one for the fridge

It amazes me sometimes, how I can descend into inky madness. I remember sitting down with the pots of ink, and the new brush, and the clean sheet of paper. I neatly made a border around the page, and I set to work. I made one mark, and then another, and then more and more and more. Some time later, I was knocking my chair over backwards in my haste to get away from the desk. What had I done? What kind of monster had I created?

I'd be hard-pressed to tell you what this supposed to have been, and I'd be lying if I told you this is how it was supposed to look. But I am strangely pleased with this photograph of the drawing that didn't go well. I don't know if it's ironic, or fitting, or just tedious, but I often like pictures of works that didn't work, and I generally do not like pictures of those that have gone well.