November
Monday, November 17, 2008 at 12:37PM We are well into November and I cannot wait for Thanksgiving. We could all use a break. The seasons in Chicago are more defined than they are in LA and I can feel everyone slipping into winter mode. I, on the other hand, have been spending most of my time indoors, working on my animation. It is a collaborative project with my brother. Here is the story he wrote and a still from what I have so far:
Often, when I am sitting alone, I cannot help but think back to my childhood. Mother and Father were humble, hard-working people. Most days they were forced to leave me at home while they went to work in the mill. Being quite the curious boy, I often spent my afternoons alone, rifling through my mother's bureau, constantly searching for some intriguing oddity or new form of entertainment. Most times my searches ended empty-handed: turning up charcoal pencils or scraps of parchment at the most.
But one day, while sifting through the bottom-most drawer, I uncovered the most peculiar thing. It was a small booklet, bound in rough, worn paper. In small black print, its cover read "Song of Myself."
I read it all, cover to cover, not out of enjoyment, but out of fear. Until then, my upbringing was Spartan. My house was barren and wholly devoid of decadence. The only book upon our shelf was the good book, the Holy Bible. Never in my life had I experienced such strange lyrical rapture, such stunning imagery coupled with unbridled emotion. It terrified me like nothing else.
That night, I couldn't sleep. One phrase reverberated within my mind, "I contain multitudes."
I wondered, what were these multitudes? And how did I contain them? Were they in my nostrils? In the shallow pits of my arms? If I cut a hole in my hand, would they come pouring out, these multitudes upon multitudes of multitudes?
When I became of age, I joined my parents in the mill. Manual labor took precedence over my life. Perhaps I lost my multitudes, because as I grew older, I spent less and less time on these strange and useless ponderings.
But on stray evenings when my weary body does not starve for sleep, I lay silently in my bed and feel as though they might still occupy me. The multitudes.
Also, I have been scouring the city for interesting Post-Its for the third Post-It show at Giant Robot (curated by Mark Todd, Esther Pearl Watson and the folks at GR). I've gotten word of some of the other artists who will have work up and it sounds like a really amazing show. I'm not just saying that, I really mean it.
Anyway, I admit that I've been a bit homesick lately. However, I've just been trying to deal with the excessive amount of work they give me and spending a lot of time with this sweet, young, gent:
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