Musings on the imbued feelings of paper, and a self-evaluation

When I was a kid, I was an angry little dude. As a teen, I struggled to translate this into my drawings. Those efforts were exercises in frustration, both in what they exhibited and in how I felt about them. They were failures to my eyes, but plenty mad enough for others. I guess I could capture the desired emotion in a sketch, but it was hard to make my pages empathize, to burn from the inside and share their heat with the world. In this way, drawings may be said to lose out to shots of whiskey and punches on the nose.

It's been a while since I last tried any of that--I sip my overly expensive whiskey, thank you. In the interim, I think I've done a better job of making my pages collected, bored, and aloof than I ever did of making them angry. What does this say of me? Clearly, I have become a healthy, well-adjusted individual.

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For Every Problem, a Solution (4)

God as depicted throughout the ages. No Alanis Morissette, and, no, that isn't ironic.

An introduction to a book that doesn't exist:

Prose and verse are generally accepted as distinct writing formats with their own rules, styles, and grammars. Though their borders are somewhat vague, they have come to be seen as something of a dichotomy in the eyes of the general public. There are, however, at least 3 other popular approaches to writing as exhibited in picture-books, comicbooks, and plays. Though sometimes given short shrift, these styles are accepted as literature. They are included in libraries, book stores, and academic study. Most importantly, they are read. In the general case, there is clearly writing being done in the creation of any one of these. But what of the wordless comic or silent play? Should we consider scripts written, but fully realized plays, comics, and picture-books, to be performance, art, or some other kind of non-literature? These worries of theory are kinks to be worked out, surely, but they are not of immediate practical concern to the writer...

My room is a mess, my painting unfinished.

...and I still haven't found a good alternative to my scanner with its missing power-cord. Almost finished with this painting, though. I just need to put in a bus seat in front of and behind the passenger. Incidentally, the Seattle Metro buses have the ugliest upholstery I can remember seeing, and I spent five years working at a used furniture store.

Pointless Man

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