"I'm a junkyard, full of false starts-
and I don't need your permission."- Elliott Smith
True story.
I'm riding the train about a two weeks ago and drawing what I'm sure will be the first of many KennaSketches for da 'Ink when I notice just out of my right eye peripheral,
there's someone sketching me! I take a quickpeek to catch him in the act, and sure enough- he did the quicklookdown that all artists do when they get busted by their subject matter....
While I was kinda flattered, it sorta pissed me off, cause it took a lot of my focus off of what started out being a decent KennaSketch. It got in my head that I was posing for him instead of sketching for me and I ended up with something I wouldn't consider postworthy.
Since it's part of the story though, I'll post it....
Then something strange happened.
I had an 8 day run of incomplete, half-hearted, non-finished sketches none of which I felt like posting either, but I hadn't posted in a bit and Eric from MindBloggingTypos was starting a boycott in my comment box until I posted something new.
Here they are...under extreme duress, I might add...
Why couldn't I finish something? Why wasn't I liking any of it?
Who put the Bop in the Bop Shoo Bop Shoo Bop?
Was I getting burnt out?
Did Jesse throw some Domincan Voodoo at me for swiping his Van Halen post?
What in the Wide Wide World of Sports is going on around here?
Then it hit me like a ton of brickshithouses.
That fucker took my Mojo!
That rat bastard who was sketching me on the train somehow took my skills
that partially pay the bills! Whatta jagoff! How could he?
How am I gonna get 'em back?
How am I gonna get right again?
I feel like rocking back and forth like Nancy Kerrigan
after she got lowjacked in the kneecap, tears streaming down my face-
"WHHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?????????????"
