Reports from the Dead Museum: Introduction

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Introduction

So, what is in front of you now?

Records of moving through the night cafés and bars, stopping momentarily to draw, scribe, slash and stroke in time to the ambient beat, whether drums, cars, or simply the click of traffic lights changing from red to green.

I moved a little, saw a little, remembered a little, drew a little. I made over a thousand of these drawings, carrying notebooks to every function available.

When a sizable pool was filled, I began to fish, separating the big tuna from the minnows. Many things emerged from the depths, some more murky than others. When a large enough stock was gathered, I titled slyly, softly, sometimes gravely or quietly and slid them into place. After shuffling this deck a few times, both discarding and drawing anew, I set them forth in the form before you now.

What an artist feels:

Afterwards I stumbled like a drunk-looked down and saw the paint like blood on my hands. I felt like a murderer. I staggered across my studio and slumped into my chair. I sat back, letting my synapses unwind; I prepared myself for the next victim.