As someone easily driven to obsession, I have a lot of hobbies. Of the more esoteric are my loves of leatherworking, juggling, medieval armor and woodcarving. My roommate, luckily, hasn't yet discovered my box of rabbit pelts and tanned leather pieces, though I may have brought out my juggling balls in her presence once or twice now.
More traditionally, I love music, hiking, canoeing, drawing, sculpting, creative writing, video games, comics, and cartoons. I love to admire other's works of art and try to deconstruct them, reverse-engineer their process for reference in my own pieces. Among my most prized possessions is a signed figure sketch by the artist Tommy Castillo, whom I met when I was twelve at a small convention my parents took me to.
I remember showing him one of my drawings, and the first thing he told me was to stop drawing so stylized like I was and go to the basics: the figure, mastering anatomy. I tore out a page in my cheap sketchbook and watched as he effortlessly drew a figure for me: just a series of boxes and shapes, yet given life with such subtle lines. I asked him for an autograph and he cracked a joke that he'd given me plenty already, but signed the corner anyway. I left his booth, figure pressed in my sketchbook for safekeeping, and drew almost nothing but anatomy and figure sketches for the next eight years.
