Sean Parker
BA (Hons) Illustration
London College of Communication
(+44) 07985 773109


Someone make us a fucking website, pleeeease.

this is the first draft for the intro page to mine and hugh's website we have started working on. we used a font called origami for the basis of the pattern, then created more abstract shapes around the text to camoflage it. the rainbow highlights our names. the feel of the design is very robotic yet it borrows from organic oriental scripts.

this is what happens when i allowed to go into a charity shop and buy old kiddies' games for peanuts. various coloured polygons pretty much seemed like a brilliant idea for expanding on the geometric nature of the collage. and hugh absolutely loves it.

more to follow, my friends.


All I ever think about is my stomach.


My friend Manda asked me to document her day as a stranger as part of her summer project set by Brighton.


I'd rather sit in a bath of razor blades...

than actually sit down and do some work. You see, when i extract a portion of the day and tell myself i'm going to draw and typewrite and photoshop, i only ever end up playing nintendo wii. if you too own one, you will vouch for how fucken addictive they are. it's not just because of the uber-cool motion sensitive shit. oh no. if you have held but one conversation with me, five minutes will not pass with the excitable mutter of three words: Super Smash Bros.
After being introduced to the classic n64 version on a crispy winter's afternoon at college, jamming outside geo's ground floor flat with his outward opening window providing invaluable cover for television and console (teetering artistically on his windowsill) as well as the four hysterical contenders, i waited for the release date of SSB Brawl. And waited. The suspense was wearing me down like being repeatedly punched by Kirby, the little pink bastid. Now i have it and my life is complete.

apathetic fallacy.

it's sunny outside, but this is how i feel inside.


Unenthused Artists Unite.

It's been a while since my last post. I could lather you up with some soapy and overcomplicated prose about being on holiday and constantly having other, more important, things to do, but that would be bull.
Apart from the holiday bit. I went to Aldeburgh, Suffolk with my fam. I took Kirsty and Hugh with me because i knew that it would have been impossible to tolerate a week of my own company.
Turned out to be a beaut vacation; in addition to staying in a heffa of a house, everything was very cheap and the pebbly beach was a stone's throw away (geddit?) We spent a lot of time altogether as an extended family, which was lovely, cause i don't really seem to get the chance at home; either i'm in south london or the rents are working or sleeping because they work the rest of the time. I also jammed with my brother, which is pretty much unheard of. I think we have both grown up over the past year and a half and truthfully i don't think we argued once. Dad cooked some tasty mctasterson dinners and us kids even treated him and Pauline to a meal at a nice restaurant on the last night to say thanks for shit.
If there was one qualm I had about the holiday, it would have to be that Suffolk is full of inbreds. It's a shame really, because it's a beautiful place full of cute cottages that belong to famous peoples' mums. But the fact of the matter is that a large proportion of the population of Ipswich cannot distinguish between family members. And this, my friends, is the exact reason that the charity shops were so fucken good, Hugh and i almost ejaculated. Farmer shirts galore, and even a good crowd of boat shoes and loafers.
Suffolkers/ Suffuckers all dress as if they are taking the piss out of themselves. For the middleaged male fashion-followers there is a running theme of 'Scout Camp'. The look comprises outdated England football shirts with make-your-fucken-mind-up three quarter lengths and studiously stretched tennis socks. The trend is rounded off by brand spanking Hi-Techs, which, by the way, are not acceptable in any context, not even geek chic. If Hot Chip all donned these creps, there would be national outrage, and they would lose all credibility because everyone would realise that they, in fact, REAL nerds.
The hip youngsters dress head-to-toe in Jack Wills. Why, oh why, would you spend your hard-inherited dosh on such generic threads? You end up all looking the same, and as Kirsty pointed out, many a problem could occur. For instance, waiters may struggle identifying the seating arrangement in a restaurant full of the little shits:
"Hi there. We booked a table of five for eight thirty."
"Okay. And what was the name, please?"
"Jack Wills."
"Oooh..erm. Let me just get the manager."

I've gone so far off the point, I have no fucken idea what this post was originally about. Good day to you.