Kickstarter Update #3

As promised, here’s the latest update from our Kickstarter Xceed Xpectations project tentatively named “All Sols Day.”

Today, let’s take a look at a couple of the early prototype bumper stickers the Creative Arts department crafted to get their imaginations going…

BUMPER STICKER - MARS OR BUST

BUMPER STICKER - Greetings from Mars

We can’t wait to get this party started.  As soon as the next batch of art is ready, we’ll post it here for your perusal.

 

Have a peaceful sol!

The greatest emotion…

…is sometimes expressed most quietly.

To Jenn, from whom I have accepted the renewed gift of storytelling, I thank you for allowing me to draw a character loosely based on your biographical details.

The real person’s qualities outshine the fictional one and is so much more fun to share a dance without purpose, design or pretext.

May your friends and family forgive me if I draw them in poor lighting or exaggerated grotesquely.

A new form of tattoo?

More and more lately, I’ve seen people with naturally dark skin get tattoos in the form of skin bleaching, some getting fake tanlines and others covering themselves with various shades of geometric patterns.

I was so excited about the new trend I had it done to me.

One small problem — my skin is already bleached-looking.

I call it the most expensive invisible tattoo ever.

My friends call it the Emperour’s New Clothes syndrome.

When you’re a maverick like me, you do whatever it takes to get noticed, going invisible included.

Strange Daze

Today, I let my eyes wander over to websites I rarely find interesting only to find them interesting, including this “poster” at rare.us:

salon-white-as-virgin-snow-1

Which pushed my thoughts on to other mass media outlets and their statistical anomalies, including the Saturday Night Live “Five Timers Club“:

SNL-Five-timers-club

Is there a pattern here worth analysing or simply pointing out and laughing toward?

If George W. Bush’s image can be rehabilitated, then anything is possible, n’est pas?

Surrounding the barn with farmhands after the horses have escaped…

The problem, Guinevere found, was deciding whether she was in a game or whether she was the game.

That’s the problem.

But then what about her status as a muse?

Hadn’t she posed for a set of photographs?

Those are the questions.

Who was the artist who would make her as permanent a fixture in history as any muse before?

What is art?

Are the men who bombed a marketplace considered artists?

What about the huge explosion in West, Texas?  Is that art?

Were the designers of the atomic bomb that flattened Hiroshima artists?

Is surburban sprawl art?

A mud puddle covered with a sheen of oil has artistic lines, does it not, even if the oil will kill the bird soaked to death in oil’s gooey grip.

Dava Newman BioSuit

Guinevere looked up at the Martian sky once more.

She checked her internal calendar, verifying that the 4th of May was not that far off.

Then what?

Why did she keep comparing her days on Mars to an Earth-based calendar?

Hadn’t she left all that behind?

Decades ago, by Earth standards.

Guinevere kicked one boot against another and leapt into the air, arching over the outpost, heading out to a hillside, a secluded place of meditation, a luxury that she shared with a few, a xeriscaped garden of peace and quiet, away from the hustle and bustle of the colony.

What does it take to be a muse these days?