I’ve seen people at their absolute worst, and I’ve seen what remains after everything else has been stripped away.
It has been interesting.
A very long story.
It began with me as an idiot. I hope we are only somewhere in the middle, with me slowly becoming wiser.
And for the record, I’m not an artist. I don’t particularly intend to become one.
Drawing started as a way to get somewhere else—a few pairs of shoes, some coffee, something to make this place a little more survivable whenever I’m forced to come back here, which remains far too often.
Still, I wouldn’t come back anywhere else.
It’s our home.
I’m just trapped in the damn basement.
And somewhere down here, I learned how to dream on paper.
I appreciate your attention, and I hope something I create helps you say something about a dream of your own.
