I hope I’m not the only one for whom this post-tryptophapocalypse week has been a knuckle-dragging nightmare. When did holiday vacations become so much work? I’m not referring to family interaction, but rather the activity of grown-up holidays. As a kid, I remember Thanksgiving weekend as a veritable funageddon. (Two made-up “end of days” words in the same paragraph!) Of course, I had zero responsibilities as a child, and the only duty I did have was simple participation. Puting down my sketchbook and joining the pinochle game was really the most that was required of me.
Seems like growing up means a lot of stuff has to be serious. Work is serious, love is serious, and even playing is serious stuff. No wonder there are so many anti-depressants on the market. Well, that’s not me. In fact, I think if there was one thing a Nate poll would reveal, it’s that I’m rarely serious. And on that point, I am absolutely serious.
I just finished my first piece of video game art. What game is it for? I have no idea. I was approached under cover of darkness by a man in black who said not a word, but handed me a thin manila folder containing the contents of the job. It was a grueling back-and-forth of changes and proofs (apparently the industry norm of game producers), but I finally finished at the 11th hour, and the funds will now be transfered to my numbered account in the Caymans (also game industry norm). Despite the flurry of changes and tweaks that the project involved, I found myself intensely engaged with the process. Because the artwork needed to be in a “pulp” style (a style I have never attempted, and struggled to emulate), I even dreamt in lurid yellow, green, and red. I don’t recommend it, but it did show that I was deeply involved in the work I was doing, a feeling not easily achieved.
That’s all for now, friends. Hope your Thanksgiving was grand, and the jarring return to work wasn’t too uncomfortable.
