A time long ago, someone dear to me said
- A time long ago, someone dear to me said go. And now I weep. Blah blah blah. "This writer has nothing to say at all! As a matter of fact, yes, I'm sure he is mad! Absolutely insane
- ." But not too insane to turn the tables on the one who sent me into this mad abyss. I can play the madman..though some can't believe I'm not really crazy. I'm NOT, I tell you. But
- one thing I can tell you is...my friends, my truly true friends...are crayons. With my crayons and a blank sheet of paper I can create new realities to distance me from my issues.
- I was surprised when I was invited to display my crayon drawings at Tate Modern Art Gallery in London. My vivid use of colour in particular the blue crayon had generated excitement
- , so the Tate Modern invited me to crayon in the blank squares on their Mondrians. I did this without going over the lines and was hailed as a great talent. I filled the Turbine Ha
- with pieces of glass, painted to resemble me and the monsters in the foyer.
- I picked up the pieces of my shattered still life, staring at my mostly inanimate self. Not even the monsters over my shoulder could excite me. If I rearranged myself into a Cubist
- configuration I could hide out as wine and cheese in the mountain town of Orthagon for a while, but somehow this eventually attracted even worse monsters, mincers with sharp
- blades, corkscrews that twisted menacingly, and a massive cheeseboard that laid in wait for me. As I tried to quietly slide past one of the malicious-looking mincers,
- my heel slipped on the crumbling ledge and into the rusty, snarling abbatoir below. My shriek was inhuman, and pain wrenched my clandestine escape via desperation. My leg was gone.
- Started
- 2013-01-10 19:49:05
- Finished
- 2013-04-15 02:01:09
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PurpleProf Apr 15 2013 @ 13:44
...and so goes the life of the tortured artist.