There are so many talented and interesting artists in our group, and I consider it an honor to know most of them personally. Their stories are fascinating, surprising, and always very inspiring. One of our artists has been telling his story as a Cambodian refugee through incredibly beautiful, powerful illustrations. I am so moved by these very personal stories of his life expressed with such sensitivity– exposing the vulnerabilities, love, and challenges of his childhood.

Our artist wishes to remain anonymous, but I am so grateful he has agreed to share some of his illustrations with us. A select handful have been chosen and featured below. They provide insight into life as a refugee and describe hardships most of us can not imagine.

Page 4. Uprooted. This is the story of a family, my family, uprooted by war and shattered by violence. This is the story of our struggle to survive and my search for peace and meaning.

My family dispersed around the world seeking refuge where it was offered. Some prospered. Some did not. We are but only a small fraction of the millions of refugees around the world today trying to make a new home in unfamiliar and sometimes unfriendly environments.

Unlike an immigrant, who chooses to leave their country when they are ready, a refugee is forced to leave with little or no preparation. Surviving is not just about making a living and assimilating, but also about dealing with the aftermath of shock, trauma, broken families, and haunting memories.

I hope this story can help my family, myself and others move on from our pasts.

I hope I can help others overcome their inner turmoil, whether they’re a refugee from another country, an outcast in their own land, or abandoned by their own family. My message to them, to you, is to never give up.

Page 9b. Birthdate unknown. I was born on the floor of a bamboo hut around 4am in the year of the dragon in the 8th month. The exact day is unknown. They knew the month by the change in the seasons and crops. According to my mother, there were no calendars around, at least ones that were accessible to them. A couple of years before I was born, there was a civil war and the new regime relocated almost all of the country’s citizens into forced labor camps to produce rice. The workers were fed just a few bowls of watery rice porridge a day. Some vegetables were mixed in, but not enough. People were still hungry and many starved. Our camp was called Osalao (this is not the official spelling, just the phonetic spelling. I couldn’t find a record of it anywhere online. I will update as I learn more.) Osalao was a 2 hour walk from Battambang, the nearest major city. Another two-hour walk away was Moung, where my mother grew up.

According to my eldest brother, when my family arrived at the camp, the soldiers pointed to a plot of land and told us and other families in our group to build our own living quarters. They had no tools. The bamboo floors were uneven. They used leaves for the roofs. They had no nails. They used twine. He said that we used nets to keep the mosquitos out, but it only worked about 60% of the time. A hole was cut in the bamboo floor where the stove would be placed. Those who tried to cook on the bamboo burned their houses. He said the roof, surprisingly, did not leak. However, insects always came in through gaps in the walls.
My brother remembers that there were no medicine, no gloves, no doctors, no IV, no bed. He remembers that our mother was in a lot of excruciating pain. The worst pain you can imagine, he says. There was no light. They used a small lamp and or candles. They used hot water to sanitize things. Thank god there were no complications. I think it was a miracle and you are so blessed to be a healthy baby, he says.

My parents already had one daughter and two sons. I would be the fourth. I was too young to help with anything. What a burden I must have been. What a blessing my mother survived.

Page 9. Killing Fields. I don’t remember any of it. The very few memories I have of Cambodia luckily are only of random images of lying down on pebbles, swinging in a hammock, and standing naked in the rain. According to my family, they worked in the fields for nearly three years with no medical attention, medicine, and little food. They were served one bowl of watered-down rice a day per person. To stay live, people had to sneak into the woods to gather whatever food they could find such as frogs, turtles, crickets, other insects and honey at the risk of being caught and severely punished by the soldiers. Some like my youngest uncle were bitten by poisonous snakes or scorpions. From what I’ve read, the Khmer Rouge communist regime took over the country in 1974 and enlisted farmers and children to force it’s own people into labor camps and eliminate anyone who had an education, spoke foreign languages or believed in religion. Their motto was “To keep you is no benefit. To destroy you is no loss.” I just can’t imagine living without knowing when, how and if the suffering would end. I can’t imagine my mother and father trying to keep their four children alive. My three older siblings were barely 10 years old when they were sent to the fields. The exact death toll is uncertain. Estimates vary from 1 to 3 out of 7 million who died between 1974 and 1980. I lost a grandfather, two uncles, an aunt and a cousin.

Page 15. Fleeting moments. For a brief moment after we arrived in our new country and before being swallowed up by the urban jungle, my family shared these rare moments of joy at a large nearby park in Philadelphia called FDR park.

These were special moments before the stress of adjusting to a new land, language and life took it’s toll on our family relationships. These were the few times we were together before my father would be gone for most of our waking hours.

We found comfort in this park along with many other refugees. It reminded us of the land we left 8,000 miles away.

We picnicked here. We climbed trees and ate green crab apples with salt and chili pepper. One neighborhood friend from Laos gave me a chili pepper so hot, I almost fell off of the tree. We hunted for and played with lost and discarded tennis balls outside of the tennis courts.

There was also a small lake there. My brothers once caught a snapping turtle that they tossed back. We also skipped stones and fished there. My brothers and cousins were really good at fishing. We didn’t have any fishing poles or equipment. We used fishing lines people discarded and were half buried in the dirt near the edges of the lake. Some still had hooks attached. We used a tree branch for a pole, a twig as a floater and dug up the worms as bait. It worked. Sometimes we would cook the fish for dinner later that night.

I wish we had more of these moments in our lives.

Page 13c. Almost flushed down the toilet. I was 6 years old. I had just transferred from one South Philly elementary school to another. It was closer to home. This one was both an elementary and middle school. One day I got lost looking for the bathroom. I wandered down a long dimly lit hallway. Everything looked so big. I felt so small. I finally found the bathroom, but there were about 3 older, perhaps teenage, boys there. They gave me a funny look then quickly grabbed me, took me to a stall, held me upside down and threatened to flush me down the toilet. I saw the water swirling over and over just inches away from my nose. They kept flushing and flushing. I was terrified. I screamed, yelled and kicked. A couple of long minutes later, they let me down and I could hear them laughing as I ran out. I didn’t say anything to the school nor to my parents. I don’t know why I didn’t. I was just happy I escaped.

I would not always have such luck as I got older. I stood out. My siblings stood out. We looked different than the rest of the people in our neighborhood and city. We acted differently. We dressed differently. We were easy targets. We were small in number. We were the new minority.

I did nothing to deserve this. I’ve never met these boys and did no harm to them. This was random, but who cares, right? Looking back, it was probably just a prank. I just needed to suck it up and toughen up. What I went through paled in comparison to what my parents went through in the war and labor camps.

Page 14. My siblings and I didn’t have a lot of toys growing up. We didn’t celebrate birthdays either. We weren’t sad because of it. We made the most of what we had. We played hide-and-seek on the streets and hid under cars in the dark. We played with bottle caps and sticks. We climbed trees and trash picked. Sometimes finding treasures like this coloring book. One day when I was four or five years old, while wandering the streets barefoot as we usually did our first years here, I saw it sticking out of a trash bag. It was beautiful and there were unbelievably a few pages still left uncolored. I was so happy sitting there flipping through the pages. It was one of the best memories of my childhood.

Page 15b. A church in South Philadelphia called Calvary St. Paul sponsored my family to America from the refugee camps in Thailand. I remembered learning about Christianity on Saturday mornings. I learned about God, Adam, Eve, David, Moses, Jesus and more. My father was a janitor at the church. I remember playing the role of Elijah when I was about 5 or 6 years old. We stopped going to church when we moved to the Bronx a few years later, but these biblical stories stayed with me throughout my teenage years. This was the only consistent religious education I had. My mother was Buddhist, but by culture. She never explained fully what it meant and we did not go to any Buddhist temples. I tried reading about different religions, but I still found no answers. I continue to wrestle with my faith and spirituality.

Page 16c. Education was our main ticket out. Starting in middle school, we woke up at 6:30AM and rode the New York subways and buses 50 minutes and 11 miles away to a better school in a different borough. We took the D train at Kingsbridge Road in the Bronx, transferred to the B train in Harlem, and took the city bus across Central Park. We didn’t have time for breakfast and often fell asleep on the trains. I loved sleeping on the trains and somehow managed to never miss a stop. On good days I was able to ride with my older brother and best friend. We were not the only children doing this. There were many in New York, especially my Prep for Prep peers, doing the same thing and some commuting up to two hours each way. God bless them.

Page 16d. Roaches. Big roaches. Not the rice grain-sized ones, but the thumb-sized ones. The wide fat ones. The ones that can fly across a room. (Please do not read any further if you get squeamish). The ones that come back to life after being stepped on and thrown into the trash. New York roaches. Bronx roaches. They slowly invaded our apartment. Not just roaches, mice too. Not shy lab mice, but bold city thug mice that could jump a foot and a half high out of a bathtub, sit and watch tv in front of you, eat the rice in your rice bag and live in your sofa. We had traps, but they weren’t enough. One terrible day, I had to slowly squeeze the life out of one mice I caught inside our 50-lb bag of rice. If I tried to catch it on it’s way out of the bag, it would have escaped. It was a horrible feeling. A piece of me died that day and haunts me every time I think about it. I also remember my grandmother made some instant noodles and a bloated half inch roach floated to the top. I looked to her for advice. She said it was fine. She scooped out the roach and I ate the ramen. It was disgusting, but I was hungry.

These creatures came out in the middle of the night when we went to the bathroom and would scurry away when we turned on the light. I had a little heart attack with each encounter and the encounters became more and more frequent. No matter how many we killed, they just came back. The roaches crawled from under our hanging towels. It felt like we were living in a Hitchcock or Stephen King movie. I never saw my five foot nine 18-yr-old, stronger, older brother fly so fast out of bed in fear as when a roach flew at him while he was trying to sleep on the top bunk bed. Eventually we would get used to them. How can I hate them? They were trying to survive as much as we were.

Page 16h. Christmas. I was about 11, 12 or 13 years old. I don’t remember exactly. I don’t have pictures of it. It was a couple of weeks after Christmas, I found the top third of a broken fake Christmas tree near the garbage bags outside on the sidewalk and brought it upstairs. I stuck it in a can filled with loose change and or rice and decorated it. It was our first Christmas tree. My father was not religious. My mother did not grow up Christian.

In songs, on tv and in the movies, the Christmas tree was such a symbol of joy. I wanted to bring some of that joy to our apartment. My parents celebrated the Lunar New Year, which unfortunately was not as prevalent in the media so I didn’t really understand it.

Another year, I walked to a toy store one cold dark evening about a mile away to try to buy gifts for the first time for my siblings and parents. My sneakers were soaked and my toes frozen from the wet city snow. We didn’t have boots.
Once in the store, I must have walked down every aisle four or five times trying to figure out what I could buy for $10 for my family. Unfortunately, not much.

I finally settled for a bingo game, not a fancy one, just one made of perforated paper that you had to rip up yourself. The other board games like Monopoly, Life or Chutes and Ladders would’ve been great for all of us, but it was more than $10.
That night, since the bingo game was so small, I decided to just give it to my younger sibling instead of giving to all of my siblings.

He was so happy. Later that night, he gave me something. I was surprised since we didn’t have much and I didn’t think he went to the store. He was still too young. I didn’t even expect him to give anything back.I unwrapped it and it was the bingo game I had just given him earlier. We opened it that night and played with it. For a brief moment we felt the spirit.
After that, Christmas never caught on in our household. We didn’t exchange gifts much.

Page 17b. Gifted. In the middle of my fourth grade my family moved from South Philadelphia to the Bronx and I attended P.S. (Public School) 246. My older brother was accepted to the 5th/6th grade gifted class taught by Mrs. Marlene Losak. I did not get accepted into the program until I was in 6th grade and my younger brother was accepted a few years later. There were many people who had an impact on my life, but if there was one who had the greatest impact on my family, it was Mrs. Losak. She believed in us. She pushed us. She loved us. She was a Jewish woman who didn’t care what ethnicity, religion, or from what socioeconomic background we, her students, were. She only wanted to show us how much greater we could become. Though we were considered the gifted students, it truly took a gifted teacher to see and cultivate the gift in her students. I visited her almost every year from 7th grade to college just to say thank you and give her a big hug. Since college, I’ve thought about her every year and dreamed about how I could repay her back. I dreamed about paying for a vacation for her, or a starting a scholarship in her name or something to say thank you. I was waiting until I was rich and successful. I was waiting until I finished this illustration. Unfortunately I waited too long. I got a message from my brother yesterday that she just passed away on June 5th and my heart sank. I miss you, Mrs. Losak and I/we love/loved you very much. I wish you knew how much you did for us. I would not be here today if it wasn’t for you.

Page 18h. Forgotten Valor. During my elementary and middle school years, I learned on TV, in magazines and in movies, about so many great citizens who contributed to America from the founding fathers to Martin Luther King, Jr., but there was so little mention of Asian American or Latino/Hispanic American citizens.

In my senior year of High School, I signed up for an independent study class so I could focus on Asian American history. The local public library, at that time, had only a handful of books about the subject. What little information I was exposed to made me want to learn more.

Throughout the course, I discovered so many amazing stories about the contributions made by Asian Americans and the challenges they faced from being interned to being excluded from immigration. My studies also exposed me to other citizens who contributed despite being casted aside by their fellow countrymen, such as the African American Tuskegee Airmen, who, though segregated and discriminated against, fought for America during World War II.

I was never more into my studies than at this time and for this class. I eagerly shared these stories with my family, friends and anyone willing to listen.

In terms of Asian America, some of my favorite stories were of the Chinese Americans who helped build the Transcontinental railroad in the 1860s, the Filipinos who arrived in Louisiana in the 1760s, and especially the 442nd Regiment. In short, the 442nd were comprised of Japanese American soldiers who were one of the most highly decorated regiments in WWII. Ironically, while they were helping to rescue Jews who were interned in Nazi concentration camps overseas, their families were being wrongfully imprisoned in internment camps in their homeland of America. These were stories we didn’t hear about.

Through my new lens, I could see how this mis– or lack of representation could affect people’s opinion of others. This was around the time the popular reality police show, COPS, was on TV. It kept showing a disproportionate amount of videos of black people being arrested. My mother watched it so much she even knew the theme song, “Bad Boys, bad boys, what cha gonna do when they come for you…” I would tell my mother to not stereotype people based on what she saw on TV. I talked to her about MLK and many others who fought for our rights.

It’s interesting how communities can be ignored and silenced, almost erased from history. All of us have faced struggles including early European American immigrants. We take it for granted that the truth will prevail and that everyone’s interested in the truth. Unfortunately, that’s not the case. One has to proactively fight for, cherish, share, teach, and celebrate our contributions. We should remember the sacrifices and honor the valor of all immigrants and citizens who came before us.

Page 18i. Great divide. My parents grew up in Cambodia. Their parents grew up in China. My siblings and I grew up in America. We were three different generations who grew up in 3 different countries, each with it’s own different language and culture.

My parents did not speak English well, the official language of America, where we moved to when I was three years old. They sent me and my siblings to learn Mandarin Chinese on Saturdays for a couple of years, but at home, my parents spoke Khmer and a little bit of a few different other dialects of Chinese, like Diojiu (Teochew) and Cantonese.

Over time, their English did not get much better nor did my fluency in their languages. In school, I would have to take Latin and French classes too — two more languages they didn’t know.

We grew apart. We would try to communicate, but our discussions became more and more shallow. We knew less and less about each other. We did not go deep into topics. I wish I could’ve told them more about all the things I was going through, all the things I was learning and all the questions I had. I did not have the vocabulary to do so.

If language was a key to another’s heart and mind, we were both locking each other out. I was losing touch with my parents’ culture.

My parents’ customs at home were different than that of my teachers’ and classmates’ customs at school. At home, making eye contact was considered rude. We did not debate with or challenge authority. We did not show our emotions. We hardly said, “I love you” or gave hugs.

My parents grew up on farms in a third world country an ocean away. I was growing up in a major city in a first world superpower country. Though we lived under the same roof, we were worlds apart.

Page 19b. Dad. Didn’t see him much. He worked a lot. He was born in Cambodia, came to America when he was 33 and raised 5 of us kids with little to minimal knowledge of English. He speaks a few dialects of Chinese, Cambodian (Khmer), some Vietnamese and Thai. We are refugees, which are different from immigrants. Refugees usually flee a war or disaster and do not know which country they will be sent to. Immigrants usually choose a country and are mentally, academically and somewhat financially prepared. We were not. My father was the eldest of about 10 siblings. His family was separated in the war. His siblings and parents ended up in France along with his parents, except for one brother, who lived in Queens. My father did the best he could. In New York, he worked late and didn’t come home until after 10, 11 and sometimes later.

On his way home one night, he was attacked and hospitalized for days. In another incident, he was chased on foot by a carjacker and shot at, but luckily wasn’t hit. These are just a few of the stories.

My mother always told me that I looked and acted like him, a person she was always at odds with. At some point she couldn’t wait up for him as often anymore. She had to wake up early to get our breakfast ready so she asked me to wait up for him and I did. He would come home so late, there wouldn’t be parking available on the streets. There were too many tenants in too many buildings in a small area and hardly any parking lots nearby. He would have to circle around over and over so much that he would forget where he parked. In the morning, he would send my poor older brother to find his car. I wanted to spend time with him so I went with him to deliver groceries. Sometimes he’d go up into the building and I would wait in the car. On some of the deliveries, I would wait for a long time, to the point where I just wanted to ditch the car and run home. Since there was no parking, he had to double park. My job was to make sure we didn’t get a ticket.

My brother said he carried me on his back, when I was about 3 years old, the whole time we were escaping the war in Cambodia. Thank you dad, I owe you my life.

Page 20. Failure. Many, many times I’ve failed. Whether it’s trying out for a sports team, applying for a job, running for a leadership position, helping a loved one through difficult times, making and keeping friends, I’ve failed. It hurts. It’s painful. You just have to learn from the experience, pick up the pieces and move on. Surround yourself with loving and supportive people. Seek them out. To them, I owe all my success.
 

Contributions to (no name) Art Group

2004 Light A Candle | View full project >

‘The Grasshopper & The Ants’

2003 Bookmark Project
View full project >

“Why didn’t you collect a store of food for the winter?” “The fact is,” replied the grasshopper,“I was so busy playing that i hadn’t the time.”

— An Aesop Fable

 

Wine Label for
2010 The Art of Giving
View full project >

Artist Making A Difference

Robert continues his art and has recently finished a 2 month artist in residency at Arts Alive/Words Alive Gallery. Robert’s delightful illustrations of the beloveth Sesame Street characters and other story book classics – including Aesop’s Fables and nursery rhymes are joyful and inspiring to children and adults alike. His years as a professional illustrator enable him to present his art work in great detail so that his illustrations appear animated. Robert’s illustrations offer a glimpse into the world of imagination that children can relate to.

A few fun illustrations from Robert’s portfolio…

Robert Dennis was born in upstate Pennsylvania. His first interests were in comic book art and cartooning. His family moved to Delaware where he attended the Delaware Art Center. He graduated from the Philadelphia College of Art (now University of the Arts). After graduation he worked in television and retail advertising. Then as a freelance artist, he worked in children’s publishing and advertising. He was an illustrator for Sesame Street and Electric Factory Magazines and was a member of Moon Studio. He taught illustration on a college level and worked as a staff artist for KYW-TV and Center City Film and Video Productions, Inc. Robert lives in Philadelphia, with his wife Rhea and their very bad rescue dog Petey.

e, the magnificent.

e holds a BFA in graphic design and art history from Moore College of Art & Design and an MFA in Creative Writing and Book Art from Mills College. For over 15 years e has worked as both a print and web designer for companies like Anthropologie and Gap Inc. while also serving as professor of Graphic Design and Book Art in various college and university art departments. Her work has been published in 500 Handmade Books: Inspiring Interpretations of a Timeless Form, by Lark Books and 1,000 Artists’ Books: Exploring the Book as Art by Sandra Salamony.

Selected book publications, a full article in The Philadelphia Inquirer, and featured artist in Anthropologie. See, we told you she was awesome! More press here >

What we would like to add…

• e currently lives in California, although the East Coast wants her back
• e’s handmade journals are incredible, and we think everybody should have one. Check out her roughdRAftbooks shop here >
• e is VP on our board, and a most fabulous social media manager. All those cool captions and images on our Instagram? That’s e! She also is available for brainstorming and troubleshooting our projects at all hours of the day.
• e traveled to Hoi An and taught a bookmaking workshop for (no name) Art Group >
• e loves a good homemade bread, she refuses to wear matching socks. She loves road trips, TREES, calm people and nice squirrels.

 

north american tree series made for Anthropologie stores during fall 2011 and were an edition of 2,500. Read more >

Just a few of the many handmade fine art books by e. We chose to highlight her rock books, of course. Give yourself a treat and view her full nature-inspired collection here >

e’s Latest Project! Each week e creates a drawn, painted, scribbled, printed, collaged, doodled, sewn on, altered book . Follow along on Instagram @eisroughdraft, check out the project hashtag #52originalroughdrAftbooks

 

e bond makes digital spaces by day, handmade books by night, hangs out with trees on weekends and writes something close to poems in the spaces between. Under the studio name roughdrAftbooks—created in 2003—she makes one-of-a-kind artists books, printed pieces and drawings that merge and blur the boundaries of art, craft, design and poetry.

artist + educator + writer + bookbinder + designer

Check out more of e’s work here:

Website: http://ebondwork.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/roughdrAftbooks/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/eisroughdraft/

Thank you e Bond for all the beautiful things you put into the world!

Some of e’s contributions to (no name) Art Group projects…

Our group has oodles of talent, and with Earth Day around the corner we’d like to highlight a very special one!

This “no name” artist sure has made a name for herself. Sculpture artist Sandra Webberking of Springfield PA has been with the group since 1999. Her contributions, have been some of our most memorable (and definitely largest!) works of art. Sandra hasn’t painted a rock, but she sure is a rock star! She is an eco-minded artist and every piece is filled with passion and love. You can find her installations in local restaurants, streets and, gardens throughout the area.

Donation for (no name) Art Group Bookmark Project 2003, fundraiser for First Book Literacy Program in Philadelphia.

Atlantic City Waterfront Sculpture Walk

Catfish bike rack in East Falls, Philadelphia

Her latest work include breathtaking fire sculptures made from recycled propane tanks. Just in time for summer, the sea creature series includes mermaids, jellyfish, and seahorses.  More >

Sandra says…

Being an avid gardener, it seems natural that I gravitated toward creating whimsical sculptures for the garden I spend so much of my free time in. I value the process of finding objects, listening to their story and reincarnating them into the creatures they will become. Nature is a profound source of inspiration to me and my work. I am especially inspired by the wonderful rhythm and lines of trees and their branches –they are purposeful with the space they take up.

I believe in preserving out natural resources and for this reason I recycle whenever possible. We live in such a disposable age and as a reaction to that I am trying to show that reusing is not only environmentally friendly, but it is also fun. Often times the finding of the objects, is as much fun as making the piece.

You can check out all of Sandra’s work here, and catch her on the road full schedule:

Website: http://sandrawebberking.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pg/sandrawebberkingoriginals/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/sandywebberking/

Thanks Sandra for all you’ve done for our group! You’re an inspiration to us all!

It is with regret we announce the loss of (no name) Art Group member, Phillip Bowman. Phillip was our oldest member. Although he was a very private man, his work was strongly represented by his loving daughter,  Courtney Bowman, who is also a (no name) Art Group member. They participated together in The Art Of Giving from 2010-2012, and also the Earth Day Fundraiser 2013. Please take a moment to have a look at his website to acknowledge his life and work here: http://phillipbowman.com/.

Courtney with Phillip’s artwork at the 2005 Fall Auction Fundraiser

We send our deepest condolences to Courtney and her family. We are so grateful that you have shared his work with us!

Life

Phillip Bowman grew up on Long Island, NY. Beginning at an early age, and with no formal training, he carefully and dutifully crafted a distinct, engaging style that remains as unconventional as it is intriguing.

His dream of being a New York City cartoonist led him to take jobs in the art departments of several companies. Although he never worked as an artist by trade, Mr. Bowman used every spare moment of his life to paint and draw. Whether filling the pages of sketchpads in his car between errands or using the back of a cigarette box in Paris as a canvas for inspiration, Mr. Bowman always found a way to create.

Over the years, his paintings have been successfully displayed and sold at many venues, including the New York City Center Gallery, the Hilda Carmel Gallery, the Lynn Kottler Galleries, the Waverly Gallery, the Avanti Galleries, the Gilbert Stuart Studios, and the JMS Gallery, to name a few.

An intensely private man, Mr. Bowman has never actively sought public acclaim or recognition. In recent years, however, he has found a new desire to share his work with others; to give the world a glimpse inside his head. The artist’s vast body of work can be seen by appointment.

Style

Phillip Bowman’s work reflects his preferences for prominent color and for visual freedom over adhering to rigid technical skill. Throughout the last few decades, his approach to the canvas has ranged from classical to cartoon-like; earlier works are characterized by the use of dark colors and thicker lines, giving way to vibrant colors and minimized lines in later works.

While he does not limit himself in subject matter, Mr. Bowman often chooses to portray people. The composition of his work – never predictable – always includes the “uncommonly common.” His pieces, even when they embody the simplest subject matter, are powerful in their ability to evoke both the comic and the deep.

He continues to produce compelling work from his studio, and remains ardently dedicated, not to crafting a marketable formula, but rather to continuing the search to expand his abilities and explore the uncharted boundaries of his talent.

Phillip’ artwork used in (no name) Art Group Fundraisers:

www.phillipbowman.com

Last year, (no name) Art Group pulled together funds to financially assist a member in their creative dreams. The top prize was awarded to Christina Hess who requested funds for travel to Spectrum Live in Kansas City. Below is Christina’s blog about her experience, a huge thank you to everyone who gave her a hand!
2011 (no name) Art Group Grant Contest

Christina’s Blog

“On May 16 I left for Spectrum Live, an illustration convention focusing on science fiction and fantasy art.  It was a long 20 hour drive but Dominick Saponaro and I made it to Kansas City MO, ready for the show.  With the help of the (no name) Art Group grant I was able to travel and prepare accordingly.  It helped me create numerous items to showcase and sell. 

Some of these items were hand bound journals, hand made jewelry boxes, packaged prints of different sizes, necklace pendants and earrings.  I had framed prints to showcase my illustration, post cards, bookmarks, my hardback portfolio as well as small oil paintings for sale.  It was the first convention I took part in so it was a new experience.  

The preparation took much more time than I anticipated.  I predominately illustrate digitally so working with my hands was very satisfying.  My favorite project to work on was the jewelry boxes.  I featured my grant image on one of the boxes, which sold.  I bought unfinished jewelry boxes and adhered my images to them.  Staining, Polying, gluing organic paper and gold leaf was only the beginning.  

I took this collage technique into my final stage of the grant piece.  My “Protect” piece created for (no name) was printed and adhered to a 12″x12″ raised panel.  I then used metallic paint, oil paint, varnish and sheer ribbon for collage.  I then framed it in a floater and treated the edges of both the frame and the painting with a metallic modeling rub.  In low light the gold leaf shines beautifully!  It was so much fun to do and I got a lot of positive feedback on the technique.  My only regret is that I didn’t work bigger! Click here to read more about the technique.

Having funding from (no name) Art Group made it possible!  I could prepare and create many more items than I originally anticipated.  I also was able to receive funds from Moore College, where I teach part time, to support some additional expenses.  My goal was to experience the convention scene and connect with new faces as well as reconnect with others in the illustration industry.  I was so fortunate to be located near some fantastic artists who I had a chance to befriend.  Armand Baltazar and Iain McCaig were among some of the talent.  I was humbled and so fortunate to meet them.  It was well worth the time and I will be doing this again next year with some modifications.  My personal and professional goal was met and I came out happy and more experienced!

Some of these items are for sale on my etsy store!
Feel free to stop by and visit!  *****10% off for reading this!  Just enter the code noname*****

Now, what do I want to create for the wine label…”

Christina Hess has been a valuable member of (no name) Art Group since 2007. We wish her luck in her future endeavors and ask that you please join us in supporting Christina in her latest KICKSTARTER PROJECT- Animals In History! Check out the FANTASTIC video made by Christina below reminding us how wonderful it feels when we embrace our imagination!

Support Christina’s Kickstarter Project Click Here

25% of the proceeds are donated to Big Cat Rescue.

About Christina Hess:

“I work as an illustrator and designer in the publishing industry. I like to draw ornate things. I like to paint stories with ornate things. I like the word “intricate” which I was chastised for liking many moons ago at yearbook camp. That’s right….yearbook camp.

In addition to my clientele I have been published in several annuals and competitions such as (no name) art group grant, Phillustration 4, Spectrum 18, Spectrum 19 and Exotique 7, Silver Award for Self Promo category in the Society of Illustrators 50 LA, Expose 10 and 3×3 Magazine.

In my free time I cook, eat and talk to animals including my muse, Roscoe the basset hound.”

Christina’s Website

Christina’s Blog

Christina’s Etsy Online Store

Christina’s previous (no name) Art Group Artwork includes 2007 Memory Portraits, 2010 and 2011 The Art Of Giving, 2011 Memory Portrait (not shown for child privacy reasons)

When I think of why I started the (no name) Art Group, Jeff McCloskey is one of the first artists to come to mind. I worked along side Jeffrey (as I think only I refer to him as) at KYW-TV in Philadelphia from 1996-2002. I was fascinated by his cluttered desk and love for Frank Zappa, and even more fascinated by the world of talent he encompassed under all that hair.

↑ secretly collected sketches from kyw

Focusing on the process rather than the end product, Jeff makes art for arts sake, and has fun doing it. At his work station Jeff surrounded himself with multicolored markers, pencils, pens, whimsical doodles, plastic bugs, rubber lizards, robots, coffee mugs, and about a million other unrelated random objects. It was like a crazy mad science lab with each item arranged in some kind of organized chaos that could only be deciphered by Jeffrey. You could find him working quietly in this little world, concentrating on his next masterpiece. It was this kind of pure energy I wanted the group to support, and it was artists like Jeffrey who I wanted to share with the world. I remember Jeffrey eagerly taking up the first project back in 1999, and he has gladly accepted every project since (with the exception of the Vietnamese portraits– a gals only project). Every piece of art he created was imaginative and experimental, varying in styles from traditional graphite to digital. And one more note that is not unnoticed, Jeffrey’s art always meets the deadline! (hint hint, other artists)

Jeff has recently illustrated his first children’s book. As a lover of animals “Not A Used Dog, At All” was a perfect fit, and the illustrations reflect Jeff’s love and care for life on our planet. All profits from this book will be donated to animal rescue and shelter groups. It is now sold online at Amazon.

I am honored to have such a great artist and person in our group. Jeff continues to support the group (and me!) not only with his art, but his positive attitude and encouraging words. Thank you Jeffrey!

Jeff’s Bio

Jeff McCloskey is an Emmy winning graphic designer and graduate of the Art Institute of Philadelphia, has been designing and animating graphics for television since 1986. He recently illustrated a children’s book about adopting shelter dogs called “Not a Used Dog, At All” for author and co-worker Carol Erickson. Jeff currently works and lives in Philadelphia with his wife Lori and their 2 dogs and 4 cats.

This month, I’d like to take a moment to acknowledge (no name) artist Cathey White. I met Cathey in college, oh so long ago. Immediately I knew there were 2 things I loved about Cathey– 1) her sense of humor 2) her funky artistic style. Cathey is the kind of person that when I look at her I just start to laugh, because I know she’s gonna say something funny, with witty comments to make light of any situation.

↑ print from magic box archives

But all laughing aside, this woman is an amazing artist. She has a style that is urban, gritty and fresh at the same time. She can accurately capture a person or object, then eloquently stylizes them with a color palette and design to make it truly hers. I’ve always admired her style and have gathered her sketches on random everyday objects throughout our school years. I’ve kept paper plates, erasers and napkins with some very  fantastic doodles from Cathey. They’re safely kept in my “magic box”. The box where I keep all my inspiring art.

Cathey has participated in every (no name) Art Group project since 1999 (12 projects total!). The only other  artist who has done that is myself, but that’s because I have to of course! I’m grateful for her dedication to the group. She not only creates great art, she also makes a significant contribution in the marketing and promotions of each project. She’s an artist that truly cares about the world, and she is a defining member of our group. On behalf of (no name) Art Group, thank you Cathey!

Cathey’s Bio

Cathey White is an artist, educator and native of Philadelphia. She received a BFA from Moore College of Art and Design in 1996. Cathey makes work that inspires people from every cultural, ethnic and economic background. She remains consistently inspired by her urban environment and the beauty that can be found within it.

“Art should be for everyone. It is one thing that can bring us back to our childhood, the one place we never hesitated to be ourselves.”  ~ Cathey White

Cathey’s (no name) Artwork

More About Cathey & Singlehandedink
singlehandedink is an urban inspired line of home acccesories and gift items. Each piece is one-of-a-kind and hand spray painted by Philadelphia based artist M.Cathleen White.

Click here for more info/custom orders