Life In Razorworld

The first week of the New Year has already brought Weimar-era cinema, psychotic episodes, and an electrical crisis courtesy of some unknown DJ(long story). This incapacitated me from working on my computer or having adequate light to draw or paint. But that’s all taken care of now and I’ve put my recent year end drawings and watercolors on site, in addition to this old sketchbook page.

I imagine that whatever this razorworld is, it’s someplace where things are incredibly clear and honest. When you draw blood, when it’s under your own control that is, the drawing of blood, there’s something about staring down at that bright red scream on your flesh…there’s a point where the scream becomes a hush and just confirms everything you suspected all along. Or sometimes it says “well now that you’ve calmed down let’s examine this other way of looking at things, shall we?” In a tone that’s never mean. There’s a line in the Bible about Abel’s blood crying out from the ground. Blood is primal; it carries our oxygen, our nutrients, even our genetic coding through our bodies. Why don’t most people see how much it has to say? By contrast the razors are very clean, sleek, and clinical. But they’re always a breadth away from the blood.

I toyed with this idea of razors again a few years later, in the one of the first paintings I made when I resumed working with the acrylics I hadn’t touched since art school:

And I even drew Salad Fingers on that sketch page. We all know he “likes it when the red water comes out”, now, don’t we?

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