Here are some sites I have found inspirational, and which are worth your time.

1.
You've heard of Steampunk? Well, Dieselpunk is sort of the same deal, only glorifying the uh... gloriousness that is early 20th century modernism.

2.
You know what this is? It's the Google Art Project. And it's brilliant. Thousands of hi-resolution images of artwork from around the world, taking in hundreds of art collections. You can zoom WAY in close to works of art and see the very brush strokes of the masters. It is the best time-sink on the internet. Go there. Go there now.

3.
For years now, I've followed the good people at Lines and Colors. One of the best jumping off points to artwork out there.

4.
Retronaut. What are you waiting for? 

5.
I've got a wicked love of bleakness and nihilism. Here's a fun little site that scratches that itch: End of Being.
More to come later. Follow the links.

For some reason, I find it incredibly difficult to switch back and forth between modes of expression. For example, if I'm on a poetry-writing kick it's rare that I draw; if I'm working on a painting I'll seldom write poetry. It's not that I'm not always doing SOMETHING, but I can't seem to do more than one thing at a time.

I wonder why? 

Guerrilla Sketching

I'm in the habit of secretly sketching people in public places. I like the idea of catching people when they are acting completely naturally and are totally unposed. Creepy? Maybe. Instructive and fun? Absolutely.

Cherry Blossoms, Oil on Canvas, 2012

Camposanto

You are an old, brown photograph.
From the foot of your bed
I look down at you,
     we are silent and stare
into each others' eyes
  I see every part of you
and I remember

your black hair and the hats you wore
the flowers you stuck in them
in your Papa's fields those long summers

the white dress at your quinceniera
how they looked at you
the flowers in your hands
coy pride in your dark eyes
 Beautiful me, your eyes said and
looked down at your hands and
flowers, raised them to your chest
lowered your head to smell

Papa's guarded jita at school
the pencil in your hand
hard at your lessons

the Sisters make you speak and write only in English
  but they do not hear you in the yards
or at home, you thought with pride
the little furrow between your eyebrows
on unlined skin

your voice raised at play
with the other girls in the yard
or on the dusty road home
your Spanish songs wove through picket fences
and fell to the ground like ribbons

the cold air came and took your songs
and you took to rest in your bed of earth
where I see you now.
You should be a grandmother.

The good people at Mutant Root online gallery have some of my work up. Follow this link and be unsettled!

http://www.mutantroot.com/gallery-2/michael-ellis