Sometime last year, my sketchbook soaked up some water while rooming in my backpack with my daughter’s bottle. The back pages—then unmarked—acquired warps and waves.
This circumstance has yet to affect the things I draw on those pages, except when I put them on the scanner. There, they cannot lay flat. There, the undulations make slight shadows. Perhaps it adds a bit of literal depth to my otherwise very two-dimensional work.
And about the work: I suggested to a friend that he and I draw something about a “looming loam,” a silly bit of alliteration which, in my mind, conjured up Golems or other Terrible Things. Monsters made out of earth and rubble and clay. I did not achieve much of that above. Just a burly man on a stool, meticulously carving out—or injecting the nectar of life into—a gaunt, giant body.