I was born to a couple of door-to-door doormen (excuse me, doorpeople) in a small shack in an even smaller whistle-stop outside of Baton Rouge, Louisiana; where there lived a very artistic household across the communal cesspit. After being abandoned on their defective doorstep, while my birth parents made off with their door hinges, I was welcomed with open arms (and clinched fists) into my new family and hovel. My newfound siblings (three sisters, one brother and a randy ghost by the name of Barrington Cuke) were a frightfully creative lot and the five of us could always be found sculpting, sewing, painting and drawing upon anything and everything we could get our filthy little fingers on (mostly each other). My two older sisters were selling their work in prison galleries by the time they were juvenile delinquents and while still in grade school and my older brother was rapidly gaining notoriety for his “sculptures” from several state-appointed abnormal child psychiatrists (for well-adjusted children). Sadly, that left me as the doodler of the bunch. I soon became the go-to kid for grade school mascots, illustrated handouts for hungover teachers and comprehensive library displays on the dangers of underage philately and other such acts of intellectual depravity. Since all kids can draw (to a certain extent of the law), I couldn’t understand why I was the poor sap being singled out. It would be years later before I fully understood that I was being groomed to become a future starving artist!
Being both too stupid and lazy to find another hobby, I stuck with doodling all throughout my public school education. Although once at a seventh grade recital, I DID perform a pretty scorching rendition of “Hot Cross Buns” armed with nothing but an ordinary piece of wax paper and a plastic comb! None of the children in my family received any formal artistic training (save for my older brother who later attended the highly respectable San Francisco Art Institute and Pet Grooming Academy) and I must admit that I was a pretty lousy student when it came to public education art class. Unlike most of the other students, I always had a problem simply accepting the bland, clichéd assignments just as they were given, instead opting to paint whatever I darn well felt like (well lah-de-dah, Mr. van Gogh!). If we had a skinny model (my sources say no), I’d make them portly. If the model were white, I’d change their ethnicity and so on and so forth. Make no mistake; I wasn’t simply trying to be a clever creep. I just got bored with the mundane curriculum, handed out by disgruntled teachers who had long since given up their dream of becoming an artist themselves (”that’ll show ‘em!” I thought, but I was wrong).
Having had my older brother before me (do keep your minds out of the gutter will you), my high school art teacher decided to enroll me in Independent Studies; which basically meant I was sequestered to a malodorous storage room where I was free to draw and paint whatever I wished and even grade my own work at the end of each semester (another A++? Don’t mind if I do!). The only input I ever received from my burnt-out instructor was a riveting 5 minute pep talk about “playing the game” after informing him that I was dropping out of high school shortly before finishing my senior year (once a quitter…). I had become increasingly inattentive at school (I blame the media blamers) and I cut more classes than those attended. I later got my GED (which surprisingly does NOT stand for “Git Er Done”) and spent some time fleeing Columbia House toadies across Canada and Alaska before I finally ditched them and settled in northern California to begin work as an illustrator/designer for a major music distributor.
The company eventually closed it’s doors in late 2001 (apparently if you keep your doors continuously open, people WILL rob you). After that, I began working as an illustrator/designer for a small screenprinting and sweatshop for about a year and a half until Kathy Lee Gifford’s underage and underpleasant ruffians torched the place. I then had no other course of action to take but to fully focus my efforts on my fledgling freelance illustration career and occasional Banana Derby participant. Now I’m pleased as punch to proudly proclaim that I’ve recently relocated to scenic Portland, Oregon where I’ve been barely treading fortuitous waters ever since!
eBay
Leo Burnett
Bounce Fabric Softener (Procter & Gamble)
Chronicle Books
Hyperion Books
Penguin Putnam
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Fantagraphics Books
Sterling Publishing
Simon & Schuster
Payseur & Schmidt
Lexus
Volkswagen of America
Target
Zellers
Forbidden Planet International
The Salvation Army
California Department of Conservation
TV Land (Nick at Nite)
Disney Television Animation
Cartoon Network
Sub Pop Records
Lookout! Records
Good Records
Shrinky Dinks (Joobli Studio)
LeapFrog
Bumbershoot Music & Arts Festival
Patent Pending Industries
American Greetings
Otter Pops (Jel Sert)
Giro Helmets
Blue Q
Poketo
Tiny Showcase
Cloudy Collection
The New York Times
The Wall Street Journal Classroom Edition
The Indianapolis Monthly
The Portland Mercury
Willamette Week
The Boston Globe
LA Weekly
Sacramento News & Review
Scholastic Science World Magazine
Nickelodeon Magazine
Weekly Reader Magazine
BUST Magazine
Macworld Magazine
MacAddict Magazine
HOW Magazine
Martha Stewart Kids Magazine
Southwest Airlines Spirit Magazine
ASTROgirl Magazine
FamilyFun Magazine
and countless more!*
*Final tally subject to the number of toes you have to count on.
Which resources did you find most helpful as you were developing your artistic and design skills?
I’ve been drawing for as long as I can remember; however with my feeble and faulty memory, that could be all of two weeks! My other siblings are rather artistic as well; so drawing, painting, sculpting, sewing and playing music were just part of our everyday lives (in addition to other happy childhood hobbies such as puppet shows and Ponzi schemes). We never really had any expensive supplies, just rolls of butcher paper (wrapped in meat) to draw on and cheap dime store poster paint and crayons with which to create. In fact, we made a lot of our own paints using various household supplies and natural objects found around the garden (crushed berries, flowers, roots, bark, expired animals, bodily fluids, etc.).
As far as resources go, I used to frequent public libraries quite often as a child. Sometimes I’d hideaway for hours in the bushes, only to pounce on unsuspecting bookworms as they exited the repository. After skinning their knees, collecting their lunch monies and swiping their books, I’d immediately head home to pore over the illegally amassed literary collections of art, vintage toys and comics, medieval knights and Egyptian mummies and of course, children’s books. These days I don’t get to visit the library as often as I used to, partially due to my doctor’s recent diagnosis that I only have 2 weeks left to crouch, but mainly because I now buy my books directly on the internet (using stolen credit cards of course). Still, I do like to rummage through used book and thrift stores and sucker punch the occasional krelborn for old times’ sake.
Did you attend any art schools or colleges? If so, which ones?
I’m quite proud to say that I graduated from the S.britt School of Fine Art and Taxidermy and Tanning at the very bottom of my class. However, seeing how I had such a close relationship with the instructor (not to mention all those incriminating photographs), he allowed me to squeak by with a GPA of 1.2 and a few ill gotten beaver pelts.
Does talent run in the family?
Talent actually runs FROM my family. Oh wait, that’s success. My mistake.
Do you regret not learning a skill or trade?
Regrets, I’ve had a few; but then again, too many to mention. I guess if I could have it to do all over again, I would’ve like to have been a coal miner, a pipefitter, a urologist, a roustabout or some other equally glamorous, jet-setting career, filled with untold riches and innumerable groupies.
Describe your perfect dream date.
After a romantic candlelit dinner of liver snaps, easy cheese and fermented yoo-hoo, we would walk along the beach in the moonlight, as I serenade her on the guitar with the mating songs of the lovesick humpback. Later, after cleaning oil off the seagulls and reapplying it onto dolphins, we would tie small children to balloons, teach cats to smoke, learn to fly squirrels (professionally) and deface national monuments with giant novelty items. Then, if the feeling is right and she hasn’t already maced me, I would move in closer for a goodnight slap.
Do all dogs really go to Heaven?
Not every dog, I’m afraid. I have it on good authority that Hitler’s Collie Bratwurst holds an illegal poker tournament each and every Thursday night in Hell. Other participant’s include Sirhan Sirhan’s Saint Bernard Shemp, James Earl Ray’s Great Dane Otis, Jack Ruby’s Bulldog Buster and Chiquita, Madonna’s Chihuahua.
Where do you see yourself in five years?
According to the latest studies, five years older yet none the wiser.
What have you found to be the greatest market(s) for your work?
It runs the gamut really. At first I was doing a lot of work for bands and record labels, then I started gaining a lot of attention from animation studios and the local authorities. Over the years I’ve had a number of offers to illustrate children’s books and I’m pleased to report that my very first one hits the shelves mid-August, 2009. I guess the biggest market so far has been spot illustrations for magazines and various promotions for corporations such as Target, eBay, Procter and Gamble and most currently Lexus. Naturally, working with some of the larger companies, you’re not always allowed complete artistic freedom. So it’s nice to be able to have an creative outlet, such as training for the Shirt event in the upcoming 2012 London Olympics.
Exactly what kind of moron are you?
We here at S.britt.com ensure you that the quality & intelligence of our moron’s are of the lowest and outmost caliber, to provide you will a feeling of self-worth far superior to those of leading websites.
Which part of your career has been the most challenging and why?
Children’s books, without a doubt. It can be a very long and arduous process, with each spread sometime taking weeks to complete. I tend to put a lot more time and effort into each page, since books have an added permanence and for me, importance over a typical editorial illustration. The pay isn’t comparable to other work I’ve done commercially, so it’s more a labor of love than anything. I do it in hopes that my books will someday inspire future children’s book writers and illustrator’s in a similar way that my old favorites did when I was a child (and continue to do so). That and the fact that I have a vocabulary less than that of a cartoon parrot tends to limit my options when it comes to things like reading and stuff.
Are you soaking in it?
Fortified wine – it’s MORE than mild. It softens my brain while I do the doodles.
What strategies or practices are most helpful for you in overcoming design challenges?
I typically try to avoid submitting multiple roughs for a project, because inevitably the client ends up choosing your least favorite idea/sketch and truth be told, I’ve never had more than one good idea consecutively. When I first land a project (a magazine spot for instance), I skim through the article and/or instructions and jot down whatever notes and ideas that immediately pop into my bulbous brain (what’s left of it, that is). Then I go for a walk, a bicycle ride or a 3 month all-inclusive vacation around my bathtub, all the while thinking about the best way to tackle the initial sketch. By the time I get back to my doodle room, my head’s completely infested with a myriad of malignant ideas as I finally sit down to sketch.
Once the sketch is finished and sent to the art director and/or client, they then let me know if there are any changes they’d like made and what color palette or style they were envisioning for the color final. After spending a good five minutes cursing and kicking the dog, I roll up my sleeves, pant legs and a bubblegum cigar and go to work.
Sometimes a project is so heavily art directed that it leaves very little room for your own input and creativity, which tends to make you like a hired hand (and if you’ve seen the state of my hands, you’d know just what a tragic predicament this can be). Other times, after listening to your suggestions and lightly veiled threats the client can be very open to ideas and simply allow you to illustrate a piece the way you see fit. Oftentimes in the world of commercial art, the client is king (or ruthless dictator) and they may occasionally make decisions that you do not necessarily agree with. I’ve found it’s best not to get too attached to your work or unwilling to compromise, as they are the ones signing your paycheck (plus, you don’t want to burn any bridges or be labeled a “difficult doodler”). Just know that another project will come along shortly and perhaps the next client will be a bit more open to your ideas. Either way, just keep telling yourself that every illustration is a learning experience and perhaps one day you’ll actually believe it.
What do you feel was more influential on your career growing up, skipping vaccine inoculations or sleeping in a shed full of rabid opossums?
I’d like to think that it was a healthy combination of both, but then again I’d like to think a lot of things.
Do you feel that the unity between your artwork and the design of your website has affected the response to your art and if so, how?
Contrary to what you may have heard, I would like to officially go on the record to say that my artwork and website have done nothing wrong in the eyes of the the law. Sure, they’ve been caught canoodling in various depraved and unfavorable capacities, but I challenge each and every one of my faithful readers (all two of you) to carefully examine the evidence at hand and ask yourselves if you wouldn’t have acted in a similar manner if given half a chance (let alone a full one!). I firmly believe that the inappropriate actions of my woefully capricious website should with no, or only minor ill consequences allow one to prejudge or distort in any way one’s own individual perception of my shoddy artwork and/or the content of my cache. I rest my case, toilet face.
Word on the streets is that you “pickle your own peaches.” Please tell me that’s a euphemism for something bawdy and obscene, or is your life really that sad?
I wish I could give you the answer you so desperately want to hear, but truth be told, that rather descriptive epithet stems from an old war injury I sustained during the invasion of Grenada. What a bloody weekend THAT was! I haven’t been able to sit still for more than 12 continuous hours since (although I AM working on it).
Has your art always had the same style as it does today, or did it develop and change over the years?
Funny you should ask. Originally, I simply parted it on the right; set it and forget it, am I right ladies? Later on in my adolescence, as most teenagers do, I began dangerously experimenting with exotic new materials and bizarre products and my style went through numerous changes and various strange and unusual incarnations. Finally after a family intervention and a mandatory 90 day stint at Fantastic Sams, I settled on the light and bouncy Dorothy Hamill wedge for which I’m so rightly famous.
What countries have passed laws banning your entry and why?
As far as I know, the list is upwards of 26, but I do hope to get that figure to a more respectable 32 by the year’s end. My lawyers have asked me not to get into all the messy details, but I’m sure you’ll find hidden clues (and cries for help) in my upcoming children’s book, “Tippy and Bippy and the Terrible, No Good, Lousy Day in Lesotho.”
What do you think you would be doing if you weren’t an artist?
10 to 20 at Leavenworth, I presume.
Your IMDb page says that you were Patrick Duffy’s swim coach and stunt double in the sensational hit NBC series “The Man From Atlantis.” Do you still keep in contact with the stars from the show and if so, don’t you have anything better to do?
You have to understand that the mid-to-late 70s were a heady, exhilarating time; filled with bad music, terrible television and deplorable fashion. To put it bluntly, it was a real magical time to be living AND loving. When I first got the call from the head of NBC programming Swimney Farabee, he told me he had a “real hit” on his hands. At that time Ma Bell’s long distance plan left a lot to be desired and unfortunately I didn’t catch the “s” in front of “hit.” I DID catch it later when I was almost lost my life in the shallow end of the Burbank High School swimming pool (where we filmed most of our daring underwater scenes). Luckily we only shot 13 episodes before the network literally pulled the plug, so they could drain the deep end in order to search for several missing extras and grips.
After the series finale, Belinda Montgomery (the stunning actress who played Dr. Elizabeth Merrill on the show), and I were married in 1980 during a private ceremony on a special two-part episode of “Fantasy Island.” Sadly, I haven’t seen Mr. Duffy since the horrific “Step By Step” incident which fatally claimed his career.
What materials do you use?
I try and limit my inventory by using as much recycled, warmed-over material as possible. I usually start off with some real wild hand-me-down’s like: The food on the plane was fit for a king. “Here, King!” and finish up the evening with some reclaimed/reheated material off Redd Foxx’s “You Gotta Wash Your Ass,” depending on how ecological and scatological the audience is.
What’s that smell? Did you step in something?
Well look at that! I sure did, didn’t I. Judging by the color and smell, I’d have to say that whoever or whatever made this, hasn’t got much time left to live.
Your work has been described as, ‘the artistic equivalent of potted meat.’ Do you feel that sums up what you’re trying to do and if not, why even bother getting out of bed?
What an excellent point! I’m so glad you brought that up. I absolutely plan on addressing that highly distinguished question the very first moment I crawl out from under my 2 week depressive slumber. You’ll forgive me if I’m unable to walk you to the door? Splendid.
What do you do to get inspirations and ideas? Which artists inspire you?
I’m currently on standby at the moment, but the little fellow inside my head has repeatedly assured me that he’ll ring me just as soon as their backlog stock of inspirations and ideas are replenished. I’m not holding my breath however, especially since that idea hasn’t yet occurred to me. Whenever I do decide to step outside my mind and look to others for inspiration, I usually go with high muckety-muck’s, such as Richard Scarry, Ed Emberley, Mark Alan Stamaty, Raymond Savignac, Ronald Searle, William Steig, Miroslav Sasek, Roy McKie, Roger Duvoisin, J.P. Miller, P.D. Eastman, Arnold Lobel, Ellen Raskin, Ezra Jack Keats, Marc Simont, Leo Lionni, Tove Jansson, Roger Bradfield, Gustaf Tenggren, Quentin Blake, Ben Shahn, Charles Addams, Taro Gomi, Walt Kelly, Jay Ward and many more that I currently can’t remember!
What do you have to say to people who are put off by your work?
It’s always nice to meet like-minded individuals.
Does this look infected to you?
I’m no doctor, but I’d have to say that looks pretty impressive. I especially like what you’ve done with the pus and all the festering boils. Have you given any consideration to having it stuffed and mounted?
If you were a coat what type of coat would you be? And who would wear you? And is that even legal?
I’d like to think that I’d be a luxurious floor-length raccoon coat, but I know full well I’d just be another run-of-the-mill naugahyde poncho. As for who would wear me? Most likely a middle school crossing guard or out-of-work Eskimo, but I’m not sure what the legal ramifications are for donning a sapien-serape.
Any pearls of wisdom you’d like to share with aspiring artists?
I guess the best possible piece of advice would be to never have a back-up plan. You can’t get anywhere in life if you’re always planning and being responsible. Let your heart be your guide, go with your gut and fly by the seat of your pants. And when it all inevitable fails and your world comes crashing down all around you, just remember these four magic words; “I told you so.”
What do you do when you’re not being a jerk?
When I’m not down at the docks brushing up on the latest insults or bringing defenseless waitresses to the verge of tears, I’m usually out there coaching. A few years ago I took a good hard look at my life and I thought about what I could do to make the world a better place for people like me and a worse one for those we like to torment. So I began a mentoring program for little jerks that have been otherwise shunned by society simply for harassing others. It warms the cockles of my heart to know what I’ve accomplished and that the vicious cycle of emotional abuse and schoolyard bullying doesn’t have to end with me. May the circle of slander remain unbroken, little dudes. Amen.
Oh and I also enjoy gardening, making my own jams and jellies and scrapbooking.
Didn’t you used to be somebody?
Nope, not that I’m aware of. You must have me mistaken for somebody else (who’s actually a somebody).
Why shoes?
Without ‘em, cobbler’s would undoubtedly be eaten alive by elves.
Your fervent fans are dying to know: Chicken or fish?
Yes, yes, I remember, I had lasagna.
Are you wearing that shirt just to be funny?
There’s nothing funny about poly-cotton blends, my friend. Just pure, unadulterated comfort. And it wicks away the tears like a white tornado!
I’ve been closely following your career for years. Why the sudden restraining order?
That was you? I thought I recognized the sound of your footsteps, your heavy breathing and the sickly-sweet smell of chloroform. Is that a new crutch?
Why aren’t you rich and famous and why should I care?
You raise several valid points, none of which I have the money to answer at the moment, I’m afraid. Tell you what, I’ll have my secretary get back to you just as soon as I can afford one.
So level with us, this whole art thing is a scam right?
Oh brother is it, and how! Those poor saps out there have no idea that we artists have just been repackaging the same old tired etchings since da Vinci’s day. Why just last week I sold a pouch of smokeless tobacco adorned with the spitting image of the Mona Lisa spitting. Just so long as you slightly alter 5-20%, you can become the next Hirst, Banksy, Fairey or Rooney (as depicted in his spot on portrayal of the side-splitting Mr. Yunioshi in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”)! As somebody famous famously once said (but since I’m trying to make a point about plagiarism, I wrote it):
“There’s nothing new around the sun, everything you think of has been done. All been done before your time; sometime or another by someone else’s brother.”
So why waste your time trying to reinvent the egg when you can get your milk for free? And not only that dear friends, but you’ll be laughing all the way to the bank as you step over hundreds of (filthy) starving artists who are foolishly wasting their time trying to create original and meaningful work. Haw! What a bunch of hardworking, conscientious, ethical rubes! Those silly principals ain’t gonna put a down payment on a summer villa in the French Alps, sucker!
What’s your favorite thing that people like to ask you about the most?
I distinctly remember the first time when someone asked me how I felt about that one thing that happened to someone whose name for the life of me I can’t seem to recall. Ever since then, it’s all everyone wants to talk about! Still, I can’t say that I wasn’t happy that it happened and given the opportunity, I’d most likely do it again! In fact, it’s probably my most favorite recollection from the time I lived in that one place. I just wish these darn memories weren’t so haunting and elusive.
Can you do any tricks?
When I was first starting out, my nickname was “the one trick pony,” until I discovered the erroneous printing error on my business cards and had the “p” switched to a “T”. After realizing that I needed to quickly learn more tricks (and that my name wasn’t Tony), I began vigorously training with the Dingling Bros., Bernie and Barclay. Eventually my repertoire and reputation was enough to make even the most hardened sailors blush, so they had no other choice but to put me in the center ring. For decades my act traveled the world and became so remarkably successful that it coined the international catchphrase “double dooler,” (as in “That dumb dora may be daft, but her double dooler’s sure are ducky!”) which is still in use today (in certain seedy circles).
Times changed and eventually people began to lose interest in the act, so I decided to break into pictures. This sudden switch in careers also afforded me a sudden change of scenery, as I was quickly arrested and imprisoned for breaking in to (steal) pictures. When the news broke of my insidious incarceration, there was an unexpected resurgence of my trademarked “double dooler” (as in “He’s sure to get a double dooler NOW!”) and a career-resurrecting comeback was most assuredly on my horizon. Unfortunately for both me and the unwashed masses, it just wasn’t in the cards. My heart was in it, but my trick knee was out. I mournfully spent the remainder of my years curled-up inside a bottle of Grape Nehi.
Would you prefer to be punched in the face or watch most current animated television?
I’ll take the punch AND a gut fulla pinworms, if you don’t mind. That way my inside AND outside can be happily entertained (blissfully ignorant) while my brain snaps and my heart breaks as I watch the state of modern animation go straight down the youtubes.
Do you honestly think people are still reading this tripe?
My heavens. Do you really think so? Lord help them if they are.
Another popular S.britt rumor floating around the VFW is that you keep a life-size Dixieland jazz quartet held hostage in your bunker, which you force at gunpoint to play while you draw. If this is true, do you rent them out for parties and Bat Mitzvah’s? If not, why not?
I thought this might come up. Most of what you’ve heard is true; but to be on the level, I won them fair and square in a game of double-fisted pinochle in a small seaside watering hole, just off the Tam Giang lagoon in ‘nam. Their party barge had been hit pretty bad and their trombonist, Edward “Daddy” Dadwards was losing a lot of fluid from his spit valve. I couldn’t just leave them stranded out there, smack dab in middle of the Heart of Darkness (to be honest, they did have a KFC), so I offered them a place to play and we’ve been making sweet music ever since. Not a lot of guys could’ve summoned the colossal amount of courage it took to do what I did out there and even less could stomach listening to “Muskrat Ramble” 15 times a day, but that’s just the kind of brawny, heroic, rough and tumble guy I am. Now, who’s up for some rich and creamy General Foods International Coffee, hmmm?
Give it to me straight: are you a Hot Wheels or a Matchbox man?
Generally, Hot Wheels can be lodged within the nasal cavity without exerting much force. But if you’re judging purely by palate, I’ve found the Matchbox to be easier to digest and eventually expel.
If you could do the laundry of any historical figure, real or otherwise, whose washing would you do?
I think Winston Churchill would be a real wiz at getting my whites their whitest and frankly, that pudgy little bulldog could use the work. The way I look at it is, if he could make the Port of Alexandria disappear, I’m sure he’d make short work of removing the blood and grass stains from my soiled knickers.
Can you break a twenty?
That all depends on what your definitions of “can” is. In my youth, I once broke two twenties in one sitting, but that’s neither here nor there. What’s your question again and before I forget, can I borrow a ten and two fives? Some idiot just asked me for change and I seem to have left my pocketbook in my other trousers.
And our last question before the police arrive, what makes for a good doodle?
Any doodle you can safely walk away from is a good one. Upon several occasions, curious onlookers have “wet” themselves, appeared frantic and disheveled, and desperately prayed to be stricken blind on the spot. Luckily for me, these tragic events all occurred during the period when I signed my work using the pseudonym Thomas Kinkade.
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