“Visual art and writing don’t exist on an aesthetic hierarchy that positions one above the other, because each is capable of things the other can’t do at all. Sometimes one picture is equal to 30 pages of discourse, just as there are things images are completely incapable of communicating.”
-William S. Burroughs
There is a delicate crane dance to self-expression, language, and the visual intercourse artists will spend days, sometimes even their whole life, trying to capture. There is no guide book to inspiration. You just do. And the quicker you learn to kick the rear-end of your brain cells into action then the quicker you will catch up with inspiration, without wasting your afternoon on the corner for the bus to come. There is no art school, no after school program, no thousand-dollar scholarship that can teach you this. It is an exhausting, often mentally stabbing uphill climb. It is not romantic. The amount of self-pity one will put into themselves is as disgusting as pubic hair in your salad, or a centipede laying eggs inside your pillowcase.
Separating writing and visual expression is a blessing, and at times feels like nothing more than a cruel, cruel Grecian God curse. But in my small, timid, fairly inexperienced experience, one trial of error does alleviate the other.
There will always be certain moments I can articulate better in one media more than the other, whether in stuffy text or an obscure line doodling on the back of a restaurant receipt, but rarely are the scales ever balanced. One medium will never trump the other — In fact, the more I express my many fanciful dream sequences in a vomitorium of verbal sewage the more visual I become, and the more I train my eye in color theory then the better I am when needing to articulate it in the next scene. Everyday I become more of a director than a writer. An architect rather than a painter. One talent may come natural but the other will cause me to spend the rest of my life trying to outwit the other; a point which I hope will never come, because to be honest, I don’t think one could bare to live without the other.
Anyway – Here is a look at some artwork I’ve been accumulating these past few days since I took an unplanned two-month hiatus on anything involving ink bottles and repetitive cross-hatching. Alas, I am back at work (digitally, this time), but my drive still feels overheated so most of the stuff I make is staying in the garage for work.
Related (see below): ‘Northern Exposure’ just invaded the list of one of my top favorite television shows, and if you have not seen it before, fix that. Seriously. Like, go out and buy it. Steal it. Whore for it, because it has some of the best television writing I have ever seen and it’s been like an old, crotchety yet humble professor to me in my recent adventuring in screenwriting. You won’t regret it.
This year is starting out just fine, and now that a few traveling plans are in the works I feel very determined about everything else in my life. I even hemmed a shirt the other day, and believe me, that’s progress even Congress would applaud.
I stayed at a cottage with a friend for a few days in New Hampshire. We shopped, we skulked, we hassled house spiders and I nervously watched as she got a dermal piercing done by a man with hands as shaky as a recovering junkie. It was good to get away for a few days and not care about anything, except for writing half-assed fan fiction until 6am and eating Pop Tarts for dinner. Now, I feel perfectly fueled to tackle a bunch of art projects that I have been neglecting, rejecting, or just plain and simply want to set on fire (but we’ll just label that one performance art).
Sketches I did while I was away:
SPEAKING OF ANCIENT PROJECTS THAT NEED TO GET THE FUCK FINISHED, here is an old WIP from 6 years ago that was inspired by Jose Packard from Twin Peaks:
Oy. Slowly but surely… And last but not least, I bought a punching bag.
As I slowly crawl out of my shell, half awake and needy, I take a moment to clear my head – Think about not only the things that I have already done, but all there is that could be done. So in order to get myself back into full throttling, choke-holding gear, I have been making an effort to draw out every story wip, and bring them to life just a little bit more through previews of cover art.
‘TREATMENT’ is a story that I have been slowly sculpting together since winter. Parading itself around in my OpenOffice as a half script, half novel – It’s about the unlikely friendships of a doctor, a copper, and London’s most expensive male prostitute, who all take a keen interest in eachother’s unique yet lonely lives.
It is a dark screwball comedy with (ideally) a shit ton of master shots, and a hint of surreal, sexually stimulated ambiance; like Jimmy Stewart trapped in a Jack Vettriano painting, the plan for it is to give you visual pleasure as much as it gives comedic relief.