Kirby Hulk

Entertaining a child at Starbucks.

“Put the tablet down a minute and check this out. Do you like comics?”


“Do you like the Hulk?”


I took out my lead clutch. I have just started experimenting with soft lead (2mm). A quick sketch, maybe it was ego but i thought there would be fascination for her to see an image appear out from under the lead.When she saw that it was not the Hulk from the movies, unimpressed and without saying another word her head bowed back into whatever the tablet had to offer.

The original Hulk is often talked about in relation to a type of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. In truth he was, in his nascence closer to folklore Golem &¬† Frankenstein’s Monster.

A cursory glimpse of his history online and it seems like every decade he was interpreted¬† via that time’s problems & fears.

Originally he seemed to be feared because he was different and misunderstood. The revulsion he caused partially on account of physically bringing to the fore the part of ourselves kept tucked away out of sight.

I do not read comics but if in keeping with the trend of him representing aspects of each era, i would imagine that now he is loathed not out of fear but because he is a hindrance to some desire/ambition (“The Hulk is rampaging across the city, the airport is closed but I was supposed to go on my vacation!” “He is stomping on my new car!” “He got in way of perfect instagram moment i was about to create.” ) Or he could be the reality discordant with how someone/place/society envisions itself. (akin to when people use really old photos of themselves in some online function despite no longer resembling it. The ideal still what they see in mirror contrary to the truth otherwise visible.)

Continue reading “Kirby Hulk”

Face Dances


I never approach doing a piece, whether painting or drawing, with a preconceived agenda (I want to do a sad piece, a hot piece etc etc). Always is only the desire for emotion and the truth of the moment.

With this type of honesty and raw visual reportage, there can never be anything “ugly”.

9×12 Paper & graphite



“6 Underground”



Me I

There is an age old tradition of the artist doing self portraits. Some consider the value of such a work as offering psychological insight into the artist via how they see themselves/how they are presenting themselves to the world.

Often, I am my own subject. With all my portraits I go for a sort of visual raw reportage, presenting the subject as they are for better or worse.

For this reason when I am my own subject, I might be sidestepping the issue entirely. Or the fact that, here I present myself as I am but with the batman mask of a hood could still be a revelation of its own.


Hooded 9×12 graphite & paper


songs About Women:Song Two: To The Na

Second piece in ongoing series:


Song Two: To The Na:
She initially endeared herself to me when I discovered that if she or someone in her life were going on a trip (flying) she always said her goodbye as if it could be for the last time. The same mistrust of planes as I, acted upon.

She had a thing for feet which she insisted was not sexual, when I suggested it might be otherwise w/her male social media pals, she became incensed.
In short order, I was proven correct as most of us, especially on social media, are dogs.

In her anger & embarrassment, we didn’t talk for a year and a half.

Something about her eyes and the real estate around it reminds me of a Vasquez piece I once saw. Of course she is my kind of beautiful.

Halfway around the world, she popped into my head unexpectedly when late one night when Mar-Mar wanted to paint my toe nails. I said no and we all prowled the bars around Montparnasse ,eating olives and salted almonds out of tiny white dishes in between drinks, until becoming on the verge of queasy.
W.Wolfson ’18



Red Flower

I prefer whenever possible to not use professional models. Too often their positioning is overly academic which inserts an artificiality into the work.  My subjects being people in my life ads a further level of realism to the work, an emotional subtext of truth.


The Red Flower 9×12 watercolor & Multi Media Paper




Not Capri

“Calamari, some campari & soda. We will eat while listening to the surf smash against the rocks.”

She hoped the fishmonger still had some available as after a night of us all mixing drinks while throwing our arms around one another in song & passion she was getting a rather late start.

She would have asked me if I wanted to come with but there were things needing her attention as to mull over their true meaning. The added benefit was that she looked the better person for allowing me to work for several hours uninterrupted in my makeshift studio.

I noticed she put on the earrings she had been wearing last night, normally not worn except for on special occasions.
They were thick circles of shining gold that tightly hugged the bottom of her lobes the aesthetic for some reason making me think of long gone Romans.

It was a way to get an extra dig in to Gina who had not been invited last night and who had for years been refused the lone of the earrings regardless of the occasion.

There was every chance to believe that she would still be at the market, purposely waiting to run into her as to wrangle an invitation to whatever we had planned next.

Later we take a walk as she did not like the thought of me hunched over my drawing board all day.
“What do you call that flower, the pretty one with all the prickers on it?”
I tried to pronounce it several times, my tongue not complying with the dialect.
She laughed kissing my cheek.
The word was said again three times in quick succession.
“Ah, “friendship”.”


“Not Capri” 5×8 Watercolor & Paper



What the Eye Sees

Where ever I am, I draw & sketch. Even more so if I do not have time/space to paint. My pencil musings are not all meant to be formal accomplishments ready to frame.

Sometimes they are just personal references to what I am doing or seeing, done in my 3×5 pocket pad.

After years of doing this, I find myself going to some of the same places which are now part of my life. It made it tricky in that, i can only sketch same rooftops etc so many times.

Without any forethought, I found a way to keep it fresh. I now sometimes indirectly record things.

I was in a little bar, the air thick with sausage smoke, that and Parisian sandwiches being their only fare. The owner had two cats which come and go as they please, all the regulars saying hello as they take over empty stools.

He had a penchant for playing Jacques Brel. The bar is located between my place and favorite record store so I found myself stopping in often on my way home. Either to celebrate a new purchase or to console myself for coming back empty handed.

Now when i hear Brel, for half a second I smell the fragrant sausage and regardless of lyrics, feel a mellow warmness.

W.Wolfson Paris ’18