beachcleaning / markmaking

Yesterday was an OCD day.  But the basic model kind.  First I took my OCD out on the beach, digging in the dunegrass for cans, scouring the land of all its impacted water bottle caps, and being generally observable by the lazyass patrons as "That guy is cleaning every corner."  Knocked out two full sized garbage bags of rubbish.  Then I took a break to write a while, beginning the Grand Re-Type (as this phase of the process is known) of PROMISELAND, doing five pages.  No major edits, yet.  Then I went back do it, knocking out another bag and taking on a broader swath of greenspace.  After THAT, I went home and started inking.

Inking when I have OCD is one of those things.  Ink is sacred.  Especially when doing brush stuff.  Fucking up is hard on my psyche.  So I try to get the condition "tamed" before doing anything artistic.  Clearly I succeeded, because the brushes behaved and there weren't any hiccoughs of Intent.  As long as the Intent behind the mark-making is pure, the work is true.  But if there's anything hinky going on in my brain things go sideways.  I was cautious, to be sure; mostly the inking was stark bucketfill, with some minor dry brush; I saved the major detail focus for the very end, placing drop shadows and adding weight to elements of the face.

The only lines which may be placed on a Prepared Drawing--  a drawing that's been through all the stages of development, multiple sketches & careful composition  --are lines that Belong.  Lines which "belong" are lines that either emphasize or complete an element of an image.  An eye, for example, may be almost entirely drawn, but if it needs weight or shading along the edges of the eye's orbit (the folds of the lid, say, or defining the planes of the nose & brow) then those should be placed as they are Noticed.  If you see something absent, affix a light stroke in the absence's vicinity.  Affix it where the light source(s) would place it, quickly and by instinct, as light itself does.

This may sound very casual, but it's true:  action's truth is in its invention.  An absence may not be Seen or Noticed until the other ink is placed and cementing itself in the paper.  Absence must be created, as much as anything...  But be cautious: the aim is not to make work, but make work whole.

Casual, shit, this stuff probably sounds Mystical to anyone who doesn't have wrong with their brain what I do, with mine.  Not every drawing winds up like this.  Only the ones my mind deems important.  Sketches, I could give a toss.  Improvisation isn't alien to me.  But some art, it achieves a higher rank in my mind, and must be executed in a certain way.  That's when the rules of behavior start to creep in.  That's when I know the OCDemon is upon me.  The "rules" I have bolded here are not things I consciously think; they are conclusions extracted from an unconscious, semi-conscious, state of null.  The nullity is one of feeling as much as mind.  I do not sit to ink, when under the influence of obsessive-compulsive disorder, unless I am empty of desire.

Which may or may not be 100% true, sometimes.  Because nobody starts working on something serious or "important" without desire of result.  The archer does not notch or loose an arrow without the truth of intent within them.  But are Truth of Intent and Desire of Result mutually exclusive?  I shouldn't think so.  Nothing is mutually exclusive except in chemistry or higher math.  But then, this is not science. this is OCD.  And OCD is groping in the dark with gloves on and a dulled grasp.  I only know what is right, and I am not always right about what is...

Selah.

shutdown(s) & selling wolf tickets

There will be times this blog is deactivated.  If it's not here, it will be back.  It will always be back.

Currently on deck:

• HERO OF THE FEVER--  a queertopian sci-fi soap opera Infinite Scroll style webcomic --is in process.  Debuting soooooooooooonish.  Don't crowd me.
  
• THE BRIDGE OF MANIPULATIONS will be published next year.  It's a comic.  It's a tarot card set.  It's my life's work.  It's true!  This is the place to peek at it.
• DENIZEN, a bio-comic chronicling William S. Burroughs' involvement in the Carr-Kammerer murder case, is working.  It will be serialized as a webcomic, aimed at print.  With any luck I don't get sued.
• THE AZURE PANTRY, a dating horror graphic novel, is also on the slate.  Maybe it'll run alongside DENIZEN.  Maybe they have things in common.  Maybe?
• THE KILL HOUSE: an extremely meta vapor-comic which queers some Image Comics / Wildstorm / DC comics characters everyone's forgotten.  A military adventure thing with conspiracy frosting!  And sprinkles!
  
• and, as ever, there's PAINLESS, which was meant to be my attempt at a Disney money cash-in, but now it's dead bottom of the deck.  Who doesn't love a bootleg Wolverine yarn?  Besides copyright holders.

sleeplog - 111825

Well, it's been three weeks on lion's mane.  I'm settled on its positive effects on my sleep cycle.  It feels like the cure I needed.  The tea seems more directly efficacious than the supplements; I will admit that over the last 3 days there have been some symptoms of (seasonal) depression, but overall it's leavened by my ability to be rational & separate myself from my racing thought BS.  So what feel like a precipitous mood swing is kept in check: by me.  A win, again.

On the downside I lost track of my work schedule and didn't realize I'd be on deck today, so what I thought would be a 2-day break so I could focus on art is instead me being thrown right back into it.  The lion's mane has helped me be more focused & consistent on the prep end, but even so I'm an old man & tire easily; Sunday I didn't have a break, so even though I sailed through the 8 hours with almost no mistakes, by the final stretch I'd fucked up a basic detail & the whole batch had to be re-measured.

No rep for the wiggy, to twist a phrase.  Errors like that are why I haven't gotten a raise, I'm certain.  And that's reason #1 I slipped into a brief funk.  Because I should be making more money.  Siegfried at least can make money off his art.  I'm not even pulling that off r.n.  I should be ahead of the game: of the two of us, I'm the one without crushing student debt!!  Gah.  Finances.  Abhor thinking about this stuff...

Whatevs.  I have the Burroughs Folio working, I'm drawing, and I'm even scripting on Promiseland & Kill House, again.  Any forward motion is motion, forwarded: the wave of a hand sets the wind roiling.

memory (a post-it nope)

you know & i know no-one is reading, so:  this is a safe space, right?

facts:  my memory blips aren't getting better.  i've drawn things i don't remember, and i've written things that don't cling to the gumline of my stupid-ass mind.  that bothers me-- but since you don't exist, who's to know or care.  a couple days ago, i had just arrived at work, and i couldn't remember whether i'd just locked up my bike less than five minutes previous.  a month and change ago, i walked home after having forgotten i rode my bike to the store & left it locked there

what's the point of writing this stuff down, and re-reading, if the mechanisms of self-reinforcement don't function as previously understood?  why am i making lines on paper if this stuff isn't going to stick?

you can say history, or the value of art, or whatever, but i know--  and even not knowing you, i know you know i know this shit  --that history is a faulty-ass machine for generating vast omissions, and art can't have any sustained value in a system that doesn't see any purpose in remembering the preterite

that's cynical & self-pitying, fer shure.  which ain't the game for me, right now.  i'm just irritable because my hands hurt & i don't have any real confidence in my ability to make art, and capitalism is just a capitalized -Ism that's never meant anything real to me.  art is what i know how to do.  art is what i chose.  the memory thing is depressing, but no more depressing than any of the Real Shit i'm not going to type here, because i don't WANT to remember some stuff

hey.  not giving up.  just admitting it's hard to give a fuck, this morning

satisfaction (and where to find it)

first & foremost, satisfaction is to be found puttering in the studio, idly fixing things:

taking the splitting wine crate-cum-cd shelf off the wall to reinforce the joins and level it.  it takes minutes.  it's been staring at me for months, an ugly separation of staple & wood, a widening crevice along a seam, positioned right next to the light switch for the hall closet.  today's the day the crack is sealed and the irregularity ends.  it takes minutes to resolve months of entropy.  why not sooner?  why is now the Right & Proper time for such a simple thing?  and why is it satisfying?

it's an endless source of satisfaction, knowing that everything in the studio is something i have competence in repairing.  if a wire needs replacing, or a switch requires installation, or if carpentry needs doing; knowing i have all the necessary tools & supplies for executing swift & clean repairs

this comes from a childhood spent in relatives' workshops & garages, obsessed with pegboard & circuitry, eyeball deep in a world of belts and capacitors and spindles and vacuum tubes and screws and fuses--  everything must be arrayed in order or nothing can be accomplished... a place for everything & everything geddeouddaheahkidyabotherme.  every barn i ever spent time in had a workshop, a makeshift garage, a surfeit of spare parts.  it is not nostalgia that satisfies me: it is knowing that it was all Purposeful

i may not always get to a fix-it first thing but if it idles long enough it will take priority some fateful day in the studio wherein i am dithering-- not because i do not want to work, but because there is work to do that is not Art, and it is through the perfection of those specific labours that my mind is cleared of everything but Craft; and it is in that state, finally, that i am best prepared to wield my brush & inspired to Do, and Make, all thinking & saying spent.  there is only the Moment of implement applied to paper, and that is not simply enough:  it is simply everything