Enter the Vortex

So here’s the posters I designed for two gigs I’m help­ing to put on- one in London, the other in Margate. As per the press release “Girl Sweat is the ever-chan­ging garage-noise project fron­ted by the 6ft 5” beast that is ‘Sweat’” along with the fine collec­tion of psych and drone weirdos assembled in support. My brief for the poster was “illuminati/​masons cult shit”. I hope I delivered.

Wooden hands

I got a short notice illus­tra­tion job this week for images for Christ­mas greet­ings from Buil­dopia, an Itali­an eco-build­ing company. They special­ise in wood and their slogan trans­lates as “the build­ing game”.

“I cried for madder music and for stronger wine”

I have Bacchae prints avail­able again. The text says “I caught this young lion myself without a trap”. Based on the scene from Eurip­ides’ Bacchae where Pentheus’ moth­er tears her own son’s head off with her bare hands while under Dionysus’ spell and parades it round the stage. Avail­able from me as a print here for £6 or £12 depend­ing on size. Ideal fest­ive gift for all, look how red it is.

The riso­graph lives again (after a fash­ion)

About five years ago I did two riso­graph prints, one based on Diana Wynne Jones’ Fire and Hemlock, and the other on Eurip­ides’ Bacchae. Each print was an edition of 50, and I sold all of them a long a time ago (except for a couple of copies I kept for myself). Now I have a giclée print­er though, I have resur­rec­ted them as a new edition. This time they’re prin­ted on Canson Infin­ity rag museum paper, which is an acid free and archiv­al water­col­our paper for fine art digit­al print­ing.

Bacchae prints for sale

I still have a couple of these 22×25 cm /​ 8.5×9.5″ riso­graph prints based on the Bacchae by Euri­pedes left.

The text says “ἔμαρψα τόνδ᾽ ἄνευ βρόχων λέοντος ἀγροτέρου νέον ἶνιν ὡς ὁρᾶν πάρα.” which means “I caught this young lion by myself, without a trap”. Pentheus’ moth­er, having run off into the woods with Dionysus to be a maen­ad, kills her son in a frenzy because she thinks he’s a lion, and then parades his head around the stage boast­ing about the lion she’s killed. That old plot cliché.

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