbit hole (so to speak) of feminine symbolism and archetypal journeys. Archetypes are:
In the psychology of Carl Jung, archetypes are the images, patterns, and symbols that rise out of the collective unconscious and appear in dreams, mythology, and fairy tales.
dictionary.com
Jung believed that these symbols originated from when we crawled out of the primordial ooze. It is a beautifully romantic way to explain why so many cultures all over the world (who never had contact and were oceans apart) have the same images and characters and mythologies. To put it simply, we are all connected.
RAGING
Fast forward several years when I felt trapped in my life’s circumstance. We have all been there. If not, you are either young or very blessed. It was a place of frustration, agitation and it was a bit dark. At this same time, Honorable Daughter #1 began bringing rabbits home. She would rescue/steal/accept/smuggle them. She would nurse and care for the sick, groom them, rehome them. To this day she has the heart of a rescuer.
DEFEATED
Lance, Russette and Sammy were the three rabbits that I would not allow to leave. These three are affectionately known as “The Olde Guarde”.
I grew up in a farm community surrounded by all types of animals. My observations, even as a child, taught me that rabbits are animals of prey and behave accordingly. House rabbits, after having all those years of domestication, still behave as such. So there I was feeling trapped and frightened … with rabbits.
The following are basic definitions. They are moreso concepts based in an Aesop Fable (The Dog and the Wolf) sifted through my filters of feminine archetypal insanity (It’s my journey I can do what I want):
THE WILD – Freedom to be your true self. Living in the cover of the forest tapping into who you really are. The subconscious. This self allows you to set boundaries without guilt.
THE DOMESTIC – The comfort of shelter, food and the guides of social norms. In its ideal, it guarantees safety and healthy boundaries. The conscious mind.
Each, however, has its shadow:
THE WILD SHADOW – Hunted, hungry, darkness, fear, lost (yearning for the domestic)
THE DOMESTIC SHADOW – Caged, victimhood, dependent upon others for survival, the collar digging into the skin/complacency (yearning for the wild)
Our goal in living with these archetypes is to bring them together to find balance. In my opinion, in that balance, we find our “home.” It’s a lifelong journey and we all bounce around now and again. and again. and again. and yet again.
I could very well relate to the rabbits as prey animals. I also believe that this projection gave me an exceptionally strong bond to and with them.
The illustrated journey, unbeknownst to me at that time, of making peace with the WILD v DOMESTIC archetype began.
This was the birth of Raging Bunnies.
As I broke away from my situation and managed some self-examination, the bond with my rabbits evolved along with my art. I began to appreciate the rabbits’ gift of bringing laughter, absurdity and healing into my life. Regarding the Secret Life of Rabbits was born at this time. Then the characters in the comic started revealing themselves (and continue to do so).
THE FIRST COMIC
The comic offers humor even in strife. The process is very healing for me. The fact that others are interested in it is humbling. And the longer I do the comic, the more I reveal parts of myself.
Now, I stand in a visible (and quite public) duality. Wild (Raging) and Domestic (The Secret Life)
LilithRegarding The Secret Life Of Rabbits
Rabbits are timeless in their imagery. Not only are they recognized as symbols of fecundity and luck, but they are also symbols of the spirit world and rebirth; the eternal cycle of Life/Death/Life. Mortality and the hope for the eternal is a big theme in my Raging Bunnies artwork. Dark. Serious. Desperately attempting to preserve. It is an existential crisis in action.
Regarding the Secret Life of Rabbits shows the day-to-day, mundane, sometimes vulgar struggles but is always presented with the absurd. It offers a light-hearted look at life. I like that. And I will find something in every situation that makes me laugh (regardless of how inappropriate it may seem).
Together, you see my wild next to my domestic selves. One must always be able to express their wild. One must also realize boundaries are not always a bad thing. Reconciling the two brings peace. Through my work, I am “home.”
Sammy
I was asked to address the loss of Sammy. I have lost all three of my crew in the course of a year. They all lived long (and sometimes overfed) lives. Please know that The Olde Guarde lives on and always will. I even take offense when people refer to any of them in the past tense.
I honestly thought that when I lost Lance I would be devastated. He was my heart. Lance died in my arms and with his last breath I was, absolutely, devastated. Sammy was already in precarious health. He had horrific arthritis and was struggling but we were nursing him and loving him as always. The first night without Lance, he dragged himself over to Lance’s “spot” and just sat and groomed the floor. I witnessed him fade away. As you may, or may not, know – Sammy joined Lance within a month.
What I was not prepared for was how I felt at the time of Sammy’s departure. All of the Olde Guarde took on certain characteristics: Russette is a caretaker. She is curious and ornery but she is loving and slept at my feet. Lance is the wise protector standing guard by my bed and in the halls. Sammy, however – reflected some of my own neurosis and selfishness. It felt like I lost a part of my self.
When Sammy passed, I cradled him in my arms, turned into a corner and just wept; a painful ugly snot-filled cry. I would not let anyone touch him. Eventually, I was able to lay him down (still crying and petting him) for the Vet to take over. The experience was surreal.
Baskets are a womb symbol, a holder of life. They communicate spiritual joy and fulfillment. Baskets even sail saviors down rivers to be scooped up and adopted. Sammy loved his basket so much he ate half of it. This was his favorite spot.
CINDERELLA COMPLICATED It ain’t how you thought it would be.
My introspection these days hasn’t gotten quieter—it has gotten deeper. Yet the stillness I gain in my meditations isn’t soft ripples in a pond it’s more like ocean trench. There’s no peace in it. Just weightiness. A darkness that I feel.
For decades, I was simply surviving—and hoping. Hoping for some elusive some-thing, and believing that doing the work, staying true, being a free spirit was The Way. I didn’t need fame or money or social media strategies—or anything—to matter. The art alone would be my echoed voice in this world, and the art alone would be enough.
But now, suddenly, I want. I want recognition. I want the comfort of monetary stability. I want to be seen.
There’s something cruel about how, after decades of creating from a place of passion and defiant nonconformity—this is when the hunger shows up.
Not for praise, necessarily, but for proof. Some kind of tangible confirmation that the path less taken wasn’t just a slow fade into obscurity.
And then comes the existential kick in the craw: Is the work enough? Or worse: The work is … mediocre.
Oh, God.
Dear Cinderella Complicated:
That voice—the one that says your art is mediocre—is a liar. It wears the face of capitalism, aging, comparison, and fatigue. It didn’t speak while you were immersed. It only emerged when you started looking over your shoulder at younger people being louder, shinier, and somehow everywhere.
But let’s be honest: You feel things—deeply, relentlessly, even though you don’t want to. You always have. That’s why mediocrity terrifies you. Because it would mean the work—the thing meant to hold your truth—just … stinks.
Not only undercrafted, but underimagined. All that heat, nuance, wildness inside you—flattened into something forgettable.
And the wanting? That isn’t a flaw. It’s just … finally admitting you’ve always wanted to be seen. And deep down, you really believed the work alone would make that happen.
As you may, or may not know, I have something called Essential Tremors. I’m not sure if it’s that I’m older or if it was Covid or whatever – but the shakes are getting shakier. For example, I was visiting with friends at a restaurant. Eating has become quite the comedic entertainment. At one point I get some of that lovely green lettuce doused in dressing upon my fork, go to lift the bite to my mouth, suddenly my hand decides to audition for “Bobby Brady’s Cymbal Solo” in the middle of a quiet restaurant. Fork is a clanging, lettuce is a flying, and the entire place becoming intimately aware of my personal percussion performance. I did what any sane girl would do – I laughed. Then basically apologized to the entire restaurant. (One of said friends later called wondering if my condition was fatal).
There are workarounds and very very very expensive products. I bought the SILVERWARE THAT WON’T BANG YOUR PLATES. The trick to the ones I have are that they are weighted. They are weighted to the point they make my hand tired. I made the executive decision to skip public salads and get something easier. I can hold a bowl of soup pretty well. I sure can’t eat it with a spoon! And don’t think for a minute I haven’t downed a bowl in public. Half of which ends up down my chest. I’m basically become a walking Rorschach test. Yes, I’m a hot mess but I embrace the chaos.
” … to the last I grapple with thee; from hell’s heart I stab at thee; for hate’s sake I spit my last breath at thee!”
I do have meds for the shaky hands, but remembering to take them? That’s a whole other level of fine motor skill I haven’t mastered. Believe it or don’t, alcohol is known to actually help. So, my backup plan is beer. It’s like a chaotic good situation; I either stumble through life pill-less and shaky, or slightly less shaky and slightly tipsy. It’s a coin flip, really, and the coin is a bottle cap.
Call it!
ANYHOO
I say all the above to share that holding a pencil is getting rough. I have the heart to still do graphite pencil work – but color pencil levels me. The last 2 color commissions I had took FOR EVER. I restarted both of them. Maybe it’s perfectionism … Let’s just say they were less “artistic masterpieces” and more “artistic meltdowns.” I’m seriously considering dusting off the ol’ graphite pencils for some detailed commissions. Frankly, anything feels easier than wrangling those killer rainbow sticks right now.
Color pencils?! More like KILLER pencils!! Amirite?!
Regarding The Secret Life Of Rabbits, however, is my place of zen. The memorial book above was a labor of love and a bit involved but I loved every moment. Drawing someone’s rabbit in a single comic? Absolutely! So, back to comic commissions and maybe even graphite commissions! Any thoughts?
I have a curious fascination with cow abduction. I do not know why. I’m not into the “Mutilated Cow Found in New Mexico” headlines. At all. However, the concept of a cow getting sucked up into a tractor beam is just so absolutely hilarious to me. I mean, cows? Why cows? Other than the fact they are so dingedly adorable?
We are called upon to actually believe intelligent beings, with technology far beyond our collective imagination, skate through galactic wormholes and meteor storms … for cows.
AWAITING THE MOTHER SHIP
The entertainment factor of bovine ascension alone is so high for me that I collect “Cow Abduction” trinkets. They make me chuckle every time I look at them. But more about that later.
I did some research on this riveting topic so you don’t have to. Lo, I found the first recorded case of cow abduction!
1897 It seems a man by the name of, I kid you not, “Alexander Hamilton” spoke of his poor cow and a cigar shaped object in the sky. He had to cut the mooer loose and watched helplessly as the ship disappeared with his cow. The article also mentions that Alexander Hamilton was a bon-a-fide member of a group of tall tale tellers. Well … Isn’t that just what the government would want us to think?
‘El-ahrairah, your people cannot rule the world, for I will not have it so. All the world will be your enemy, Prince With A Thousand Enemies, and whenever they catch you, they will kill you. But first, they must catch you, digger, listener, runner, prince with the swift warning. Be cunning and full of tricks and your people shall never be destroyed.’ And El-ahrairah knew then that although he would not be mocked, Frith was still his friend.
Richard Adams ̶ Watership Down
I recently took part in a charity auction called HOPAPALOOZA. Proceeds went to the Ohio House Rabbit Rescue. Each artist was given a large rabbit (a surprise, I know). Then it was up to us to paint it how we saw fit. Of course, I cannot simply jump into a project. I must overthink a project.
The following is my project statement and photos of the journey (and peanut gallery comments).
El-ahrairah fell into pride. Believing himself and his people to be the strongest in the world, he heeded not the warning of Frith. You can probably heap on a bit of vanity as well. He also paid the price for this folly. Frith confronted him and proclaimed that he would not be mocked and cursed El-ahrairah (see opening quote). Frith is, however, still a friend and allowed for methods of escape and preservation.
I easily relate to El-ahraira. Aren’t we all fallen spirits?
Frith
Frith is an Old English word meaning “peace; protection; safety, security.”
Inspector LanceBare-BonedBlack GessoMy assistant masking out linesA lovely earth toned mixOoooooDetailing in my Pajamas
My piece is a stylized El-ahraira : a symbolic examination (and reminder) of what it is to be “human”. Our humanity is symbolized by the Earth-tones and structure of the guiding lines (our need for order and architecture). What may not be recognized in this piece is the black base-coat symbolizing the Black Rabbit of Inlé (our mortality) – and yet it IS visible. It is the very linework of the character as well as the red inner shadow of El-ahrairah’s eyes.
And there he is. My assistant, DeLaney Paige, lent his extraordinary talents in ideas, painting, support and analysis. I say “analysis” because DeLaney explores the heart and soul of a thing. He is genuinely a gifted art teacher in the truest sense of the word. He also makes me laugh which is a BIG plus in my studio. So is singing ToTo’s “AFRICA.”
