The night before last we all got into the minivan and went to LAX to pick up Joan’s cousin, who’d just spent the last four and a half months in Paris. We overestimated the downtown LA traffic and found ourselves in the International Flights waiting area an hour and a half early. Jack and I started sketching. Jack likes to sketch from memory characters from the latest Playstation game he’s working on, while I sketch stuff around me. He draws lots of long-haired mysterious looking guys with swords and strange beasts and monsters. I asked him to sketch something he saw here, which he did, and well; but that’s all rather boring to a 12-year-old. I know I would have been bored with reality at that age too. He asked me why I like to draw things, everyday things, that I see, and I told him honestly I don’t know. For some strange reason, the older I get the more interesting it is to draw normal reality as it unfolds. I can’t say why.
This young lady next to us hardly moved – except her thumb, which was doing a mile-a-minute, text-messaging on her cell phone. Her face was without expression, but her hand was quite expressive.
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