I wonder sometimes how life would be like inside of one of my drawings. Would the residents of this tiny village within this forest be friendly or cold? Do they enjoy cooking, or do the buy box food? When they look up into the sky do they see a giant ornamental banner hanging about?

Would the forest have birds that flitter-flutter about the trees singing singsongy songs, or would it be silent of life? Is there a stream that runs through it somewhere that I didn’t draw?  If fish swim through it, are they yummy fish?

And what would I find inside these buildings? Gaudy interiors, or hipster decor? Fire stoves crackling with heat, or long dead and filled with ash?

Indeed, whenever I draw something I draw it with some vision in mind, or some feeling as to what the place is and who those are who inhabit it. And if not a place, how the character acts, or what they believe in. Yet in actuality perhaps my drawings would not be as I had envisioned when I drew them, like Flynn of Tron who got into his creation to find them quite different.

If only.


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