Miscalibrated Internet Receptor Stalks

We're all friends here, right? Right?

I was flipping through a few abandoned sketchbooks, ones that are 20 odd years old at least, and thinking "ouch!" But not all the time—some of the pictures are living up to what I could right then, but some...

So, you know...I want to see them. I want to see something you try not to wince at when the memories come rushing back, but just as importantly, why don't we share something from the wayback machine of ours that we actually like? I understand it's my responsibility to get the ball rolling, and so I will. The charading gentleman at the top of this post is not by me, and frankly, I think he's a bit overdone, don't you?


So I am going to be back in a second. In the meanwhile, it doesn't have to be a picture, does it? It could be poetry, prose, photography, pictures of cosplay, statues, other 3D ventures—anything that you did work on, and you've gotten better at—something to remind you what everyone winces over some stuff. You just shouldn't let it ruin your next day.

I'm off to find something mildly embarrassing by me, and I'll come back and add it to this post. Please reply with yours.

Let me preface this postscript by saying that I cannot find at least half of my sketchbooks—there is worse out there on record—but I don't know where out there is.


I call this picture "Baby Fishface" (it's sweeping the nation—50¢ if you get that reference—put it on my tab. It's a lovely indication of my poor grasp of colour—I worked at it over and over again—laying down a monochrome glaze, then trying to bring the picture crayons in, and as far as I can tell—soup. Grimy soup.


There isn't a happy ending to this story, one where the colour wheel spins 24/7 behind my eyes, and sends the messages straight to my hand—just that sometimes when I grab at the oil pastels (Oil! Pastel!) sometimes it can look like I was doing any of this on purpose, as simple a picture this is.

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