ARTIST/WRITER/ILLUSTRATOR
(NONSENSICAL ABSURDIST)
Over the years, his work has appeared on rock posters, album covers, and in alternative magazines, as well as haunting the walls of galleries and small venues. He has published two illustrated books and a stack of short-run mini comics. His stories and sharp commentary have found homes in various literary collections, chapbooks, and blogs.
Though he currently resides in Louisville, Kentucky, his artistic transformation took root in Denver, where unfamiliar surroundings pushed his work into new territories. These days, his artistic isolation has only deepened, but that’s fine, he considers himself more of an observer than a participant in society. He creates for the outsiders, the ones who linger on the edges, the ones who find solace in the strange. If his work speaks to you, you probably already know why.
He is also a passionate advocate for bats. He really likes bats.
And he is very uncomfortable writing about himself in the third person.
S. Fisher Williams draws Cute Little Dead Things.
Somewhere between picture books and medieval marginalia, between loneliness and dark humor, his work exists. Strange, endearing, and slightly unsettling creatures born from a lifetime of folklore, mythology, legend, myth, superstition, and a deep-seated fascination with death. Intricate in line and rich in storytelling, Fisher’s work blends melancholy with humor, creating worlds where sadness and absurdity go hand in hand. He tends to create things that he would have loved to discover as a kid—the strange, the obscure, the slightly unsettling but oddly endearing.
Raised on a steady diet of horror movies, cartoons, illustrated books of folk tales, and bedtime stories from Dr. Seuss, Maurice Sendak, and Shel Silverstein, he quickly learned that not all stories need a happy ending, or to even make sense. That idea stuck. His work, whether drawn, sculpted, or written, is first and foremost storytelling—sometimes linear, sometimes obscure, sometimes a secret left for the viewer to interpret. Over time, what began as isolated pieces of art started forming their own world, a place where sadness and absurdity coexist, where death isn't an ending but a character in the background, and where monsters feel just as out of place as the rest of us.
He works primarily in ink on paper, often late at night in his studio, where the quiet suits his reclusive nature. When he does venture out to draw, it’s in coffee shops or libraries, as if being surrounded by strangers somehow makes his own ghosts feel less restless. Being predominantly colorblind, his color tools must be arranged meticulously—otherwise, chaos ensues. He listens to music while drawing, watches movies while sculpting, and writes only in absolute silence.