posted: June 13, 2013

This is a selection of recent magazine covers I've been working on, along with some of the sketches and process that led to the final image.   The first, above, is for The Crisis, published by the NAACP.  The topic is gun violence in the Black community and what to do to stop it from within.  I went in number of directions as you can see in the sketches below but this one seemed to grab the viewer's attention most effectively.

This cover for JET magazine is on the epidemic of missing Black children and the media's lack of interest in following up on the stories.   JET took it upon themselves to create awareness.  So much so that the cover story ended up being featured on segments on CNN and other networks:

The last cover story is on the deportation of undocumented immigrants and those with permanent resident status that have settled in the country.   The main story deals with a man that was in the U.S. legally.  He had a permanent resident card and had been working in the country and raising a family.   He was accused of a crime and the law states that he had to be deported.  
I was a "resident alien" for about 12 years in the U.S. before I became a citizen.  Had no idea one could be deported for committing a crime while living here legally with a residency card.  There are many other complicated deportation cases discussed in the story.

This image was used as a full page in the Boston Law issue about deportation.  The image below ran as a spot in the same story.

posted: February 15, 2013

I was commissioned by The Los Angeles Times to create a series of images about violence in the entertainment industry and its link to the current gun control debate, to appear in the paper this weekend.  The stories ranged from the good aspects of violence on screen and theater, the psychological release of fantasy, to the negative aspects of gore, video games, and pop music lyrics.  It made for a strong topic to work with at length since it brings up so many issues.   Above is one of the main images and below are sketches and the rest of the entire series.  Thanks to art director Paul Gonzalez for the assignment.

posted: February 13, 2013

Here are a couple of recent paintings.  The top one is for a group show opening this Saturday, Feb. 16, 7-10pm. Gallery Nucleus, 210 East Main St., Alhambra. Please contact the gallery with inquiries: gallery@gallerynucleus.com.  Some details of the painting below.
 

This painting is a self portrait I was asked to contribute by TASCHEN for an upcoming book they're publishing titled 100 ILLUSTRATORS.  The portrait will accompany a selection of work by each artist in the book, which is edited by Steven Heller.  A two volumes hardcover in slipcase package, publishing date: Summer 2013.  Painting details below.

posted: January 21, 2013

I was asked to create an image for The New York Times Op-Ed page to coincide with today's inaugural. This is my contribution, appearing in today's paper. The story focuses on second inaugurals and how Obama's legacy will be cemented by the direction he takes the country in during the next four years.  The traffic signs came to mind as I thought about this theme.  It was great to see in the paper that, to go with the theme in the art, the editors went with the headline, "Are We There Yet?".  Very happy to have the work published on this day.   The article is online here

The art was published in color online at The New York Times website. 
I'd also like to add here the inaugural poem by Richard Blanco.  Being of similar immigrant Cuban background, my family was very proud that he was chosen to be this year's Inaugural poet.

One Today

One sun rose on us today, kindled over our shores,
peeking over the Smokies, greeting the faces
of the Great Lakes, spreading a simple truth
across the Great Plains, then charging across the Rockies.
One light, waking up rooftops, under each one, a story
told by our silent gestures moving behind windows.

My face, your face, millions of faces in morning's mirrors,
each one yawning to life, crescendoing into our day:
pencil-yellow school buses, the rhythm of traffic lights,
fruit stands: apples, limes, and oranges arrayed like rainbows
begging our praise. Silver trucks heavy with oil or paper-
bricks or milk, teeming over highways alongside us,
on our way to clean tables, read ledgers, or save lives-
to teach geometry, or ring-up groceries as my mother did
for twenty years, so I could write this poem.

All of us as vital as the one light we move through,
the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:
equations to solve, history to question, or atoms imagined,
the "I have a dream" we keep dreaming,
or the impossible vocabulary of sorrow that won't explain
the empty desks of twenty children marked absent
today, and forever. Many prayers, but one light
breathing color into stained glass windows,
life into the faces of bronze statues, warmth
onto the steps of our museums and park benches
as mothers watch children slide into the day.

One ground. Our ground, rooting us to every stalk
of corn, every head of wheat sown by sweat
and hands, hands gleaning coal or planting windmills
in deserts and hilltops that keep us warm, hands
digging trenches, routing pipes and cables, hands
as worn as my father's cutting sugarcane
so my brother and I could have books and shoes.

The dust of farms and deserts, cities and plains
mingled by one wind-our breath. Breathe. Hear it
through the day's gorgeous din of honking cabs,
buses launching down avenues, the symphony
of footsteps, guitars, and screeching subways,
the unexpected song bird on your clothes line.

Hear: squeaky playground swings, trains whistling,
or whispers across café tables, Hear: the doors we open
for each other all day, saying: hello, shalom,
buon giorno, howdy, namaste, or buenos días
in the language my mother taught me-in every language
spoken into one wind carrying our lives
without prejudice, as these words break from my lips.

One sky: since the Appalachians and Sierras claimed
their majesty, and the Mississippi and Colorado worked
their way to the sea. Thank the work of our hands:
weaving steel into bridges, finishing one more report
for the boss on time, stitching another wound
or uniform, the first brush stroke on a portrait,
or the last floor on the Freedom Tower
jutting into a sky that yields to our resilience.

One sky, toward which we sometimes lift our eyes
tired from work: some days guessing at the weather
of our lives, some days giving thanks for a love
that loves you back, sometimes praising a mother
who knew how to give, or forgiving a father
who couldn't give what you wanted.

We head home: through the gloss of rain or weight
of snow, or the plum blush of dusk, but always-home,
always under one sky, our sky. And always one moon
like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop
and every window, of one country-all of us-
facing the stars
hope-a new constellation
waiting for us to map it,
waiting for us to name it-together