Tuesday, January 31, 2017

A Dragon Study

-By Justin Gerard

Sometimes, before I begin a painting, I will do a study of the subject from the painting just as a warm-up. Why? Because like most artists, I lost my mind a long, long time ago.

If I'm being positive about it, I tell myself that it's like a color study, but with a portrait mixed in. If I'm being realistic with myself, I know it's more like delayed adolescence; just another way of not actually getting started.

But today is not a day for being realistic with oneself! Let's be honest: Nobody paints dragons to be realistic with ones self. You paint dragons to escape! You paint dragons to imagine a world filled with one great challenge, which while daunting, can be met and defeated, the outcome of which, is total victory over the forces of wickedness and entropy. That's why we paint dragons!



For this painting I will be working in acrylics. I use a mixture of Golden Open acrylics for glazes, and heavy body acrylics for details and highlights. The video below shows the general progress taken for laying in shadows and colors and then detailing over them.  (I apologize for the complete silence. I have no video-editing skills. I made this out of bailing wire and matchsticks)

The final product is quite small (4" x 6") but has gotten me really excited to begin the actual painting.  I feel more grounded and confident knowing what colors I will be using to slay this beast. As I said before, we want a challenge that is daunting but that we know we can accomplish. That is what these studies are about. Ensuring victory through practice. (Well that and truly committing ourselves to madness)

Next post: The actual painting! For now, here is a sneak peak of the color comp and drawing.

Monday, January 30, 2017

Nude Thoughts

-By Jesper Ejsing

The other day I went to model drawing evening with a couple of other artist from my studio. I love model drawing and this was a joyful returning for me since I have been out of the habit for a couple of years. I always draw on large paper A2 size and use a thick pencil. One of those that are graphite all the way through. It prevents me from going into too much detail and help me from not rendering.

But the session got me thinking a lot about my other drawings. What I noticed, I did, when drawing from a nude model was, that I started the first 30 seconds searching for the gesture or the special thing that made this pose unique. The direction of the spine, the weight point of the figure and the twist and turns in the torso that made it precisely that gesture. The lines to describe the gesture was usually simple. Having a model in front of you makes it a lot easier and you just have to look for the small pose gestures and draw/capture them.

But in doing illustrations you have to make that stiff up yourself, and this is where it gets really hard. But I think that I will force that a bit more from now on. Searching faster for gestures in my composition. This is not new knowledge, it is something I remember having read in Walt Stansfields Drawn to Life books and that made a huge impact on me, but I seem to forget it, and then it all surfaces again after a model class like this.

Trying to be a viking
Capturing a realistic gesture is vital to portraying a character seeming to be alive. When I first started out as a professional artist I had Todd Lockwood giving me feedback on a large painting I just did that I was really happy with. He told me that he would never stage figures in a fight scene flat footed but would rather have them mid motion. Back then I thought he was an idiot and I was annoyed because I really liked the painting I did, but looking back at it I slap my forehead at my own ignorance.

Capturing a pose and a gesture is my only mission these days. Often it means I have to get out of my chair and try out the pose for myself to see if it feels strange or if there is a detail I missed. But I think this is the key to paint figures that seems alive.

I will start model drawing weekly from now on. looks like it is a huge gain - who would have thought? And strengthening my gesture drawings will hopefully keep me away from theatrical poses.

Saturday, January 28, 2017

Hope and Experiments

by Vanessa Lemen

"Hope" - acrylic, ink, and graphite on mixed media paper

I finished this piece (above) recently to post on EveryDayOriginal.com. I wanted to share a bit about the process, specifically the texture and bubble effect. It started from an abstract I selected out of several abstracts I'd done recently using acrylic, ink, water, and dish soap. It was an interesting new way of making marks that I had seen in a crafty how-to video shared somewhere and I wanted to try it!

Materials used:
acrylic paint, (also tried some acrylic inks), water, dish soap, cups, straws, spatula, paper (I used a few different types of water media paper)

I didn't use any specific ratio of paint to water to soap, but basically mixed a bit of each in the bottom of a plastic cup, and then blew bubbles through a straw until the mixture of water, paint, and soap started to bubble up and out past the top of the cup. Then I took a piece of paper and dabbed it onto the bubbles in different areas. That was one way of doing it... From doing that, I found that because I had to face the paper down away from me in order to put it next to the bubbles, I couldn't necessarily see what I was doing. I decided to try scooping the bubbles out of the cup with a spatula out onto the paper, and this way I could control the placement and texture a bit better.

I really had no expectations while I was experimenting with this, and as I went along, I'd get new ideas inspired by things that happened with each attempt. As the mixtures in the cups would get low, the marks would be more intense and opaque, so this prompted me to make new mixtures with different ratios of water/paint/soap to control the transparency and opacity as I built up layers on the surface. Also, some layers were built up with hours of drying time in between, and some layers were applied while the layer underneath was still wet, which made for various effects as well. For example, the dry layers left marks that were more staggered and harder edged as the bubbles shrunk inward, and the watery layers left washes as the bubbles shrunk inward.

The two top images were shot when the paint was dry. The two bottom images were shot when the top layer of white paint was still wet and hadn't entirely absorbed into the surface yet, while the layers underneath the white/wet bubbles are dry.

The different surfaces also yielded varying results. The surfaces I used were: watercolor paper, mixed media paper (which is basically a water-tolerant bristol), and yupo paper. The watercolor paper and mixed media paper have relatively the same porous quality, and the yupo is less porous and somewhat slick. On all of the surfaces, the bubbles do shrink inwards as they dry, and wind or just a bit of movement in the air blows the bubbles out. This was interesting to watch because the marks dried at different rates on the surface because of the varying qualities and movement in the air. In the case of the yupo paper, I was getting these neat marks that almost looked like aerial views of canyons or sedimentary rocks.

Top Right is the dry result of the Top Left (the white bubbles are still wet).  Bottom Right is a detail of a portion of the Bottom Left.  Acrylic and ink on yupo paper (which is a plastic paper that is less porous than most other papers)

I also tried some marks by applying bubbles that had no paint in them first to the surface, then adding paint to the bubbles selectively by dropping it into them with a straw. This allowed me to control where the color went, but there was still a lot of experimentation involved. I ended up applying this addition of color to the bubbles with a straw to many of the images I was making, but here is an example of how that was applied to one small piece:

Bringing it all together - Creating an Image from the Abstract

So, the background for my recent mixed media piece, 'Hope', was done in this way as shown in these images and descriptions above. After it was dry, I drew into what I saw in the abstract shapes, which was a long neck and underside of a jaw with a hint of a face in profile looking up. I added that in graphite to the abstract painting. Once the drawing was in place, I painted into the areas with acrylic to add abstract marks, sometimes in very small detail and sometimes in broader areas of blended color. The goal was for the overall image to retain the spontaneity that the initial abstract underpainting had, and any additions would hopefully help to elevate and integrate the drawing that was added to it. Here are the two stages – abstract background start on the left, and the finish on the right – for comparison:

I had a lot of fun making this image, and I've got so many of these abstracts to work with as well now. I really look forward to experimenting and adding to them ..and just seeing what happens!

Friday, January 27, 2017

The Calendar Priest

-By Greg Ruth

First off, I wince a bit at the notion of this unpublished project is a "failure" for many reasons, despite it being literally true. But because this was intended as a kind of back door sequel to my very first graphic novel, SUDDEN GRAVITY, and was expected to be completed and see publication, and it never did, it is safe to rest it in the categories of art misfires. However, it was a wholehearted success in so many other ways and probably the most influential piece of work no one ever saw, I would want you to get the idea it was a mistake or something I wish I could take back. Art is never a straight line and the pieces we make don't always go where they are supposed to- especially when we leave them to find their own way. We can craft vast cities and still get lost and stuck in dead end alleyways. The real trick is recognizing those roadblocks, learning from them and planning better the next time.

THE CALENDAR PRIEST was in many ways a book I wanted to write but felt more so one that I SHOULD write... and that was its first mistake. I had just finished hastily wrapping up SUDDEN GRAVITY as Caliber Comics faced its own closing down back in the early 1990's. In the final volume I had in a desperate revolt against the ballpoint pen hospital melodrama I had wrought to my crampy hand's great displeasure, I took two pages to indulge in sumi ink comics and loved it so much that I swore to myself eagerly to break every ballpoint pen I had and never again return to them in favor of this new, uncontrollable gentle swishy goodness that was brush and ink work. When I had first laid out Sudden Gravity, the arc of the story was to be at least 3 10-issue volumes covering the entire history of the Bentham Hospital's birth and eventual destruction. Sudden Gravity told that story beginning from the middle-end, working backwards and then eventually forwards. For a guy who had never before made a comic work longer than six pages, this was beyond ambitious, but Caliber was so supportive and I think they would have let me run had they themselves had more road to run in front of them, (God bless Joe and Gary). So when its uncertain future became a certainty it had no future, I decided to pull out from that promise and steal away with a side story that was an origin tale of one of the hospital's most important characters that was to come in after Dr. Auget's incarceration, Dr. Milo Tulpa and how a lost wandering narcoleptic brought him out of hiding and escape a doomed town soon to be drowned in a new dam's flood basin.

At the time as I was coming to grips with my own personal biography and sense of home town and what the past means and how it influences... I made one of the cardinal mistakes any artist can make: Art can be good therapy, but there is rarely good art when therapy is the engine of its creation.
The Calendar Priest helped me reconcile some things within myself and my family life and the choices of direction we are poised to birth out of school as a young 20-something facing a new life in NYC in the 1990's, and in that regard, the intent to publish it could be said to have been that first error. The thing about self indulging one's own theraputic needs in art is the vanity that such a therapy is ever going to be interesting to anyone else. Sometimes it is and sometimes it can be, but largely the internal symbology and narrative pivot points though resonate with the artist, are rarely so foundational to the walk-a-by viewer of the art. An outside person can look on it now and see what I still consider to be some of my more successful comic art in play, but its a car with out an engine. And in being so committed one of the sins I swore to avoid in my career as a comics guy: not make beautiful, hollow bad comics that are basically luminous portfolios at the expense of their stories. Comics need and must succeed as stories first- they are after all, narratives before they are anything else and fealty to that reality must always be maintained. So working through my personal therapies in print didn't really succeed in helping me fully resolve my issues, because I had not yet solved them in myself at the time to be able to provide the catharsis that would have made the story meaningful to others. I hadn't yet learned that a storyteller needs to be both Dorothy AND the Wizard. (To see what I mean, go to HERE ). Its one thing for the reader to be taken on the journey- that's the whole idea... but the author needs to be the captain of his own ship and not a passenger, which I was in this case. Inevitably, the ship ran aground and all hands were lost.

You have to remember it was the early 1990's in NYC and the Alt Comics scene there was exploding. Chris Ware, Adrian Tomine, Dan Clowes were just bursting on to the scene and there was at the time an overall ethos of indulging in meandering a-structural comics that never really resolved as a point of pride. To this scene editors were anathema to art and single-creator comics were the pure form despite a parallel rise in some of the most influential mainstream comics to ever rise from the big two publishers. As in so many previous crowds I moved within, I found myself a bit on its fringes: I loved the self aggrandizing notion of the single creator and letting the story guide itself, but I loved what Alan Moore and Grant Morrison were doing in mainstream comics too. Like so many children of both worlds I belonged to neither and rose not much in station in either camp. The Calendar Priest was, now that I look at it today, a perfect expression of that schizoidal self. It tried to surf two boards at once instead of picking one to devote to, and the belly-flop was inevitable. I thought I was expressing the best of both worlds but really I ended up indulging in the worst of two.

The plot and emotional arc of the tale was solid, and I still like it to this day: Graham, a lifelong narcoleptic, at a crisis point in his young adult life, abandoned his career to drive westward to his old hometown for the first time since running away from it as a teenager, just a week prior to it being submerged as a result of a new dam being built nearby. The town had been emptied, and it was his to wander alone before the flood came. While there he found the town wasn't nearly as empty as he suspected, and The Prisoner like place was more or less ruled by a single dubious ruler of none in the form of a lanky shirtless goofball, named Milo Tulpa. (A bit on the nose with that name, I know, but what can I say? I was 24 years old and had my head firmly planted in my downspout). About 100 pages in is when I realized it wasn't just going anyplace good... it wasn't going anywhere at all.

I had essentially created in overlong form a 100 page first act to a book I had intended to be only 150 pages. I was wallowing. Well story-wise I was, but artistically I was exploding. I was learning what the sumi ink could do, and I had very little control over it as compared to the almost digital control the ballpoint pen had provided. It was my first true comic done without making "proper comics pages" and doing larger individual drawings to be scanned and assembled later. Remember this was 1993-94 and there was no internet to speak of yet, we all still used fax machines to e-send art and proposal work, and my little crap scanner cost $600 back then and took almost 15 minutes to make a single full color scan as the thing had to make painfully slow passes for each color and black. I used to keep a book next to my old mac to keep myself occupied whilst I scanned art. I got a LOT of reading done. I was having a blast and felt a vigor and head of steam I had rarely known before. I sheet-rocked by day, and did this by night ( when I wasn't doing Matrix Comics), and being in NYC at the time was like being master of a hurricane: hubris ran wild. I had the characters, I had a world for them to live in and I had some cool hooks... a man who constantly pivoted between waking and sleep, dream and reality, an abandoned town on the verge of a great flood, images of deep sea scuba suits sitting at suburban breakfast tables as fish swam past raised cups of coffee... but all of it was a dress with now wearer to give it a place to go. A car without an engine.

Once I hit the triple digit page count and realized I had two choices: edit the shit out of what I had done, rewrite the script before continuing. Or continue onward for however long it took, burning through however many more pages it would take to get there and hope it made some kind of sense later. Lucky for me, my work life outside of home-repair in Brooklyn began to take off and the migration of making art as an after-work hobby started to become the work I came home from. Freaks of the Heartland came rolling in, My wife and I were expecting our first child and we had committed the sin i swore never to indulge in while living in NYC: paying more for less apartment. So we moved up to the countryside here in Western Mass and here I remain today.

The Calendar Priest still sits in my drawers and over the years I have indulged the fantasy that one day i would do it right and well. but the style of art isn't really the kind of sumi drawing I'm doing these days and retrofitting all that original work would be a herculean task unto itself. It may have constituted 500-800 drawings that never made a story but it birthed a decades long career in sumi ink work I am today most known for. it taught me that comics were stories before art and it made me realize that one's personal therapies need not be suffered by others as if they were as important. I had decided to make and write a comic while writing and making it and inevitably it led me over a cliff I couldn't bridge fast enough to save myself.And like most lessons in life, the failures are where the most learning happens. I still look on it as one, but one that gave rise to so many other successes I don't entirely think it;s fair to see it as a total loss. Not by miles. I think there's less involved ways to learn this lesson- i hope this case serves as a warning to you who are reading this to avoid such a gigantic epic sink hole like the one I fell into, but that even if you do.. it's possible to climb out. Realizing you don't know as much as you think it one of the most repeated and ongoing revelations you'll ever experience in the whole of your life, but like all such moments in the fabric of our time here, it cannot be and should never be dismissed or excised for it may have been an integral part of the success of the piece. The Calendar Priest was about wrestling with regret and taking responsibility and it taught me that responsibility takes many forms and regret is a bullshit way to look at your life and the life of your art. That the misfires and mistakes are to be remembered, not dismissed, and that even in the most epic of failures one can find new shoots of growth and new ways of working that can give rise to whole and better worlds. We may not be the sum total of our mistakes, but we are their children. Like all children who carry their parent's legacies, it;'s up to us to improve upon them, learn the lessons and make a better world for our own to live in and then do the same to us. Without The Calendar Priest there would have been no RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL SON, LOST BOY or INDEH... Art is an act of persistent death and rebirth. Like the handsome surfer says to Annette Funacello in "Beach Blanket Bingo", "When you surf, you surf the ocean and not just the wave you're on. Anything else will get you wet".

CODA: This isn't the only book that died on the vine either, just to let you know... not all conflagrations are avoidable ones, but the story of EDENTOWN is one for another day. But ultimately this whole article is simply to confess an irreversible truth when it comes to any enterprise like this: it doesn't always work out no matter the best intentions. Sometimes despite your best hopes and even most coordinated efforts, the experiment fails. This isn't to say that there aren't good lessons to come from it, but it's not something to dwell on except as a learning experience. I tend more and more to believe in the absolute benefit of dispelling with regret wherever possible. M.A.R.S. aka THE CALENDAR PRIEST is not something I regret not finishing, at the very least because what came after was made better for it. Out way forward is built on what we did before and often the failures push us forward farther than our successes ever do. So my final advice is to simply go out there and risk love and disaster. There are abiding lessons in both.

Thursday, January 26, 2017

Whisper, Whisper...

-By Scott Fischer

As you develop as an artist, knowledge can be a whisper you can't quite catch. You read things. Are taught things. But they are often grenades, and won't explode in your head till years after the pin is pulled.

Happens to me too. These damn whispers.  In my journey as a painter, I became a texture junky early on. Falling in love with gnarly brushes. Steadfast bristled soldiers that many painters would have tossed long ago. (Hopefully with a salute for fighting the good fight. ) But I didn't know why I liked texture. I just did. I was hearing 'whisper, whisper' in the woods and tip-toeing toward joy.

Later, like a kid fingerpainting, I was digging how the abused bristles would separate, leaving striated drag marks. What would happened if I spun it? Zig-zagged it? Stabbed it on the canvas as if through a shower curtain? That was cool. I was putting energy out of my body and into the work. Giving it mojo. The marks had character. Added a rhythm. A trail. And most important, left a sign that a person was there making them. 'Whisper, Whisper.'

Many paintings later, I arrived at sort of a dry-brush attack with the tools, as can be seen in this early stage of my cover for 'Angel and Faith #2' for Dark Horse. The whisper was becoming more of a mumble, because, I noticed as I altered the direction of the bristles, the brushwork could dictate form. I was no longer making random marks and 'filling shit in'. I was consciously thinking about every stroke before I pulled it, and the consequences.

What was I doing? I was painting light and shadow over FORM, rather than just light and shadow shapes. There is a difference. Conscious stroke direction can do this. (The bonus of which is, if I let the strokes show through, I find I have to do LESS rendering in the final stages- The bristle striations do the heavy lifting.)

In this same cover, I was trying to replicate the etching lines of a USA dollar bill in the background. One line at a time. Not being much of a cross-hatcher back then, (Why do in 12 strokes of a pen what you can do in one stroke of brush?) it occurred to me that if I apply the same logic of brush-stroke-direction-dictating-form, to individual lines, I could get the same results.

Quickly, before the whisper faded, I drew something to cement it in my skull. The lines had little arrow heads and everything. It was swimming. In motion, while at the same time, frozen in time. Cool.

When that thing we've been glimpsing out of the corner of our eye- that thing we were scared would vanish if we looked too long, starts to solidify, starts to form words... we have to listen till our ears bleed.

Many more paintings and one week ago, I arrived at this self portrait. I think I am getting it.

I started with a ball point pen drawing, a road map for what was to come. Blasted it out with white FWink, (which had the happy accident of the ink bleeding.) Then did a crude brushy lay in of color/value to give me a base to build on. The fun came by finessing the hell out of it with Nikko nib/dip pens and more FWink.

The fear is overdoing it. We are told not to add too many lines to a drawing or it will be, gasp, 'overworked'. I've done it in black and white, it is a real fear. Death by a thousand stings.

But I have a theory: If I am working in zones of limited value ranges, I can put as many god damn lines as I damn well please. Life by a thousand lines.

Is it a painting? Is it a drawing? Is it both?

I don't know. I will have to dig deeper.

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

Possessed, Prolific, Talented - In That Order

-By Donato

Dungeons & Dragons Map    Donato Giancola     ~ 1984    24" x 18"   hand drawn 1/4" graph paper

Reviewing recent work for entry to Spectrum and reflecting upon the entirety of my studio creations within this past year, my thoughts drifted back to years long ago and the body of work I would create around specific themes and motivations.  With a little post-modern analysis and 20/20 hindsight, I can now see the work ethic and approaches I practiced back as a teenager structured my career to this day.

Star Wars-The Empire Strikes Back     Donato Giancola    1980   24" x 18"
A recent raiding trip to my parent's cellar allowed the recovery of a couple portfolios of drawings from periods of my artistic pastimes. As a teenager, I never considered myself an artist, nor did my friends identify me as one with a capital 'A'.  Rather, my talents for creative thinking and drawing were always harnessed to clarify stories or create vehicles through which story could be conveyed - drawing maps, castles, and dungeon descriptions for role-playing with Dungeons & Dragons, creating a rule system and accompanying charts for a science fiction game we called 'Omega Corps', and reinterpreting visuals from other works like the Star Wars universe.

Omega Corps Rules   Donato Giancola and Vincent Schelzo     ~ 1983   
Art was always a ritual around the transferal of narrative, never designed to make a 'statement' or celebrate a mere play of 'shape and form', art as an end unto itself.  Looking back now, it is easy to see why formal modern art has no power to hold me and why I seek to build greater complexity into the images and narratives emerging from my gesture drawings.

Speaking to the title of this post - Possessed, Prolific, Talent -I  wanted to share with you a small sample of the volume of material produced and passion I had with these forms of expression.  It was not just a developed or innate ability I had as a 'gifted' child which allowed me to succeed as an artist. Rather, I believe, it was the unstoppable desire to create, express and tell stories which propelled me to produce such a quantity of material that I am shocked, even now, at everything I produced.

Dungeons & Dragons Map    Donato Giancola     ~ 1984    24" x 18"
I was never bored as a child. My hands were never idle. Never.  From drawing stories and coloring with markers, to painting plastic model kits of dinosaurs and WWII aircraft, to attempting stop motion animation with my parents 8mm film camera, to painting lead figurines for D&D and creating dioramas out of them,  to creating science fiction starship cockpits with electric lights and dials, I cannot recall a single day of leisure.  For me, to play was thrilling, challenging, and full of pleasure and passion.  I had no inhibitions.  When I tackled projects for my games, I became Possessed.

It is for this reason I seek to channel those interests and ethics to this day, in service of my professional career as an artist.

Star Wars-The Empire Strikes Back     Donato Giancola    1980   24" x 18"
Certainly my ability to draw like nearly no others around me helped fuel my hobbies, but talent alone cannot explain the sheer quantity of art pasted through out this blog. And this is but a small, small part of my output as a teenager.  The prolific outpouring of visual imagery for so many of my interests nearly insured that my skills would be honed and matured, even if as an outside/self taught hobbyist artist.

My interest in expression was not satiated with initial success within an art form,  I would constantly revisit themes - exploring, adding, manipulating in an obsessive way.  I could not stop at making one dungeon map, I was constantly creating new adventures for my friends to play within so that in the end scores of handmade encounters and visuals were produced.  This obsessive nature carried over into nearly all creative endeavors I engaged in as a teenager.  I would guess that art saved my life, for what would this enormous energetic outpouring typically fuel? Violence?  Dissidence? Frustration?

Thankfully art was a massive pressure release value for teenage anxieties.

Dungeons & Dragons Map    Donato Giancola     ~ 1983    24" x 18"     hand drawn 1/4" graph paper
Assessing my output as a professional artist, I can see that formative years as an illustrator in the mid 1990's continued the productive level of creation I began in my teenage years and nurtured through my time at college. I was not exceptionally talented compared to the scores of artists working in the book cover and game industry, but rather believe much of my success has come from the tenacity to keep pushing through project after project, building new challenges into my portfolio, and attempting to be uninhibited in the types of content I seek to embrace.

I certainly stumbled many times with my rendering, style, and execution, but the large volume of output guaranteed a fair number of successes and nurtured confidence in my career.

When asked what is the best advice for artists, the answer is a simple one - be prolific.

I cannot teach talent, only help a bit in its development.

I cannot inspire an artist to fall passionately in love with their content, that can only come from the heart.

But what I have learned as a teacher working these past decades is that I can train and educate an artist how to be as prolific as possible - how to build upon their strengths, pry out their weaknesses, and bring challenges into their creative process so that they can mature their work ethic, and develop a high degree of confidence in their performance.

I have learned that building a stronger link between talent and passion through work ethic is the path to success as an artist.

Dungeons & Dragons Map    Donato Giancola     ~ 1985    8.5" x 11"
Dungeons & Dragons Map    Donato Giancola     ~ 1985    8.5" x 11"
Dungeons & Dragons Map    Donato Giancola     ~ 1985    8.5" x 11"
Dungeons & Dragons Map    Donato Giancola     ~ 1985    8.5" x 11"
Dungeons & Dragons Map    Donato Giancola     ~ 1985    8.5" x 11"
Dungeons & Dragons Map    Donato Giancola     ~ 1985    8.5" x 11"
Dungeons & Dragons Map    Donato Giancola     ~ 1985    8.5" x 11"
Dungeons & Dragons Map    Donato Giancola     ~ 1985    8.5" x 11"
Dungeons & Dragons Map    Donato Giancola     ~ 1985    8.5" x 11"
Dungeons & Dragons Castle    Donato Giancola     ~ 1984    24" x 18"     hand drawn 1/4" graph paper
Dungeons & Dragons Map    Donato Giancola     ~ 1981    24" x 18"     hand drawn 1/4" graph paper
Dungeons & Dragons Castle    Donato Giancola     ~ 1984    24" x 18"     hand drawn 1/4" graph paper
Dungeons & Dragons Castle    Donato Giancola     ~ 1984    24" x 18"     hand drawn 1/4" graph paper
Dungeons & Dragons Map    Donato Giancola     ~ 1982    24" x 18"     hand drawn 1/4" graph paper
Dungeons & Dragons Castle    Donato Giancola     ~ 1983    24" x 18"    hand drawn 1/4" graph paper
Dungeons & Dragons Map    Donato Giancola     ~ 1983    24" x 18"     hand drawn 1/4" graph paper
Dungeons & Dragons Map    Donato Giancola     ~ 1982    24" x 18"     hand drawn 1/4" graph paper
Omega Corps Rules   Donato Giancola  and Vincent Schelzo   ~ 1983   
Star Wars-The Empire Strikes Back     Donato Giancola    1980   24" x 18"
Star Wars-The Empire Strikes Back     Donato Giancola    1980   24" x 18"
Star Wars-The Empire Strikes Back     Donato Giancola    1980   24" x 18"
Star Wars-The Empire Strikes Back     Donato Giancola    1980   24" x 18"
Star Wars-The Empire Strikes Back     Donato Giancola    1980   24" x 18"
Star Wars-The Empire Strikes Back     Donato Giancola    1980   24" x 18"
Star Wars-The Empire Strikes Back     Donato Giancola    1980   24" x 18"