I am honoredto have been chosen for the Lürzer’s Archive Top 200 Illustrators Worldwide 2014/2015 Annual. RADIOACTIVE (SAVE THE BUNNIES) was chosen for the annual and is one of my favorite “bunny pieces” depicting a survivor-hare in the midst of a post apocalyptic crisis. The piece is clearly modeled after old WWII propoganda posters. The inspiration for this poster were the 100’s of “war-stories” told by rabbit rescuers. The purpose of the poster is to advocate the rescue and adoption of rabbits and was created, specifically, for the 2014 Midwest Bunfest to be held in Columbus, Ohio. Lürzer’s Archive is a bi-monthly magazine for the advertising industry and has been described as “one of the foremost advertising magazines in the world.”
And here I thought wires were the only thing I had to worry about. Wires and carpet. Wires, carpet and books. Wires, carpet, books and art supplies. Wires, carpet, books, art supplies, clothing, my hair, my eyebrows, and base boards. And now cows.
BEST WITH SOUND
Kids, rabbits chew everything you need or want.
I already ordered another cow from Amazon. I also threw in a phone charger for good measure because – well – it is only a matter of time.
When I first moved into my humble little farmhouse, the first soul I met wasn’t human. It was a golden patched tabby cat, sitting under my giant pine tree. The date was August 20, 2021. I said, “Well, hello there!” He meowed a barely audible, “Meow.” This was Mr. Tibbs.
FIRST PHOTO: AUGUST 20, 2021
From that day on, he came by nearly every day. He loved food. He loved cream. He especially loved catnip. Me? Meh – He tolerated me. For four solid years, if I came too close, I earned the same reply: HHHHHHHHHHHHH!! He’d take a couple swats at me as well. He was truly feral.
I remember an occasion or two that I snuck a few pets. He hissed in outrage. And punched me.
Around our fourth year anniversary, I noticed the change. He was getting thinner. He had trouble eating. He drooled. He still rolled in catnip, but he looked ragged and weary. I fed him baby food and gravy, slipped “natural antibiotics” into his meals, and watched him fight to stay himself. Days later, upon closer inspection, he had infected mouth ulcers. When he groomed himself, he’d cry in pain.
One evening, he stopped in the middle of the street, sat down, and would not move any farther. He meowed when I called. He looked so thin, so dirty, so tired. I went to him. I let him sniff the tub of catnip. He had zero interest.
I bent down and, for the very first time, put my hands gently around him and lifted him into my arms. He did not resist. He rested his head on my arm and … purred. I held him until he signaled he was done. Which was quite awhile. I went to get him food and cream, but when I came back he had already wandered down to the creek. He paused, looked over his shoulder at me then trudged away along the water’s edge.
💔 SEPTEMBER 6, 2025 💔
I called a vet and planned to take him in the next day. I would hold him as he crossed over. But he never returned. For three days, his bowls of fresh/refreshed food and cream sat untouched. His catnip piles lay waiting. I’ve been around and raised enough animals to know: Mr. Tibbs was gone.
I sat on my porch and ugly cried.
After blowing my nose in my shirt, I noticed a yellow flower blooming out of season. Was it a message from the Great Kitty Beyond? I decided it was. And I read into it: You done right by me. (God, I hope so).
I went for a walk.
AND THANKS FOR ALL THE NIP!
And then something strange happened. I came home from said walk and found this guy waiting on my porch:
WHO IS THIS?!
He rolled in Mr. Tibbs’s catnip, ate all his food, drank all his cream. He rubbed against me, purred, and claimed the porch like it was his. This is Mr. Tibbs II, aka JUNIOR.
THE NIP
The next day, other familiar and unfamiliar cats appeared as well, as if gathering for … A wake!!
THE COUPLE FROM NEIGHBORHOOD ALSO STOPPED BY
EVEN MR. WHISKERS PAID HIS RESPECTS
The other cats went their separate ways. The neighborhood couple ate an entire tub of peanuts making quite the mess and left. In the wee hours I drove Mr. Whiskers home. But Mr. Tibbs II / Junior stayed. For several days, he was glued to my side — a very proper mourning. Perhaps he was just making sure I would be alright. And he’s still here.
I will forever miss Mr. Tibbs: The Feral King Under The Giant Pine. The one who let me hold him only once.
I saw that someone had left me a phone message at the wee hour of 9:00 am in the morning. [Don’t judge. I’m vampirish in nature].
HSSSSSSSSSSSS
I pushed play and it went something something somethingMEDICAL “please return the call as soon as possible …”
O, crap. My heart went into my throat. I immediately knew my lady bits Doctor took another look at the lady bits biopsy and found something amiss with my lady bits. [It’s called hypochondria].
A new month is dawning in 2020 after all. What fresh hell could possibly lay ahead? lie ahead? be in store?
I followed the phone message instructions.
A friendly voice answered and enquired about how she might help me.
She looks friendly enough [just don’t cross her]
“I was instructed to dial this number and then press the number 2 — So I did.”
There was a bit of a pause and then a giggle. All I heard was “to schedule a mammogram” and I groaned a long toddler-like groan, “Whyyyyyyyy?” I finally surrendered. “Fine. Do it then,” I snapped oh, so tersely. Another snicker.
NOTE: I did not realize I had choices in mammograms! These are exciting times! O, advanced technology, thy name is – 3D.
She went on with, “For verification purposes could you
The woman on the other end of the phone suddenly burst into hysterical laughter. So I did what any red-blooded American would do: I returned the revelry. For 10 minutes straight.
I have no idea what the hell we were laughing at or about, but I got a runner’s cramp.
Eventually, we did manage to get to the most important information such as we both gained lots of weight during quarantine, she lives near me and we both have noticed the inordinate number of local skinny suburban housewives in yoga pants that we both lovingly referred to as “Karens.”
Just a Karen and her Poodle
“You know,” I say, “you may have seen me walking to the lake. Can’t miss me. I have long red hair and dress, comparitivly to Karen, dumpy.”
Her: OH MY GOD! DO YOU WALK LIKE YOU’RE ANGRY?!
Well, obviously it was me. It’s a no-brainer. Hey – you would look angry too if you had daily existentialcrisisescriseezecrises if you were a nihlist.
I directed her to my website to see my photo for verification.
OH MY GOD IT IS YOU!!
She was looking at the comic.
The conversation and chortling continued. For 45 minutes.
She shared how to work out while holding an ice cream cone and I shared how to do butt and leg lifts while laying in bed at night eating potato chips – never missing a chip.
Go on! Put your whole face in the bowl! If I can do it, SO CAN YOU!
We even shared things I can’t write about publicly. Well … I shared things I can’t … you know … write about publicly because I have no boundaries. [The call may have been recorded for quality assurance] *ahem*
When there was a lull in the wackiness action I asked, “So what time is this appointment?”
“Ten a.m.”
“Wait. I asked for afternoon.”
Trying to stifle guffaws she blurts out, “I FORGOT!!” and then we returned, yet again, back to the beginning levels of jocularity. We did not pass “GO” we did not collect $200. I snorted. I cried. And – I peed my pants.
My rabbits looked disturbed and that made it all the funnier.
HAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHA
They are DISTURBED
I realize there is a good possibility that this is one of those “you had to be there” events – Still, I highly recommend some good howling laughter for everyone.
Watch this:
Ok. Try watching it at 3 am after eating a family sized pack of Oreos, a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and thinking about death. It’s freaking hilarious!
It seems I found a lost member of my tribe. In these times of insanity and uncertainty, it was an unexpected connection and a much-needed catharsis.
It truly is the best medicine. Especially for existential hypochondriacs like me.
God requires that we assist the animals, when they need our help. Each being has the same right of protection.
-Francis of Assisi
I am not Catholic. If you want to label me perhaps “Heretical Non Denominational Buddhist Wiccan Kinda Believer” would cover it. Honestly, I’m white knuckling it in the belief department.
“stops”
I ddocall myself “Christian” because it’s what I seem to know most about. Well that and feminine symbolism. People would tell you otherwise about me being “Christian”. I have no problem with anyone’s path – unless the “tools” of that path are used as weapons. Stop doing that. Stop. You have no right to declare any brand dogma superior and you can’t legislate morality for the masses.
So stop it.
The Hecks, you say?
But I digress.
I was reading about Saint Francis of Assisi. What a cool guy! He called all of creation “Brothers” and “Sisters”. And there is so much YES to that. I decided to write a sermon to my rabbits in the vein of Assisi. Because this is how I roll, dagnabbit. …….
Let every thing that hath breath praise the Lord.
Psalm 150:6
Sister rabbits, praise our Creator [by any name in which we call upon the Creator] and love Them always. They clothed you in warm fur to protect you, gave you swift legs to carry you and blessed you with a radiance of wit.
Among all of Their creatures, They made you cunning and quick. [… but first, they must catch you.] They gave you a soft fleeting foot and a silent voice yet you rage profoundly eternal in my heart.
You are in perfect alignment and await my redemption. You are perfect in creation. You are blessed and a blessing. …….
For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream. – Vincent Van Gogh
Grief is an odd thing, isn’t it? For me, this process is like an ocean washing onto the shore. Everything is calm then the tide starts to come in and before I realize it, I am standing in a puddle of tears. What could be considered even odder is when it is over a beloved little heartbeat that was once at my feet. But it is what it is and it is how I feel.
I believe that people can and do spiritually bond with animals. I believed this as a kid playing on the neighbors’ farms. I believe it today. The unconditional love that these beasties give transcends any of us. Animals just are. They are who they are supposed to be (given environment and temperament) and act accordingly. There is a light about them that I rarely find in humanity. I was blessed to have the bond seemingly returned.
I also believe as creatures of the field (and sky and sea), they are perfect in creation therefore they return to the Creator. There is no dogma to sift through. There is no judgment. They are innocent. This may be considered a new age placebo or anathema or whatever. But it gives this old girl comfort.
In saying “good-bye” to Russette, I have accepted that it is probably going to be a life-long journey. I am not good at letting go by any means. I fight. I kick. I scratch. I cry. I will always have that Dutchie girl-shaped hole in my heart. Thank God my rabbits help make my heart large enough that it won’t collapse into itself. So … I am ok.
I wanted to do something to help the absence. I wanted to do something to – I don’t know – bring her briefly back? This is my project of love, loss and letting go.
Since Russette was always at my side during my arting adventures, it only seemed fit to do a piece of her. Of her leaving me.
She would run across freshly inked drawings and canvasses. She would steal pencils and paint brushes. When I would use a portable drawing board she would sit in my lap under the board. This was part of my process for almost a decade. This is the first piece that I didn’t have to go get another pencil or chase after that specific color pencil she ran down the hall and hid somewhere. It was a lonely drawing.
RUSSETTE GIVING POINTERS
Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here is a favorite of mine. One afternoon the song played and that was it. An idea hit. Note that what I see in my head is NEVER what the final ever looks like. I just trust that the idea/imagery will take me somewhere.
I wanted a mixed media. Something that represented all the media that Russette spilled, chewed, stole, walked across: An organic element coupled with computer graphics.
She started as a pencil sketch on Dura-Lar with inked blues on the back. Acrylic inks and acrylic gel for texture are the front. Color pencils fill in some details. I really love the color pencil over the acrylic gel.
FABULOUS PHONE PHOTOGRAPHY
The above image/process shows the final steps.
After all was complete – I put it away for a while.
My concept of death is hopeful at best, terrifying at worst. As a kid I used to imagine “the cosmos” as the place of spirits. Mine were similar to Carl Sagan’s COSMOS – without all of the math. My cosmos are overwhelming, beautiful, engulfing and welcoming. Now came the computer part. Much was experimental. Much was me looking at old pieces and NASA photos. Some was me staring at the wall.
I represent death in my symbolic work with the white/greyish eyes. Her heart-light took some thought and trial. But I like where it ended. Circles are feminine and connecting.
Memories fade. I wanted to somehow represent that she was leaving. She was free. But she was also disappearing because the Earth doesn’t stop. The sun comes up and those left behind have to return to the Land of the Living. Returning to the Land of the Living sometimes feels like dying.
Local illustrator named to worldwide top 200 list
Written by Staff Reports | | news@toledofreepress.com
By Chase Will
After 20 years of honing her skills, local illustrator Penny Collins has been recognized as one of the Top 200 Illustrators Worldwide by Lüerzer’s Archive. Lüerzer’s Archive is a bi-monthly magazine for the advertising industry, based in Europe with a global circulation of over 38,000 subscribers.
“I’m still on the ceiling with this,” Collins said. “I could not believe it when I got notification. Out of the billions and billions of talented people out there, and even in Toledo alone, to be picked for something like this is really great.”
“I love that she’s from Toledo. Out of everyone who enters, only about 20 percent are even from the U.S.,” said Claudia Coffman, chief executive of ad sales at Lüerzer’s Archive.
“We sent out a call for submissions for the illustrators and they submitted their work. It was free to submit and they could upload as much work as they wanted. We got over 5,000 submissions, which were judged by a five-person jury and had to receive at least three markings to be
considered.”
The painting submitted by Collins, titled “Save the Bunnies,” featured a bunny wearing a gas mask, sitting in front of a skull. It was created for a company in California who specialize in rabbit rescues. “It’s rather dark,” Collins said. “I ended up being inspired to do it for them because of the horror stories they would tell me about these animals.”
Collins runs Studio 566, where she sells her artwork and does commissioned pieces when requested. Her primary artistic focus is rabbits.
“What they tell you when you get into the ‘business’ is to find something you’re passionate about, because that’s basically what you’ll focus on for all your projects,” said Collins. “My next big project is doing a little cartoon strip with rabbits.”
I was given a gift of ANCESTRY.COM some time ago. I have been tracing back everyone and their mothers – literally. I have come to find out that my roots go back to THE SALEM VILLAGE WITCH TRIALS.
Only, none of my relations were accused of the craft. My relations were Quakers. They were Quakers in the middle of a Puritan community. It seems the Puritans weren’t so tolerant after fleeing England in order to escape… you know… religious intolerance.
ASK A WITNESS
Lawrence and Cassandra Southwick entertained two Quaker preachers in their home. They also held some writings of those preachers. The Puritans considered this heresy. The Southwicks were fined, left in abject poverty and were summarily excommunicated from the settlement. They were never to return as it was punishable by death. Their two children were then sold into slavery (Daniel and Provided) to pay off the court costs/fines. Provided Southwick is listed as the only white woman ever to be sold into slavery. [http://www.sonofthesouth.net/slavery/history-slavery – Slavery Comes to America]
As fate would have it – she never did become a slave. No one wanted any part of it.
“…none willing to take them thither. One master of a ship to whom he applied, in order to evade a compliance, pretended they would spoil the ship’s company. Butler replied, no, you do not fear that, for they are poor harmless creatures that will not hurt anybody. The master rejoined, will you then offer to make slaves of such harmless creatures? and declined the invidious office of transporting them, as well as the rest. Disappointed in his designs and at a loss how to dispose of them, the winter approaching, he sent them home to shift for themselves till he could find a convenient opportunity to send them away.”
Provided married a man named Samuel Gaskill.
Provided spent her free time fighting heresy charges, protesting the intolerance of the status quo and relaxing in the town’s stockade on more than one occasion.
OH, HEY. JUST HANGIN’ OUT!
During the witch trials, a girl that Samuel’s parents had as a border (Abigail Somes) was charged and tried as a witch. Samuel Sr. was overlooked… but the Gaskill name stayed in the middle of the trials.
“You are in theire Majest’s names hereby required to apprehen and forthwith bring before us Abigaile Soames Single Woman, now Liveing at the house of Sam’l Gaskill in Salem; who stand accused of Sundry acts of #[Sundry] Witchcraft, (or high suspition there of) donne or Committed by her Lately. on the Body of Mary Warren & faile not
Dated Salem, May the 13’th 1692 P us *John Hathorne Assis’t *Jonathan. Corwin Assis’t
(Reverse) Abigaile Soames I heave Aprehended the person of Abigall Soams Acordinge to warrante exprest on the other side and heave broughte hir to the how of mr Thomas Beadles pr me *Peter Osgood Constable in Selem
May the 13; 1692” (Essex County Archives, Salem — Witchcraft Vol. 2 Page 50)
The documents of the trials shows that Provided Gaskill signed petitions for the defense of John and Elizabeth Proctor.
“To Constable peter Osgood “We whose names are under witten havinge several yeares knowne John Procter and his wife do testefy that we never heard or understood that they were ever suspected to be guilty of the crime now charged apon them and several of us being their neare neighbours do testefy that to our aprehension they lived christian life in their famely and were ever ready to helpe such as stood in need of their helpe
Nathaniel Felton sen: and mary his wife Samuel Marsh and Prescilla his wife James Houlton and Ruth his wife John Felton Nathaniel Felton jun Samuell Frayll and an his wife Zachriah Marsh and mary his wife Samuel Endecott and hanah his wife Samuell Stone George Locker Samuel Gaskil & Provided his wife George Smith Ed Edward: Gaskile”
Essex County Archives, Salem — Witchcraft Vol. 1 Page 28
So there it is. I am proud to present my 7ggm – PROVIDED GASKILL – a rebel – standing for human dignity and what she believed.
Thank-you, Great Grandmother Provided. We women of the bloodline still fight the good fight.
I. Apparitions Though now a specter—I still see him— emerging from the raw crucible of the confining university halls, where we fought the hunger of our discontent. He was intellect and catharsis made flesh. His face—angled, fractured— a mimicry of Antonin Artaud’s, staring back, unbearable, inescapable.
II. The Department Within that savage asylum of The Department, time unraveled before us. We staged performance as protest, tearing into the structures we’d grown to despise, fueled, in part, by an absurd common enemy.
He moved toward liberation, always—toward a theatre that could transform, empower. I moved toward rupture—drawn to the fractures behind the mask. We both believed in the breaking. And … being young, we carried the weight of our own significance, as if our belief alone could will itself into truth.
The fight burned within us. But, man, did we laugh.
III. Dissonance His death strikes like a dissonant chord, a cacophony that does not fade— it shatters and returns, splintering the skull in an endless, merciless refrain.
Its nature does not linger; it devours. It carves itself into the air, into the walls, into life.
I don’t ask “why”— I know better than to claw at silence where no answer breathes. But in the abyss of his final farewell, that question festers— like a blackened weed choking my psyche.
IV. Inferno How did he slip into the world of shadows?
I know he did not “Go Gentle into that Good Night.” No, he wrenched himself from existence with the same fire that blazed within him forty years ago—
an inferno, a defiant eruption against the suffocating disorder of that atavistic reflex of humanity.
I imagine a sacred stillness— thick, suspended— a fragile exhale before his hands, at last, release.
Where are the broken pieces of his final moments?
V. What Remains There is no anger here— only raw, unrelenting, aching tenderness. A heart grieving the ultimate cathartic dissolution in the Theater of Cruelty. A heart grieving the enigmatic vanishing of a being who cried out, in his own decisive way:
Fuck. This. World.
I see the humor. Of course I do. And I hear him laughing—at me, at my writing this. That laughter searing through the rough edges. I’ll hold that light where no one can piss on it.
Fuck. This. World.
Even the brightest flames wane. Even the strongest grow weary. There is no surrender in the closing of heavy eyes, no defeat in the sovereignty of rest.
VI. Benediction Goodnight, Sweet Prince you magnificent troublemaker.
What dreams may come…
With mortal sorrow, your comrade in beautiful ruin, Penny
No one has ever written, painted, sculpted, modeled, built, or invented except literally to get out of hell. —Antonin Artaud
ANTONIN ARTAUD
CRAIG HARSHAW 1965-2025
*Photos blatantly stolen from various internet sites
RUN RABBIT RUN is inspired by, if you haven’t already guessed, Pink Floyd’s DARK SIDE OF THE MOON’s song, BREATH. I supposed it is also an effort to balance out my piece, DARK SIDE OF THE BUN. There is a serious artist inside of here, after all… maybe.
Revisiting/Researching Art Deco, I found some magnificent poster work that distracted me for days, I decided to work with geometric shapes of the prism (triangle), circle and the “square” of the art board. As I work, I tend to also bury my head in study. I knew I was going with Gold and black with the goal of printing on metal and having my standard Pink Floyd music in the studio – VIOLA!
I was nearly ¾ of the way finished when I discovered AWESOME cover art from the likes of UFOMAMUT (whom I had NEVER heard of). I was able to work the TITLE into the piece. Albeit tempted to use skulls and wings and naked ladies (Thanks to you UFOMAMUT), I refrained.
