Lived Conviction

Posted by Salvador Castío

Benjamin Zephaniah. 2025. Pen and ink, sketchbook. 9″x12″.

In a distracted culture, it’s crucial to look slowly. I like faces that demand scrutiny and make you think. If I’m going to invest hours of work on a portrait, the person being drawn must be worth it.

Benjamin Zephaniah was⏤and still is.

His stanzas didn’t follow rules; they followed his internal rhythm. He didn’t kowtow to convention or the status quo.

He was a rebel.

Zephaniah was shortlisted for Oxford’s Professor of Poetry. He was never elected.
He also declined an OBE, refusing an honor tied to a history he rejected.
Titles come and go. Integrity stays.

The lines in my drawings are made with conviction and expose a truth about my subject, and ultimately, about me.

I don’t need validation.

The algorithm is meaningless.

Likes mean nothing.

I follow my internal rhythm, as Benjamin Zephaniah did, with lived conviction.

 

For more information on Benjamin Zephaniah:

benjaminzephaniah.com

wikipedia

 

It Finally Happened

Posted by Salvador Castío

Davis. 2025. Pen and ink in sketchbook. 8 1/2″ x 11″.

They say never meet your heroes because they might disappoint you—or because meeting them might not be as earth-shattering as you imagine.

Yesterday, I met one of mine: underground comix legend Robert Crumb.

The setting could not have been more ordinary. A quiet art store in Davis, California, The Paint Chip. Crumb lived for decades in nearby Winters before relocating to a remote village in southern France, and I’ve visited the area regularly for the past twenty-five years as a retreat from “the 209.” I always knew he lingered like a ghost in the local orbit, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I suspected our paths might cross one day.

On October 24, they did. My wife and I had come to Davis to take a break, browse a bit, and try a new Mediterranean place we’d seen on TikTok. Our stop at The Paint Chip was incidental; we were about to leave when an employee pointed us toward the elusive 0.9 mechanical pencil leads—those rare essentials of an online tutor’s life.

As my wife and I stood in front of the display, an older gentleman entered the store with a woman and a younger companion. His profile caught my eye immediately—sharp, unmistakable. I’d seen it before. Maybe. I tried not to stare, but when he shuffled past, it was clear: Robert Crumb was in the fucking Paint Chip.

I’ve never been one for chasing celebrities. Aside from a few backstage meetings with rock stars in the eighties, lunch with Burne Hogarth, studying with Barron Storey, and a brief encounter with Maya Angelou, my life has been largely devoid of brushes with fame.

Still, I knew this moment wouldn’t come again.

I walked over, extended my hand, and said, “R. Crumb.”

He looked startled. “Do I know you?”

“No,” I said, “but I know you. You have a very distinctive face.”

That broke the tension, and he smiled—half amused, half unsure.

Had this happened twenty years ago, I might have been starstruck. But those days are long gone. I’ve long since shed the fanboy impulse. Admiration remains, but it’s no longer worship; it’s recognition between artists.

I asked whether his Hup series from the 1980s would ever be collected into a hardcover volume. He said the publisher keeps promising. I almost told him they’ve been saying that for twenty-five years.

Our exchange was brief. Before we parted, the old wheeler-dealer recommended his upcoming comic, Tales of Paranoia.

“Check out my new comic.”

“I’ve seen the cover,” I told him. “The expression on your face is perfect.”

He laughed. And that was it—unexpected, low-key, almost uneventful, yet oddly perfect.

Reverence has become respect between peers.


Defiance On Paper

Posted by Salvador Castío

Fanny Eaton (After Fryer Stocks). 2025. Pen and ink on paper. 9″x12″.

My work is defiance on paper. I am not here to chase trends or court popularity—I am here to be myself. And being yourself means going against expectations. Declaring self-autonomy always comes with a generous cup of take it or leave it.

Over the years, I’ve come to see that defiance takes many forms—but at its core, it’s an attitude. For me, defiance has meant doing something most people are unwilling to do: playing the long game. It means pursuing a decades-long vision, holding myself to a world-class standard, embracing a global outlook, creating traditional art, and committing to black-and-white drawing in ink on paper. The recent publication of In An Artist’s Studio, an article on my work, has validated all of these things.

Defiance also lives in what you choose to draw. In recent years, I’ve been drawn to spotlight the downtrodden, the overlooked, the less valued, and the innocent victims of violence. It’s not the most glamorous path, but it resonates deeply with me. At some point, I realized there had to be more than kitchen utensils or coffeehouse patrons nursing five-dollar lattes. I pursued that for a time—but eventually, the novelty wore off. Sketchbook artist is not what I am.

Fanny Matilda Eaton (1835–1924) was a Jamaican-born, London-raised woman of color who lived in Victorian England and posed for members and associates of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. She appears in several notable works, including Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s The Beloved (1862), John Everett Millais’s The Pearl of Great Price (1860), and Simeon Solomon’s The Mother of Moses (1860), where she made her public debut. Beyond these paintings, Fanny was also the subject of numerous drawings and studies. Two that stand out are Rossetti’s magnificent pencil Study of a Young Woman (c. 1865) and Walter Fryer Stocks’s 1859 colored chalk drawing, which I used as a reference for my own portrait of Fanny.

I had long known that women of color had posed for the Pre-Raphaelites, but their names remained unknown to me. Fanny Eaton is the first Black model of the PRB whose name I’ve come to know. Her story has come into focus thanks to the investigative work of her great-grandson, Brian Eaton, who published Fanny Eaton’s Story in 2024. And yet, despite the publication of this book and a growing interest in her legacy, Fanny remains an enigma—like so many women whose lives were essential but unrecorded in the history of art.

Although some critics still try to dismiss the Pre-Raphaelites as an irrelevant niche Victorian art movement, it’s increasingly clear that the Pre-Raphaelites’ vision was broader and richer than their critiques suggest. A multicultural thread runs through their work—and through the lives of those who shaped it. Fanny is a prominent example. So is Dante Gabriel Rossetti, son of Italian immigrants and co-founder of the Brotherhood. Maria Zambaco, from London’s Anglo-Greek community, posed for many of Burne-Jones’s most iconic paintings. At the same time, her cousin, painter Maria Spartali Stillman, contributed significant works to the Pre-Raphaelite canon. All of these people have contributed to the rich, cultural, and diverse mélange that makes up Pre-Raphaelitism.

There are also quietly powerful undercurrents of LGBTQ presence and acceptance. Painter Simeon Solomon, who introduced Fanny to the public in The Mother of Moses, was part of that lineage—and contributed significantly to the Brotherhood’s visual language.

It is an exciting time for the Pre-Raphaelites and their kindred movements. As AI and digital technologies continue to proliferate, I believe the desire for traditional art—created with genuine intent and a purpose beyond commodification—will only grow. People are hungry for work that resists the algorithm, that refuses to pander to pop culture, that slows time instead of accelerating it.

It is in that quiet rebellion—in that defiance—that my work finds its place.

 

The portrait of Fanny Eaton in this post first appeared in the article, In An Artist’s Studio, in the summer 2025 issue of the PRS Review, published by the Pre-Raphaelite Society in the UK.

For more information on the Pre-Raphaelite Society, visit: preraphaelitesociety.org

For more information on Fanny, visit: wikipedia.org

 

Beautiful Rebellion

Posted by Salvador Castío

Beautiful Rebellion. 2025. Pen and ink on paper. 9″x12″. 

A year ago, I was mired in a creativity-crushing stasis that all but strangled my productivity. Today, that paralysis has given way to triumph: I am the subject of a six-page feature in the summer 2025 issue of the Pre-Raphaelite Society’s journal, the PRS Review. Months ago, a dear friend remarked, “This article will be your introduction as an artist. You’ve always wanted your work recognized internationally—now it’s happening.”

I’ve always believed you can’t be a prophet in your own land.

The turning point came with my drawing Mystery, created at the tail end of that long, suffocating stretch as I fought to free myself from the grip of stasis. Its completion marked a new plateau. My embrace of a Pre-Raphaelite aesthetic, which began with Entre Sombras in 2022, had reached a higher level, giving me the means to express my authentic voice. That evolution did not go unnoticed.

In March of this year, I was contacted by Dr. Zaynub Zaman, editor of the PRS Review, regarding my submission to the Society’s annual art competition. She told me that my drawing, Mystery, had not been selected, but added, “However, I loved your drawing and would like to use it for something else.” Those words marked the beginning of something far more meaningful. A few weeks later, her follow-up email arrived with an opportunity that would change everything and validate my struggles and sacrifices. She was preparing to launch a new series, In an Artist’s Studio, designed to give readers a glimpse into the creative process—and she wanted me to help introduce it.

In the end, it wasn’t about winning—it was about being seen and being understood.

Suddenly, four decades of effort and sacrifice took on new meaning. In an Artist’s Studio was originally planned as a modest two-page spread: a short introduction to my work accompanied by four drawings. The request was for 500 words, but that could never contain my decades-long obsession with the Pre-Raphaelites. After wrestling with the limitations, I reached out to Dr. Zaman, who graciously doubled the word count. That expansion gave me the room not only to chart my journey, but also to make a clear, definitive statement about who I am as an artist—something that was long overdue.

For the next three months, I waited with bated breath, wondering how the published feature would take shape and hoping my words and drawings would translate on the page. The result exceeded every expectation: six full pages showcasing my work as never before. Every line, every word, every stroke found its place. Back in March, I could never have imagined what I now hold in my hands.

The picture that adorns this post, Beautiful Rebellion, is an expression of transformation and defiance—a continuation of the path my work has taken since 2022. In that time, my art has undergone a crucial shift. I have embraced an aesthetic that allows me to speak in my authentic voice, while making clear that my work is rooted in the tradition of hand-drawn art. I draw on paper with ink; I am a draughtsman, and that will never change. As AI and digital images proliferate, the hunger for hand-drawn work will only grow. People want art made with genuine intent, work that speaks to the heart and mind, created with a higher purpose beyond commodification.

Visually, I drew inspiration from Dante Gabriel Rossetti, painter, poet, and co-founder of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. His women are unmistakable: abundant hair, full sensual lips, and that iconic heavy-lidded gaze so prevalent throughout the work of the PRB. Yet Beautiful Rebellion is layered with more than Rossetti’s influence. William Morris also enters the picture. His 1866 wallpaper design, Fruit, plays a crucial role in my drawing and its story of transformation. The thrush perched in the corner adds its own voice to the piece—an emblem of the inner fulfillment I have found through committing to this chosen path. Beautiful Rebellion is a complete statement: this is who I am.

In many ways, it stands as the clearest expression of where my journey has brought me. It carries the echoes of Rossetti, Morris, and the mythic symbols they cherished, but it also declares my refusal to bow to the belief that technology is the only way forward. That defiance—my insistence on embracing tradition and reshaping it into something through which my authentic voice can shine—is precisely what made the PRS Review feature so meaningful. Seeing my work presented in those six pages was not only validation, but also proof that the long struggle had forged something enduring.

Decades of struggle have led me here, but this is not the end of the road. In an Artist’s Studio is proof that I was right to defy compromise and hold out for world-class recognition. I have found my voice—and what comes next will not be louder merely, but undeniable.

 

Back On The Edge

Posted by Salvador Castío
Otis Parsons 1985 Catalog

Forty years ago, I stood on the edge of the most significant chapter of my young life—preparing to move to Los Angeles to attend Otis Art Institute of Parsons School of Design. I was nineteen—naïve, brimming with piss and vinegar—and hell-bent on getting into Parsons’ exchange program so I could study at the American College in Paris. My nerves were on fire, but I knew this was the step I had to take. Even then, before I could name it, I carried the same thing I carry now: the unshakable belief that world-class was the only option.

Not everything went as planned—when Parsons didn’t work out, I headed to San Francisco the following year to attend the Academy of Art College, where I completed my education in 1992. Despite the passage of time, my obstinance and resolve haven’t faded. Today, I’m back on that edge—older, sharper, and feeling the same electric hum under my skin.

Academy of Art Logo

That edge I’m standing on now has a name: Drawing the Pre-Raphaelites, a five-page article in the summer 2025 issue of the Pre-Raphaelite Society’s journal, the PRS Review. It’s a milestone that reaches straight back to that nineteen-year-old in Los Angeles, chasing a vision. This article is more than recognition—it’s an ode to the resolve and defiance that have carried me through every hurdle since 1985, and a tribute to my unwavering conviction. Being recognized by the Society feels like coming full circle while still stepping forward.

In those five pages, I share my journey with the Pre-Raphaelites: how it began, the influences that shaped it, and why I work the way I do. It’s a look into the process, the persistence, and the vision I’ve chased for decades. For me, it’s not just about embracing a Pre-Raphaelite aesthetic—it’s about bringing my vision to fruition, giving my authentic voice its place, and expressing a global point of view. Following the example of my hero, Sir Edward Burne-Jones, and his brother-in-arms, designer William Morris, I push back against the status quo through beauty and reason.

Summer 2025 PRS Review

The Pre-Raphaelite Society was founded in October 1988 by the Provost of Birmingham Cathedral, the late very reverend Berry, M.A.

The aims of the Pre-Raphaelite Society are:

“To promote the study of the works and lives of, and also to promote the wider appreciation of, the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and their successorslocally, nationally and internationally; to publish, or encourage publication of, writings relating to the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhoodand their successors; to hold meetings, confrences and seminarsof members and others who have an interestin the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and their successors and to arrange visits to places of local, national and international interest; and to co-operate with other societies with similar objectives.”

For further information, visit the Pre-Raphaelite Society’s website by clicking here

Vision and Beauty: Part 3

Posted by Salvador Castío

A Vision Fulfilled

In the summer of 2022, I experienced a fundamental change. Reading The Radical Vision of Edward Burne-Jones finally gave me the clarity and purpose I had been searching for. Inspired by Andrea Wolk Rager’s brilliant reevaluation of Burne-Jones’s oeuvre, I made the decision I had delayed for years: to fully embrace the Pre-Raphaelite aesthetic that had enthralled me for years.

My commitment wasn’t limited to the Brotherhood alone. I also drew inspiration from the artists and designers of the fin de siècle and the Symbolists, who carried the Pre-Raphaelites’ ideals forward. I understood this was a significant moment — the turning point I had been working toward. And yet, as always, I knew that developing my vision, grounded in these traditions, would take time.

The Radical Vision of Edward Burne-Jones

Caught up in the momentum of that decision, I created my first work, Entre Sombras, in what I now recognize as my mature style. Inspired by a portrait of Maria Zambaco by Burne-Jones, Entre Sombras was the first step — a proclamation in pen and ink: this is who I am.

Entre Sombras was not just a drawing. Much like Christopher Wood’s book The Pre-Raphaelites, which had set me on this path all those years ago, it was a sign in the road — a moment when I could finally say: I had arrived at the work I had always sought to create.

Since then, every piece I’ve made has carried forward that same intention: to use the visual language of the Pre-Raphaelites to explore my interests through a contemporary lens, and to do so with the level of care and mastery their legacy demands. The vision I had at eighteen has gone beyond influence; it’s become my identity. Now, that journey has brought me to a new milestone.

The best is yet to come.

 

Vision and Beauty: Part 1

Posted by Salvador Castío

A Vision of Beauty: Discovering The Pre-Raphaelites

I had no idea I was stepping onto a forty-year path when I bought my copy of the illustration monograph The Studio at sixteen. That oversized tome felt like a sign on the road. While I admired all four of the artists featured, it was Barry Windsor-Smith’s Pre-Raphaelite-inspired work that caught my eye. His aesthetic was entirely new to me, as were the names he cited as influences: Dante Gabriel Rossetti, William Holman Hunt, John Everett Millais, Lord Leighton, and Edward Burne-Jones. I needed to know more.

When speaking about the moment that changed his life, Burne-Jones recalled the epiphany he experienced inside Beauvais Cathedral while traveling with William Morris through Northern France. In that singular moment, he knew his life’s direction. When I discovered Christopher Wood’s seminal book in 1984, I experienced a similar awakening. Its cover illustration — Burne-Jones’s The Mirror of Venus— enthralled me from first glance. That book expanded my limited understanding of what art could be, showing me the possibilities that open when you aspire to a higher purpose.

Beyond introducing me to the core members of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and their followers, it led me to the artist who would become my guiding light: Edward Burne-Jones. My encounter with that book at eighteen planted a seed that would grow and mature over the next four decades. Despite all the ups and downs I have seen, the impression that book made on me has never faded. It’s never been far from me — always within arm’s reach. And it continues to inspire me. In those early years, I had no idea what the Pre-Raphaelites would ultimately mean in my life. But the path had begun.

Next: A Search for Direction; How The Pre-Raphaelites Saved My Work

 

The Big Sky

Posted by Salvador Castío

 

And if I only could

I’d make a deal with God

And I’d get him to swap our places

Be running  up that road

Be running  up that hill

Over the last few months, the music of one of my artist-heroes, Kate Bush, has been in the zeitgeist. Her song, Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God), from her classic album, Hounds Of Love, has had a massive resurgence and been introduced to a whole new generation of fans thanks to the show Stranger Things. 

     Kate and her brilliant work have been a part of my life for nearly forty years. It seems fitting that one of the artists I admire most is in the public eye now. I first discovered Kate in 1985 when Running Up That Hill was released. Its immediate impact piqued my interest, leading me to purchase her next release, The Whole Story, her greatest hits compilation, which was nothing short of epiphanic. 

     Over the last few months, I have been somewhat absent from social media. That absence has been intentional. I have spent my time indulging in things that nourish me creatively, such as revisiting favorite albums, watching documentaries, and reading as much as possible. I have spent most of my time quietly working on pictures I have wanted to make for myself. I have zero interest in sharing what I have been doing on social media or with anyone. It’s up to me to share my efforts ― or not. The work I have been doing is solely for myself and no one else. The only goal that I have had during this time is to create work that matters to me. People notice when you do work whose only goal is to satisfy your artistic goals. Doing work solely to please myself is the only way possible for me. There’s no point in creating things that don’t matter to me or satisfy me. Ultimately, whatever I do has to fulfill me.  

     I have long admired and respected Kate Bush for this very reason. She’s done things her way from the beginning, and her work has been brilliant. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Kate, it has always been to do things your way without compromise.

     Kate and her work have been a part of my personal soundtrack ever since my formative years in the 80s when I went from being a beginner with nothing but a burning desire to make art and loads of talent to an art student. First in Los Angeles at Otis-Parsons, then in San Francisco at The Academy Of Art College. My college years were a supernova of people, places, culture, and remarkable artistic growth. Throughout those life-changing years, Kate’s music continued to challenge and amaze me. The Whole Story introduced me to Celtic folk music, The Sensual World introduced me to Bulgarian singing, and The Red Shoes furthered my exposure to Celtic music while also exposing me to the Madagascan valiha. This incredible exposure happened alongside my artistic skill’s growth and refinement. 

     Eventually, all this led to where I find myself at this very moment. Last weekend, I decided to give my followers on Facebook and Instagram a sample of some of the work I’ve been doing over the past year, and the response was fantastic. Between likes, comments, and reshares, total engagements were just over 200. It was clear that people were responding so strongly because they could see the decades of sweat and effort that I’ve dedicated to my work. They saw something genuine, and they responded. I couldn’t ask for more.

     My picture of Kate for this week’s post is taken directly from my sketchbook. Her song, The Big Sky, from Hounds Of Love, is the inspiration. I have always loved the song’s meteorological-based lyrics ― cloudy, overcast days are magical and forever inspiring. Best of all is the song’s title; it best reflects my ambition.

I’m looking at the big sky.