Drawing on experience

I've been drawing now at my "new job" for a few weeks. It's been great having been in sales for so many years, I've had to retrain my eye and my hand to be able to get in the flow. I'm fortunate in that I've never stopped drawing and painting while I was selling other people's art, but more importantly, I was blessed to have watched closely the techniques and professionalism that they carried to the job. I'm hoping that being able to be more hands-on-creative will make my days less stressful, even when the stress of deadlines looms over me. I was able to do some illustrations for Creative Director of TeamDetroit, Toby Barlow's website for his new book (US release Feb 08) Sharp Teeth. The book is about packs of werewolves living in LA. It's pretty cool, and the excerpts I read (the book's written in free verse) are edgy and risky.

Lately I've been reading some non-fiction. I finished Philip Carlo's true crime book, The Ice Man, which chronicles the life of Mafia contract killer, Richard Kuklinski. It's one of the most chilling profiles I've ever read. Kuklinski killed nearly 200 people with methods ranging from the traditional hit methods of guns and knives to the more obscure, such as cyanide, crossbows and rats. That's right, rats! He allegedly found a cave where hundreds lived and would put the mark in the cave with a video camera set up so the person who hired out the hit could witness the suffering. He was paid extra for the victim to suffer. It's fascinating stuff for anyone who likes reading about the dark underbelly of society, and that would be me.

Also, I'm rereading Into the Wild, the excellent accounting of Chris "Alex Supertramp" McCandless and his demise in the Alaskan wilderness' Stampede Trail. Aside from Krakauer's writing prowess, I'm intrigued by the fact that McCandless was able to do all the things he did while alone. That's always been a topic I've found enthralling; that people can sleep at night in desolate places without any human companionship, support, camaraderie. I personally think the kid comes off like a spoiled kid who couldn't appreciate all that he had, and who romanticized Jack London and Hemingway too much, though it's still a tragic story on many fronts. Namely for the pain his parents must've felt reading some of the things he said about them to his sister, Carine, in letters he sent to her.