This month's sketchbook

So my goal of writing one blog post a week seems to have proved a little bit much - once every two weeks might be a more realistic goal. As I apparently famously say, "I meant to, but... I didn't."

Here are some sketches from this past month. I haven't done much lately, as I got distracted with SiteLab (will post about that soon, but wanted to get sketchbook out first) and trying to find another part-time job, so most of these are from the beginning of the month.

"Robert Fucking Frost, man. He's like...."

Edible stars.

This is a sketch of a dream I had - I was sitting in my car while the Devil (who I don't believe in) was trying to get in. I knew the automatic locks would start to malfunction (because this was a dream, and I was half-aware of it), and sure enough, they did. Once he'd sat down in the passenger seat, I couldn't unlock my own door to get out. It was actually pretty terrifying, and I remember the feeling of being trapped and knowing the way out was maddeningly simple, but inaccessible. The drawing doesn't necessarily capture that feeling - it was much more about how huge and meaty the dude looked.

This is actually drawn in Vince's sketchbook, and I made sure to get a picture because I feel as though every time I draw in his sketchbook it turns out much more pretentious than something I would ever draw in my own sketchbook - with lines of Richard Siken poems all over it, etc. I don't know why this is.

Experimenting with quickly sketching something in with marker rather than pencil, and then refining things little by little. At first this looked like an incoherent scribble - I was surprised to see how accurate it turned out to be for how quick and mindless the initial process was.

Experimenting with shapes on people's faces. I thought it was going to become a "thing" for the next few sketches, but it did not. I left it here.

Every now and again I feel the urge to draw subject matter from high school. It signals a sort of creative step backwards to compose myself, either after extending myself too far or after a dry spell. I think I was listening to a lot of Fall Out Boy and Panic! At the Disco the week this was drawn.

I draw a LOT of people with massive noses looking glumly at the floor.

That's all for now - hopefully I'm going to be posting another post soon. I have a lot to post, actually, it's just a matter of finding the time.

Recently, I dreamt I was walking home in my childhood neighborhood in the dark. Here and there other people were walking to their respective homes too, maybe coming back from the bars. I wasn't terrified, but I was anxious, and kept a knife out in front of me for the entire duration of the walk. Only after reflecting upon the dream later did I realize that everyone else had been walking in pairs or in groups - I'd been the only person walking all alone.

Boo hoo, whine whine. This is what everyone experiences. There's nothing special about feeling alone, because everyone feels that way, at least from time to time. It's dangerous to be ignorant of that, to believe that your loneliness makes you unique, or indicates intellectual or spiritual superiority on your part. That said, when you grew up in an environment that didn't suit you, around people you had a hard time relating to, it's not difficult to see how you could form a habit of telling yourself that you are too special to be properly understood or appreciated, as way of consoling yourself and staying sane. That habit may just stop serving you and become an encumbrance.

Last night the conversation briefly touched on a pessimistic related subject - that phenomenon of looking up from your carefully constructed circle of friends and associates to realize you had forgotten there was a circle, and that it had required construction. This happens in all kinds of places - churches, dude bro bars, monster truck rallies - but every time it does it can be a bit of a shock to the system. Perhaps both my friend and I are still fairly naive and idealistic about "people" as a concept, but personally, I like to believe the best of human beings. I like to be able to say to angry atheists, "Hey guys, calm down. I'm sure most Christians really aren't that judgmental and full of hate." I like to be able to say to frustrated artists, "No need to scoff at 'the public,' I think most people are much more cultured and intelligent than you think they are." But when I am whisked out of that carefully constructed circle for a moment, I start to realize these things I say are not true. What I grow used to seeing as a majority - my majority - is actually no such thing. It is dwarfed by the true majority of people who trample each other to death at Walmart, and cuss out single mothers working the McDonalds' drive-thru because she forgot their fucking shamrock shake.

You wanted cheer, not snobbery? I won't apologize. You know it's true.

On a positive note, this means that in the past five years I've succeeded in getting to know a great number of people I admire and appreciate. The occasional shock to the system only reminds me to be grateful.