I do appreciate 30'sh cartoons for their certain sogginess, being contemporary with the Dalí watches and all. Less talk and more imagery!
The fenders just had to be 30's green for all that. So why did I create an ambulance? the reason is of no importance now, I could not use it there. I had better give it to you, dearies.
There's a bitter afterthought. (You don't have to read on.) There are countries where one mustn't get ill at all. And this is Sweden, where some people think that all people may get ill, recuperate and then whee hey we're on the track again.
This is not so.
If you're rich you may. And if you're a member of the Union, this diminishing Other Upper Ten, you might too.
And the Other Upper Ten long ago said -- shove the rest! -- but on this day of solidarity, May 1:st.
And that's why May 1:st is but one day out of 365.
...a bit of tick and tock for a little book that I'm working on. (I'm down with a cold yet again and we run a bizzle late.) It's my own project that has been going on forever, the advantage being that I might show you a little now and then.
The clockwork (or -works?) suffer from heavy Dalírium. Perhaps not melting, but everything close to it.
Oh, before I go -- I thought that you might fancy seeing the little clockwork guardian up close:
An improvised thing. Looks rather stern. But well, I suppose that guarding melting watches is important work.
I like fish. I actually like them too much, and don't like eating them really -- if they're not Sushi, which I might simply gobble until my gills are full. I suppose that it has something to do with the tiny pieces? Whole fish look rather reproachful, lying on their iced beds:
"Now Look what they've done to me?!"
The physical original was ink on green paper -- you may still see that hue on the body of the creature. It was changed into blue and pink on other parts, keeping the original texture. Details are digital.
I've had some fun with the patterns on the wings. They remind me of a microchip circuit gone wild and natural; like a light bulb with moss on it (would be fun to draw someday).
...a Certain Someone said. And I did! Well, one has to be careful asking a surrealist for anything at all. I've done my Very Best to make a realistic airplane, down to the last feather and slimy scale. And I haven't forgot that airplanes, although majestic in the sky, smoke too goddamn much -- not good for Mother Earth, nohow.
And being down with good company and a nasty cold, this is about what I can do this Inktober weekend.
...if this book is to be printed, I sadly won't use Georgia. Now I am not thinking of Georgia, the wonderful Jazz standard, but Georgia, the Typeface which you might see now (or not, Internet being what it is.) (And in the manner of dear Nobel Prize winner Imre Kertész -- do look up his magnificenct A kudar in a language near you, the "foreword" or, story before the story is worth more than most books. (And Imre, this one I understand, loved to add a second in parenthesis after the first one or thirty-eleventh, so here goes.) It looks well on screens, but not necessarily on paper.
- It is very, just very Uncomfy. Our protagonist was Young and Green and actually Tried to Sell a Real Painting to a Real Gallerist. Oh Boohey. Imre knew this feeling, and he described this totally power-unbalanced kind of meetings better than I can ever do.
