On Not Drawing The Crow
There are certain people I've never been able to draw. People close to me that have died. My Father, my Mom. Gramma. My Mom. That little girl with the acute case of heavy truck landing on her, who died listening to me yelling at her not to. And sometimes, people I don't know at all, who died when they weren't supposed to. "Surprise" death, I call it. Not that a lot of death isn't surprising (but really, consider how much of it really isn't) but you know. sometimes it's surprising. In that way that throws you for a loop for a while. Brandon Lee was one of those. Probably just pushed some other repressed buttons, but still. Felt really sad to me.
I want to draw them, and I think it'd be good for me to dig into all that repression and maybe learn something from it. But they're looking right at me. And I'm sitting in a pub, which is a loud, happy place. Hard to touch that darkness of your soul when people are lip-syncing Rick Springfield next to you.
So this fast, messy sketch of Brandon, a minor victory.
And maybe a good start. For the next one.
larger one here.