Hi there, I'm Jane Mattimoe.

- 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 collaborate on comics with my friend Julian Rowe(I write the jokes and he draws them)! Check for our blog of cartoons rejected by The New Yorker in the links section!

-I'm a watercolor artist who focuses on landscapes and portraiture.

-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
New poster with remnants of one of the only one of my old posters that didn’t get stolen!  @julianjulianrowe claims to have seen one hanging in someone’s home !

New poster with remnants of one of the only one of my old posters that didn’t get stolen! @julianjulianrowe claims to have seen one hanging in someone’s home !

Thursday, April 17, 2014
mikedevine:

“@HuffingtonPost: Outback Steakhouse Partners With NSA. Develops “Loomin Onion” Entrée.”

mikedevine:

@HuffingtonPost: Outback Steakhouse Partners With NSA. Develops “Loomin Onion” Entrée.”

This was in the restroom at the nypl…

This was in the restroom at the nypl…

Wednesday, April 16, 2014
George Booth told me I had perfect hair yesterday, so I took a bathroom selfie last night to commemorate it/show my mom. Selfie as myself!!

George Booth told me I had perfect hair yesterday, so I took a bathroom selfie last night to commemorate it/show my mom. Selfie as myself!!

I was perusing a massive Taschen coffee table book about Max Beckmann today, and I was struck by this self portrait that he did when he was sixteen. It looks nothing like his later work, and yet you can tell that he was the one who painted it.
Beckmann had such a force to him— his paintings were an effort to understand the world and himself, such as Flannery O’Connor wrote “to know what [she thought].”
We (who are lucky enough to have functioning eyes) are constantly viewing, but I think it’s a mostly (and mercifully) blind sort of vision. We can’t absorb every detail at once— we’d be overwhelmed. Seeing the whole versus the minutiae saves us from panic attacks.
Painting is a manual and physical manifestation of our perception. The painter can’t paint every last detail, but they have to see it all, and then filter and present them in a way that is viewable (a coherent form vs. a Frankenstein of parts). I guess the best analogy I can come up with is a horse with blinders. The job of the artist is to remove the peripheral details so as to bring clarity to the subject at hand.
Looking through the book, his post-war painting broke dramatically from his more painterly early work, and it was like a blindfold had been removed. Suddenly, he saw. He had been looking through the lenses of other artists (I wish I could find the quote where he talked about finding himself between Cezanne and Van Gogh, but only through his own discovery on his path to his own vision), but eventually found Beckmann.

I was perusing a massive Taschen coffee table book about Max Beckmann today, and I was struck by this self portrait that he did when he was sixteen. It looks nothing like his later work, and yet you can tell that he was the one who painted it.

Beckmann had such a force to him— his paintings were an effort to understand the world and himself, such as Flannery O’Connor wrote “to know what [she thought].”

We (who are lucky enough to have functioning eyes) are constantly viewing, but I think it’s a mostly (and mercifully) blind sort of vision. We can’t absorb every detail at once— we’d be overwhelmed. Seeing the whole versus the minutiae saves us from panic attacks.

Painting is a manual and physical manifestation of our perception. The painter can’t paint every last detail, but they have to see it all, and then filter and present them in a way that is viewable (a coherent form vs. a Frankenstein of parts). I guess the best analogy I can come up with is a horse with blinders. The job of the artist is to remove the peripheral details so as to bring clarity to the subject at hand.

Looking through the book, his post-war painting broke dramatically from his more painterly early work, and it was like a blindfold had been removed. Suddenly, he saw. He had been looking through the lenses of other artists (I wish I could find the quote where he talked about finding himself between Cezanne and Van Gogh, but only through his own discovery on his path to his own vision), but eventually found Beckmann.

thelandofmaps:

The contour of some American states form a Chef carrying a tray of fried chicken [1005x703]CLICK HERE FOR MORE MAPS!thelandofmaps.tumblr.com

thelandofmaps:

The contour of some American states form a Chef carrying a tray of fried chicken [1005x703]
CLICK HERE FOR MORE MAPS!
thelandofmaps.tumblr.com

Tuesday, April 15, 2014
How does he get away with this? And so effortlessly???

How does he get away with this? And so effortlessly???

Okay, so I went to the goddamn Yale Club again for some arts panel thingy, and the last time I went to the bathroom there, it took me five minutes to figure out how to escape the stall, because the locks look like they belong on safes and possibly require the usage of a stethoscope to crack them open. This time, I Houdini-ed my way out of the bathroom stall just fine, but when I went to wash my hands, I reached for what I thought was some shitty giant container of soap, which, upon pumping, I discovered was a form of generic Listerine mouthwash. It went all over the place, and confused me so much that I just left, my hands smelling strongly of mint (mint-handed? freshly minted?) . I feel really terrible for not cleaning it up, but I panicked! Why are people gargling mouthwash there anyways? Gross. This has been an angry internet rant. Thank you.

So I went into The New Yorker today, and I spotted an elderly gentleman sitting in a corner of the room where the cartoonists wait for their inevitable rejection by Bob. I was going to compliment him on his red letterman jacket, when I noticed that the name Booth was stitched in script across his breast pocket.

It was George Booth. My hero since forever, who is basically the reason I wanted to do cartoons. I do not get starstruck easily—as it turns out, it’s only around 90 something year old cartoonists (oh, and Bryan Ferry).

I awkwardly stared at him, and then thought to introduce myself,when he said, “You have perfect hair. I’m going to draw it into one of my cartoons.” I think that’s when my brain catapulted out of my skull and I turned into a blithering idiot (not a stretch of a transformation for me…).

Though most of his characters are kinda wretched, so I am not sure what he meant by my hair being “perfect.”  Anyways, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Monday, April 14, 2014
My latest business venture…

My latest business venture…

 
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