"The Night Watchman for Lost Souls">
India Ink 8 1/2 X 12
Faber Castell Brush
White Acrylic Paint
15 Hours of Sweat, Love & Frustration
"Yeah, I spent way too much time on this one. Wasn't like it fought me, I didn't have to wrestle with anything, it just kept asking politely for more. More graves, more markers, more moon glow, more shading on her figure, more dead tree limbs like broken fingers originally the drapery on her cross/staff was a crusades flag with a big Celtic cross emblazoned on it. I worked hard on her attentive gardener's gaze. The cemetery gate (It says "Cemetery" backwards on the arch). I once again stooped to putting my name on the markers (JOB+MOTT-Mott being my name before I was adopted). I wisely left off the expiration dates.
I really like this one, it feels like a real place like somewhere I visited in a dream maybe, or Europe. I love junkyards and cemeteries, there is a lifetime or stories buried in every granite marker, every rusted hulk of machinery, junkyards are essentially cemeteries for automobiles anyway. I love to walk through a cemetery and see all the little mementos left at the feet of the markers - flowers, letters of sorrow, flags, promises never spoken. I put cigarettes and old car keys on my dad's grave. Mementos of his life. Pull up a car seat out of any junked auto and you will find the same: pennies, pills, condoms, toys, drugs, receipts for groceries. I once found a vile hate letter never opened or mailed under the back seat of a '69 Charger. I found wedding rings. Pornography, tools, drive-in ticket stubs. I never took anything, always replaced it or re-hid it. Those were not my memories. I hope when I die there is a nightwatchman to keep all my memories safe.