... ..stick man, stuck man ....November 29, 2004   I am no artist.  I'm not referring to a ballet dancer or a rap singer though, for the record, I'm not one of those either.  When I use the word artist, I use it as a child would.  An artist is a person who makes art and art is a picture of something.  Singers sing, dancers dance, and artists draw pictures.  I cannot draw a picture. From time to time, though, I try to draw.  I do not know why.  Maybe I think I'll change from one day to the next.  I'll go to bed capable of nothing more than a stick-man standing beside a square house with a triangular roof baking beneath a blazing, spiky circle.  Then I'll waken, have my coffee and cereal, and create a masterpiece with pen and ink.  But my sleep is never transformative. This morning I drew a self-portrait: circle-head, football-eyes, a light bulb nose, and bee-stung lips.  It could be any suspected criminal drawn by any six-year-old police sketch artist.  If I could erase and draw a better picture of myself, I would.  But I can't unless, of course, something changes. previous..|..current..|..archives..|..4th quarter index..|..next

©  2004 by the beastmaster