Turn a grindhouse into a grindhome
So I’m back at home in San Diego. I use the word home loosely since I’ve never actually “lived” here. My parents moved here when I moved to Dartmouth.
In the room I’m sleeping in, which is my sisters, is this picture:
I made it when I was 12, a freshman in high school. My art teacher said: “It wasn’t quite was she was looking for and that I should do the assignment again.”
The assignment: “Draw a representation of yourself.”
So there you go. I have no clue what I did to replace this. I think I drew a picture of winnie the pooh and piglet eating out of a pot of honey, again with Cray Pas. I wish I had that one too.
It is very strange because I don’t remember drawing it or myself back then, so the artifact seems like something quite distant from me even though I made the damn thing. It’s a great (sort of bittersweet) feeling that I wish I could capture while in the process of making things now. I could be more critically detached.