Wicked Moon | About the Artist

	Jason Brown Wicked Moon Main Street Mareham-le-Fen Boston PE22 7QF UK 01507 568318 Outside UK +44 1507 568318
jason@wickedmoon.co.uk or dorokusai@geocities.com http://wickedmoon.co.uk Background. I was last working on Theme Hospital with Bullfrog/Electronic Arts. I do portraits for overseas and UK based domestic and commericial clients, greeting cards, magazine illustration and the odd logo. I started with the cover commission for Amiga Shopper and went on to do more for magazines under Future Publishing, including a few articles for the computer press under Future, EMAP and IDG Media.

Warning. Most of this was written years ago.

What do you do for a living? I draw.
You bloody well scan those bastards don't you?
Outline of a typical project - the Shakespeare fiasco.
Abducted by aliens! They sucked me dry and shaved me bald.
The sexy part where this bint gets her tits out.
Oh to be a Barman, that would be sweet.
My intimate details.
Some thoughts on how I work.
Heidi.
This is becoming a diary - the Return of Kung-fu Charlie.
Karate and philosophy
A family ripped apart! The seige of an EVIL cult.
The Christian, the Pagan and the 6,000 year old earth.
Further reading - life changing books.
Robert Anton Wilson and Dale Carnegie.
My school days.
My LSD experience - twisted visions of ancient gore fest death.
AVENGER - the world's best Bulletin Board System.

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What do you do for a living? I draw.

This is good. So I started up a line in sepia portraits which now sell around the world. I always keep my latest projects right here.

But who would want to do portraits all day. The remedy, do anything but. Like cartoons and little doodles or a holiday. One day soon I expect to be able to draw a pic, any pic, whatever I like, and have a guaranteed sale. This will be the pinacle of the Wicked Moon Empire.

The Wicked Moon Wicked Women is something I keep in the back of my mind as a future full time career. I saw this bloke on TV once who draws a nude and sells it just like that all because of his name. And sex is a great market.

When I'm sitting, like on the phone, pen in hand, I end up with some of my best designs. What Art Editor could have known, while talking to them, I was drawing the best pictures, better than any commission I'd ever done. There's some doodles in the Sketchpad at the bottom of the index page.

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You bloody well scan those bastards don't you?

People sometimes ask if my work is scanned. Amiga Format started the ball rolling when I won that months' Gallery prize - a Ł60 graphics tab. Something I'm still waiting to receive years later.

Uncle Bug

"Who could fail to be captivated by this alluring, homely and, ultimately, charming image. At first, we couldn't believe that this wasn't a scanned image. Subsequent scrupulous investigation revealed that it has indeed been created by hand. Hats off to Brendon, he's a star!" -- AF, September 1995

Apart from calling me by my address my work is indeed scanned.

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Outline of a typical project - the Shakespeare fiasco.

My first real commission came when Nick Aspell at Amiga Shopper got me to do their cover and a load of sepia art for breaking up the main feature in the mag. It was all done by modem, with roughs sent in for approval ending with the finished piece, Shakespeare himself, finally scanned, touched up and sent down the phone.

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My alien abduction - the evil from beyond the moon.

These events ruined my life. Not only was I impregnated but brainwashed by alien theology. I ended up drawing my horrific experiences. I'm saddened to think people regard this as a scam to increase publicity and help my alien artwork get published. They are sick people who gain their perverse pleasure by putting me down by saying I'm talking out of my arse.

And when at length he is aroused, then we shall mate

4th March 1996. Driving through the green belt, Guildford, Surrey, UK. Night-time. Aliens present.

What happened over those next forty minutes will forever plague my memory. Driving home with a couple of friends I glanced movement and turned to see the red glow vanish over a patch of woodland. It was no lump of rock, the thing travelled in a distinct arc, as if coming in to land, swirling earthwards before zapping straight down. And the speed it moved. Just a blur.
In true reconnaissance style I had the guys jogging through the trees after parking up, homing in like moths to the light ahead. Our hushed whispers fell coming out into an open glade, showered with cardinal hues. There it was, a UFO. A hulking metallic case, in stereotypical disc shape, atop a cloud of hissing steam screaming forth from under its belly. A slot facing us opened like liquid metal. I felt compelled to walk forward, vaguely aware of my friends whispered shouts to come back. But it was too late.
Already I had climbed the steps, striding inside a lacquered inner chamber, greeted by human spindly figures. All six of them were no taller than five feet. I was overcome with wild ideas about being connected in some evolutionary manner, what with their similar patterns: four bony limbs and facial features placed as ours.
One of the creatures, who could only have been female, judging by the three large nipples and groin crack, dragged me by the arm into a domed chamber, sparsely furnished with a central welcoming oval bed and a soft hazy light filtering in from above. Galactic jingles played. The door closed behind and we were left alone. It's funny, but I couldn't help feeling attracted towards her. The dark, large almond eyes, flickering with intelligence. I could only describe her features as beautiful, emphasised by her hairless knobbled head. She ambled forward with a smile playing across her face ripping it in two and kissed me with thin lips, gently leading me backwards till I stumbled spread-eagled upon the bed. I felt a powerful stirring in my loins, legs heavy as lead. Shaking like a leaf I was undressed and oiled by her learned hands. Her suckered self greasing palms moved in wide gestures over my torso, slowing to grope my groin with loving caresses. I was on fire. There was an intangible, intrinsic air of sensuality pulling me into its inviting depths. I was under her twisted control.
I tried to resist, but that made the excitement grow stronger. I found myself stroking the ripply smooth contours of her squirming, green lithe body, chaffing the nipples of her three breasts with the pad of my thumb. She was all sweaty. Sticky, stringy milk dribbled from the nipples then spurted onto my chin. I worked her swinging udders like a cow. Angling my mouth I gaped wide catching the shower and swallowed hard. It was like licking saliva from a school desk, but the taste was electrifying, a chilled soft drink on a long sundered, thirst filled summers day. I rubbed her elsewhere, searching for hidden glands and sugar and spice. Every crack and crevice explored with eager teen enthusiasm. Licking the rewards from slippery fingers.
I could see myself wriggling inside her body as her fulcrum grew translucent with alien orgasm. For the first time I witnessed the jelly fish antics pulsating around my manhood, her mechanisms of love sucking me dry and the sandpaper pubic mound nearly shaving me bald. Unforgiving heights of lustful desire, whirling uncontrollably, swathed in the emotional torrent. To top it off, I think that I'm the father of her sprog, part of a perverse interplanetary breeding campaign.

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Oh to be a Barman, that would be sweet.

Barnet is a themed, mini version of Fidonet, which is a message network not unlike Usenet. The Bar and Fido have echoes, whereas Usenet has newsgroups.

To be ordained as Barman of one of Barnet's echoes is a great honour. The ten or so positions are often fought over. I am pleased. I was promoted to the the status of Mars Barman. Marsbar, an echo devoted to aliens and philosophical chat, was always my ambition. But I got cast off into the crappy Fruity Bar (games and graphics) when Noid asked for the position first.

You'll find me whittering in the Bar under the guise of Maverick Dorokusai. It used to be just Maverick for many years, but I changed it for reasons which aren't important.

The Barnet website is maintained by Xerra at www.backyard.demon.co.uk/barnet.html.

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My intimate details.

In a sense you could say my birth date is intimate, yet so tenuous a link as to be disregarded as attention seeking nonsense.

Date of birth: 18 November 1974

Place of birth: A small hospital, now closed down, in Heanor, Derbyshire, England. My mother had her first turn at 7am and went into labour at 6pm. I popped out at 11.10pm.

Already my neurology was embedded with the creative potential to become a unique veritable God of artistic desire. My imagination was and is so great that it will take hundreds of years for my ideas to seep down into the glum structure of society where they will continue to be misinterpretted. The profound psychological structuring behind my creations ensures that I will be placed in history as one of the Great Minds. Both in illustration and philosophical circles.

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Interests - art

I'm not passionate about art but I have been known to be awake all night doodling. Well, twice. Ideally it remains a hobby, an interest, and not work. In this sense work is that hideous, twisted ideal that amounts to slavery. When you can call it play then you have succeeded.

Frustrated by lack of skill I sat down late one year and drew for months to loosen up my style. You'd find me copying the work of Bob Harvey in the legendary book Avenger and admiring Simon Bisley. What helped most, and I'd recommend this to other artists, is to copy the work of those artists you admire. It's like reading a book, what you read influences your own writing. Not just learning new words but absorbing all those subtleties that build up a style. For me all these other artists formed the recipe from which I could make something of my own. You weren't forever scrounging on the backs of what others had done, just using them as a springboard to better things.

I moved right away from the photorealistic style of Chris Achilleos and hardly ever used the airbrush I'd bought for Christmas. No longer would I chisel the edges and faff around with straight lines. It wasn't fun and anyway I was developing a style that everyone seemed to love, so what did I care. All that was left was to merge the artistic and business senses and get some money coming in.

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Heidi.

Thanks to my mate Heidi who's offered to give me a new computer! This will help smooth away the wrinkles of incompatibility. I still use an Amiga, but the new machine will mean much cheaper upgrading and access to all that software I've been hankering after.

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This is becoming a diary - the Return of Kung-fu Charlie.

I was deeply into the martial arts scene growing up and climbed the ranks with my friends till I reached Black Belt when I was about 16. I used to study Wado-ryu karate before moving away into digs at uni. Our ambition was the full box splits. The closer you got to spreading your legs the harder it got, so the splits often felt like a pipe dream even though by the end I was only a couple of inches away, which was good but it still hurt like hell. I needed more practice, but it wasn't to happen. Life came and left and the old dreams died, replaced by things more important. However I did manage the side splits after several weeks getting up on time and stretching till I developed red buns on my finger joints with all the friction on the carpet.

Philosophy - lightweights need not apply.

Areas of special interest would have to be neuroscience. Biofeedback, lucid dreaming, astral projection - anything to do with the mind.

"Inspired after some hacker said we'll always have book, implying an insurmountable wedge between books and computer.

"So take a merging of technologies. Imagine electronics embedded within books, forming micro-pixels within the surface of each page. Like a chameleon their pores open and close, forming words and pictures, meaning a book such as this can be programmed to display a myriad choices of author and storyline. A satellite antenna slid into the spine brings fresh data off the sat link. You can even follow op cits with the tap of a finger. A monitors screen brought into the confines and dusty book smell of the printed page, though there is no screen glare or low-dose radiation here.

"When I mentioned all this to a friend it turns out I had reinvented the wheel as this kind of thing has been estimated to be on the market within several years. Personally I can't wait for wallpaper that acts like a massive movie screen. And your book with machine intelligence housed in the spine and a movie playing on each page."

Internet Relay Chat.

You might find me, occasionally, at weekends, hanging out in #philosophy on the uk.undernet.org server.

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A family ripped apart! The seige of an EVIL cult.

I suppose my interest in why people believe the way they do comes from the fact my family was torn apart through belief when I was 15. An odd mixture, my father went further into his Paganism, using his vibrating crystals and subatomic particle beam accelerator for healing; my mother turned finally to the Christian God for help and found salvation through Jesus Christ our Lord; and my sister, who was taken by this "cult", could be described as a fundamentalist Christian, believing the earth to be 6,000 years old. And me? Well that's another story.

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Portraits, cartoons, caricatures, illustration and graphic design. Birthdays, anniversaries, pet portraits, web graphics, icons, logos, cards, web design etc etc. Tel Jason on 01507 568318 (outside UK +44 1507 568318)	Jason Brown, Wicked Moon, Main St, Mareham-le-Fen, Boston PE22 7QF, UK
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