Every once in awhile, usually after lots of thinking about stuff and things (and generally at night with PBS on my TV) I get it into my head that the silly little things I draw should mean something. The results of these forays into connotation almost always end up bad in some way. Like this, for example. And the blur. If you haven’t noticed, the picture is a little blurry.

I got to thinking about memories and how faded and indistinct some of them were. I can’t remember precisely what some of my friends use to look like. Will I ever see or talk to them again? The chances seem slim. Very slim. Silken, in their slimness. So, does it really matter that I can’t remember what they look like? In the long run, no. I guess it doesn’t. But to me, it still kind of sucks because those were Good Times.

So this is was an attempt to depict the fadedness of memory. I drew someone, colored them in all nice and then promptly blurred the crap out of it. Did it come off like I hoped? No. Oh no. But, I kind of like it. It’s like a little representation of my shame, and who would I be if not for my shame? On a related note, I have no idea why my memory is full of yellow tinge. I guess it’s printed on recycled phone books.


Pencil: Mechanical
Inks: Ballpoint Pen
Colors: Open Canvas
Fun Fact: Nestled gently in the eggy crinkle of his eyelid...