Black Sharpie On Paper

if you look

black sharpie

Miami 2010

If you look closely at the edge of a black hole it becomes obvious that the entire universe is made of little tiny things.

black sharpie on manila paper

Miami 2010

final layer

colored pencil, calbayog city, 2025

I added another layer to this drawing, and I'm thinking it's done. Not gonna lie, I like it.

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Snail shells

watercolor and pen

Los Angeles 2018

These were fun to draw

High tide

watercolor and pen on crepe paper

Santa Barbara 1980

I have had a life long love affair with the Pacific Ocean. I did this painting years ago when I was living in Santa Barbara on the California coast. We'd go on long road trips up the coast highway. Have you ever spent the night on the beach at Big Sur? Put it on your bucket list.

I now live on the other side of the ocean on a small island in the Philippines. We go on road trips up through the coconut jungle mountains to this little beach town we know. The northern coast of the island faces the Pacific Ocean. The deep blues of the tropical sea are literally intoxicating.

Relax

PEDRO UK

In the 1980's I played bass guitar in a reggae band. That was a trip let me tell you. To this day I still have dreams that I'm back in the studio with those guys.

Pedro, our riddim guitarist, and I are still in close contact. He continues to put out music from his home studio in Birmingham, England. He uses some of my art for his videos. This one looks nice.

More of Pedro's music here:

SoundCloud

Pedro UK

Play Pedro UK on SoundCloud and discover followers on SoundCloud | Stream tracks, albums, playlists on desktop and mobile.

black sharpie, los angeles, 2022

R.E.M. -Losing My Religion

I freaking love this song.

Life is bigger

pencil drawing

Calbayog City 2024

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This morning eternity called.

This morning eternity called.

She is waiting for an answer. 

I have her on hold.

“Cole, they’re here!” My wife called to me.

I stepped outside the house and saw Ramil pull up in his center car.  I knew the pig would be in the back where the passengers usually sit.  Ramil pulled up alongside of me and we gave each other our warm wordless greetings.

I walked over to the back of the center car and looked in.  There on the floor lying quietly on its side was an adult pig.  All four of its legs were firmly bound with twine.  I looked at the pig’s face.  It was calm.  Its eye stared up at nothing.  I could see it was breathing but nothing else.

Up front on either side of Ramil were two of his kids, Marisol and Ramil Jr.  They both looked back at me, eyes wide with excitement, and then they looked down at the pig. 

About then Datu pulled up on his motorcycle and motioned for me to hop on. 

“Let’s go.”  He said with an easy grin.

I hopped on the back of the bike and we all sped off into the Filipino night.

Is “perfectly good” any more perfect than “perfectly bad?”

I suppose that is a legitimate philosophical question and I presume the answer is “no” but I still find it unsettling.  Of course, that’s just the human in me.  Always wishing for things to be good.  Or at least for things to make sense.

Calbayog City at night is exquisitely chaotic.  The dimly lit streets are alive and jammed with motorcycles, tricycles and hordes of people all crossing the street at once.  And noise.  Motorcycle engines, blaring horns, music blasting.  The smells of cooking street food mixed with smoke.  Datu’s motorcycle followed closely behind Ramil’s center car with me holding on for dear life.

We came to a stop at an intersection and waited while a sea of humanity swarmed around us. A young street kid came up to me and motioned hand to mouth with pleading eyes.

And we sped off..

Shortly we pulled off the main stretch and turned down a narrow back street.  Halfway down the narrow street the center car turned into an even narrower alley, and we followed.  Tall dark buildings loomed on either side us.  A few windows were lit in yellow light.  Presently the alley opened up into a driveway and we pulled in.

I got off the motorcycle and went over to see how the pig was holding up.  The kids got out as well and presently a few other people were there milling around speaking Tagalog.  I looked down at the pig.  It was breathing heavy and the whites of its eye showed as it looked back at me.

Suddenly the pig tried to run. It thrashed around furiously trying to gallop with its legs bound, squealing loudly.  The pig’s outburst made the kids laugh.  After a moment the pig quieted down.  It lay motionless again with heavy breathing.  And wheezing.

Ramil and Datu came over to the car with a couple of men that I didn’t recognize.  We all gathered around and looked down at the pig.  I noticed that the pig’s underbelly was lined with two rows of large nipples.

“Girl?”  I asked, surprised.

“No, boy.” Someone answered.

“But look.”  I pointed at the nipples in confusion.

“Boy” They all assured me.

“Transgender.”  I joked and everyone laughed.

Except for the pig.

Is “perfectly good” any more perfect than “perfectly bad?”

Personally, I’m going to hold off on answering that question. 

I will say this though, if I have learned anything in this life it is that nature is completely indifferent.

I guess that’s also a type of perfect.

The kids moved around to the front of the center car.  I joined them to be out of the way as the men got to work.

Several men reached in and grabbed at the pig.  The pig screamed and twisted its head around violently as hands grabbed at its legs and tail all pulling hard.  The pig’s mouth opened wide showing teeth, and it tried to bite.

“Watch out for those teeth,” I thought but the men were all laughing in the excitement.

After much pulling and fighting the men had the pig up to the edge of the car and then with a final heave the pig fell unceremoniously to the ground.

Quickly the men unbound the pig’s legs and then they tied a single rope to one of the pig’s front ankles.

The pig stood up with the rope tied to its ankle.  It looked dazed.  The men gathered around the pig talking.

Then one of the men pulled on the rope tied to the pig's front ankle and the pig stumbled forward.

I watched in awe.

The man pulled again, and the pig stumbled forward again.  This time though the pig recoiled and dug in its front legs and began bellowing loudly.

But the pig's resistance was futile.  The man gave another firm pull to the pig’s ankle and again the pig stumble forward.  A few more steps.  Bellowing and squealing as it was grimly led forward.

And I thought about those trucks, all in a line, filled with Polish prisoners.  Traveling slowly through the dark fog, into the Katyn forest.

When the trucks had pulled to a stop the men were led away.  One by one.  Into the forest.  Hands bound behind their backs.  Blind folded.  Some must have resisted.  Some must have yelled.

“Cole.” I looked up.

Datu was motioning for me to come.  The pig was being led down a narrow path between two buildings.

I followed behind and watched the pig as it stumbled forward, slowly making its way through the dark narrow, into a yard, where it met its final master.  A little girl.

The girl looked like she was about ten and she was standing there waiting for the pig.

The man handed the rope off to the little girl and she began leading the pig toward a little metal cage.

The pig saw the cage and would have nothing to do with it.  It turned as if to flee and the little girl hauled off and savagely kicked the pig on its side.

The pig was shocked and momentarily turned back to the cage but then it turned again and tried to flee and the little girl kicked it again.  And then again and again slowly kicking the pig into the little metal cage.

I still have eternity on hold.

I know she’s waiting for me, but I just don’t want to pick up the phone.

Not yet.

I still have some things left over and honestly, I don’t want to take anything with me.

The next day was my daughter’s birthday.

And the pig’s final appearance.

My daughter is three and it was a gala affair with a freshly roasted pig taking center stage.

And folks, it was delicious.  Not gonna lie.  A treat really.  If you ever have a chance to eat freshly roasted lechon do so.  It really is good.  And the skin is crispy.

Like super duper bacon.

…………………………….

Afterword.

Peter, the ancient Chinese told us.  They told us that the only reason why we have beauty is because we have ugly.  Even though it drives us mad, what is, simply is.  And try as we might the best we can do is raise a royal middle finger up to God and scream FUCK YOU!

But we all still love beauty.

Calbayog City 2022

Orchestre Poly-Rythmo

colored pencil & pen, Los Angeles 2016

I'm a big admirer of Paul Klee.

I don't think Klee ever used this motif but as I drew this I was thinking about him.

Embrionic Journey - Jorma Kaukonen (Jefferson Airplane)

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Each time you fall in love

Coloredpencil and Watercolor

Monrovia 1996

I made this drawing in 1996.

When I drew it, by the grace of God, I had been free form alcohol for one incredible year and I remember, so clearly, that as I drew, I was feeling a deep new creative surge born of hope.

Life is an epic journey my friends.

Each time you fall in love - Cigarettes after sex

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The Sari Sari store

One of the more lovely aspects of Filipino culture are the Sari Sari stores. Small family businesses that operate out of a home window. The streets are lined with them. Little window shops selling snacks, drinks, canned goods and what not. In my early trips to the Philippines the colorful item filled windows reminded me of the repetitive motifs of my own art. I thought about this for the entire trip once back in 2016, and then when I got home I sat down drew this.

Sari Sari, watercolor and sharpie, los angeles, 2016

Sari Sari store

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