Took to sorting through and sifting out my drawerfuls of illustrations the other day. It's an excercize in humility that leaves me more deflated than inspired, despite the headiness of a good cleaning, but it's hard to stop once begun.
I came across this one, which I consider the first of its kind-- slick with age and from a thousand adventures in bookbags. It's at once a detailed testament to a cramped, unrelenting seventeen-year-old hand and a model of my complete (and completely irresponsible) textual disregard. (Bilbo Baggins in Persian pantalones? Gracious no!).
But I love it. Thundercat influences and all. And it remains in the "Keep" pile. On top of The Owl and the Pussycat, between the parades of pen and ink dwarves.
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