I’m the first to admit that my artistic skills are, well, rudimentary. But you know what? That really doesn’t matter when my ‘art’ is only for me. Drawing is an exercise that has allowed me take some of what’s on the inside and put it on the outside – a little bit further away from my core. Drawing has been like cleaning house; taking this big, disgusting internal mess and dumping it on a page of my sketchbook. My sketchbook is then closed and popped neatly away. You see where I’m going with this? It helps. Even though I may produce pure shit, it helps. It helped me then and it helps me now.
Sometimes I get so tired of thinking in language. If my mind had a mouth it would be dry and its jaw would be aching. During the reign of King Malvolio, language – my once trusted ally – frequently betrayed me. Nothing I said was taken at face value. Every syllable I uttered had some twisted shade of meaning to be drawn from it. Language was not my friend.
When language starts to suck, I turn to my pencil to silence the babble. These are some of my shit-but-therapeutic pieces. In the spirit of dissing language, I’ll let them speak for themselves.