WHERE IDEAS ALIGHT. A HAVEN FOR SHORT STORIES, SKETCHES AND OTHER TINY STUFF.
This idea came from a typo on my grocery list. Then I decided to play with it in different media; an artistic frenzy, if you will.
From left to right, top to bottom: ink, Prismacolor, Staedtler Triplus, watercolour, Photoshop, Staedtler Triplus/Tombow.
At any one moment, somebody is standing alone at a bus stop, ferry terminal or train station, silently panicking. They are terrified that they’ve slipped into a world between worlds, that the bus or ferry or train is not, nor will it ever be, coming for them, and they shall remain trapped here until the end of time.
When the granddaughter came to visit, the grandmother spent the entire time listing the people who no longer had time to visit her.
The first bust lost its nose and had another nose affixed to it.
Or, rather, the nose of a second bust lost its face and so was affixed to the face of the first bust.
Therefore there is both a nose without its face and a face without its nose somewhere in the world, and no matter how much each piece longs for it, they will never again be reunited.
Additionally, there is a nose and a face that will be wedded together for all of time, whether they like it or not.
Bought paintbrush at Eckerselys. Very happy with paintbrush.
Looked up things to paint for inspiration. Too many ideas. Freaked out.
Used paintbrush to paint Lynda Barry ‘Syllabus’ inspired cartoon.
Very happy with cartoon.
‘That woman is a red pepper,’ was what he said.
‘A red pepper has such a strong flavour, that whatever dish it’s added to is overwhelmed, every subtle flavour supressed, and I have seen this woman often enough to know that every person who encounters her in conversation is, for a moment, totally absorbed by her presence, and while it can be interesting to lose oneself so completely in someone else, it isn’t long before you begin to feel smothered and afraid that you might never re-emerge at all—or, worse, that you will have to re-emerge by force, and because of this force, this obliteration, you will always carry something of her with you, like that one Tupperware container everybody owns, stained with pasta sauce, a sauce made of a dozen ingredients, and yet… smelling only of red peppers.