It's Valentine's Day. Fortunately, Kathy and I had an agreement not to get each other anything. But, of course, she got me a nice card which she gave to me over the breakfast table this morning on her return from yoga. As far as I'm concerned, that's 28 years down the tubes. I won't tolerate someone who is so untruthful.
The card is damn funny, and she got a big kiss. Seems like a decent trade.
When I study the masters, I've noticed several things: one is I always learn something, but more importantly, I can't copy them without morphing the work into something Old West. Here's a poster Fred Nolan sent me of a Rembrandt (Self Portrait at the Age of 63, 1669). It hangs over my desk in the studio:
Last night when I got home from work I went out into the studio and decided I was going to do dialogue in my six sketches. You know, people talking. Word balloons, all that graphic novel stuff. I had no dialogue in mind, I just started drawing and figured the words would come. They did, and that's lesson number two: I sure have a tendency to go profane. Also, as you can clearly see, my drawing of Rembrandt quickly evolved into The Boy General:
"The sound of a kiss is not so loud as that of a cannon, but its echo lasts a great deal longer."
—Oliver Wendell Holmes
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