Tuesday, September 7, 2010

hamlet (watercolor, graphite and ball point pen on watercolor paper)








10 comments:

Kandi said...

I love the detail. Wish I could get close enough to read his speech bubble.

Chris said...

sooo where can I buy your art? My wife and I love your music, you are our favorite artist and we'd love to have a bob schneider original hanging on our walls. Anyways email me some info chris (at) kourage . org

Strategenius - Dan Johnson said...

Bob, I'm with Kandi. Can you reprint the text from the painting here or somewhere else? It's phenomenal, man. I just absolutely fucking marvel at people with not only the creative mind to express powerful thought and emotion, but also the artistic ability to manifest that expression in a visual or auditory medium that is meaningful to the rest of us. I swear to God you're a genius, man.

Crack Baby- Recovered said...

Wave your hands like you just don't care. If you called I would return your call....I don't need a house though. Sincerely, Aquaman. Likey Yurick.

Crack Baby- Recovered said...

AFTERTHOUGHT- You make alot of references to the Sea or Ocean in alot of your lyrics and well....even this. Why is that? Please. Sincerely, This is not random as I have wondered for a long time

jennifer said...

how do you choose what pieces you are going to post? do you post what you have just finished or pull from what i'm sure is an extensive collection based on what you feel like sharing or pondering at the time? the process of things is interesting to me...

Norma said...

Your drawing reminds me of a nightmare I had.

It was filled with lots of random stuff before this "scene" that frightened me to the core: I was escorting a young man to the guardhouse on the military base I used to work on. He was in his early twenties, tall, new as could be to whatever he had signed up for, and Arab. He was in civilian clothes and had a little-boy back pack on his back like he was going off to school.

He went into the guardhouse and stood at attention in front of the soldier--typical hair and fatigues, white, shorter than the young man, and young himself.

He was looking up at the boy as he talked at him, calmly, close enough for the boy to feel his breath, I imagined.

The young man came out of the guardhouse, with his little-boy back pack still on his back, and doubled over in front of me, spewing vomit through his mouth and defecating at the same time. He was fully clothed, but I could still see the waste pouring through his pants to the ground.

It's the most horrifying thing I've ever seen in a dream.

It didn't surprise me, though. I don't doubt for a second that one human being could devastate another with just words...

I heard you have a new book of poetry. I want one.

Processhaus said...

I am interesting in buying soem of your art - I have a book I picked up at a show but I would like something to hang on the wall - do you sell single pieces??

Crack Baby- Recovered said...

Norma, get your own blog. Sincerely, Jesus Christ. Are you fucking kidding me.

Norma said...

@Crack Baby-Recovered

Maybe not so recovered.

Oh, and fuck you back.

Love.

Followers