When I Was Twelve

Here’s a post about my artistical past. And I do know that “artistical” isn’t a real word, but, hey, I’m very artistical.

Catch a Falling Star


There comes a time when a mind turns inward and begins to learn that self is as complicated and in need of exploration as any African jungle or surface of a distant planet.

The Paffoonies today all come from my sixth grade school notebook.  When that school year ended I owned one book of my own, Rudyard Kipling’s First Jungle Book, the paperback version.  I kept my colored pencil drawings in my school notebook, and I kept the notebook in my bedroom to continue to fill it with drawings on notebook paper.


As you can see, the notebook is age-worn and falling apart, but I still have it.  It still contains my twelve-year-old artistic visions, the beginnings of who I am as a thinking, drawing, story-telling human being.


At one point I even had a package of pink notebook paper.


So I admit it.  I was a dorky, weird child…

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