Up with Figs: OPI Winter 2014 Colors

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective lives mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch—either in illustration or word form—and the other would make a companion to the sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise makes both minds more nimble. Hopefully.




OPI’s New Nail Colors for Winter 2014, which has been unofficially dubbed “Winter of our Discontent” by the marketing department whose advance PR materials had to be filed just one day after learning that they were all about to be laid off (except for Harriet, of course, who is the boss’ niece and there only to maintain family harmony, despite the fact that she can barely speak English much less write a decent sentence and never even contributes to the coffee fund).

Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.

Give that lake buoy some personality, sister.

Recent illustration work assignment: create a character promoting lake tourism. The character needed to be something that could be manufactured as a vinyl toy. And so I brought a buoy to life here in the Squawking Matilda Laboratory for Frankensteinian Creatures. Yes, I make up "Frankensteinian." Whaddaya gonna do about it?

Up with Figs: Under the Shed

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective lives mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch—either in illustration or word form—and the other would make a companion to the sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise makes both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

Mr. Hoppity Whiskers knew that great damp snout could only signify one thing: that Fluffy wanted to eat him all up should she get the chance. 

But, really, Fluffy just wanted to curl up at the foot of his bunny-sized armchair on a cold, rainy Sunday while Mr. Hoppity Whiskers drank a nice warm cup of tea. 

Which says something about the difference between perception and reality—but Mr. Hoppity Whiskers was too busy shitting his lederhosen to enjoy the finer points of the metaphor.

Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.

What Does the Focus Group Think?

It's here! Scavenger Hike Adventures, written by Kat and John LaFevre and illustrated by me, 

is starting to hit the stores.

This is a newly illustrated version of the book, with updates to various hikes in Great Smoky Mountains National Park. When you go on these hikes, you can look for things like an old Model T car frame, a wrecked steam engine, historic cabins, great views, and more. 

The hikes range from 1/2 mile to 10 miles. Seven are easy hikes, three are moderate, and three are extreme.

You can order it directly from its publisher, Great Smoky Mountains Association, here. Please do so, because all profits GSMA earns goes back into the welfare of Great Smoky Mountains National Park. As a nonprofit organization, GSMA does lots of good things for the park, and in this year of sequestered budget cuts to national parks, their work (and your purchases!) are more important than ever.

Let's see how the book fares with our focus group of discretionary readers:

Focus group participant #1: "It smells like peanut butter. Does it taste like peanut butter? I would really like it if it tasted like peanut butter, yes I would."

"Does it DO anything? I would really like it if it scootched across the floor so I could chase it, yes I would. And the peanut butter thing, too."

"It makes me smile, but I don't know why. Do you know why? I don't know why."

Focus group participant #2:

"Oh, I LIKE it! It makes me laugh. MADGE! MADGE, COME IN HERE! YOU GOTTA SEE THIS BOOK, IT'S FAAAABULOUS!"

Focus group participant #3:

"Why must you waste my time with these insignificant paper thinggies? Philistine."

"Seriously, get that paper thinggy out of my face before I claw it to shreds. Or pee on it."

Focus group participant #4:

"I LOVED it. It was much better than Cats. I'm going to read it again and again. Well, I liked most of it. Except for that part about bears. Yeah, I didn't care for that part much.

Do you have any more of those mouse flavored treats? I might like the book even more if you have some more of those mouse flavored treats."

Most everyone seems to agree: it's a good one! Get your copy today!

Up with Figs: We're here for your stapler

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective lives mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch—either in illustration or word form—and the other would make a companion to the sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise makes both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

The thing I keep forgetting about my college students is how very, very young they are. 

“Young” might be the wrong word. “Inexperienced” might be better. Most of them really do act appropriately for someone with only 20-odd years under their belts, the first 12-14 of which were dedicated to basic life maintenance skills, like learning the importance of hygiene and the basics of making a sandwich. 

But most of them have yet to experience real tragedy, as opposed to minor inconvenience that feels like a tragedy to someone who has never known one. Most of them have never spectacularly failed. Most of them haven’t moved across country, away from every last soul they’ve ever known. Most haven’t realized how indifferent the world is -- and how that is a source of both crushing despair and weightless joy. 

Despite that, the next one who asks me if I have a stapler is going to get punched in the neck.

Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.

Up with Figs: The Key

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective lives mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch—either in illustration or word form—and the other would make a companion to the sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise makes both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

The problem, Norbert now realized, wasn’t finding the key. He’d always had it, tucked away in his gran’s potting shed, back behind the pile of peat moss. The key had long been his and he knew it. 

No, Norbert thought, it isn’t about the key. It’s about maintaining one’s enthusiasm for trying your key in all of these darn doors in the hopes that one day your key will work.


Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something

Something to look at

Here, have something to look at. I'm busy.

Sketch from Gracie Goat's Big Bike Race by Erin Mirabella.

Color illustration from Gracie Goat's Big Bike Race. Deer are good waiters.

Sketch from Gracie Goat's Big Bike Race. All the finest animals buy their bobbles from ZuZu's.

All illustrations ©Lisa Horstman, bub.

Up with Figs: Move Over, Virus Sphincter. There's a New Band in Town.

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective lives mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch—either in illustration or word form—and the other would make a companion to the sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise makes both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

Potential band names:

Errant hairs (or errant heirs, depending)

Bootcut

Scammy Smells

Stick the Landing

Phlegm Dude and the Moist Slacks

Margaret Thatcher Ate My Baby

It Puts the Lotion on Its Skin

Satan’s Chicken

Pronky

Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something

Up with Figs: Spring Chicken

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective lives mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch—either in illustration or word form—and the other would make a companion to the sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise makes both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

What is a hatchet, Henny thought, as she scratched and pecked around the yard. What is the stockpot? It is all a rumor, clucked by fools, who worry too much about what it all means. If the end is going to come, it will come, bourne by the hands of those who’ve sustained your life. Seems only fair, Henny thought. They give to us; we give to them. 

And, yet, it nagged. Grain was easy for them to give. Her life was more dear. 

But isn’t that what the clucking sages said? That we should give until we hurt, so that we are guaranteed a better spot in the beyond? 

Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something

Hub & Nub Chase Girls

My dad tells the story this way:

When he was in his teens, one night he managed to get the family car for a night out. It was 1938, and nobody really had any spending money, so he and his friend, Nub, decided they'd spend that Saturday night at a wedding dance in the small farming community where they lived.

During the dance, they offered what turned out to be a carload of girls rides home, and what would have taken roughly 15 minutes to drop each of them off ended up taking an hour or two because they decided it would be more fun driving around town.

After they dropped those girls off, well, it was just too early to head home, so they went back to the wedding dance and offered another carload of girls rides home. That took care of another hour or so.

The next morning at breakfast, my grandpa dryly said to my dad, "Funny, I could have sworn I put a full tank of gas in the car. Now it's almost empty. Huh."

My grandpa understood what it was like to be young and living in a small town. Sometimes driving around aimlessly, cracking wise, and flirting were some of the few ways you could have fun when you were seventeen and didn't have much spending money.

44 years later, I did the same thing.