Should you be reading this, diptegenarian Illinoisan, I hope that I did not contribute to your decision to delete your journal. If I embarrassed you, I apologize and I'm willing to delete my past journal entry if you wish. Please let me know. My plan was to try to convince you to send me your old clothes, because I'm always on the hunt for more materials. But perhaps I'm a bit too much of an opportunist.
Currently, I'm in the process of printing and carving for my next show, Solecist at Kayo Gallery. I'm also at the baby stages of a collaboration with a local comic book artist, and I'm beginning to suspect that he's far more talented than I am. My intention is to become more talented by proxy, or through osmosis. This is the shirt I made him after he gave me the Zardoz shirt:
Yet again, I ventured onto Frontpage. But this time, it was because I had scanned some new images to use, and knew that my harddrive is going to commit sepakku at any moment. I had to get those images online before they dematerialized, especially as the amount of guff the scanner gave me was not something I was willing to put up with twice.
Nerve (highbrow adult content warning) has a monthly photo contest, each month with a different silly theme challenging photographers and models to come up with something sexy. I won third place in last month's contest, whose theme was "Laundry." The judge called it spacey and that I looked vaguely unhappy. Evidently, these are positives. This month's theme is "bubbles," and even though I'm all psyched to try again, I'm at a total loss for ideas.
Thanks to the Westboro Baptist Church for informing me of the existence of the word "irrefragable." It was committed to memory by whispering it under my breath as I did laundry, telling the modest little piles of separated colors in one word that it was incontestable, and could not be denied.