I can’t recall a whole hell of a lot before the age of five. I get fuzzy memories in bite sized chunks. Brief flashes that float to the surface on occasion. I’m sure all the data is filed away in there somewhere. And maybe there is a way to access it. But I figure, if the subconscious needs it the subconscious can go get it. That’s not my job.

That’s how most of art and writing work for me anyway. Cram a bunch of relevant (and sometimes useless) knowledge pertaining to the job at hand into the noggin, let it marinate a little, and then just go.

So my formal art training started sometime before the age of five. I have a picture as testament. I can only imagine what masterpiece was brewing as I went in armed with Crayons, a Mattel See N Say and a dog named Tiny. As I said, It’s all a bit of a blur. But the bones are there.

Also: I still don’t like to sit at a desk to draw.