Cap’n Lar.

Aye, aye, Cap'n Lar!

Yet another one of these ridiculous CEO illustrations, this one’s Larry Ellison, CEO of Oracle, for the annual executive compensation section in my employer’s newspaper.

This time around we didn’t do the (disconcertingly arbitrary) “overpaid/underpaid” chart, so of the superficially finite universe of CEOs of the Bay Area’s largest public companies, I can’t tell you if Larry’s millions came at the expense of a suffering enterprise, or was the just compensation of a wise and successful helmsman.

What I do know about ol’ cap’n Lar — he owns a piece of a battleship too big to fit under the Bay Bridge.

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Here’s a bonus illustration that I did five or so years ago, that never ran, as the story was spiked. If memory serves it was about the general success of Oracle at the expense of it competitors, focusing on the successful defense of its database business, or whatever, anyway, that’s samurai-obsessed Ellison in the crown, atop one of his Redwood City silos.

Endless search for novelty.

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And then, yesterday, Thursday June 25th, we had a visit from new model Adderly. The spikily-named Adderly is a luscious pixie, and new to the drawing sessions. And much fun to draw, although her button nose and big eyes really threw me when she was facing downward, those drawings were really just beating my head against a wall.

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Grease pens, they’re neither grease nor pens — discuss.

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So, on Monday, June 15th, sexy filmmaker Merav stopped in for a drop-in drawing sessions. I think all the action is in the gesture sketches, I kept drawing poor Merav with fish lips in the longer poses.

Out with bangs.

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At the final drawing session of the spring term, sexy émigré Merav took the stage. With her customary bewitching elan, we got some really superior gesture poses, of which a number are on display here. I also really like the portrait with fake bird, although I wish there might had been more of her sleepy eyes visible from my vantage point. I’d also like to mention that I think the featured drawing is kind of hot.

Uncertainty cat.

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This most recent Monday, voluptuous intellectual Signe returned to model. There’s a pretty good likeness in that 20-minute pencil portrait, although I neglected the hair, so it looks a little insubstantial. I also really like this loose and engaged gesture sketch.

Rickie Lee Jones’ newest album took a spin on the studio’s system, and folks, back me up on this, doesn’t hippie muse Jones sound suspiciously like sweet Wisconsite funnygirl Mary Mack?

But I’m glad we talked.

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Last night, coltish and mod Claire returned to model. I spent the last hour failing to fix a likeness, although the first attempt was has a certain charm to it. But I think the shorter poses really have some heft to them.

Also, Claire demanded that Peal Jam be played, and it turns out that every lyric and key change of Ten is embedded deep in my muscle memory. Which, frankly, is a little odd, since I didn’t own the album until recently, and was listening almost exclusively to the Dead Milkmen at the time. Must have been a road-trip. Did I have a friend with one of those luxurious dash-mounted CD players?

Did Noe Valley go out of business recently?

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Thursday, at an add-on session of drawing we were visited once again by the sophisticated and sexy Merav. As always, merav provided superior poses, and I felt like I had gotten some really nice gesture sketches. And even in the longer poses I thought that I was putting down some nice lines, and even got a decent likeness in the final portrait.

In other news; Noe Valley Bakery makes overpriced, but delicious, cinnamon twists. Best enjoyed before drinking a nausea-inducing mocha.

It’s been a hard day’s night.

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Monday, we had the gracile Isaac upon the stage. And I seem to have real difficulty fixing a likeness. But even though they’re pretty far-off, some of these drawing aren’t that bad. I’m especially thinking of the ‘evil’ Isaac, there.

On the phonograph spun an old record of Peter Sellers doing goofy accents while reciting Beatles lyricsShatner-style. Pretty funny. Looks like Sellers made something of an act of it.

Somebody sat in my spot. The impertinent mountebank.

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Yesterday, again the delightfully sexy Merav returned to the stage. The longer poses seem to present something of a liability to me, especially the ball-point portrait that I did near the end. That ended-up all wrong. It was a little like a car wreck, I knew pretty early on that the details were incorrect, and yet I insisted on following through with it anyway. That’s not up there, instead are a bunch of gestures and shorter poses. Many of which came out really nice.

Anybody seen Let the Right One In? Is it the anti-Twilight? Has anyone seen Twilight?

You can call me Sue.

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Tonight at figure drawing, we had another session with the lovely Shawnrey.

There was a fair amount of the the Man in Black on the soundsystem. Seems like he might have been a little darkly fixated.

Maybe I should buy some graph paper.

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Last Monday, the lucky thirteenth, sexy and sophisticated Merav returned to the stage. For some reason all of my drawings seems to have distorted proportions. Must have had a defective lens.

Viddy well, little brother. Viddy well.

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This most recent Monday, curvy brainiac Signe appeared to model before a packed room. Signe was sporting some new frames that looked very rockabilly, all thick plastic and what was easily mistaken for neon-orange flames. Speaking of “orange” there’s a clockwork one in that featured drawing. Maybe a little bit, eh?

Emphasis to spare.

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Thursday, April 2nd, there was a pick-up session of figure drawing. The mercurial Isaac returned to model.

Communicable residue.

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Okay, then, Monday, March 30th, at the drawing studio, energetic Justin returned to the stage. Justin had apparently just returned from the god-forsaken wilderness, and had gotten a dose of poison oak, and was bandaged-up to minimize the scratching. Why I mention this is unclear, because it doesn’t look like I actually drew any of this mummification. Also, don’t look too hard at that featured drawing, it’s not very good.

Subplot: Soccer is a communist plot.

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Look out! It’s one of them super-sized, shrieking, suburban, socceristas. This colossal lass, you might imagine, is part of a spot illustration for the editor’s column in my employer’s newspaper. This week, the editor seems to be of the opinion that suburbia is home to ’50s B-movie, cleat-shod monstrosities of sport.

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