I had no idea that I was going to draw a mustachioed man in a drug-induced stupor when I stepped into chemistry laboratory today. I think I originally intended to draw either my chemistry professor Dr. Nitsche, or the philosopher Nietzsche, both of whom wear mustaches. I made an error in the perspective of the drawing, causing our friend to end up on his knees in front of his favorite sitting chair. It's a habit of mine to doodle men sitting in armchairs and holding pipes, and most of them come out so-so in terms of perspective. But this time, that mistake led to the creation of something that I couldn't be more pleased with.
As soon as he was on his knees, it all clicked together: now I had a title for the book on the end table (The Doors of Perception by Aldous Huxley); now I could explain his vacant stare and dilated pupils; now I could interpret his holding onto the armrests as a drugged man's desperate attempt to clutch onto the reality that is rapidly slipping away.
From there, the embellishments just drew themselves. A drinking vessel, knocked over, it contents pooling on the parquet floor. What poison might this glass contain? A caged bird, quizzical in its unblinking, uncomprehending gaze. Is he a statement about free will, a mere object of the creator's whimsy? He does not know how to trouble himself with such thoughts.
2 comments:
Why don't you just grow one yourself? My boy Ghandi once put it nicely, "Be the mustache you wish to see in the world."
Despite having been a dues paying member of the Forestry Club for over a semester now, I still lack any capacity to grow facial hair. Only one other club member has made an attempt at growing Asian facial hair, and it ended in tragedy.
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