"Pedge's World"

-Hands and feet are HELLA hard. Go back and compare all the hands I've drawn and the....lack of feet I've attempted. There are so many tendons and muscles it's intricately more difficult than something as distinctive as the human face.

-If I were wise I'd start studying chiaroscuro (contrast of light and dark), specifically for shading, but I don't want to. It could easily be on the horizon, but I'm having such a wonderful time creating art for art's sake and not doing it in a traditional or curated way.

-The curvature in his nose is quite nearly miraculous. It's cute, it's mischievous, it's Chilean. I remember he said one critic listed him as looking like "Orlando Bloom got hit with in the face with a snow shovel...." How can that description be so bizarre and somehow delightfully true? I just want to smoosh that curvy nose into my tummy!!!!!

-HIs hair has a mind of it's own. Just reference the recent puppy interview when I swear he goes from a Coco-coiffed dream to a Reed Richards mad scientist, puppies dangling from the vines of his hair like small canine Tarzans.

-This man is a chameleon. I would honestly describe him as a character actor, which is not to say he isn't leading man material. I think he just enjoys changing his look, not just for fashion sense, but for the delightful purpose of discovering more about yourself in the variety of characters or self-versions you choose to embody.

-This is a bit embarassing to admit, but as an asexual I do occasionally think my parasocial dreams are superior. I know, I know, hear me out.....Because I'm not immediately seeking some kind of sexual fulfillment I can focus all my attention on his perceived intellect or emotion. Or snuggles! It's hard to explain, and elitism doesn't really have a place anywhere. But it's nice to send him some good juju while I'm drawing him. Positive meditations without entitlement? Eh, I don't know. It feels good to admire someone from afar and not demand anything from it. I've already got the reward here in my digital and literal hands....

-As if this wasn't already obvious, this man is FANTASTICALLY expressive, not just with his body with with his facial expressions. He makes a wonderful test study...

-I think his ears might be shaped funny! Not like drastically, and they're often covered up by hair. It just looks like a little maze. An auditory labrynth if you will? Perfect for tongues. Ooops, did I say that out loud?

-Gravity. Gravity is hard to articulate. Like, the effects of gravity. Or water. Light? Clouds? Ocean? Fabric? No wonder artists spent so much time on these types of subjects, because they take so long to try to represent.

-As a society, and even as an artist I notice how often I consider digital art inferior and tactile art superior. That doesn't make any sense. That's like saying audiobooks don't count. There are all kinds of different mediums and it turns out I like combining most of them to create something else.

-Oh! Facial hair! During the pandemic one of my friends was relegated to "family barber" attempting to take care of her son's, husband's and even her own hair. I have no such talent. His stupid beautiful mustache continues to look like a little caterpillar crawling across his face. And his beard. It's very difficult to render it somewhat haphazardly, so it doesn't appear TOO curated. That easy, breezy beautiful cover boy is not achieved without some serious alchemy. Kudos to Coco for her expertise, which I don't share...

-I love his developing wrinkles. They add so much expression and depth to his face. It's also interesting to observe the body in all the ways it changes over decades and apply that same neutral observation to myself. That gives me a greater permission to enjoy MY wrinkles and enjoy my changing body shape :) He seems to :)

-Drawing him or anyone for that matter does feel like having your own little dress up doll. I feel the same way writing fanfic, because we get to take our imaginations and create vibrant narratives. I never really liked playing with dolls when I was growing up. Always more of a "stuffed animals" gal. But this feels slightly redemptive. Finally playing with dolls in my 40's. And as we all know; we MUST protect the dolls.

-I've spent so much time focused on his body and facial features that it becomes very apparent when I try to draw someone in proximity to him like a friend or family member. I don't seem to know nearly as much...

-I guess my last observation for now would be that it's hard to draw someone in motion, or someone in profile? Particularly eyes or hair, as it appears from the side. Sometimes, if I use my empathy I can imagine how something might feel and that informs the way I express it, but it's probs all physics. To a certain extent, none of these observations matter more than the last one;

This is fun.

#thank you Pedro Pascal for your body.....of work

Rockford’s heart thudded violently in his chest as a thin film of perspiration dotted his upper lip. He watched with a mixture of dread and anticipation as Dewey and several officers high-tailed it out the door in hot pursuit of Dick Hickock. 

Rockford was out of time. 

The realization threatened to overwhelm him as he looked helplessly down at the ridiculous items in Perry’s keepsakes. The box had been heavy with books and maps, yellowing letters, song lyrics, poems and bizarre souvenirs. He motioned the remaining officers milling around him and flung up his hands with incredulity.

“Alright boys, we’re looking for a goddam needle in a haystack!” he exclaimed, his voice overwrought and cracking with emotion. He watched the men cautiously picking up the unusual items, noticing a pair of suspenders and a belt that both seemed to be crafted from snake skins. His eyes drifted over the erotic tchotchke with “Kyoto” inscribed at the bottom and a small petrified dwarf tree that wilted beneath their grasp. “I don’t even know if such a thing exists, but we’re trying to find something that lets us know where Perry might be. I think he’s on the second floor, but I’d be foolhardy to think there’s something as obvious as a key”. The officer’s faces were as graven as the circumstance as they tried desperately to find a doorway into the mind of a murderer. 

“What the hell’s this?” a young officer, barely out of high school exclaimed, picking up a make-shift, hand-written dictionary that included all kinds of apparently note-worthy terms. 

Thanatoid; deathlike amerce; punishment nescient; igorance facinorous; atrociously wicked  hagiophobia; a morbid fear of holy places and things dyspathy; lack of sympathy aphrodisiac; a drug or the like which excited sexual desire myrtrophobia; fear of night and darkness

It was like a bizarre literary Rorschach Test, nothing of which signified the whereabouts of Perry at the moment. Rockford rubbed his hand feverishly over the back of his neck. He couldn’t just go door to door looking for the occupants, as that would easily alert Perry to his presence. But what in the world was he expecting to find? One of the officers who seemed a bit long in the tooth, pulled out his glasses and starting skimming through a notebook titled, “The Private Diary of Perry Edward Smith”.

“You gotta give us a clue, Mac” one of the other officers replied, quickly signifying his own military background and relative confusion.

What in God’s name were they looking for? 

How he longed to have your insight and wit for just another moment. You were the one who had developed a relationship with Perry. Knew his ins and outs. Could you have left a clue of some kind? How would you have even managed something like that? He didn’t even know if you were still…..Rockford swallowed the lump in his throat cautiously.

“Every fifteen years Mars gets closer. Nineteen fifty eight is a close year” the world weary voice of the elderly officer rasped as the room paused to look at him with curiosity. “That’s what it says in this here diary…” the officers rolled their eyes in annoyance, each grabbing an item and spreading out around the room like a literary archeological team. 

“I can’t tell you what you’re looking for, ‘cause I don’t know what it’ll be. Something small, something innocuous…” Rockford shook his head with frustration. He wasn’t sure if you and Perry would still be on the grounds, but with Dick in the wind, he didn’t know to what lengths Perry would go to preserve his own liberty. He had most assuredly already killed once and could easily do it again.

“What does ‘depredate’ mean?” the young officer’s voice squeaked weakly as the room remained otherwise hushed in fixed anticipation.

“Gimme that resident roster again for the second floor!” Rockford spat at the paling hotel custodian who sat gaping at the items newly strewn around the room.

“Heard about a new rat poison on the market. Extremely potent, odorless, tasteless, is so completely absorbed once swallowed that no trace could ever be round in a dead body” the aging officer queried.

The rifling of pages and uncomfortable throat clearing acted as a punctuation to the unraveling thread of sanity Rockford was loosely grasping. 

Doleman. Edwards. Williams.

Rockford pinched the space between the bridge of his nose and his forehead. His eyes were starting to go screwy.

“Lapi….lapi-do….lapidocolous? Sounds like a social disease….” the young officer concluded, continuing to peruse the self-made dictionary.

“Is that a Bronze Star?” one of the officers questioned as the others remained silent in mental focus.

“My acquaintances are many, but my friends are few. Those who really know me fewer still”. Perry’s journalistic voice seemed to be mocking Rockford with its enigma. Goddam needle in a haystack.

Leander Norwood Bobo Cullivan Richard Sundry

“This article here is titled ‘I Knifed My Way to A Diamond Pit’….”…

“It is almost impossible for a man who enjoys freedom with all its prerogatives, to realize what it means to be deprived of that freedom. That’s what it says by Erie Standly Gardner. Rightly figure that true…” the elderly officer introspected aloud.

Rockford felt like he was losing his mind. The clock ticked loudly in time with his perseverating heart. 

Time. Time. Running out of time. 

He held the hotel registry in his shaking hands.

“Did you know omofagia is the eating of raw flesh?” the youngster shivered on the spot, attempting not to retch.

“What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow that runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset. This here was said by Chief Crowfoot, Blackfoot Indian Chief” the elder removed his glasses, lost in thought for a brief moment.

“What the hell kind of name is Bobo?” a man pondered as Rockford stopped dead in his pacing tracks.

Bobo. Where had he heard that name before?

“Wonder what omnilingual means…” the youngster's voice trailed off as Rockford shushed him in response.

“What did you ask?” Rockford interrogated, unsure of where the question had come from in the first place. The room held still in silence waiting for an answer to another unknown question.

“What is life?” the elder officer croaked.

“Omnilingual?” the youngster questioned.

“Bobo” another officer countered. “What the hell kinda name is Bobo?” he flipped the photo around that he was initially looking at, to reveal the labeled names beneath.

“That’s his sister. Barbara….” Rockford voiced numbly, staring down at the still shaking list of second floor residents. 

Bobo Cullivan.

It was an alias. It had to be. How common was a name like that? And in that instant, he knew you had somehow sent him a life-line, pulling straight towards your beating heart.

@lizette50 @sawymredfox

@burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @timelordfreya

@mermaidgirl30 @galaxyedging @joelalorian

@jennaispunk @sheepdogchick3 @marcus-is-my-muse

@bluesweaters15 @darkheartgatita @styleispunk

@harriedandharassed @newpathwrites

*note to self; put the cut-out more towards the center for now....

This was inspired by....quite a few things actually. Pedge has spoken about his enjoyment of the art piece "The Clock" by Christian Marclay, and I thought it would be fun to edit quick cuts of surrealistic cinema with surrealistic music. The references are as follows:

1.) The Holy Mountain 2.) Eraserhead 3.) The Discreet Charm of the Burgeoisie 4.) Un Chien Andalou 5.) Mulholland Drive 6.) Captain Beefheart

*And I thought my experience with shrooms was weird...

"I think that today and maybe my entire life relationships seem so impossible because of such ridiculous incompatibilities. I mean people can break up over disagreeing about a 'Game of Thrones' episode. And here you realize that nothing is insurmountable. And that finding the right person can mean a love that conquers all, and that's very inspiring".

Pedro Pascal, Modern Love Podcast

*Vanity Fair "Everyone Wants a Piece of Pedro Pascal", Solve Sundsbo photo

@lizette50 @sawymredfox

@burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @timelordfreya

@mermaidgirl30 @galaxyedging @joelalorian

@jennaispunk @sheepdogchick3 @marcus-is-my-muse

@bluesweaters15 @darkheartgatita @styleispunk

@harriedandharassed @newpathwrites