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Eric Huebsch lives in Los Angeles, but he first became preoccupied with sex and animals while riding his BMX through the Illinois woods as a boy and accidentally lighting fields on fire. He told us that the whole struggling artist thing truly blows: “I was almost in tears driving to REI for that first day.” We wanted to put our favorites of his drawings in the magazine, but Pac Man-style ghosts with dicks and clouds of birds escaping from tizzied pussies keep magazines out of bookstores. (We sorta feel like sellouts for this, so please don’t bring it up.) That’s not to say we don’t love his stuff that’s in here, however. It’s just tamer.
Huebsch is from a Midwestern, middle-class, white background. He’s not a pro surfer. He doesn’t tag or DJ. No nickname. It’s hard to be marketable when you’ve got no street cred.
His drawings are hilarious. They’re wholly degraded, but a playful innocence remains somehow. They’re either pokingly mischievous or entirely deadpan; I can’t tell really. This confusion brings an overriding eeriness to his work. Is he joking? Is it earnest commentary? Is he just some fucking weirdo that really thinks about this shit? Can you help but not be excited for a group of runners celebrating a win under a bone-nana tree?
One of his drawings appears on a Jack Spade bag this spring and the others are available from New Image Art Gallery in LA. Huebsch and his lady make arty home furnishings, too. Some of their vintage latch hook rugs will be in the July/August issue of Metropolitan Home, which, we’re told, is a pretty big deal. |
"Happy Holidays Cassanova"
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"Hey Bear, Let's Wrassel"
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www.newimageartgallery.com/seedspreaders.html
www.boobooandfifihijinx.com |
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