It’s hot. And surreal. And transmogrifying into grotesque.
Basically, I’m an artist—a cartoonist, if you want to get persnickety—passing for a writer. I start with images, then arrange the (“compose” of you pardon the pretension) them into stories. Nobody has ever noticed this, but it may be why some folks think I’m doing it all wrong.
I never could land a lucrative art/cartooning gig. It's amazing how people want you to knock yourself out making stuff for them, then weasel their way out of paying for it. Especially if your stuff ain’t pretty.
Still get the sinister urge to draw.
It’s coming a lot in this summer of grotesque spectacle. Some folks get horrified, I get inspired.
So, I’m making an effort to stop neglecting my sketchbook and cultivate my long-lost habit of compulsive, spontaneous cartooning. What the hell, I can always post it here and on the social media.
Could be fun. Heh-heh.
Are we grotesque enough yet?
And, a sense of humir🫶🏼
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