Hi there, I'm Jane Mattimoe. This is where I go to work out my thoughts.

- I post a lot of my original art work on here, because the alternative would be pulling a Goya, and wallpapering my house with it.

-I'm a painter and a cartoonist who is always up for commissioned work!

-I write about my adventures (which usually involve music, art, and New York City).

-Currently attempting to write a novel (don't ask about it...).

-I like creative punctuation;

-I am physically incapable of getting a tan.

-I moved to Manhattan on two days' notice.

-But now I live in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

mattijanemoe@gmail.com
Thought I’d try meditation -which track should I choose?

Thought I’d try meditation -which track should I choose?

Thursday, August 21, 2014




When a researcher at a medical study called me up to ask if I’d volunteer to be a paid guinea pig, one of the first questions they asked me was whether or not I happen to be claustrophobic. I answered, “Haha, of course not. How could I live in this city and not be able to handle tiny, cramped, dark, terrifying spaces?!!”
The experiment would involve me having a two-hour MRI scan while solving puzzles. Depending on my puzzle-solving abilities, I could make up to $125 for about two hours of work. I figured there were worse ways to spend an afternoon.
Upon arriving at the center, I was handed a tiny cup, and asked to provide a urine sample, which a research assistant then used to perform a pregnancy test. He informed me that I was not with child. This was no surprise to me, but he said, “You never know.”
I mused that it would be horrible to find out that you were pregnant while you were in the process of pimping out your body for science—if you were relying on medical studies for cash, you probably weren’t in a good position to be providing for a child. The 22-year-old research assistant walked ahead of me in what appeared to be $500 shoes and said, “Oh, I don’t think most people do medical tests for the money!”
I was then asked if I had metal inside of my body or any tattoos. Apparently, certain kinds of metal (which are found in the ink of older tattoos) can become extremely hot inside the MRI machine (which is essentially a giant magnet), to the point of bursting into flames. I was starting to get nervous about the test.
After answering a million more questions, I was brought to the freezing cold testing room. My legs were swaddled in blankets, as they were outside of the machine —“You see! It’s not like a coffin! Your legs don’t go inside!” My head was strapped into a strange Darth Vader-like helmet, and as I was slowly backed into the machine, I was asked to try not to move for the next two hours.
For the first half hour, I was told to keep my eyes shut while the machine made all of the noises found in this clip of Tom Cruise’s 2005 version of War of the Worlds. Once that stage ended, a voice came in over the intercom inquiring whether or not I had fallen asleep. I had not.
The next phase of the study involved me staring at a blank screen for a half hour. Though the first chunk of time in the machine, eyes closed, was unpleasant, at least I  wasn’t focused on the (lack) of space surrounding me. As I frantically looked around the inside of my futuristic space encasing, trying not to hyperventilate, I began to realize that maybe I was a little claustrophobic after all. More terrifying sounds washed around me as I attempted to think of puppies while wondering if the researchers would be able to hear me if I started to scream.
Finally, they were satisfied with the preliminary images of my brain, and it was time for me to solve puzzles. The study offered a baseline pay of $75, and depending on how many puzzles you solved, you could receive up to $125. Despite wondering if I was dying/spending the final half hour crying from fear, I was pleased to discover that I had done well enough to earn $123.75, and in completing this test, was qualified to take another one worth $1000.
Would I try to make a living off of medical studies? Hell no. I recently rejected a study which offered me a month’s rent to test out a new strain of antibiotics (a side effect which included death). But then again, there was another time when I rejected a full-time position as an office assistant at a law firm that specialized in defending people who collected child pornography. Until I can find a steadier gig, I’d rather hustle like a street (or in my case, lab) rat than be an actual rat. As long as there’s a roof over my head and I can make my art, life is alright.

When a researcher at a medical study called me up to ask if I’d volunteer to be a paid guinea pig, one of the first questions they asked me was whether or not I happen to be claustrophobic. I answered, “Haha, of course not. How could I live in this city and not be able to handle tiny, cramped, dark, terrifying spaces?!!”

The experiment would involve me having a two-hour MRI scan while solving puzzles. Depending on my puzzle-solving abilities, I could make up to $125 for about two hours of work. I figured there were worse ways to spend an afternoon.

Upon arriving at the center, I was handed a tiny cup, and asked to provide a urine sample, which a research assistant then used to perform a pregnancy test. He informed me that I was not with child. This was no surprise to me, but he said, “You never know.”

I mused that it would be horrible to find out that you were pregnant while you were in the process of pimping out your body for science—if you were relying on medical studies for cash, you probably weren’t in a good position to be providing for a child. The 22-year-old research assistant walked ahead of me in what appeared to be $500 shoes and said, “Oh, I don’t think most people do medical tests for the money!”

I was then asked if I had metal inside of my body or any tattoos. Apparently, certain kinds of metal (which are found in the ink of older tattoos) can become extremely hot inside the MRI machine (which is essentially a giant magnet), to the point of bursting into flames. I was starting to get nervous about the test.

After answering a million more questions, I was brought to the freezing cold testing room. My legs were swaddled in blankets, as they were outside of the machine —“You see! It’s not like a coffin! Your legs don’t go inside!” My head was strapped into a strange Darth Vader-like helmet, and as I was slowly backed into the machine, I was asked to try not to move for the next two hours.

For the first half hour, I was told to keep my eyes shut while the machine made all of the noises found in this clip of Tom Cruise’s 2005 version of War of the Worlds. Once that stage ended, a voice came in over the intercom inquiring whether or not I had fallen asleep. I had not.

The next phase of the study involved me staring at a blank screen for a half hour. Though the first chunk of time in the machine, eyes closed, was unpleasant, at least I  wasn’t focused on the (lack) of space surrounding me. As I frantically looked around the inside of my futuristic space encasing, trying not to hyperventilate, I began to realize that maybe I was a little claustrophobic after all. More terrifying sounds washed around me as I attempted to think of puppies while wondering if the researchers would be able to hear me if I started to scream.

Finally, they were satisfied with the preliminary images of my brain, and it was time for me to solve puzzles. The study offered a baseline pay of $75, and depending on how many puzzles you solved, you could receive up to $125. Despite wondering if I was dying/spending the final half hour crying from fear, I was pleased to discover that I had done well enough to earn $123.75, and in completing this test, was qualified to take another one worth $1000.

Would I try to make a living off of medical studies? Hell no. I recently rejected a study which offered me a month’s rent to test out a new strain of antibiotics (a side effect which included death). But then again, there was another time when I rejected a full-time position as an office assistant at a law firm that specialized in defending people who collected child pornography. Until I can find a steadier gig, I’d rather hustle like a street (or in my case, lab) rat than be an actual rat. As long as there’s a roof over my head and I can make my art, life is alright.

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

"Where’s Barry? He’s supposed to drive us to space!"

My older brother said he’d give me a dollar if I finished this comick.

My older brother said he’d give me a dollar if I finished this comick.

Here’s a makeup tip! (Probably not going to finish drawing this haha )

Here’s a makeup tip! (Probably not going to finish drawing this haha )

Tuesday, August 19, 2014
This looks like something safe to shove in my ear

This looks like something safe to shove in my ear

Monday, August 18, 2014

d0gbl0g:

bonaventure-:

have you guys seen sanrio puroland’s vine its. its something

2 good

This is a dream come true!

Log In - The New York Times

Finally! Some answers! One of my favorite neighborhood mysteries.

Painted a sweet lil baby doogle named Strider. Watercolors + gouache. 16 x 20 in (mug for scale, support your public library!). The darkest color that I used was Indigo.

Painted a sweet lil baby doogle named Strider. Watercolors + gouache. 16 x 20 in (mug for scale, support your public library!). The darkest color that I used was Indigo.

Currently watering my roommate’s plants for her. I don’t understand how anyone was able to live off of gardening (thinking of Victory Gardens and the like). Her raspberry plant yields 4 berries per week, and her grape vine won’t produce anything until next year (!). Also, I was told that I was allowed to let her tomato plant die, because apparently it is only able to create one tomato per season (which was unceremoniously gnawed on by a squirrel/ I feel bad for it, so I’m still watering it). I’m sure people had more plants in their garden if they were using them to supplement their diet (they had to because come on), but how many?

Being in charge of her plants is terrifying, because I’m pretty sure I have a black thumb (not just from spilling ink all over my hands all the time). All of my plants (since college at least), have been named Horace Mann (seemed like a solid guy, education reform and all that, plus I’m sure people were probably jerks to him and called him “horse man” behind his back). After the death of poor Horace Mann IV a couple years ago, all of my plants have since been “Horace Mann IV,” because it’s starting to get embarrassing (and okay, maybe I didn’t bother to learn Roman Numerals in the second grade).

Anyways, I even managed to kill a pansy plant last winter, which was devastating, because they are known to be one of the hardiest plants around. I tried keeping it in my window, because it was too cold out, but I guess it didn’t get much direct sunlight.Terrible.

I should be working on a pet portrait right now, and a tote bag commission, plus this week’s comics, and also applying for more jobs (I keep getting told specifically that I’m really good at writing cover letters and being brought in, and then they actually look at my resume, and I’m just kinda there like, “heyyyy”), which is why I’m writing about plants (I think I write faster than I can think, so it’s not even a good time-consuming form of procrastination).

I dunno, this past week has been a bummer in general, and I just want to melt into a puddle, which is why I think (massive mostly nonsensical jump in thought), it is necessary to keep my roommate’s poor tomato plant alive, at least until she gets back and quits watering it herself. It (not going to risk naming the poor plant) deserves a chance.

Sunday, August 17, 2014
We getting dere. Has a weird Van Gogh vibe right now. Also It’s 16x20 in, which is massive for a dog face!

We getting dere. Has a weird Van Gogh vibe right now. Also It’s 16x20 in, which is massive for a dog face!

Initial stages of a pet portrait that I’m working on. Thought it looked kinda cool like this.

Initial stages of a pet portrait that I’m working on. Thought it looked kinda cool like this.

Saturday, August 16, 2014

Hate hate hate that this song is still applicable to current events.

Nina Simone, Mississippi Goddam.

 
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