I really like this one. It’s done in a few strokes of ink, which I was experimenting with in my teens. The color was added first with marker, then when I was disatisfied with the richness and vibrancy of the color, I added a layer of pointilistic pastel marks.
It’s interesting what 20 years (well, 19) will do to an image. The paper has begun to discolor and it shows its’ age, albeit in a subtle way.
I suppose people do that too, they age and discolor with time.
This morning Leah and the three younger kids are playing the board game Sorry. I put on an iTunes smart playlist of “Fiona Apple” and Frou Frou.” Right now what’s playing is Shadowboxer.
The theme of aging and maybe the subliminal thought of “boxer” made me think of a quote from Pulp Fiction. Something said by Marcellus Wallace as he’s telling Butch to throw a fight:
I think you are gonna find, when this sh*t is over… I think you’re gonna find yourself one smilin’ mother****er. The thing is Butch, right now, you’ve got ability. But painful as it may be, ability don’t last. And your days are just about over. Now that’s a hard mother****in’ fact of life. But it’s a fact of life your ass is gonna hafta get realistic about. See this business is filled to the brim with unrealistic mother****ers. Mother****ers who thought their ass would age like fine wine. If you mean it turns to vinegar, it does. If you mean it gets better with age, it don’t. Besides Butch, how many fights you think you got left in you anyway? Two? Boxers don’t have an “old timer’s day.” You came close, but you never made it, and if you were gonna make it, you woulda made it before now.
Even though I am aging, I definitely have more fights in me.
Later in the movie, Butch says to himself:
That’s how you’re gonna beat ’em, Butch. They keep underestimating you.
Amen.
