When I came across Mattias’ work five or six years ago, I became captivated by his highly-populated cityscapes and his rooms stuffed with bric-a-brac and odd technology. This is the kind of art I want to make!, I told myself.
My DNA looks like two strips of celluloid, twisting around each other. I inherited this double helix from my grandfather, John Jackob, who worked as a projectionist in Kenosha during the 1920s and through the Great Depression.
Over the past year, we’ve worn a lot of masks to prevent spread of a virus, and over our lifetimes, we put on many masks of a metaphorical-kind to guide us through social situations, whether in the workplace, family gatherings, or at parties.
It’s been a week of making art, writing, listening to podcasts, reading new books, and getting a second shot of the Pfizer vaccine. I look forward to engaging with mankind again. However, as I’m both an introvert and an HSP, my engagement will find me in the wading pool of society rather than its deep waters.
How often do you think about Donald Duck? Until recently, the Disney character didn’t occupy much of my grey matter. When my daughter was small, she’d roar when I would gargle a rough imitation of Donald’s exasperated, unintelligible, spit-flying, duck-speak. That was a long time ago, though.
I’m convinced I was a border collie in another life. While I lack some attributes of this breed – agility, high energy, and intelligence – I share a common instinct for herding. Dogs may do it for the purpose of providing protection; I do it when I dream up projects and need people to turn them into reality.