What happened to my artistic side, I'm talking traditional art. Yea, I still do design from time to time, but I haven't picked up a brush, pencil, pen and in, conte crayon in years. I tried a couple of weeks ago to draw something and I looked at it , it sucked ass, not even close to what I was aiming for.I guess after years of not drawing you lose it. So, here's what I have for you tonight, an old drawing and a short story I did, both many years ago. Maybe I can get back into writing at least.
I did a charcoal of Rocky Horror Picture Show in the early 90's the reason you see glare is because I framed it, unfortunately I took the image with my phone so when it came out I had to do some stretching on the computer to make it look flat lol
Short story after the break....
The man looked into the mirror; his reflection looked back at him, but the reflection was not his...it was the reflection of four years of pain and suffering.."You must resist," he said to his reflection, that wan, pale creature whose eyes stared from within a corpse's face, when buried deep within was a child, a carefree, rebellious child....but that would never be revealed. No, he must strain to be perfect in everyone's eyes....to make up for the rest...those drug addicts, those remnants of eras long defunct. His main goal is to make others happy...others who would not care whether he was dead or alive... The man picked up his hairbrush and began brushing his long thin hair, which fell out in clumps as he brushed. If people would only look more closely examine him, they'd see how terribly depressed he was, but they do not care, nor will they, nor have they ever. He works endlessly to please these skeletal remains of the past....yet he does not notice that they do not care..he works on like a robot, trying to change things, trying to make everything better.. He walks across the room and enters the bathroom, where he splashes water on his face, that swollen face, ravaged from the tears of utter desolation, and as he walks back across the room, flakes of his skin begin to flutter to the floor. He collapses onto the floor and resumes his weeping. He knows that he will fall apart, and no one will care. He waits, and thinks of the few good things that have kept his life together. A slow smile spreads across his face, and for a moment he is handsome again, and as the last of his material body disintegrates, a beam of light which seems to come from nowhere illuminates his room, and suddenly, the child from within appears, and the man is at last at peace...his life is over for others, yet for him, it has just begun.