Amazing Friend.

Nightcrawler from Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends.

I remember as a little person way back in the 1980s watching Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends. To be quite honest, I wasn’t really impressed with Spider-Man back then and didn’t fall in love with the character until the second season of the 90s animated series. But I liked his Amazing friends. Back then, I didn’t know what a mutant or an X-Man was, but I knew Iceman and Firestar were more interesting to me than Spider-Man.

Then came the X-Men episode. It was love at first sight. I didn’t see the X-Men again until The Pride of the X-Men came out on VHS in the early 90s, but that one episode had me hooked!!! And one X-Man in particular always stuck with me.

Nightcrawler.

That one small appearance in that short episode started a lifelong love for the character. I remember as a kid sticking jump ropes down the back of my pants and pretending to have a tail, but I don’t remember if it was because of him, or my young soul’s anticipation of a character like him.

Fast forward.

Nightcrawler has been an inspiration to me in my life, in my art, and now, in my first cosplay.

It seems fitting that the character that brought out so much joy and imagination in me as a kid would do the same for me as an adult.

As I’m piecing together my parts and outfit to bring the character to life for Hero Gala, I can’t help but feel excited, anxious,  and extremely validated.

Nightcrawler has indeed, been an Amazing lifelong friend.

Road to Hero Gala: Tally Marks.

Life was relatively easy up to my 29th year on this planet. That’s when my dad got really sick. After having a stroke and having his lungs worked out from cancer, he needed someone to come take care of him. So, in August of my 29th year of life, that’s what I did. In September, I had my 30th birthday. My dad told me if it had been anything but his wind, he’d be able to fight, but days after my 30th birthday, be passed. Every year after that was a tally mark of how many years it had been since he moved on. Each September came with dred and anxiety.  That is, until my 40th birthday I had thought turning 40 would be hard, but the opposite is true. Turning felt like getting a new start. 41 didn’t come with the same anxiety I had had in my 30s. But 42 comes with something I haven’t had in years. Excitement. Having this party, dressing up, the idea of seeing friends and family and reuniting with people I haven’t seen in years brings me a joy that I have never felt with an upcoming birthday. This journey to the Hero Gala has given me hope, and is getting me through some tough days. I still miss my dad, and I will still at any random time cry like a baby over his passing, though my missing him will no longer be a dark cloud over my Septembers.  No more marking pain. Now we mark the days until joy!

The Road to the Gala

So… It’s getting real now.

I put my deposit down on the venue for the party, which puts me in no turning back territory.

The space was the first I had in mind, it fit my vision, and turned out to be pretty much what I was looking for.

I’ve worked in banquet and catering, so I’ve been a part of event planning and set up, but I’ve never done anything like this for myself.

It’s a little scary, and exciting, and I feel like this is bringing out a part of me that I’ve been needing.

A me that just says, fuck it! Let’s just do it!

I’m giving myself permission to do the things I’ve always wanted to do, and this one party is a big step in doing that.

So, here we go… The countdown is real! 80 days!

Creation

I suppose where I am right now is expressing what it feels like to create things. This one was very much a trust the process thing, but not in the way it usually is. The artwork started out strong, and there was never a point where I felt it wouldn’t turn out good. The process was more of an internal thing for me. Understanding this thing I was creating. Understanding that it wasn’t about death, pain, or sadness, but about art and creation taking root and springing forth as a sublime thing. Sometimes I work to create what is in my head, but this time, I was creating a thing, and the work was to understand it.

-Daniel J. James-

Creative Burst!

For a while now I’ve been on this journey to bring authenticity into my art, but admittedly, even I wasn’t 100% sure what that meant. I just knew that I was on on a journey to find parts of myself that were missing. I’ve been looking for passion, and joy, and truth that I’d been missing it.

I’d been trying to draw out something within myself and failing at it. But I know not that even failing is good and part of the journey. Because in failing, I’ve still been trying, and working, and building.

In the absence of joy, I’ve been practicing skill. In my want for passion, I’ve been acquiring technique. In my search to truth, I found grace.

This journey is of course a lifelong one, and every road is different. Falling back on the familiar road can help to keep moving, but trotting a different road brings with it new knowledge.

The key to this journey has been to keep moving. Even when lost. Even when confused. Even when tired. Sometimes the cycle was rest, cry, and throw things, but at some point come back to it.

I think in this new artwork, I’ve truly found a lot of what I’ve been looking, and the funny thing is, it’s made up of a work I did while on the journey to get to this piece.

It’s simple.

But it speaks loudly with my authentic voice.

-Daniel J. James-

Art by Daniel J. James

Hope lost…

So… I drew this a little time ago. The last couple years I’ve been content. I’ve been in a okay place mentally and generally happy. But what I hadn’t been is hopeful. Being hopeful was something that was defining for me for most of my life. But life be lifeing, and hope became painful. It’s only recently that I’ve began to feel hope in a way that feels encouraging again. In that, I drew this to process what losing hope felt like for me​. I’m regaining parts of myself I felt were pulled away, and hope is starting to feel normal again.

Wanna See?

I met a young lady the other night. 

She and I are supposed to go out this evening, but I may have to cancel, because my eyes have been bothering me really bad lately.

On top of that, I’ve been having nightmares again.

They slowed down for a bit, but then they started again the other night.

It was the witch again.

The first time I saw her, she was a young woman reading from her twisted spell book.

She wanted to stop, but once the book took a hold of her, there was no letting go until the spell she was looking for found her.

The next time I saw her, her face was wicked and gaunt, with big eyes that sunk into her head and greying skin that hung from her face. She approached a boy as he walked home late one night, her horrid face hidden from him under a dark hood. With a crackling voice she asked, “Have you ever seen a kidney?” and when he answered “No” she replied, “I’ll show you yours.” and she ripped her hand into his body and rummaged around until she found  what she was looking for; a kidney wet and warm for her to swallow for her vile spell. 

The next time I saw her, she was eating a man’s liver; she plucked it out of his body while he screamed and she swallowed it whole. Before she did her dark work she had asked him a question too, “Have you even seen a liver?” to which he replied “No.” and she offered to show him his before she relieved him of it. 

Time passed before I saw the witch in my dreams again. 

Then came the night I heard her cracking voice ask “Have you ever seen a heart?”. The woman tried to run when she saw the witch’s face, but the witch’s arms were too long and she grabbed and dragged the woman back. “Yes! Yes, I’ve seen a heart!” she screamed! The witch just laughed, “Would you like to see yours?” and pulled the pumping heart from the woman’s chest and swallowed it whole. 

I’ve decided it’s worse to just sit here ruminating over old dreams, so I put in some eye drops, get myself ready, and go out to spend some time with a pretty girl. We go to the Harvest Carnival that’s here for the week. Lots of people in costumes and something about that makes me uncomfortable.  Especially the person in the black robe that keeps following us. Everywhere we go I see them, but their face is never clear. 

I’m feeling more and more uneasy. 

I have an idea.

“Hey, let’s go on a ride. Do you like the ferries wheel?”

“Sure, let’s go!”

The line is a bit long, but it feels open and safe with so many people around. While we wait we exchange stories of battle scars. She tells me of the car accident where she lost her sister, and I tell her of the surgeries that saved my sight. 

Up on the slow spinning ride, I can see the robed figure still lurking. I thought I’d feel better up here, but now I feel like a sitting duck.

“Are you okay? You look a bit sick.”

I appreciate her concern, but it also makes me feel embarrassed that I’ve become so visibly worried. So I lie.

“I’m fine. Must be the corndog.”

“Well hopefully we don’t have to take you to the doctor. I hate doctors. Doctors murdered my sister.”

“I thought you said it was a car crash.”

“The crash was the catalyst. It was the harvesting that followed that killed her. She wanted to live, but they said so did the others. So they lied and said she was a donor. But she’ll return soon. That is a promise.”

I feel immensely sick. I want off this ride!

I feel frozen now as her gaze is fixed upon me and I can see myself reflected in her stare.

She smiles.

“Hmm… Have you ever seen such beautiful eyes?”

Art and story by Daniel J. James

41

Sooo… it’s my Birthday.

Usually my birthday comes with some kind of emotion or anxiety, or feelings of some sort.

But not this year.

This year I feel hopeful.

This year I feel a little more steady.

And honestly, this year I have a few less fucks to give (which is a good thing).

I feel more ready to lose.

I feel more comfortable with a win.

I feel like like I want that authenticity more, and I’m more clear on what that means for me.

So… Happy Birthday to Me!

Excited to see what another year brings.

Let it go…

Dear Black Women. Dear Black People. Dear World.

It’s okay to let it go.

The pain and the trauma and the hurt that someone else gave to you, it’s alright to release it and lay it down.

I’ve been seeing this a lot as of late. The Universe is not only giving permission, but it is in need of people, especially Black Women, to let go of the pain they’ve been holding on to like a dear treasure.

This is not a call to forget, and it’s damn sure not a call to forgive, but it is a call to freedom.

That cage that someone, or something, or some happening put you in, that is not your home.

Do what you have to do to heal, for your own sake.

Not because someone needs you to be better, or because someone else needs you to be your best you.

Heal because you deserve to be your best you, for YOU.

Heal because you deserve all the light, and love, and joy that this world has to offer, and you deserve to grab on to all the goodness with both hands, but you have to empty it of that thing you’re holding on to, to fully grasp the goodness.

It’s not your fault, but it is your responsibility to get help.

Talk about it.

Stop protecting the ones who gave you hurt.

Go to therapy.

Pray.

Meditate.

Drink water.

Eat good food.

Take your medication.

Tell your story.

Be free.

Honeybee

Art, Story, and Characters by Daniel J. James

Start from the beginning. 1800 and something. Her name was Abini. She was a theoarm in the line of Iago, like Niel. She is remembered. I can see her now, where it started, her thick dark hair tamed into a braided bun. Her eyes like the calm before the storm. The wide nose that is common in the Donovan family. She is remembered…