A pinhead tries to kiss Amy Winehouse. What more is there to say really?
At first I saw a skinny kid with big hair leaning against a wall, perhaps on the verge of being up to no good or just contemplating an annoying practical joke, but then a strange girl in a tiny hat (not a tiara, good god, no, NEVER a tiara) on a uni-pogo-a-gogo took over, and that was that. Vroom. Or boing. Or something.
Neighborhood Splotch, No. 3. At first glance, I saw a loveable, hapless, clumsy waitress like, say, Vera from “Alice”, stumbling with a tray of food while descending a ramp. But when my hand took over, somehow things took a less appetizing turn and instead of spilling goodies, she was spilling her guts. Quite literally. Much to the shock and consternation of an unidentified internal organ who now finds himself quite external.
My first impression of this was something like, “Awww, sweet teenaged lion boy!” Further consideration suggested the possible presence of a so-called “man bun” that seems to be all the rage, and which I find irritating on many guys but oddly attractive on others. However, when it came down to it, my hand refused to interpret that hipster hair hiccup and went with this instead. He’s a lot groovier and somewhat less wide-eyed and innocent than I’d thought at first glance.
Neighborhood Splotch, No. 1 in an endless series, because I see things in splotches and blotches on sidewalks, streets, walls, fences, poles — everywhere and anywhere to the point of madness, especially given my extreme anthropomorphism. The only way I think I can deal with the bombardment is to draw or paint what I saw that stopped me in my tracks and spoke to me. Which, thankfully, hasn’t been *literally*. At least not yet!