Let me tell you one thing, my super17, I'm really bored of drawing me at tables, desks, and in front of computers.
In fact, I'm really bored of drawing me all together.
Why do I have to be the focus of every picture?
The arrogance on me; the audacity to make myself my favorite subject.
So, to everyone's shock, this post will not contain any drawings of me. Not one.
And it's not going to contain any chairs, desks, and laptops, either.
Not a single mundane, tedious-to-draw detail that fleshes out a scene.
To hell with fleshing out, and to hell with me.
The barest minimum. That's the principal all works of art should adhere to.
Don't describe the varietal planing of sidecut valley succulents to me, Cormac McCarthy, just say 'brown grass.' If it's old, simply say it:
"The gutshot drug dealer ran through the old brown grass. He bled on some brown grass, too, but it wasn't as old, and it was in a different part of the valley. The hot, dry valley."
Now that's how you tell a story, by dammit.
Over explaining, over showing; drawing too many walls and chairs, layering on so much thematic depth that the brain must tread water in a sea of many meanings, never once reaching the shore of What the Hell Are You Talking About Island.
Give me the classics, like Venus of Willendorf:
Oh, all right, wife.
The things you think are precious, I can't understand.
And then, sixty years later, a cybernetically enhanced Ken Burns makes a documentary about my life and accomplishments.
"The story of Gweenbrick is really the story of us all." -Shelby Foote
Cue "Ashokan Farewell"