I’m feeling nostalgic. Maybe it’s the weather. But it leads me to page through my old sketchbooks and notebooks. Even an old blog I’d forgotten I’d kept until I saw a photo today of a certain amazing individual who in my life had a very fleeting moment of acknowledgement, yet possibly changed and inspired me forever. It was simply an encouraging comment to a blog entry. All of these old scraps and scribbles feed my borderline melancholy and I’m flooded with memories of moments in my life both terrible and beautiful.
Sometimes it seems like I get so caught up with working, and paying bills, taxes, and keeping myself healthy, and essentially the whole ‘rat race’ that it’s easy to forget why I do what I do. What I want to say. What I’ve always wanted to say. Life becomes the lid on the jar of my very essence. I wish I could schedule days like today, at least every 3-4 months as a bit of a reality check. Maybe reality isn’t the word I’m looking for. A motivation check? A who-the-hell-am-I check?
My best work is always the work that wells up into the back of my throat while I hurriedly try to put it onto paper before the moment is gone. As an illustrator, it’s not always easy to paint from the heart for each and every project. But the closer I can try to get to that, the more successful I will be. So that is the challenge.
Now. I feel like I should go close myself in my room with a sketch book and blast some Depheche Mode, then paint my fingernails black.
Carnival game chance
And yet I walk on forward
Swollen feet and hope