Drowning, Waving, and Cranking a Semaphore Up the Ol’ Flagpole to See Who Salutes It
I’ll be honest.
This is where I want to quit.
Right there on the side of the road where the sign reads “60” — dead ahead. I even got a bit morbid about it: what if “100 Days of Words and Art” was exactly like 100 years of life? When you’re between 1 and 10, it can seem so novel and exciting.
But by the time you get to your late 50s, things are more dicey and creaky. There’s pain and uncertainty.
And like life, it changes.
In retrospect, is it so odd that I used my late father’s old architecture book for posts 7 through 31? Ah, that’s telling, perhaps. The seven-year old me would’ve been deeply affected by my father, while the 31-year old would’ve been dying to pull away from his orbit. Maybe I needed that nearby as a guide for how to proceed. If so, it was entirely subconscious.
Funny how the mind works.
Well, I did draw over the weekend.
And, early, early this morning: For you, my friends. Enjoy each day and keep calm and sketch your hearts out.
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