Thursday, December 6


everyone is a drunk man
    heard yelling outside the window

but i think love is different for everyone

we don't all love to yell the same words
    drink the same whiskey
        or kiss the same girl

we are drunk men yelling for different reasons

new york, i miss you when you're gone

Wednesday, December 5


i also made a little holiday block print that will be for sale, come by tonight to pick up your own limited edition signed print for the very reasonable price of $10 :)

Friday, November 30

the lady drinketh

i don't know what to do with this. i wish i could put it on a plate, or a little tea saucer

or make it into a 3D giant clock or something

Monday, November 26

spice up your life

na na na na
people of the world
-spice girls

unrelated, you can now get some of my illustrations as throw pillows and iPhone cases
i'm saving up my money to buy them as presents for people
although maybe i should be buying a "sewing for dummies" book to learn how to make them myself

well until with me :)

i'm also having a holiday sale in my etsy shop
everything has been reduced 15% or more, so if you've been looking for original and affordable little paintings to add to your walls, or cute hand illustrated tote bags, i gotchu!

Monday, November 19

scan 1

whas happenin

i put a lot of new recent work on my website and i'm selling a couple pieces i made for my show at Think Coffee here (holiday discount to come very soon..cuz i'm a business, man)

Monday, November 12

take a look

at my website because i just updated it even though i have a significant crap load of homework to do by morning and this was a bad idea

these are not on my website, but i still think they are nice

and i don't know what to do with them so here they are. here this is.

Sunday, November 11

thoughts on greatness re: art and writing

it's so common for the average viewer or reader to only dole out accolades of "great" and "fantastic" to something they believe that they, themselves, could not create or imagine creating.

"that's not art. i could do that" >> the gut response–but they didn't [create it]–doesn't do anything but sound snarky and dismissive. More accurately: this reader didn't think it necessary to write vulnerable thoughts on a piece of paper and show it to people. Or that viewer didn't think it important to draw a red line on a canvas and contemplate what it might mean to them and the world. which is totally fine.

~* different interests ~ * ~*

artists and writers are not in it for the money (there is none) or accolades–they do what they do because that is what pumps their blood. The way a football fan gets hyped at the beginning of the game as he prepares himself in front of the TV set on Sunday–this is how I feel when I find a new artist's work that I connect with. It's almost spiritual. Art is personal exploration, and the desire to represent something in a different way. It is vulnerable and brave, often mistaken for self-indulgent and gratuitous.

i can live with that. i can live without being labeled as "great". the word is overused, has lost its meaning. we should find a new one.

great art is subjective, just like beauty is subjective: every label or classification is in the eye of the beholder. I am good at fixing TV sets. I am not great at cooking. I write. I am good at noticing details. I am not a great runner. I am visually creative. I like sandwiches and cold pizza. to me, they are the greatest foods.

oh and

        to equality
and the next four years !
~* ~* ~ * ~

Saturday, November 10

O () o c

my mom always bugs me about signing my artwork, that i need to decide on something and stick with it, cause i'm always changing my mind. she wants "delaney gibbons" or just "delaney" and i want something shorter like "dbg" or a symbol. today i got annoyed and told her i'm going to start signing everything as "pancake" and she did not look at me or speak, however, she did not object.

Tuesday, November 6

some wonderful things

 Georgia O’Keefe, Canyon With Crows

Morning, XVI

I love the handful of the earth you are.
Because of its meadow, vast as a planet,
I have no other star. You are my replica
of the multiplying universe.

Your wide eyes are the only light I know
from extinguished constellations;
your skin throbs like the streak
of a meteor through rain.

Your hips were that much of the moon for me;
your deep mouth and its delights, that much sun;
your heart, fiery with its long red rays,

was that much ardent light, like honey in the shade.
So I pass across your burning form, kissing you — compact and planetary,
my dove, my globe.

— Pablo Neruda

         and new projects

Friday, November 2

hurricane 2.0

well hello! i am warm, dry, and safe...which is a hell of a lot to be thankful for after the past week. i was able to escape home to philly wednesday night, though many of my friends in new york and new jersey are still without power, so i'm thinking of them and trying to help any way i can when possible.

after experiencing Irene in the east village last year, i was pretty sure no hurricane could top it. but Sandy proved me wrong with a vengeance. really hard to see pictures of ravaged lower manhattan and the jersey shore where i've spent so much of my life. i'm impressed and comforted though with the amount of good will i've seen over the past few days. the world keeps finding ways to remind me that even though it is full of shit people, it is twice as full of golden-hearted people.

today i remembered this drawing i posted shortly after irene last year, and went looking for it in the depths of my hard drive. somehow i found it, and couldn't help but add to it, even though i regretfully left my wacom tablet back at my apartment.

it's nothing polished or fancy...i decided to keep it lighthearted as per my original intention. my coast has enough depressing things to look at right now anyway without me adding to the pile. i think i'll keep the original tentative title, too...

i'm sending my sincere best wishes for your safety, health, and comfort in the wake of frankenstorm. hope your halloween was more happy than it was frightening! <3 br="br">

"It's All Fun and Games Until A Hurricane Comes and Proves That Your Kids Have Better Survival Skills Than You"

Wednesday, October 17

Written Wednesday: Tiny Crimes revisited

i want to skip written wednesday this week.

but i don't want to be a quitter.

so here's my homework for one of my classes. we learned about toy theaters...but of course i missed that class and didn't know what it was so i made this terrible, terrible, laughably terrible little video for which i drew the characters with crayons and cut them out with scissors 15 minutes before class and scotch taped them to plastic forks and knives. i filmed it on my macbook's photo booth (hence the backwards "ABC" and "let's read!") and spliced it in iMovie to the soundtrack of one of my poem videos

why am i telling you my secrets?!

never the less, i love any chance to experiment with different ways of combining images and stories. i never consider a project (even the occasional super-last-minute and half-assed ones) to be futile. i treat everything as a sketch at least, like a blue print for the next idea

Thursday, October 11

this isn't a poem

it isn't's embarrassing. it's word vomit. it only has stanzas for the sake of know like how you need to breathe when wretching

These are the things i can't say
to my therapist, only the internet,
because it doesn't need to understand,
to make me feel better. It isn't a being.
Sure, lots of beings subsist
inside of it

but together with thoughts
and ideas, and social media, and pop culture,
mixed with
inflated senses of self importance
and skewed self images, the internet
becomes a thing.

A jumble of mixed connections and missed
messages. Crossed wires, fried brains,
GPS locations of food trucks, and
digital games and the ability to connect
with perfect strangers, both on another level
of Halo 3, and on another level
of self.

I can word-vomit onto the drug-hazed
face of the internet
because it doesn't sit before me
breathing quietly and possessing the
ability to judge my bouncing knee
or decipher my nervous eyes.
No, i sit before it, this thing, with no
mind to decide on me and
no heart to feel about me.

Really, in this world,
how can anyone bare their soul
to anyone, with the ability
to think and choose? Because
with that ability comes options,
possibilities. The chance
to not understand, to not relate,
to unlove me.

I need an empty page and a pen,
or a glowing screen and a send button.
I feel, I think, I love,
and therefore, possess the ability
to walk away, the chance
to uncare about the opinions on my soul, by these
inanimate things. They are just things. Just things,
which can't love me
or unlove me.

Wednesday, October 10

john wayne? turtles?

Turtle Locket

Hanging around water’s edge, just
below my breasts, is a miniature
bronze turtle locket, chomping
on a copper penny chain

The turtle has two halves–
holding the shell to the body
is a single magnet, weak but earnest,
luring the shell to Stay, please

Some nights–bloodbuzzed
and spinning, when tangerine sweaters
are peeled and thrown, sent to hang
like shells over wooden chair backs–
the turtle locket unfastens–becoming
two hollow acrobats
with a small hinge for honest hands–

It is hours before I notice
to close it up again

I’m always asked why I keep
nothing inside–
A matter, I say, of a fragile lock

Truths come in halves–
How nice it feels to be empty
of important things–baring, for hours,
the most sheltered core of you

Wednesday, October 3

Girl at The Hot Dog Stand

  Everyone is either a bird or a cat
She said

Her eyes were perfect black coin spheres
and I said  Which am I?
But really I meant
   Which are you?

  I’m a bird  she said,
       and  You’re a cat

We paid for our hot dogs and stood at the silver bar
slick with the melted ice from
  soft drink sweat

With the very tips of her fingers
                 she picked small bits of bread and dog
                  and breathed the morsels in

I tipped my head back
                and guided my dinner to my lips
        -half of it gone in one bite-
           then held it gingerly with one hand
            like a mouse by the tail

pen and ink on paper, 2011

*the poem is nothing final, just recently worked on, so i thought i'd share it since i came across this illustration of mine from a while back that sort of coincided with it. i would do this illustration much differently now but i still like painting fabric and textures like that. but holy hell the hair makes me cringe

Friday, September 28

Think Coffee art exhibit

select work from my exhibition at Think Coffee

select work from my exhibition at Think Coffee

I produced about 20 or so new works for the exhibition. the work is on the walls now and will remain there until the end of October. stop by and check it out– 8th ave and 14th st in the west village

if interested in purchasing one of the works or would just like to know more, shoot me an email at (include the number of the work if you can, or the title or a description of it will work fine too)

many thanks to Think Coffee for this opportunity. the opening reception (on fri 9/21) went really well – got to catch up with good friends over wine and kinda night

also my bff got me sunflowers ;D

Wednesday, September 26

morning dance

this is another attempt at holding myself accountable for something, since lately i've been sucking at that


^ this will now be a thing

*update: no it won't it was really stupid and i'm impulsive.

Morning Dance

I wake the unpolished hardwood
with rough steps–It mimics me
with yawns, creaks, and coughs

Coffee drains into a mug
like heavy tears before sleep
There is an egg break, slip,
and sizzle–then the rousing sound
of toast shoulders
as they pop up like an excited child
I grab its hot limbs to hush it,
and grimace

The refrigerator–humming
a monotonous, somber tune–
brings refuge to my burned hands

and like this–alone in the ochre dawn,
we grunt through a familiar waltz
waking our pocket of New York

Sunday, September 16

air n water

when i'm not freaking out over all the beautiful sunlight i get in this apartment, i'm working on paintings for Think

Friday, September 7

i'm back

in new york yo ~*

but first i went with my favorite people to the Made in America Festival on the Ben Franklin Parkway in Philly last weekend/labor day weekend. such a good time! a great way to end the summer

while we tailgated on the first day my friend Meg handed me some eyeliner and asked me to "draw a little star" on her "cheek or something" and gave me free reign to do whatever, so i went to town and drew a huge star on her arm 

oh yeah and .....

hooooly eeeshk!
i'm so excited to be extremely busy the next 2 weeks
i hope you can come out for a bit that night if you're in nyc!

Thursday, August 23


i updated my website!

and i'm moving back to New York!
i don't have a place to live yet but whatever!
i'll be graduating from Parsons in may!

sidenote, i'm all about my tumblr these days...

and my dog is still cute as hell!!!

Monday, August 20

Rita Rita Sunflower

i'm an august baby. my birthday was the 12th. i got myself a present: an iphone, something i've been wanting badly for a really long time. i'm on instagram now: dgibbey.

this is the 2nd picture i took with instagram. the first was of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink that i had been putting off.

i captioned the picture "all the dead flowers in my house."
i think it is a beautiful picture. i always think dead flowers look so pretty. i think a lot of people agree – that's why they save them and press them between pages of a book, right?

my Grandmom, Rita, died early in the morning on august 8th in Downingtown, of natural causes. she was 97. my cousin, Rita Anne, died at night on august 9th in California, after the most courageous 5 year long battle with melanoma. she was 46.

my Gram had 12 children, 26 grandchildren, 49 great grandchildren & 2 great great grandchildren. i'm her youngest grandchild.

Rita Anne had 2 children, her daughter August is 4, and her son Charley John is 3. She also has 2 wonderful stepchildren, Simon and Ruby.

Rita Anne was blessed to find her amazing husband Charley about five years ago. My Gram lost her husband, Charlie, to cancer many many years ago.

I realize that i'm stating a bunch of facts and not elegantly so. i'm still heartbroken and bewildered. but there are so many overlapping connections here that i felt it necessary to push aside my desire to not include such a personal post on my blog...because really, at the end of the day i'm an emotional, creative, oversensitive Leo and when i think something feels important, i need to share it immediately and imperatively.

so it felt important to tell someone/everyone that both of the amazing Ritas in my life died with-in 2 days of each other, both of whom found the loves of their life in men named Charlie/Charley. and this all happened right around my birthday. (once again–Leo here–so i'm egotistical [not proud of that..just proud in general] so of course i feel this is of some special importance–like how Basquiat died on august 12, 1988, and i was born on august 12, 1989...)

In the instagram photo above, the 2 flowers in the center are from the bouquet of flowers on my grandmom's casket at the cemetery. people were taking some, so of course i took a giant sunflower. my mom took the pretty pink one.

Gram and Rita Ann are so important to me, and always made me feel so incredibly special. I know that there is a reason for Rita Ann passing so young–there must be a reason that her beautiful young babies made it to this earth before she passed. I've always struggled with feeling unimportant myself, like I wasn't meant to be here (i know–the Leo in me is like WHAT?! you cray...) But regardless of how I used to feel in my young, unsure teen days, i am 100% certain that i am suppose to be here, that I am important–as is every breathing thing that comes onto this earth.

Gram and Rita Ann played no small role in that self-assurance. They hold reign over a ginormous part of my heart. They are and always will be like the sunflower up there: majestic, beautiful, and somehow always living because who would throw away something so special that even in death, it brings beauty, comfort, and happiness to the world?

There are so many more facts i could state or connections i could make, but i'll leave it there for now. My family really is something special–their resiliency is remarkable and inspiring to me. I hope i can continue to breathe in their strength like air, and impact the world the way my grandmom and cousin have impacted me without even trying.

Rita and Rita Anne, may your souls rest in peace, and may your spirits always guide and comfort your family, who miss you so much. we love you we love you we love you.

    Do not stand at my grave and weep,
    I am not there; I do not sleep.
    I am a thousand winds that blow,
    I am the diamond glints on snow,
    I am the sun on ripened grain,
    I am the gentle autumn rain.
    When you awaken in the morning’s hush
    I am the swift uplifting rush
    Of quiet birds in circling flight.
    I am the soft star-shine at night.
    Do not stand at my grave and cry,
    I am not there; I did not die.

-a poem by Mary Frye

*Rita Anne's brother, my cousin John, lives with his wife in California, not far from where Rita Anne lived with Charley and their kids. He and his wife Cary are big on motorcycle trips and such, and they keep a blog documenting their travels. As you can imagine, John is heartbroken out there in California, and doing his best to be there for Charley and his family. His blog has some wonderful recent posts about Rita, her life, and spreading her ashes across her favorite places in California.
You can check it out « here »  if you'd like.

Saturday, August 11

wild ones

new hand drawn type poster


i have a borderline obsession with Flo Rida

Tuesday, August 7

A Hint of Lime

A Hint of Lime

His itchy ears perk up at the mention of
jerk chicken, sunset lulls, and
making love in sand beds –

but most of the time, the hints I leave
are subtle – clues tucked into sheet folds,
couch cushions, trouser pockets.
So many clues to my Innisfree,
my Rockland – they've begun to overflow.
He jokes, says This Is Our Longest Running Joke.
The cushions are frayed, the pockets
in need of mending.

Sepia hints, salt-rimmed hints,
pictures, buttons, the old t-shirt
I wore to bed. My snow boots
(the left in the cellar by the dryer,
the right in the kitchen under the sink),
a diet Coke, blue socks,
my favorite sweater – things
I won't need once I'm there.

I find him in the soupy evening
on our front lawn – barefoot,
breathless, eyes rimmed violet
and grinning. I ask about his arms,
coated in sunscreen, the beach towels
draping his shoulders, palm branches
fanning from the pockets of his
swim trunks – a mock display
of all of my clues.

He cries his knowledge at me–saying
Game Over, I've Figured It Out, saying
Not Like You Were Ever Gonna Leave.

I laugh – ask, Wanna Bet – and watch
his beady eyes narrow, his bare toes
drain – sand white – digging into our dirt.
He cries Too Far and See If I Care.

My clues litter the yard – left behind
like I'd planned it or something.

Wednesday, August 1

PoC launch

our first issue release party was a success yalllll ~*~ it was a great turnout, and so exciting to see everyone there to celebrate this thing we worked really hard on. [a personal thank you thank you thank you to my friends who came out! i love you like cake]

my tote bags and postcard prints on display --  image via pieces of cake's twitter

behold the shining and brilliant PoC mag editors, Christina and Robert

pic on the right c/o Xtina's instagram. i set up a sort of impromptu pop-up shop with some totes mcgoats for sale and postcards to grab, as well as my "oops baby" book and sketchbooks to browse through

Saturday, July 21

this fridayayaya

see official event on Think's site here

The official release party is this Friday, but the first issue of Pieces of Cake is now live online so go ahead and have your cake and eat it :x