Thoughts that refuse to leave your mind. Persistent memories of a certain kind: They insist on returning to the person, event, days and places you'd rather not, they go round and round... A good friend complained about her "vicious circles", and without further ado, here they are. I hope that they become less vicious and circular with time.
Steel pen, gentle digital colouring, and if I ever make a poster out of it it'll look a little coarse resized, up close. Why not. Circular thoughts are coarse. Or even rude.
When thoughts are going 'round, around
There's nothing much to do.
I hope that they are somewhat false
As up and down they go.
So difficult to remember!
When they fill your mind
When they really top all over:
They're only in your mind...
They're only in your mind...
The following doodle, whatever it might be worth, is not bad for having been done by a potentially dead person. Yours Sincerely was robbed a few weeks ago, and now feels the post-trauma settling nicely. Refusing to give up his wallet, and defending himself too little and too late, he was thus beaten into near-unconsciousness (with faint memories of having his jacket pulled of from him in the March cold by it, who had asked for a cigarette and then started beating quite surprisingly. The teeth still have to be corrected).
How nice.
As for the police, who questioned the bleeding face a few hours afterwards, they were mostly interested in the race of the offender and seemed mildly disappointed that it (I refuse to call it a person) wasn't entirely African or so, and put the investigation down sooner than you can say Hey Presto. So it might be interesting to a few to know that, thanks to the priorities of Local Law Enforcement, this lump without a soul is still scampering freely about in West Stockholm, maiming and killing locals at will.
Now, Here's the doodle. Rabbit, or so. How one might feel.
A closer look.
An earlier attempt at dealing with the subject will likely get scrapped. I got this far but didn't feel like it. I got the kind advice by a friend to draw "what lives in your hand" -- very poetical, and I received it with gratitude -- but didn't feel things living in my hand really. I remember there was a lot of blood.
Once upon a time I worked for a Jazz Club, and I made so many posters and whatnots that originals still surface. Found one right now! It was Ink and Aqua then, always (things do change fast) with a little digital embossing. I think that I used this bent jazz trombone for a newsletter.
Mildly but still consistently I infused a bit of surrealism into my works. I did a lot of cruel things to instruments -- this trombone got bent. Other instruments were melting, frying, or in mild bloom... it was Jazz, of sorts.
Introducing Ms. (?) Swoosh-Osh, one of the Lesser Demons of Aviation. She (?) is nonetheless quite active in the skies above our nearby little airport around 5 p.m. daily, plane after plane come in by then, probably filled with winged commuters of one sort or another. I was testing a cell phone camera and took many -- too many -- notes of the incessant little monsters of Swoosh-Osh. (The latter I had to draw by hand.
I somehow like the coarse, raw style and did little to draw it cleaner, rather ruffling the pen-and-cardboard further with electric coarse hues. It fit well with the cruelty of pollution et al. -- and the all too sad, lustreless background (patched together with fine Frankenstein stitching): Early spring gloom.
