More skulls. Err... It is not that I am in any way morbid – even though my current pastime amusements seem to be focused on painting rather bleak scenes, reading quaint old gothic horror stories and sketching bones – but I do find something wonderful and, dare I say it, emotional, about many aspects that others would quickly label as slightly melancholy, or in some cases even macabre.
I've never really been very good at verbally explaining to friends the subtle, subconscious feelings I have about parched deserts, decayed buildings, arid rocky plains, gnarled trees, rusty machinery, frozen vistas and, yes, bleached bones. My close friends know me as the jovial idiot that I am, but most other people that I come into contact with fairly regularly, tend to view my sketchbooks and paintings (when caught in the act) as indicative of slightly undesirable undertones in my personality.
To be honest, it is rather fun to note these different interpretations on what I myself find appealing as opposed to the boring emotional blueprint that the vast majority of people seem to pin their souls to. This may read as bitterness on my part, but I feel more disappointed than anything.
Having said all that, I do like a little morbidity from time to time. Maybe I should sketch a few pages of real morbid material – on a bright sunny day in front of certain friends. *maniacal laugh*