Adapt

Again with the double post. This is my illustration for the week. The word is "adapt"











































On another note. I wanted to say something about dreams. I think about dreams a lot lately. Mostly because I'm working on a comic book about them. And thank you for asking, it's going very slowly. But right now the ideas have been flowing a little smoother it's my execution that's been slow. Sigh. It's hard sometimes.



Anyway, I've been having some interesting dreams lately, and one of them I did I had created a piece of artwork, which I gave to my friend Hadley in the dream. Which was particularly odd because it was a drawing of the Statue of Liberty, with my father's face. Not something I would have thought to make. But should I think to make it? It was in my dream, and it's been in my mind ever since. I don't know, maybe I will try to sketch it out on paper soon. But Had, I can't imagine you'd be interested in keeping it. Maybe you're part is a metaphor.



In another dream I became lucid. I knew it was a dream and I wasn't waking up, and I thought to myself "You are in control, lets have some fun". Even when I'm in control, I'm not in control. I was at a mall shopping, and there was a guy that I had seen earlier in the dream. He was in a kilt, and I'm a sucker for that. Something sexy about those exposed knees huh? So I called him Scotty and set out to find him. Because it was my dream, I could do what I wanted, and I had no fear of rejection. He was in my control. So I thought. I couldn't find him. I told myself damn it, he's just going to appear right there, right now. But he didn't. I was pissed. I wanted to get lucky! I woke up soon after.... frustrated.



Where the hell did that Scotty go? And then I began to wonder about the nature of control, my ideas about it, my own self sabotage... where I went wrong, and maybe where I went right. I was using Scotty as an object, maybe I stopped myself out of a crises of conscious. Or maybe it's all a little more romantic than that. Maybe the real Scotty, was sleeping somewhere and I wandered past him in his dream. Maybe he never noticed, maybe he did and couldn't find me.




I love dreams.