My mind is existing out of my time today.

As I played a slight game of flirting chase the girl told me she had to leave at 1pm to go perform in the Olympics, it was 1:23pm. An hour ahead for what she was thinking. She assured me that she was not trying to steal information from me, but I assured her that I knew she had already stolen my information and I didn’t really care.

Later I was packing for France. While climbing about on a compactable bunk bed I was practicing my French like the verb descendre. When I made it down to the floor as the bunk bed fell apart the ‘mother figure’ was packing her accordion. It had its own seafoam green case that reached up to about my waist. Quite the large accordion. We compared accordions and I told her of my plan of having mine as my carry on. The room was all seafoam green and white with an overly strong feel of a British nursery, à la Mary Poppins.

Amongst all this I was trying to find my drawings of grotesque arm, hand, and eye beasts on black and white tile. Made from quick movements of the mind and not planned out, but later made detailed. Old Sega Genesis style concept art.

All this was fueled by an afternoon nap after eating some nice French cheese with sunflower basil crackers, drinking some vin de Cahors, and watching a few of the first episodes of TOS on a beautifully grey day.

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Windy Coffee. [part 1]

Fulya was looking at my sketchbook the other day and remarked that she liked the random sketch that I had made of some girl that I saw walking along with a little plastic cup of coffee during the wind storm a few weeks past. As I still have some small pieces of very good watercolor paper [that I had sized to be used for some small frames I had collected but did not have anything to put in them yet], I thought that perhaps I could transfer a little sketch to a little piece of paper to play with techniques. Namely the layering of water colors. Something that I know I have been working on a lot, but practice makes perfect. I also wanted to see how using my new mechanical pencil filled with blue graphite would work in hiding my lines as I initially worked. I forgot to take a picture of the transition between not having the girl inked at all to inking her and starting the background. I was having a hell of a time trying to figure out a setting in which to put her. At first I was th

French underworld tattoos at the turn of the century. The man sports a tattooed mustache intended to foil the prohibition of facial hair in the Foreign Legion. The World of Tattoo by Maarten Hesselt van Dinter. I can only dream of being anywhere near that combination of badass and crazy. Though at that point the Foreign Legion was probably still the best place for criminals to get their record cleaned so perhaps he is as well quite legitimately scary upon all of that. I find myself flipping back to this page time and time again to romanticize the French underground from around 1900. Give him an accordion, a beret, and some braces. Prostitutes who could easily kill you if you ever come up short and tattoo the names of their ‘actual’ lovers between their breasts, close to their heart. Tattoo ‘Je mother fucking t’aime’ in a tattoo cursive along my collar bones.

The adventure continues.

So, I haven't written much lately.. but from the doldrums of the end of semester I then entered a time period of a flânerie across France. A last hurrah. Jessye came to visit again and the tiny room was packed up all into a few suitcases, the largest being named Bertha, and Rennes was left behind, although not before having a picnic in Thabor for the last Saturday market... We got the essentials. Madeleines (where as I reached the front of the line the vendor greeted me with a question of, '6 madelines?') with a few more of that vendor's delicious delights, like those bite size rolls with jams and caramel and chocolate.. Then of course the impossible cow cheese that acted like goat cheese and was rolled in Provencal herbs. And of course a baguette from the amazing bakery covered in tiles. A trip to Thabor with Jessye was never complete without a stop at the aviary. And some people watching. A mohawked punk rocker walks a little girl hand in hand through the park.

High Contrast Grey.

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