After much grunting, heming & hawing the signatures were sewn into the new book. Needles went flying. Waxed thread stuck to things. Someone accidently got a needle stuck in their foot. Not me, but someone.
Preliminary doodling was laid down. And covered up.
It felt awkward and clumsy to start again after so long. My hands forgot how to cut and paste. I couldn't remember how to slosh the brush in the paint and move it around. I hate all of my old scraps of paper, but resisted the urge to throw the whole scrap box into the trash can.
That's how the first page went.
On the next two pages I pretended I was a 2nd grader. Hey this is fun! I dragged the dripping brush across the page. Drip, drop, splat. No one will ever have to see this, I thought to myself. I opened the bottle of black ink and drew onion balls. Onion. Balls. Hmmmmmmm… that's interesting.
I did other stuff. I didn't like it. I painted over it. I didn't like it. I painted over it. I did this a lot. That was yesterday. Maybe this evening I'll draw some garlic heads to go with the onion balls. Naaaawww. I'll write over the whole thing. Yeah. That's what I'll do.
In between the not liking it and painting over it routine I grabbed the camera for an afternoon cruise through downtown.
I took surface streets the whole way. If you wanna see LA you gotta get off the freeway. She won't start whispering to you unless you're toodling along with the windows rolled down. Type started leaping off signs and into my car. I dig dig dig typography.
There are 9 million more where this one came from. When I close my eyes I see letters. I can't stop rearranging the signs & type into different mosaics.
So I'm not going to.