Day 14: 2AM

This one always makes me smile. I like to believe we all have an inner freak we bring out when the shades are drawn, be it dancing to the rhythm of the washing machine or singing karaoke into a toothbrush.

I had drawn this guy in my sketchbook on the way to the beach 2 days before … my lovely wife had taken pity on me having to roll out of bed so early so she drove the whole way. I drifted in and out of sleep with my sketchbook on my lap and let my mind wander.

I see sketchbooks like bibs: they are there to catch the things that leak out of you.

For a long time, I just kept them and would enjoy thumbing through them till they got full, then they would end up in a pile or on a bookshelf or in a box in the attic.

In the last couple years I’ve taken an interest in these old sketchbooks. They’re mostly full of crap, but there are moments of genius going back to my teen years. It’s particularly delicious to see my younger self trying just a bit too hard to be eloquent, witty, profound, and artistic. It’s kind of like self-reflective Schadenfreude: boy, was I an idiot! Ha ha! OK, with occasional flashes of genius, but still, MORON!.

I have long understood that 90% of anyone’s ideas are crap. It’s the ability to recognize the other 10% and run with it that makes one great. I probably run with 30-40% of my ideas, but I like to think I choose some of the genius and for the rest, I have a well-honed talent for turd-polishing.

This painting comes from deep within I think. We all have a pathetic weakness for our inner fantasies. Or at least we should. When I was little, I used to wish upon a star that I could fly like Superman. Then I would test it by running 2 or 3 steps, launching myself on the lawn, and then landing on the lawn, outstretched, belly flop. I bet mouse ears and cheese hurts much less.