scamble

Setting into shape, slowly. getting back on my feet, now to draw it all!

Here's some drawings, an update, you monsters!  Just in case anyone still checks this page.

Just taking a second to say hey.  I've been away a while, seems to be a pattern right? but this time I'm back, to what end I don't know

Everybody goes away in the end, friends, co-workers move-on, even family, and you're left with yourself, alone.

May you never know what I'm talking about, never.  It happens all of a sudden, it seems like everyone got together and decided to ignore your silent cries of desperation...

And now you, the few who checked in on my little drawings, kinda pathetic actually, that I look to you...

Maybe everyone is busy with life, that explains why I am here alone, with my computer, my flat screen, my new used car... and a broken body.

I loved her more than anything you know?  But in the end it made no difference.  they tell you "Love is all that matters" or "Love will make a difference".  I'm saying it's all Hollywood, and books and magazines, trying to sell something.  Sadly, love did nothing for me.  In the end it left my body unable to function properly, and because of a stroke, unable to talk properly.  Yep, I've been through a lot, less than some, but more than I'd wish on you my friends.  

Because I was in love, and had that taken away, I ate foods that were no good for me, ignored the doctors, and drank, until one night, it happened.

When I woke-up I couldn't put my finger on it exactly, but then at work I couldn't speak the thoughts in my head, they came out all garbled, and because I had been drinking the night before I thought I was still drunk, so I kept quiet.  I had started work early around seven, by the time lunch time rolled-around I was in the hospital, confused and alone.

Before I left the hospital everyone who knew me, It seemed, visited me, the girl held my hand, one friend checked in with another help via FaceTime, bosses, co-workers, old co-workers, family. 

Then I was out, struggling, i was out...

I was able to drive again, legally, I could work again, make money, and I was alone.

Once I got asked if I wanted to go see Ant-Man by a co-worker, I commented that it was the first time in almost five years, that that had happened, and it was, but the co-worker seemed pleased with himself, not seeing what I was saying, that I had been there almost five years, and no-one had asked up until then!  You'd think I made my point, but when Monday rolled around the same co-worker said something about what people had asked about the movie, y'know friends, I said no one had asked.  No body had asked me because I had no one to tell. 

After some car trouble a work-friend was driving me home, it was a day or two before thanksgiving, he asked what my plans were for for Thanksgiving I said nothing, just something around the house, he seemed surprised that my mother and sister weren't inviting my over this year, I said same as last year. 

"Really" he said, and I said they hadn't invited me over last year for Christmas either, and that I'd spent that alone too.  But the subject quickly changed, I suppose that it's awkward to know that someone's alone, I guess for me it's sorta normal.  Well it's become sorta normal.

Like I said I loved her, and now that memory is there, and if it get's too painful I remember the other girl I loved with a capital "L", that ended too.  Professing her loved to me one day, then back with her ex the next, hmmm, luck doesn't seem to be mine when it comes to love, still I guess I was philosophical about it, something about having to erase one drawing before you can draw something really good... sounds good right? Well it is a crock of shit too.  When in the end you're alone.

This corner of the web isn't exactly for people with lives right?  Maybe you can understand, and not deride me for sewing a few sour oats.
So until next time, It's been swell.

So, I'm just writing a little note, just to get that last note off the front page, since I can't fight the swelling tide of mediocre porn that's scrawled and posted, I figured I'd go away for a while, and then realized I wasn't loving the "Epic Space Painting I had so very front and center anymore, so I should probably replace it, and make it something at the very least, more current.
I am currently without a scanner, okay, a working scanner, so all those sketches started piling up, and then, I stopped drawing, why?  It's stupid I know, but then the piles would keep growing, with no end in sight, not date to begin scanning, and posting.
So, while I'm trying to figure out a way to start gathering monies, with which to procure new technological wonders, I'll post the occasional thing, but it's going to pretty sparse for a while.

Make what you love, love what you do, do someone you love.

I've been her on DeviantArt a while, and maybe I had my head in the sand, or maybe I just chose not to pay attention, but when a friend of mine pointed out the amount of truly awful "boob-centric" pictures on here, I started to pay attention.

One of the things I do, when I log into my account, is to see who's added something of mine to a collection.  And when I do, I see among which pieces my stuff resides.  And truly, some times, it saddens me.  I was making no claims to great art, I wasn't claiming any high ground, but my gosh, maybe I should have been.  I'm guilty of drawing the enormously endowed girlie, the audatiously busty pin-up, sure.  But I like to think if I drew something so ridiculous, so out-sized, that the joke was apparent, the truly ridiculous nature of a man's imagination was being laid bare.   We're goofs, we like big boobs, sure, and if we can get them bigger, well, bring it on, we can imagine there's a pill, a magic ray...something, right?  If big is good, enormous must be the best.
But seriously, what I do is about perception, imagination working on a memory, gathering wool, and spinning a yarn..."I'm tellin' ya Ted, they were bigger'n yer head!". But then, I go on DA, and I see stuff, right next to mine in someone's "favourites" and I think, "Really?  Is this where I belong?  Is this where they see me?". And I start doing some soul searching.

I'm not looking for any pats on the back, a "hey man, your stuff doesn't belong there, next to the woman with the horses head, and the giant milk-squirting breasts" because I know it doesn't, but it is there, somewhere, someone has such a picture, and damnitt, I'm in that gallery, with some streamlined pin-up of mine, trying like hell to look classy next to the woman in the bondage straps, and the vibrator...with a load in her face, that looks like it was drawn by a sixth grader with a crayon taped to his fin.

I'm not a censor trying to get rid of this stuff, I just don't need to be hung in a gallery next to it. Y'know?
Another way of saying it is that there's a lot of shit out there, on here, and maybe someday the guy who takes the blurry snapshot of his girlfriends butt will be the next Arny Freytag (look it up). And I actually like the cutting edge rawness of a nude snapshot, the kind that gives you the feeling you're seeing something you're not supposed to, I prefer it over the overly airbrushed, body make-up look of the last twenty-plus years of Playboy, but still, let's call it what it is, amateur porn.  It ain't art, not yet, and it doesn't need to be, it just has to be what it is, no pretense, just be porn, fine, that's cool, let's have THAT section, let's call it Dirty Snapshots, or something, and let's be done trying to justify it as "Art".

So maybe now you're saying well, mister "Artist" what about your stuff, would you call it art?
My answer, some of it, sure, some of it is cartoony, and caricature, and if that fits the capital A "Art" moniker, then sure, fine, it's art. Some of it, clearly, is, what I like to call art, because it's trying to express something, what, you don't need to know, but something.  And that's enough to call it art in my book.  It may fail, in that expression, it may fall very short, or do it clumsily, but, the intent was there, and even though I may present it here, among other more high-larious "drawrings" I still think it is what it was intended to be.

I feel like I've fallen back a bit, and I should stay the course.  There is an awful lot of crap on DeviantArt. That having been said, there is still a huge amount of wonderful stuff on here, and my complaining about the dreck diminishes them not one bit.  I intended to make a list of artists whose work I admire, and who should be looked at, and sought out, etc. And they're not great masters, or olde-timey guys, they're the guys you can find on here, on DA, and they're cool, exciting, and they make me want to be so much better.  I'll do that soon, but seriously, can we just have some better stuff?  
I wasn't going to write this because I'd seen a similar diary entry on DA, and it was well done, and I'll link it below with his blessings I hope.

But seriously, and I should have mentioned this sooner, but the fabulously talented Jeffrey Jones died this year, and when describing his work, the word that stood out in a quote about his work, his painting, and drawings of women, was "respectful" and that is something that is sorely lacking.  Truly, we must aspire to greater things.  Have fun for Gosh-sakes, but try to be better.

Whew, gettin' dizzy, better get down off my high horse!  
Ideas, focus, and graphite.
-Scamble