The early days

Today’s drawing is too wet to scan.

We’ve been preparing the new official site for Wrong design … I’ve been scanning through old CDs for sample works for the portfolio … the old days … before I had staff … things were different then, in the early days of email … I have backup CDs of email attachments … funny photos … cute puppies, candid shots of local celebrities without their make-up on, suicides, naked women with penises … all sorts of junk that was revolutionary in the early days of email … amazing, I really kept this stuff? I still remember Kenneth … I was complaining the police were closing down illegal pornography shops … quite, unassuming Kenneth … he said “Why not make your own pornography?” … ah Kenneth … good idea … in the early days of affordable video equipment and digital cameras … I’ve been scanning through old CDs … all the fun I used to have … I’d completely forgotten.

I don't know whether I'm coming or going

I drew this for my good friend (don’t actually know her) Shannon, but I don't think it's appropriate. I didn’t have any model so I used some pornography that had struck me as interesting to draw for some reason. I need to pack and fly to America though as I’m leaving in a few hours. It’s that horrible clash of stark reality and indirect reality that keeps dogging me recently. I need to choose which socks to pack and copy over some new Twins songs to my mp3 player. Is this my life? It feels odd.

Ain’t talkin’ ‘bout love

I had the idea a long while ago to freeze-frame pornographic videos and draw them. I never really developed it far, but I still like the idea. I’ve had a nagging feeling about sex and love recently – how the two are so interchangeable, but I’m sure they’re not that related. Love is just a moral concoction to allow fucking in civilized society. The reality is that a swollen cock thrusting into a juicy pussy is the best part of existence, and it’s made that way because nature insists we select and procreate. The idea that I’m being manipulated by something outside myself makes me mad, and makes me never want to fuck again. Really – I know the game: passion, that overwhelming desire, that explosive wanderlust that comes with being in the arms of beauty. Nature, you fiend. Am I just a cog in your wheel?