Monday, October 20, 2014

Some Basics About Publishing Part 3


by Arnie Fenner

A literary agent: do you need one to sell your art (or illustrated) book to a publisher?


No.


But you might wish you did.


Remember my much-repeated caveat: publishing is personal. It requires not only of a nuts-and-bolts understanding of the industry, but also relies upon feelings, intuition, gut instincts, and relationships. A good agent (as I mentioned in my previous post) takes their client in hand, helps them craft and refine their project—whether it's a simple proposal or outline or the entire thing—and figures out who might provide the best home for that book. The agent uses their experience, their knowledge, and their relationships to determine which publishers to approach: they knock on the doors (and know which doors to knock on), they make the pitches, they deal with—and learn from—the rejections, and move on to the next likely candidate. They repeat the process until they make the sale. The agent is the author's (that's you) advisor, their pep squad, their bodyguard, and their sales force.


Agents work on commission (plus variable expenses directly incurred on their client's behalf, like postage, Xeroxes®, etc.): they get paid when they sell a book and the client gets paid. General advice is to run away from any agent who wants to charge a fee to represent you. How much do they get? It can vary, but the industry standard is 15% of the total income for the book before taxes: that includes 15% of the advance, 15% of any future royalties if the book earns out, and 15% of any options by or sales to a third party of film, TV, or other entertainment rights. Agents routinely receive a 20% commission for foreign rights sales.


It might seem like a big bite of the sandwich, but they earn it, particularly when it comes down to negotiations and contracts. Remember that it is in their best interest to get you the best deal—and the most money—for your work. The happier you are, the happier everyone is. The more you make, the more they make.


Book contracts are much more complicated than a standard purchase order or rights agreement for an art assignment. Much more. And while a lawyer can help decipher a book contract and point out some of the clauses to think about, it takes someone who thoroughly understands the process and the reasoning behind the document to advise as to the best course. I've seen lawyers (including those who practice in the realms of copyright and intellectual properties) unfamiliar with the nuances of publishing standard practices screw up a deal—and subsequently screw their clients—because they didn't understand how things worked. They didn't understand the financial realities, they didn't understand subsidiary rights, they didn't understand the risks. They didn't understand the personal aspect of publishing. (And, to be perfectly fair, I know agents who have botched otherwise great deals by making egregious demands, much to the sorrow of their clients.)




Above: There are a number of things that Alan Moore has expressed his unhappiness about regarding his past relationship with DC Comics and Watchmen, but it's his inability to get the publishing rights back that has caused some of his harshest comments. Apparently one of the clauses of his contract allows DC to continue to be the graphic novel's publisher for as long as they keep it in print and abide by the terms of the agreement. Since Watchmen continues to sell like gangbusters, the only recourse Moore really has is to let everyone know he's pissed while cashing the large royalty checks.

Similarly there are stories of creators who signed contracts without the advice of either an agent or a lawyer and wind up unhappy as a result. Not because of anything unscrupulous or underhanded in the construct, but simply because they didn't fully understand the totality of what they were agreeing to. Alan Moore's expressions of displeasure about his Watchmen graphic novel being turned into a film and his inability to make DC Comics relinquish the publishing rights regularly gets the internet buzzing, but…you can't negotiate the terms of a contract after you've already signed it. As long as the publisher continues to hold up their end of the agreement, for however long the contract is in effect, complaints are pretty empty.


Knowledge and experience are invaluable and both are precisely what a good agent brings to the table.


And the difference between an art rep and a literary agent? Besides that an art rep's commission tends to be anywhere from 25% to 50% of the artist's paycheck? Well, the art rep's expertise (speaking with illustration in mind and not those of a gallery rep or business manager) is in securing work for the artist to complete for a client; it's a very straightforward transaction that begins with the job and pretty much ends with the approval of the art and the payment of a purchase order. The art rep tries to satisfy the artist and the client; in disputes the client (the customer) is often "right"—because the art rep wants to continue to get work for their artists from that client. Though there are always exceptions, art reps aren't usually experienced (or concerned) with creator copyright, intellectual properties, contracts, licensing, and subsidiary rights.


With a literary agent, you are the client and the "product" and the breadwinner and the reason; you are who they're looking out for and they're your first line of defense in any disputes.


As I mentioned, you don't have to have an agent to sell your book to a publisher. But if you don't, be prepared to do everything an agent does while creating your work.

SFWA (the Science Fiction Writers of America) has a thorough and incredibly helpful article discussing the pros and cons for authors (and, yes, that's what your title will be if you sell a book) working with agents as well as a multitude of links to resources to help you find your way through the publishing forest. Hit the the link and dive in.





Above: Not an art book, but an example of how things work in publishing. Doubleday paid Stephen King an advance of $2500 for his first novel, Carrie. As part of the contract, Doubleday shared in any income from the sale of subsidiary rights to a third party. When NAL bought paperback rights for $400,000 King (who was living in a trailer at the time) got $200,000 and Doubleday got the same. Similarly when it was optioned for a film King and Doubleday split the movie money, too. It's misunderstood when King mentions selling the film rights to Doubleday for $2500; while technically true (assigning rights was part of the original deal), he definitely received 50% of everything the publisher received when the film was made, which was significantly more than $2500.


Contracts, Advances, & Royalties


This is really the barest of bare bones simply because book contracts and moola are, as I mentioned above, complicated. Also not much is set in stone: like any agreement, most (not all) parts of a contract are negotiable, and that includes the money. What both sides agree and put their John Hancocks to is what becomes enforceable: up until everybody signs on the dotted line, it's all just talk.


A publishing contract is not merely an agreement for you to sell your book and someone to publish it; there are numerous clauses covering rights, assertions, limitations, and conditions. There are protections for you and you'd better believe their are protections for the publisher. Compensation is always spelled out as are the rights being purchased. Publishers routinely share in film/television sales (if they happen) and it's not unusual for them to share in other licensing rights, depending on the terms negotiated. There are assertions of ownership (you are the creator of the work and/or are the copyright owner of same), deadlines for delivery, what exactly you'll be delivering, where and how any disputes will be adjudicated, and clauses of liability and indemnity (which puts you on the hook if the publisher gets sued for publishing your book). And that's just part of what a contract includes—and it's all written by lawyers, which means the language can sometimes be indecipherable. (I've dealt with a lot of contracts through the years and I usually have to read them three times, then ask for help.) Regardless of whether you have an agent or are flying solo, read everything and don't sign anything you don't understand. Questions are expected and asking questions, as many as need asking, is not a sin.


As part of the acquisition process publishers do what's known as a profit-and-loss projection. Basically it is what-if accounting: we want to do this book, what's it going to cost us to secure the rights, what are all the costs associated with with producing it (cover art, printing, distribution, and some sort of breakdown that includes the salaries of the editor, art director, and everyone else involved), what will it cost to promote it, what will it cost to distribute it, how many do we think we can sell in the first 12 months, what's our break-even point, how much will publishing this book (if it sells) put in the bank account, etc., etc., etc. Risks vs. rewards. The advance offered is based on projected earnings based on this P&L analysis. The size of the advance depends on how well the publisher thinks the book will sell, how much they want to publish it, and how much the author is willing to accept in order to enter the agreement.

How do you get paid for your book? In essence you are licensing your work to the publisher and in return for that license you will be paid a royalty for each copy they sell. The amount of the royalty can be negotiated and can be tiered (increased) to correspond with success: the more books that sell, the bigger the percentage of profits the author shares in. A normal royalty is 8%, but 10% to 15% aren't uncommon, with the higher percentage usually reserved for better known creators. Different formats (like paperbacks or e-books) can come with a different (usually lower) rate. What that royalty is actually generated from is also part of the contract negotiations, but standard practice is for the royalty to be based on the publisher's net receipts, not the gross. Meaning that the royalty is based on what the book actually sold for to wholesalers and retailers, not the full listed retail price; the publisher's negative costs (their overhead) are also factored into the accounting when determining royalty payments.

Figure it this way: a book retails for $10. The standard direct discount to a small bookseller is 40%; larger retailers can negotiate deeper discounts and receive discounts of anywhere from 50% to 65%. The distributor has to get a percentage of that sale in order to get the books in the marketplace, let's say 10%. So for a large sale to a major account—a Barnes & Noble say or an Amazon—the publisher get's $2.50 per copy sold. (And, of course, the book business allows returns which permits sellers to receive credit for unsold titles.) From that $2.50 the publisher has to pay all of their negative expenses: printing, advertising, salaries, rent, electricity, and everything else associated with running a business, plus the author's royalties. Each book has its own budget and each has to carry its own weight. The margins are pretty narrow: publishing is an aggregate business, which is why publishers produce a lot of titles.

There are stories of novice publishers without much money who paid royalties based on the straight retail price of their book (or game) and sadly learned why experienced publishers…don't. Some artists have waxed nostalgic about "the good ol' days" when they were receiving five-figure royalties on a game card image (and will unhappily talk about current rates and policies) without realizing that the practice didn't last because it drove the naive publishers to the brink of—if not into—bankruptcy and led to the sale of those companies to bigger, more savvy corporations.

Publishing is personal and everything affects everything else.

Unless there's an advance (I'll get to that in a second), royalties are paid with a frequency determined in the contract, but it's usually bi-annually or annually. The publisher will issue a royalty statement breaking down sales to whom and for how much, detail expenses, and issue a check for the amount due (with a small percentage often held in reserve to cover copies returned by retailers: if the books don't come back after a reasonable time, the publisher issues a check for the balance). Royalty statements are pretty black & white, but can be a bit challenging to wade through.

What's an advance? An advance is an up-front payment of projected royalties. The amount can vary and is always negotiable, but advances for art books tend to be modest. The advance is often a way to bind the deal, but it isn't necessary to take one in order to enter into a contract: no advance means there's nothing to "earn out" and the creator is owed a royalty on every copy sold from day one. Stephen King once took a $1 advance for a book. "Earn out?" That means, for example (and forgive me if my math is faulty), if the creator is paid an advance of $5000 against a 10% royalty the publisher would have to earn back $50,000 in sales before the creator's advance against royalties was satisfied or "earned." Once the amount the publisher has pre-paid the creator is accounted for, royalties begin to accumulate and be paid on a pre-determined schedule for copies sold after that point. If you have an agent, the payments are funneled through them (at which point they take their percentage and send you the balance); without an agent the payments go directly to the author.

An advance against royalties is often seen as a way to provide financial support for the creator while they complete their book. But advances can be misunderstood: an advance is not "extra money" in addition to royalties: they are, as mentioned, pre-paid royalties. Ellie Frazetta (a good friend whom I deeply miss) never understood about contracts, advances, or royalties (or how royalties were calculated) and it ultimately led to ill-advised and ultimately unfortunate disputes with every single publisher she ever worked with, from the Ballantines in 1975 until the day she died in 2009. (Frank, of course, never thought about any of it: he let Ellie manage the business and let the chips fall where they may.)

The unusual legal wrinkle about advances for publishers is that they're something of a "limbo" expense until a book is actually delivered for production. Though as with everything there are exceptions, particularly when accounting comes into play, the IRS tends to not allow advances as a business expense until a "tangible product" is in hand and until that occurs the publisher is out of pocket and can't use the payment as a deduction. It's not ghost dough for the author, of course, who has to pay taxes on an advance in the year he/she receives it whether they're done with their book or not. So it's understandable that some publisher can get a little antsy for a contracted book once an advance has been paid to a creator. (And, yes, there are stories about some authors who pocketed decent amounts and never delivered their books. Ever.)

Hmmm. A lot to digest, eh? What next? Well, maybe a bit about Fair Use or maybe something about distribution and the way books are sold or how to look for publishers. Or maybe something else. We'll see. And, naturally, if you have any questions, ask away.


Saturday, October 18, 2014

Spectrum 22 Call For Entries!


John Fleskes has unveiled Victo Ngai's Call For Entries poster and announced that Spectrum 22 is now officially open for submissions.

Titled "Rule Breaker," Victo has this to say about her poster: "The girl represents the role of an artist, bringing colors and surprises into predictable routine (monochromatic checker background) as well as breaking rules and confinements (leech monster in square checker suits) which suck blood out of life."






This year's blue ribbon jury will be (top to bottom) Justin Gerard, Virginie Ropars, Greg Ruth, Annie Stegg Gerard, and Dice Tsutsumi

What's Spectrum? Well, you can hit this link for some history and background, but the bottom line is that it is the fantastic art community's book. For 22 years it's been promoting an international array of artists of all sensibilities and the field as a whole; pros, students, sculptors, painters, digital artists, comics creators, illustrators, fine artists—all are welcome under Spectrum's umbrella Join in! Take part! Each book can only be as good, as diverse, as the artists who enter. This is an opportunity to show the world just how good you are and just how exciting the field of fantastic art is.

Friday, October 17, 2014

Spring - Lawrence Alma-Tadema



I love art.  Not just looking either.  I love reading about it, talking about it, I love the smell of the materials and it is one of the great and simple pleasures of life to buy a new brush (or a roll of canvas/blank sketchbook//new tube of paint/okayallnewartmaterialsarewonderful).  I know with the Muddy Colors readers, I am not alone in this.  It also means that my list of paintings that I love only grows longer as the years pass, but there are few paintings that stand above the others.



Spring by Lawrence Alma-Tadema is one of those paintings.  I am fan of many of his paintings.  I find his dedication to history and details appealing and fascinating.  Tadema's rendering of different textures is incredible and his willingness to tackle the insane and complex is singular.

I love paintings that give me:

  • A sense of excellence
  • A feeling of wonder
  • A desire to learn more
  • Inspiration

When a painting does all of these things it feels like there is a energy inside, right in the center of my chest that lifts my soul a little higher.  There is nothing else like it.  Spring does this for me.



Spring was completed by Tadema in 1894 (some sources say 1895) after 4 years of intermittent work and is 70 1/4 x 31 1/2 inches in size.  Not a large painting when you consider all of the detail in the piece.  In Victorian England, it was becoming the fashion to send kids out into the country to gather flowers on May 1st.  This painting echos that contemporary scene.

It has been speculated that the scene depicts the Cerealia or Ambarvalia, but more recent scholarship leans towards it being a representation of the Floralia, wherein young girls were sent into the country to retrieve flowers and bring them back in procession to honor the goddess Flora and celebrate the coming of Spring.  This was done right around the 1st of May as well.  There is much that has been written and researched about Spring that I won't relate here, but if you want to read a really in depth analysis, I will include a link at the end of the post.

Let's take a look at some details from this amazing painting because this is one of those paintings that really rewards time spent examining the details.

Patrician class observing the procession from a "reviewing box."

There is so much content, so beautifully portrayed that you can find mini compositions within the larger piece that stand well on it's own.


Be sure to click on these images to enlarge them.  Some of the images are very large and have excellent detail.


More exceptional details.  Look at the capital of the column on the left of the detail above.  The curls of the carved acanthus leaves and spirals are so convincing.  The subtle sense of light penetrating the marble is handled perfectly here and the forms are perfect.


Look at the sculpture on the right hand side of the image above.  It is a silver sculpture of Bacchus.  There is another on the left hand side.  Tadema had an extensive collection of photos from his own journeys as well as those he purchased.  We can see how he used reference to help construct this painting.  See the image below to compare.

Photo from Tadema's collection


One of the things I really love about this painting, and many of his other works, is the depth of interests.  While the primary focus in on the central figures, as you follow the procession back, it goes on and on and you see more faces and figure in the shadow, the back into the light.  Then a large bronze equestrian statue and further back another bronze sculpture.  Even further you see a gorgeous structure with green patina bronzes on top with pink marble columns in support.  All of it works together.


Tadema's wife and family members modelled for several of the figures in the painting.


The spandrel in the image above is usually the domain of deities, but here we see a sheep and a cow.  It is thought that Tadema added this detail to represent April and May, or Ares and Taurus, the two months that straddle the Floralia festival depicted.

If you want to see this painting in person, it is in the Getty collection in Los Angeles.  I managed to get a couple good shots while I was there that have some raking light and reveal a little more of the texture, both in the canvas and the paint strokes.


Again, large images, so be sure to download or give them a click with your browser full screen to see the detail.



Would you like a huge copy of this painting?  You can go to the Getty Museum site and download a 53 MB image, almost 10,000 px tall.  Click here.  Under the small thumbnail on the page you will see the download link.  Follow to instructions there to get the image file.

Also, here is the link I mentioned earlier to a very extensive analysis of the painting.  Follow the link and you can read online or download a PDF.


Thanks for giving the post a read!

Howard Lyon
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Thursday, October 16, 2014

The 7 Deadly (Art) Sins: PRIDE


-By Lauren Panepinto

Hello, fellow sinners! I'm back to working my way through the artistic applications of The Seven Deadly Sins. Or, if you're going old-school catholic school, The Seven Cardinal Vices. Last time we covered ENVY, which I think is the easiest sin to apply to us professional artists. Next up is a wily one: PRIDE.

Aside: Pride is also known as "superbia" which sounds like the perfect title for a Judd Apatow movie about Brooklyn hipsters moving out to New Jersey. Right?

Let's all start on the same page and define the term:

Pride is a "feeling or deep pleasure or satisfaction derived from one's own achievements, the achievements of those with whom one is closely associated, or from qualities or possessions that are widely admired."

William Blake, "Satan Arousing the Rebel Angels"

Well, that doesn't sound so bad, does it? And that's what's tricky about Pride. It's all about balance. Too little pride and you won't be successful. Too much pride and no one is going to want to associate with you. (Not good for business or friendships.) You need to balance in the sweet spot of having pride in yourself, but always keeping a healthy inner voice of reality keeping you in check. If you fall on the shy side of the introvert/extrovert spectrum, "pride" might sound like a dirty word to you, so feel free to swap the term "pride" with "confidence".

I find I struggle with the proper balance of pride most acutely in my cover meetings. I need to have enough pride in my work and the work of my artists to be confident in it (because editors always smell the blood of hesitation in the water) and defend it in the discussions. However, I also have to keep my pride in check so that when criticism comes, I do not immediately become defensive and hurt. I have to keep my mind open to the possibility that the non-art folk in the meeting might <gasp> have some real constructive criticism to make. This is a zen balance I have been fighting to achieve for all of my 13+ years in publishing, and let me tell you, things still get under my skin.

The proper balance of pride is like having a thin skin and thick skin simultaneously.

Let me tell you, you freelancers think getting an email of changes from an AD is hard? Try getting a chorus of often-conflicting demands from a group of people who are not only not artists, but don't even have the proper art vocabulary to know the difference between contrast and brightness (even when you've tried to explain it to them a hundred times). And then sift through all that chaos for the useful bits. Be happy you're not in-house staff, trust me.

Jamie Wyeth, "Pride"

Too much Pride... This one is easy to see from the outside. We all know some artists that are overconfident to the point of coming off as assholes. The thing to be careful of in that situation is to make sure you're not projecting your Envy onto their Pride. (Tricksy deadly sins!) Don't dislike an artist because they are successful, no matter how young they are or how easy it looks like it came to them. If you must, dislike them because they treat people less successful than they are poorly, or because they gloat about their success and are generally insufferable to be around.

Pridefulness is much harder to diagnose when you're judging yourself. Are you coming off as confident...or overconfident? Braggadoccio can repel clients and peers, and maybe the only way to know if you're walking that line well or stumbling is to ask some trusted friends in the industry for their honest opinion.

Too little Pride... I see this problem often in young artists of both genders, although it is definitely more prevalent, in my experience, in female artists. I hate to gender stereotype here, but the basic training our society gives us trains men default to overconfidence in crisis, and trains women to caution and reticence in speaking up under trial. This definitely comes to play in the professional art world as well. I realize I am over-generalizing here, and if your experience discounts this, please let me hear about it in the comments. Regardless of your gender, if you have too little pride, you don't promote yourself or your ideas well. This can lead not only to letting clients walk all over you, but also makes it harder to find clients in the first place. Confidence comes from self-worth, which grows from pride in ourselves and our work, no matter what stage we're at in our careers.

There's also a sneaky little mental loop involved with pride that affects a lot of artists I know, myself included, and it's called Imposter Syndrome, which is defined as feeling like you are not qualified enough to deserve your successes. If you haven't experienced it, it sounds ridiculous, I know, but I think all of us have suffered from crippling self-doubt at some point in our profession and can relate to that. In art we base our careers on how other people judge our work, and it's hard not to be oversensitive to that - whether it's from criticism OR, ironically, from success. Here's a great article on some tips to overcoming Imposter Syndrome when you feel it rearing its head.

Hieronymus Bosch, "Superbia" - sorry, it's not a Seven Deadly Sins post without some Bosch.

Just right... Honestly, I don't know exactly what the proper balance of pride and confidence is, because it's a constant struggle. Compounding this problem is the simple fact that even if you are happy with your level of pride and confidence, other people will probably judge you as too prideful, and not prideful enough, all at the same moment. I know that there are people who think I am a loud obnoxious bitch sometimes, and there's nothing I can do about their opinion. At the same time, there are people who think I am doing a good job at balancing my confidence and pride. You just can't please everyone any of the time.

Remember that bit about having a thin skin and thick skin simultaneously? At some point you have to have a thin enough skin to remain self-aware...but a thick enough skin to tell everyone else to go screw.

Also extremely relevant to the topic of pride: Dave Palumbo's great recent post "Getting Over Yourself" - sometimes you have to swallow your pride and just get that job done no matter what.









Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Night Patrol


Greg Manchess

 This Friday, October 17th, "Night Patrol" will debut in Paris at Galerie Daniel Maghen. The show will exhibit my adventure paintings from literature, science fiction, fantasy, and historical subjects, as well as new narratives.

“...something’s amiss. Command wouldn’t engage without a recon flight to reveal which group had penetrated the perimeter.

Once in the air, his mount should knuckle under from the grueling months of break-in, after inheriting the beast from the wrangler squads. But it still hadn’t imprinted yet.

If they were running raven panther gryphons, this wouldn’t be easy. His mount wasn’t ready yet, not for stealth combat anyway.

Doesn’t matter. Night missions don’t allow for a chute.”


That's a bit of the story behind this one. "Night Patrol" is another painting that took some time, just to decide to paint it. I did a thumbnail and let it sit. I wasn’t sure I could get the idea across.

But the sketch is everything, and once I had the feeling down, I could concentrate on getting the angle right. After sketching a lot of raptors, I ended up liking the thumb more and followed that instead. I researched a bunch of lions’ haunches to capture the ‘sit.’


Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Battle of Five Armies: Tight Drawing

by Justin Gerard


I've been busy penciling away on my tight drawing for the Battle of Five Armies.  I am trying something new this time around and am working with graphite alongside the usual colored pencil.
Graphite has a tendency to muddy the delicate tones of a watercolor, to smudge, and to be too soluble, and so I usually prefer working without it.  However, on the other hand it has the benefit of giving you more control, sharper detail and a better value range.



With so much area to cover and so many figures to work out I have opted to risk the muddiness this time around and utilized it to lay out my figures.  I am finding that I really like how it blends with the Caran D'Ache Pablo pencils I have been using for the colored bits.

In the above image I have used the graphite to really isolate the characters from one another. This reinforcement of the major shapes will help a great deal later on when I begin to work on the lighting. It will help separate the characters from what's behind them, and thus keep the whole scene from merging into one blurry goblin quagmire.



"...with them came the bodyguard of Bolg, goblins of huge size with scimitars of steel."

A story note here: If you saw my last post you will notice that the giant goblins in the Bodyguard of Bolg have gotten their noses back. 

In "The Hobbit", Tolkien calls the orcs 'goblins' and not 'orcs.'  And though in his later writings he would use the terms interchangeably at times, he generally means orcs when describing the miscreant servants of the dark lord. (He would do this in part to give his creatures more distinction from their fairy tale interpretation of goblins.) Thus, there was only orcs of varying sizes really, and Peter Jackson it would seem, had it right all along.  

However, that explanation is not good enough for me. The damage is done Professor Tolkien. It's too late and too bad and now no matter what, when I read the Hobbit, I will always see them as big-nosed goblins. 

To add some justification for this: I still hold that The Hobbit is more a fairy tale and less a fantasy epic. Goblins fit better in this setting than orcs do.  The orcs fit in the drama and epic glory of the later writings, but "The Hobbit" is a tall tale, told by a curious and sometimes dubious author in Bilbo Baggins.

So right or wrong, I have decided to go full goblin here.   

Next Week: Watercoloring!


Monday, October 13, 2014

I'd Love to Draw


A never before seen book by Andrew Loomis is to be released tomorrow, October 14th!

I'd Love to Draw is a collection of work by the innovative American artist Andrew Loomis, previously unseen by anyone outside the Loomis family and available in print for the first time ever. Having been held in the Loomis family archive for decades after the artist's death, I'd Love to Draw has been restored by a group of devoted experts, including the globally renowned comic book artist, and Loomis devotee, Alex Ross.

More info here: http://www.amazon.com/Id-Love-Draw-Andrew-Loomis/dp/1781169209/