One of my five favorite comics of all time is Denny O'Neil and Michael Kaluta's 1973 run on THE SHADOW for DC - and owning a piece of original Kaluta Shadow art has long been a dream, a dream delivered via post office this morning:
And very soon it will find its new home in NuSanctum…
This whole slowing down – this whole letting myself slow down – thing is wonderful, yesterday being the first (non-hospitalized – and even that's been almost eight) morning in more than 10 years that I said to hell with it and took the day off. Might become a regular Sunday thing, especially since the NL is now monthly (releasing next Sunday) and I'm hoping NuSanctum yields more work / make during the week.
Perhaps I can owe figuring out how to move forward with the post-ink therapy reanimation of a project I long thought dead (method being the same as my usual method of reanimation: start a new document, put it next to the old one in an infinite project canvas, copy and paste and rewrite in(to) the new from the perspective of now, junk everything else) to this slow down and day off? If so, more please.
Moving things out piecemeal to NuSanctum, though most of today will be spent prepping the cardboard and rubble from yesterday's mini-heatdome desk assembly session for the recycle bin.
Finished the flooring and trim yesterday, the desk today. Other than solar (leaving that part to the pros on Tuesday) and shelves and moving all writing / making stuff out there, major DIY NuSanctum construction operations are complete. Aiming to be Working-working in there by the end of the week.
My grandfather wouldve been 98 today (though 96 good years and two royally shitty months of 97 are a solid record; we should all be so lucky) and, with the exception of one row by the door area – on the docket today, along with floor trim which I'll be sourcing from the already-stained pieces of what was once the first desk I built –, that fucking floor (its official name) is in NuSanctum: if hell is, indeed, a thing, and I'm sentenced there, my own personal slice of it will consist of me having to do flooring for eternity while my mercifully long-dead stepfather attempts to impart life lessons via radio-blasted high school sports metaphors in that fucking swamp-creature-love-child-of-Jimmy-Carter-and-Jimmy-Stewart voice of his. And with that visual, I leave you to your day.
