Now since my mom is one of my drawing buddies, a lot of times I show her my pics and she does this one thing as soon as she sees them that makes me shit bricks. She TOUCHES them. She’ll take the flat of her hand and draw it down the picture appreciatively while I yawp out: Nooooooooo! Don’t TOUCH it, no!
But its so NICE, she says. Don’t you just want to touch it?
The thing is, basically everything I draw is with graphite and then when you touch, there’s finger oils and smearing and badness going down. But I was at Ws today (drawing, not modeling) and I was struck that his art looks like its meant to be touched. This has impressed me before, but today, something drove it home. His sketchbooks stick together; one half of the image will often leave a ghost print on the other side of the page. He’ll take a stick , or a spackle thingie and start scraping lines and dots, hack into the rich layer of paint or oil pastel he has laid down. His work is not dainty. It has STRUCTURE. It screams: Touch this. No, really! Go ahead! I can take it.
So I was inspired. I also laid down the oil pastel thickly. I also scraped lines into it. I smeared and globbed on acrylic. On the way home, I put in a protective layer of paper, but later I took it out, thinking: Fuck it! Let the pages stick together! And when my mom sees this picture, I’ll say. Go ahead. TOUCH THIS!
By the way, happy winter people. It really is winter here. The other day, I was on the road with (–) and it was snowing, and for the first time in his life, snow blew into his little Nazgul face. (Can you imagine?! The sensation of snow blowing in your face for the very first time?!) Well, he seemed to think it was pretty shitty.
“Yes, sweetie.” I told him while he grimaced. “This is called ‘being cold.’ It’s bullshit, huh?”
Cold = bullshit.
So to combat the cold, my touchable picture features a sun-dappled field. I don’t know why, but this field reminds me of France. Maybe it’s the two people who remind me of France. Anyway, here’s a sunny field with two naked people chilling, which is what I want to be doing, chilling in the sun with nudoes, not freezing my ass off in Munich, but whatever.
Keep your balls warm moofies; if you don’t keep them warm, they’ll freeze off and litter the streets and some squirrel will run over, think it’s a frozen acorn left over from summer and eat it and die. Do you want that squirrel’s blood on your hands?!? 0_0