Sunday, November 15, 2009

Regarding Imps...

Imps an' Impkins an' Boglins. Spook-gobblers and Hobnob Bob-Goblins.
A raucous an' reek-ious wretched time I had with this miserable illustration.
I am finally liberated of it.
I have fretted an' furrowed my forehead and exhausted many a cigar between sketching an' paintin' this depiction.

The illustration was afixed in my mind's eye when I slept.
(All my arty imagery I first see in my sleep, already framed an' story, poem accompanied in brilliant floating letters. I'm never truly free from the synethesia even asleep)

I had completed this art three times an' tossed them aside with a growl to sit with cigar rolling between thumb an' forefinger and wait for the passing of an angel to leap back at the drawing table with some fire in my fingers. My impasse were technical diffculties, not the imagery.

I do end a piece if a line or squiggle is out of sorts with the other fellows. I frustrate every line.

I should the nature of a compulsive perfectionist...I can not attack a final drawing without proper research of clothing style, furniture, rug patterns, cat breed and all other sort of nonesense. If I do not have all these elements researched, sketched, frowned at, stared at and resketched 16 times...I do not feel that it is authentic.

I had started this work prior to October and it is complete.
I am finally liberated of it...

Of course...I know all the names of the Imps an' the Goblins an' the types of them there are. I had to have a complete world for them to live in my thoughts.

I must have pages of Imps an' Goblins all waiting fer thier chance to be in a story an' illustration...they'll have to wait. I need a cigar.



  1. Gee! After reading of your distress, I can only hope that you have a box of Cohibas at your beck and call! Enjoy your respite and cigar until the imagination attacks once again! *~_^*

  2. you have truly painted the picture of your perfectionist self, and i can catch the whiff of a faint billow of smoke.

  3. I profer a thought..
    When a bit distrought
    an' talent seems blocked

    A swirling cigar plume
    will quell that fretful fume