SK Schäfer

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Don’t send me an unsolicited picture of your peewee cocktapus unless you want me to…
A: find your mom’s Facebook
B: find a picture she uploaded of you reminiscing about what a nice young man you were
C: badly photoshop that into a locket
D: convince you I’m your daughter.

Happy Father’s Day Daddy.

And pulp the croutons.

Sounds like the kind of complaint a big poo head would have.

Oh wow that would be amazing, I'll buy one though, I had just assumed it must be out of print as it had been so long.

Cover design for my upcoming comic „The Ecstasy of Jenny D”. Merging medieval ornaments with the vibes of a teenager’s diary decorated with stickers. The nun in ecstasy on the cover is inspired by the sculpture Ecstasy of Saint Theresa.

A pagan folky lady adorned with flowers for the band Ophelia’s Beard

A book cover of a folk tale story „Selkie Song - The Mermaid of Scottish Sea”

Moody, dark comic page set in the woods. A young girl sits on the ground among red mushrooms. She’s looking up onto a tall house on a chicken foot which is towering over her and staring at her intensely with a single bright yellow eye.

I’ll be wrapping up a freelance gig in May and so I’m open for work from June onwards!
Hit me up for:
🌱Character and ornament focused illustration
🌱Cover art
🌱Comics
Portfolio: pigeonmakesart.co.uk
Contact: pigeonmakesart@gmail.com

Last but not least @julesscheele.bsky.social's work cuts right through me. Striking in every way, demanding to be paid attention to, demanding to be felt. "I have no words for this feeling" is a recent gem of page after page of knockouts.

@lubellwoo.bsky.social's work makes me jealous and excited all at once, not just from the adventure she is having but the beauty of the colouring and linework, real exciting cartooning. Grand Adventure is my fave, I leant it to someone nearly a decade ago, never got it back and miss it dearly

@neilslorance.bsky.social prolific autobio work that is adorable and optimistic, Plant Daddy feels like it's bringing all his work together.

@marielashlinn.bsky.social's Thirty Island is a lovely rumination on ageing and making things. Whenever I am struggling with a project or feeling lost in the creative world I pick it up and remind myself others do too.

@kbaczynski.bsky.social does such great layout work where everything looks so cool and pop and intentional, and having that graphic mix with the mundane of hourly comics or monthly diaries makes it feel exciting being alive and just watching your favourite shows, seeing pals and trying tasty foods

@michaelsabine.bsky.social has done so much incredible work since but Reverse Flâneur from 2017 will always hold a special place in my heart for being an introduction to blind people in comics, and showing blind people being very stylish.

If we're talking speficially self-published a few faves are:
@nicolelaliberty.bsky.social all her work is so touching, she captures joy and fun really well while talking about uncomfortable things. My fave is probably Never Enough.

Thanks for putting alt text, however how you've written it isn't actually useful for people as you are merely captioning the image and not describing it, thus the accessibility functionality isn't there. A simple addition to these of adding the text from the posters would go a long way. Thanks.

There is something to be said about the clarity of fear with The Blob.
"The Thing's gonna get us!" What thing?
"Look out it's The Mummy!" I love my mummy.
"Ahh it's Count Dracula" ooh how fancy, a noble.
"The Blob is coming!" Shit, a blob? A moving blob? Hell no.

For American pals, Shrove Tuesday is our Thanksgiving: a midweek date-changing food-based holiday, around a month before a Jesus holiday, that is followed by Ash Wednesday AKA our Black Friday.

A cartoon version of the Disaster Girl Meme where the girl is Guy Fawkes coyly smiling to camera, flipping a burnt pancake in a pan whilst a diner burns to ash in the background. Textreads: remember to burn your first lancake in honour of when Guy Fawkes tried to burn down that Pancake House.

Happy Shrove Tuesday everyone! #PancakeDay

Would play.
Would build a PS2 out of sticks and mud in order to play.

Third comes marriage. I've been on many bad dates: such as going to a cat cafe full of rescues who were all terrified of human beings so the whole place had an air of tragedy & trauma. A furious ginger cat with their heckles up screeches "so how did you two meet?". Or the time we had three bottles of port in four hours simply because it was "five weeks 'til Christmas". Turns out neither of us actually liked port. A phone scrolls through endless dating profiles of gradually emptying bottles of port. One time a woman asked me out after seeing me do stand-up. We went to dinner and 20 minutes in she said "Oh fuck you're like this off-stage too". Your author SK is pictured as a fat man with glasses and wild brown hair and beard, he is dressed nicely but slumped disappointedly at a dinner table as his date a put together woman awkwardly sips from a bottle of "not port". She thought I was doing a clever character act about a type of person we both hate, when in reality I am just a person we both hate.

However my worst choice of date was when I went on a third date to a wedding fayre. The phrase "third date to a wedding fayre" is presented on an elaborate wedding invitation. Our second date was to a graveyard and death didn't do us part so our choice of next date was limited. A row of headstones read: wedding fayre, retirement home, antenatal class, coffee. While at the graveyard my date made a CREATURE out of discarded trash we found including: headless teddy bear, plastic flowers from a bin, weird cross from a grate, burnt out noseless doll's head covered in swastikas. There is then a drawing of that creature which be thankful you cannot see.

We thought we'd have fun at the fayre, blend in with the crowds, make bets on which couples would divorce first, drown ourselves in free samples, use those samples to create a new monster. An artist's impression of what such a monster would like with the decapitated teddy bear being encased inside a wedding cake, holding sugared almonds, and wearing a veil over a head of roses. But when we arrived we were the only ones there. Me and my date are pictured tiny and still at the end of long rows of vendors clammering to get to us. All eyes were on us immediatedly & intensely, like a puppy getting on a train, overwhelmed by the attention and unable to comprehend the speed we're moving at. A drawing of said puppy, shy and retreating from many grasping hands.

We were not prepared for this. We didn't even know each other's last names. So I just started answering questions antagonistically; "do you have a date yet?" was met with an aggressive "I like December but SOMEONE doesn't think winter is romantic." Me and my date argue in front a dejected staller "I just think it's too cold to have it outdoors" my date pleads while I sassily snap "I keep telling you you can't get frostbite twice!". Our second mistake was not eating beforehand, they had enough free champagne for hundreds of guests, also my date didn't drink, so we were three stalls deep and I'd already drunk my weight in free booze, and in champagne terms my weight is a magnum (heavy on the bottom with a breakable neck). I am pictured next to a champagne bottle labelled "not port", I am very curvy and doing a silly little sexy pose showing off said heavy bottom. So I was making increasingly ridiculous requests like having a giant bowl of spaghetti because it's MY wedding and thus my God-given right to Lady & Tramp the guests. I am sat cross-legged beneath a bowl of spaghetti & meatballs the size of a small house, I am dressed in a tux and have hearts in my eyes as a noodle dangles from my mouth and a queue of wedding guests line-up to enjoy their meal/smooch.

Happy smooching season.
Here is a comic about dating, kissing, and how Mike Love of The Beach Boys is music's greatest monster.

A photo of the monster my date made at the graveyard. It is horrible.

And a final bonus look at the horrible graveyard frankenstein my date forged through will and theft.

My first kiss was no better, I was on a bench, aged 14, with my first girlfriend who turned to me and said "I think we should kiss". At this age I didn't know CPR yet, and only maybe two Beach Boys songs, so I was excited, even confident. I closed my eyes, leaned in, and missed. Not just their lips, their entire face, our cheeks barely even brushed as we passed. Afterwards we just sat there awkwardly for a while, not talking, not making eye-contact, just watching the pigeons eating old fast food off the floor. Making a mockery of us with every graceful peck and bob of their horrid necks.

Things would have been so much simpler if I'd fallen in love with a half-eaten french fry instead... a tinder profile for a chomped on chip called "hot potato". Me in my tux, holding the chip in a little bitten-on veil, being married by Ronald McDonald who says "ba da ba ba ba, I now pronounce you lovin' it." I am in a hospital kissing the newborn potato in my arms as my chip wife rests in the hospital bed. I am an old mad crying at a grave as a chip sized coffin is lowered in a fry basket into a grave full of hot oil. But alas we do not get to choose who we love

A little appendix.

I wasn't the only ridiculous one there though: there was a florist called "Violet Gardens" who couldn't get us purple flowers. Said it was simply impossible. There was a man who will show up at your wedding with a roulette wheel, for those people who want the ambience of elopement but are too chickenshit to ditch their loved ones for Vegas. An Elvis impersonator croons "please welcome Dale, father of the bride, uh huh". There was a service that floods your wedding with fake waiters who will become a singing dancing flashmob, where all the male dancers serenade the groom, all the female dancers serenade the bride, and you don't get to pick the song. It is nice to see a service for people who hate their guests and don't want them to have a nice time. An advisor whispers to a half-naked Don Corleone "wrong kind of flash mob, sir". The hotel manager showed us the honeymoon suite and literally wink-wink-nudge-nudged me about the two-person bathtub in a gross misjudgement of my character. Baths aren't sexy, they are a wet anxiety soup of staying still, hoping Archimedes was an idiot. I am shown nervously lowering myself into an overflowing bubble bath whispering "please don't spill please don't spill".

The most awkward though was the photobooth. It had an operator who asked us to do the basic fun poses: ready to rumble (where we square up for a fist fight), early-00's rom-com (where we lean back to back with a little bit of sass), the Duck Soup mirror skit (where we act as each other's reflection). But then he asked us to kiss. We had not kissed yet, and I am a bad kisser. There is nothing good I can do with my mouth, and I include CPR in that. When I think back to my CPR lessons I think how you're meant to do compressions to the rhythm of Stayin' Alive by The Beegees, and when I start to think about that I start thinking about how The Beegees are essentially a British Beach Boys but don't get the credit for it, and that Barry Gibb is our Brian Wilson, but if Barry is our Brian does that make Maurice Gibb our Mike Love?! And by the time I've convinced myself Maurice could never be that evil, you're already dead. I kneel over a dead body I failed to save, raising my fist to the heavens and cursing Mike Love, music's greatest monster.

We don't want to break our cover so we kiss. And immediatedly it becomes clear we are just friends. Me and my date lock eyes as we make this realisation. This would be our lasr date, but it would not be our last kiss. The operator mistimed the photo so asked us to kiss again, and again, and again, and again. And he just kept mistiming every photo. The page is a montage of awkward post kiss poses and camera flashes. With each kiss it was clearer this wasn't romantic. With each kiss it was less clear we'd even remain frienda afterwards. A post-kiss polaroid scribbled on with "2018 to 2018". But we'll always have twelve awkward post-kiss photos, it's just a shame the flashmob deposit wasn't refundable.

Part two!

Third comes marriage. I've been on many bad dates: such as going to a cat cafe full of rescues who were all terrified of human beings so the whole place had an air of tragedy & trauma. A furious ginger cat with their heckles up screeches "so how did you two meet?". Or the time we had three bottles of port in four hours simply because it was "five weeks 'til Christmas". Turns out neither of us actually liked port. A phone scrolls through endless dating profiles of gradually emptying bottles of port. One time a woman asked me out after seeing me do stand-up. We went to dinner and 20 minutes in she said "Oh fuck you're like this off-stage too". Your author SK is pictured as a fat man with glasses and wild brown hair and beard, he is dressed nicely but slumped disappointedly at a dinner table as his date a put together woman awkwardly sips from a bottle of "not port". She thought I was doing a clever character act about a type of person we both hate, when in reality I am just a person we both hate.

However my worst choice of date was when I went on a third date to a wedding fayre. The phrase "third date to a wedding fayre" is presented on an elaborate wedding invitation. Our second date was to a graveyard and death didn't do us part so our choice of next date was limited. A row of headstones read: wedding fayre, retirement home, antenatal class, coffee. While at the graveyard my date made a CREATURE out of discarded trash we found including: headless teddy bear, plastic flowers from a bin, weird cross from a grate, burnt out noseless doll's head covered in swastikas. There is then a drawing of that creature which be thankful you cannot see.

We thought we'd have fun at the fayre, blend in with the crowds, make bets on which couples would divorce first, drown ourselves in free samples, use those samples to create a new monster. An artist's impression of what such a monster would like with the decapitated teddy bear being encased inside a wedding cake, holding sugared almonds, and wearing a veil over a head of roses. But when we arrived we were the only ones there. Me and my date are pictured tiny and still at the end of long rows of vendors clammering to get to us. All eyes were on us immediatedly & intensely, like a puppy getting on a train, overwhelmed by the attention and unable to comprehend the speed we're moving at. A drawing of said puppy, shy and retreating from many grasping hands.

We were not prepared for this. We didn't even know each other's last names. So I just started answering questions antagonistically; "do you have a date yet?" was met with an aggressive "I like December but SOMEONE doesn't think winter is romantic." Me and my date argue in front a dejected staller "I just think it's too cold to have it outdoors" my date pleads while I sassily snap "I keep telling you you can't get frostbite twice!". Our second mistake was not eating beforehand, they had enough free champagne for hundreds of guests, also my date didn't drink, so we were three stalls deep and I'd already drunk my weight in free booze, and in champagne terms my weight is a magnum (heavy on the bottom with a breakable neck). I am pictured next to a champagne bottle labelled "not port", I am very curvy and doing a silly little sexy pose showing off said heavy bottom. So I was making increasingly ridiculous requests like having a giant bowl of spaghetti because it's MY wedding and thus my God-given right to Lady & Tramp the guests. I am sat cross-legged beneath a bowl of spaghetti & meatballs the size of a small house, I am dressed in a tux and have hearts in my eyes as a noodle dangles from my mouth and a queue of wedding guests line-up to enjoy their meal/smooch.

Happy smooching season.
Here is a comic about dating, kissing, and how Mike Love of The Beach Boys is music's greatest monster.

A valid worry but Star Trek Strange New Worlds does this very well. Let's go for a whole season of just the quirky high concept adventures of the week.

Similar to the 'defcon' system, the Mambo scale decreases with severity. Contrary to expectation Mambo No. 5 indicates, in fact, a normal state of Mambo - the most severe would be Mambo No. 1.

How did it taste?

Was this a pasta knife baked into it like a cutlery equivalent of a bread bowl?

Club Wormhole is the real deal. The UK only allows about 3-4 cities to have a healthy alt comedy scene at any one time and right now Nottingham's is the place to be.

CATSIVERSARY - 4 years on twitch 9am- Needle felting 11am - Doodle requests 12pm - Supermarket Together with ENB 2pm - Loco Motive 4:30pm Watch/DrawAlong : Legends of Dinosaurs and Monster Birds 6pm - Finish! 1 Sub or Kofi over £4 = 1 Christmas dec on tree

Ok! My twitch stream anniversary is around this time so I’ma do a longer stream of random stuff! Schedule below, Wednesday 27th November! Would be cool if you popped by 💜
twitch.tv/catsi_nook #artistsontwitch #streamanniversary #bmovie #coop

I don't think you'll look like young Biden then.