Long time no see again, folks.  Some more side work here. Some pieces of artwork are made for other people.  Either they’re fan works, fired out of the paper cannon like confetti into the waiting arms of an eager fandom, or they’re client work, which could be anything as long as it isn’t yourself.   No such stuff here.  This one’s entirely personal - a heartworm tugged wriggling and wailing straight from my left ventricle.  If you know me or my work, you’ve probably seen this. Its called Reach. My approach to interpreting artwork has always been to make of it what you will.  That completely applies here.But here’s my take on it:We sometimes find ourselves in an abyss.  Sometimes its of our own making.   Sometimes it was brought on by things out of our control.  Wallowing in the abyss is like sitting a pressurized chamber.   The air itself presses down on you, crushing you from in every inch above, downwards, making your limbs heavy, your steps slow, and making waking up in the morning one of the hardest things you could do.Its a very insular and all-encompassing place to be.  Most of the time we’re in the abyss,  we’re not aware that we’re there.  All we know is what we’re dealing with, and that its terrible. But sometimes…just sometimes we’re lucky enough to see.  We’re lucky enough to know what’s going on.  Some merciful muse comes down and sprinkles the pixie dust of self-awareness on our eyes and we can see the pit that we’re in.  Knowing you’re in the pit doesn’t make climbing out of it any easier.  At least you can climb.This piece isn’t about being in the abyss, however.  Nor is it about the climb, or how difficult the climb can be.  It is instead about those first moments when you’ve just pulled yourself from it, emerging from that inky, terrible black into the light.  When you reach your hand up and feel it break from the surface, and though your head hasn’t broken yet, you can see better, more beautiful things above you, ahead of you…just out of reach, perhaps, but now closer than ever. That’s what Reach is about. Long time no see again, folks.  Some more side work here. Some pieces of artwork are made for other people.  Either they’re fan works, fired out of the paper cannon like confetti into the waiting arms of an eager fandom, or they’re client work, which could be anything as long as it isn’t yourself.   No such stuff here.  This one’s entirely personal - a heartworm tugged wriggling and wailing straight from my left ventricle.  If you know me or my work, you’ve probably seen this. Its called Reach. My approach to interpreting artwork has always been to make of it what you will.  That completely applies here.But here’s my take on it:We sometimes find ourselves in an abyss.  Sometimes its of our own making.   Sometimes it was brought on by things out of our control.  Wallowing in the abyss is like sitting a pressurized chamber.   The air itself presses down on you, crushing you from in every inch above, downwards, making your limbs heavy, your steps slow, and making waking up in the morning one of the hardest things you could do.Its a very insular and all-encompassing place to be.  Most of the time we’re in the abyss,  we’re not aware that we’re there.  All we know is what we’re dealing with, and that its terrible. But sometimes…just sometimes we’re lucky enough to see.  We’re lucky enough to know what’s going on.  Some merciful muse comes down and sprinkles the pixie dust of self-awareness on our eyes and we can see the pit that we’re in.  Knowing you’re in the pit doesn’t make climbing out of it any easier.  At least you can climb.This piece isn’t about being in the abyss, however.  Nor is it about the climb, or how difficult the climb can be.  It is instead about those first moments when you’ve just pulled yourself from it, emerging from that inky, terrible black into the light.  When you reach your hand up and feel it break from the surface, and though your head hasn’t broken yet, you can see better, more beautiful things above you, ahead of you…just out of reach, perhaps, but now closer than ever. That’s what Reach is about.

Long time no see again, folks.  Some more side work here.

Some pieces of artwork are made for other people.  Either they’re fan works, fired out of the paper cannon like confetti into the waiting arms of an eager fandom, or they’re client work, which could be anything as long as it isn’t yourself.  

No such stuff here.  This one’s entirely personal - a heartworm tugged wriggling and wailing straight from my left ventricle.  If you know me or my work, you’ve probably seen this.

Its called Reach.

My approach to interpreting artwork has always been to make of it what you will.  That completely applies here.
But here’s my take on it:
We sometimes find ourselves in an abyss.  Sometimes its of our own making.   Sometimes it was brought on by things out of our control.  Wallowing in the abyss is like sitting a pressurized chamber.   The air itself presses down on you, crushing you from in every inch above, downwards, making your limbs heavy, your steps slow, and making waking up in the morning one of the hardest things you could do.
Its a very insular and all-encompassing place to be.  Most of the time we’re in the abyss,  we’re not aware that we’re there.  All we know is what we’re dealing with, and that its terrible.

But sometimes…just sometimes we’re lucky enough to see.  We’re lucky enough to know what’s going on.  Some merciful muse comes down and sprinkles the pixie dust of self-awareness on our eyes and we can see the pit that we’re in.  
Knowing you’re in the pit doesn’t make climbing out of it any easier.  At least you can climb.
This piece isn’t about being in the abyss, however.  Nor is it about the climb, or how difficult the climb can be.  It is instead about those first moments when you’ve just pulled yourself from it, emerging from that inky, terrible black into the light.  When you reach your hand up and feel it break from the surface, and though your head hasn’t broken yet, you can see better, more beautiful things above you, ahead of you…just out of reach, perhaps, but now closer than ever.

That’s what Reach is about.