Pig Hands is a Macedonian artist, who has been crushing it the last few years with his pen and ink and color art. Many of his pieces have been featured on album covers like Die Young, False Light, Dopelord, and more.
Fares Maese is a mexican illustrator, who has done work for the band Gygax, Black Library, Games Workshop, Fantasy Flight Games, Paizo, Marvel and may others.
Skinner is a self-taught artist living in Oakland, California who has meticulously crafted a balance of extraordinary mural work, bizarre and antagonistic installations while maintaining a prolific commercial career. Influenced by 80’s pop culture, human struggle, myths and violence, “Dungeons and Dragons”, and the heavy metal gods, Skinner’s mind is one of psycho social mayhem fueled by a calculated chaos. His work has been shown all over the world in various museums, universities and galleries. He has been an ambassador of the alternative arts movement in countries ranging from Russia, Cuba, Japan, Europe and all across the United States. Don’t be surprised if you see one of his murals on a small side street in Scotland or some tiny village in Russia. Skinner has and continues to bring his own very specific weird art to anywhere in the world that can handle it. Skinner’s work has been celebrated in various publications including Blisss, Juxtapoz, Hi Fructose, and Beautiful/Decay as well as numerous European publications. In the fall of 2012 Skinner launched his own art and apparel company called Critical Hit. Realizing that his art is better kept in the hands of people who appreciate it on a day to day basis, he applied his strange visions and humor to an affordable media where fans of his work can find giclee and silkscreen prints, his hardback book “Every Man Is My Enemy”, t-shirts featuring his one of a kind designs, custom toys and figures, patches, buttons, zines and more!
Conan are as heavy as interplanetary thunder amplified through the roaring black hole anus of Azathoth. Remember that sentence, for it is writ large in virgin blood on the walls of the forgotten temple of Bol-Krastor, deep in the steaming forests of forgotten Lemuria. Conan, a monumentally brutal three piece (in the grand tradition of all the hallowed three pieces through time) hold a sinew-tight line and an iron-grip command over the uber-synchronised powerchord changes and tempo-shifts of the anti-holy trio of bass, drums and guitar. Two weary yet defiant men have the task of vocalising wretched thoughts over the turgid weight of Conan’s metalized bombast. They bear it well, for the task is immense.
Hear the roar of battle. Smell the stench of split blood. A thousand heads piled high like a grim mound of suffering – a blasphemy to nature.