Flu Sketch

Today I sketched a sketch. I think I have the flu and I sketched a sketch. I could barely move. My neck and shoulders were sore. The tightness crept down into my back and made my scalp tingle. I watched a movie in the morning, Moon, a phenomenal film, an utterly brilliant performance by Sam Rockwell. Why that guy isn't nominated for more awards, I'll never know. He's so natural it's frightening. Untouchable.

But I sketched a sketch today and I'm going to show you in a couple more sentences from now. Some workers outside toiled on my landing and staircase all day, fixing the cracks in the steps. There were lots of cracks in the steps and they took a long time to fix them all.

Ok, here's the sketch.

Artists have to get obsessed with something in their lives, and the obsession dominates their work. 

Degas had his ballerinas. I've got my three-quarter view barns. I'm making a direct correlation betwixt the two of us. I'm on his level. Hell, I'm past his level. I'm levels above him, painting his silly ballerinas from life. I can draw a barn at three quarters angle and put some stick trees outside of them and I'm above that ballerina painter.

I think the flu has made me mad. My neck just got sorer, somehow. I think I need to go pee some neon hazardous urine out. Be back later, ya'll.