I used to call my Blackbook, “The Book of Wonder”. All the problems of the universe would be solved in it’s pages. Or at least I thought so, through all the sketches, drawings, doodles… through the folds and wrinkles of the paper, the smudges of ink, the nonsensical thoughts written, universal truths were revealed, even if I didn’t know it in the moment. I would look at these sketches today and say to myself something along the lines of; “I was way ahead of my time”, or “I don’t know what type of sh#t I was on, when I wrote this”. It still provided curiosity and wonder to this day. Looking at this piece of paper here, I remember parts of it, the thinking process behind it. How I was going to do it on a wall in the next few days. The intricacies of it all, the obsession of it all. Those were the days. (this drawing was done somewhere in the early 1990’s)