Sunday, December 18, 2016
I’m packing up up my things to move or at least put in storage, and it’s pretty fun. I’ve really been doing the Marie Kondo thing where you consider if an object brings you joy anymore, and discarding it thoughtfully if it doesn’t. (The ‘thoughtful’ part is ridiculous. You’re supposed to thank the object and tell it you appreciate the time it spent in your life. What’s ridiculous is that I actually do this. It just feels a lot better than throwing a bunch of shit away.)
I’ve been going through cigar boxes of old drawings, mostly little doodles I’ve saved. I love seeing the old stuff and how much my drawing style has changed. I found this old “cartoon” I probably drew while I was talking on the phone. I give you: “Patty Pickles”.
I think it was just me thinking about what if Peanuts was about Peppermint Patty and Charlie Brown was more of a side character. It might not have been my idea, even. (It sounds like something Leslie Maslow would have suggested.) I threw away so much stuff like this over the past two days. It was fun to look at it and read it once more. I tossed a small notebook dated 1998. Trying to figure out where to store this awkward shaped little thing has bugged me since I moved to Austin. All it was worth to me know was to give myself a pat on the back because, contrary to my own belief, my drawing has changed a lot, for the better.
I found ideas I still think about someday getting around to, and they’re dated 2005 and such. I have to let go of drawings and other things that are more of a storage problem than a stimulus to make more new things. It would be great to have a magic shed where I could just keep it all, dewey-decimaled, but really that’s more my conception of heaven than of earth (as a kid I thought in Heaven you would be reunited with all your lost or broken toys, especially a red car that my brother, a toddler, stepped on while I was rolling it around on the carpet).
I sometimes feel like my mind is too full of remembered things (I don’t say memories, this is more like hoarding) and it would be nice to offload some of that pile of occasionally interesting things into some other storage form, but now my outboard storage is filling up too. It was nice to find things that other people wrote or drew in my cigar boxes full of paper. Postcards. A note about a fire at the studio from my ex-wife. A tiny drawing of a bird from the point of an envelope, signed “C.H. ‘01” and I can’t figure which C.H. it could be. I didn’t throw everything away.