This was a product of much heartache and nastiness this summer.
I guess this is the extent of my vent art. Its like a puzzle for myself. Elements of the piece float down from the sky, and at the beginning I have no idea what the result will look like. Its like bits of my self-conscience manifest themselves through my brush strokes. Or pen strokes.
There is no explanation. Not even for myself. But somehow, its comforting. Its like bringing life to all your realizations and then closing the door and tossing the key.
There is a light on the darkened horizon. I just hope we can keep it together until then.
Its all done with black India Ink, the vast majority completed with a dip pen, the rest with pale (AKA dirty ink water) washes, which I kind of wish I didn't do. I love ink. It speaks to my soul.
11"x14", white bristol paper.