Not That You Asked...

I'd have to say it's been a good day. I mean, what with the inauguration and all. I don't like to get all political on this blog. Not really the forum for such. But I think it's ok to say that it's a good day. I mean, it's high time a minority has been put in this place of leadership. It couldn't hurt us masses for someone who's personally experienced the sting of prejudice and the hardships of immigration and middle-class living to be in this position. I feel proud to have lived during this moment.

Now. We gotta pray or hope or whatever each of us do, that either/or power and money don't corrupt. And Mr. Obama puts money where mouth is. But today, I like the odds.

Into the Great White Open

What am I working on right now? I'm illustrating two different middle-grade novels for two different authors at two different publishers. I just handed in round-one sketches for Julie Sternberg's lovely book at Abrams. Now, I'm gearing up to illustrate an awesome new book by one of my previous great collaborators, Rachel Vail, with Feiwel and Friends. Just finished reading the manuscript (you're gonna like it) and am now peeling open the sketchbook.

I love my "job." Cause it ain't a workin-for-the-man/workin-for-the-weekend "job" job. It's me doing my thing and getting paid so I can pay bills, etc. and keep on doing. It's been years and years to get here, so don't think I ain't grateful. But... the love don't take away the terror of the start of the start of my every new book. Something about the anticipation to anxiety of looking at the white, blank sketchbook page and not knowing what's gonna take shape. I don't think that fear will ever subside. It just is. Getting started. Well... I'm being a little dramatic. "Terror" is probably a little severe. And it doesn't typically last too long. Just long enough to round out that first solid character sketch. Since that's where I always start--the main character sketch.

And it goes down, more or less, like this (illustrated from a previous study):


White sketchbook page--sort of a falling-down-a-hole feeling, only this hole is white. Waiting to hit bottom. Some place to stand on. Get the legs straight. Til I get here (don't judge):


Still falling. Pages and pages of bad sketches. Still trying to get foot. Flailing and flopping all over the place, but getting better. Almost there. And finally:


Good, solid ground. Something I can work with. Feeling much better, thank you. Start of the start finished. Now to actually start...

Something Old, Something New

Today I had lunch with an old, old friend from the college years. The thing is... I don't look back too much cause I never know what I'm gonna get. Good times? Bad times? It was really great seeing Greg again. Made me remember though, some of the old me. People change, you know. I mean, I have. I did. Man, it's weird, dragging up old memories.


Then, I was thumbing through the latest ish of the New Yorker (I don't like starting sentences like that--cause I'm not the guy who starts sentences like that). I came upon an article about one of my old favorite musicians. Will Oldham, aka Palace, aka, Palace Brothers, aka Bonnie "Prince" Billy. Around '99-'01, I was heavily into this music. The art I was making at the time--it was just like a great coincidence of a soundtrack to what I was doing. What I was living. It was seriously moving to me. The music just feels like it's all been conceived on the rickety old porch of some shotgun shack of some deep, deep sleepy southern town, 95 degree heat. Melted ice teas, melted mint julips. So rich. Then, I changed. The music depressed me. Now I think I've changed again and I'm willing to revisit Bonnie "Prince" Billy. I missed a couple of albums in the interim.



What now? Oh, man, we're so entrenched in Romy. So in love. She eats, she poops, she wails and we love. Never knew how much til we got here.

Happy Holidays from Bedford Falls

Last night, Julie and I watched good ol' IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE for the umpteenth time. Unapologetically sappy, sweet, and happy-ended. It remains one of my all-time favorite movies. So much sarcasm, pessimism, and negativity can bring a fella down these days, so IAWF is just what the dr. ordered. Thanks, Capra.

The final scene kills me, without fail, at each and every viewing. Tears me the heck down.


"To my big brother George: the richest man in town."

Sniff.

We'll hitch-hike, bus, or yellow-cab it.

Moving right along. Things are going well. Even though the snow keeps rearing head, we finally invested in a snow blower... er snow THROWER (technically). Our awesome neighbor, Gary, helped me pick one out and also pick it up. Their car is a big one. And the operator's manual has a great drawing on the cover. No mo sno shovel...o.


Gearing up to finish this sketch deadline for Friday. In the final stretches just now. Bit like these joggers that're going into the book (click and zoom?):


Romy is, as of yesterday, no longer a premee. Her anticipated due date was always Dec 16 and there we are. She continues to rock and roll. Meanwhile, my hair approaches mullet status--in sick need of cut. Car screams for an oil change. Stuff like that. It'll get done. Babe first, man.

Back on the juice.

I'm having one of my first cups of coffee in weeks. I went off the junk for a good long while cause I didn't need any more reasons to be not at sleep. Plus I was afraid the coffee would blast on the sensitive stomach I was having for a while. But the groove is back and the sleep is somewhat regulated, so welcome back old friend!

I'm inching closer and closer to my approaching sketch deadline. It goes well. I have two weeks til due and I continue to chip away with each day. It's 50+ sketches for a very sweet prose poem novel by Julie Sternberg. B+W drawings, which are a personal fave. Another quick peek at a rough (click for a zoom):


I've got Barney and Friends going in the background. Gearing up for a more kid-friendly television environment. Is Barney what the babes are into these days? It's like eating spoon after spoon of sugar. I have a soft spot for Sesame Street. There will be Sesame Street in this house.

Julie went buck-camera wild with a very sunny afternoon, our cat Tobin, and baby Romy sprawled out on the floor. Here's a sample of her excellent photographings. This, a very Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel ceiling moment. And a fine day!

Workin Man

Don't you know it's hard out there for a new Pop? But the show must go on and I gotta get back to work. It feels great actually. Stretching me artistic legs again. Exercising that part of the brain and what not. I have a deadline that my editor, Tamar, at Abrams graciously let me bump back a few weeks to Dec 19. Well, I have a good bit done, but it's very good to have that extra room to breathe. Mmm, hey, here's a little rough I just scanned:


And our dear Romy is doing so well. She's 38 weeks old today (this including her in-womb time). In two short weeks she'll be up there with the term kids. Ah, my dear. How we love thee! Our hearts, our hearts!

Romy in the Homy

The Romy has landed! On Friday night Julie and I brought babygirl home with us. It was a sweet moment, but packed with fear. Cause the nurses in the Infant Special Care Unit were always there to do the bulk of work and to help calm our nerves. But once we hopped in the car for home, it was just the three of us.

Cue sleep deprivation. Pain.

We figured out how to manage the lack of sleep, just in the last couple of days. It's better. The first two days, I was so stressed, I literally felt like I was getting a constant punch in the gut.

But Romy is a beaut. Pride and Joy. Lots of chowing and lots of sleeping and lots of pooping and peeing. Sweet faces, squirmy arms and legs and clinched toes and fingers. Doc says she's especially strong. It's great.

Welcome home, Romy. The adventure begins.

What day is it?

I don't remember. Is it Sunday? I think yesterday was Sunday. Or Monday.

Gotta deadline end of month. Don't think it's yet end of month. Close. Too.

Hospital. Home. Hospital. Home. Hospital.

Missed a meal or two or three. Didn't notice. Missed some sleep.

My heart swelled. Sometimes it almost popped. When Julie sang to you for the first time. When that song came on the radio. Right now.

Your earlobe. Your chin, your fingernails.

What day is it, Romy? Romy?

Romy?

I love you.

Romy Bess Halpern-Cordell

Saturday November 1, 2008 at 3:55 am, Julie and I met face-to-face with our beautiful babe girl, Romy Bess Halpern-Cordell. This was 6 weeks earlier than anticipated.

Easily the most significant, most surreal, and most potent day of my life. I crumbled.

Romy is a "premee" but weighs in at a substantial 4 lbs, 15 oz. A full blown 17 inches in length. A beautiful head of fuzzed brown/blonde hair. And though she's got some work to do, she is on a straight path to rock and roll. Julie and I are so in love. Over the freaking moon.

To all the parents out there who've shown off endless pics of their babies, I get it. To all the parents who've told countless childbirth stories at countless dinner parties, I get it. To all the parents who've gone goo and goo and gah and gah to all too many baby faces, I get it.

I get it. I get it. I get it.