Sometimes that is exactly how I feel in the film industry. Like a nut job. Seems like every time an opportunity I desire comes along, it has all these hidden consequences. I fear I’ll accept the nut offering and get eaten up in the process. With each passing year it becomes harder and harder to say no to writing that “broad comedy” script, or directing that “teenage high school horror” movie. So I guess the question is this; is it enough to make what you love, but always remain poor and unseen? It’s not that I need money or want fame, but I would like to go one month without worring if I can add extra pepperoni to my pizza without comprimising my rent. I’d be cool to think that the independent film I am pouring my heart into will find an audience to appreciate it and to talk about it. What more can I honestly ask for as an artist? Extra pepperoni and a film people watch.

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My brain is kinda piddle-doo at times. I find my right hand putting shapes together on scrap pieces of paper, mini-notebooks and anything else a pen or pencil might lay down its sweet, sweet transfer juice to. Though I am no artist when it comes to drawing, I find it to be a very real and raw form of creative therapy. With writing (my art of choice) I conjuror up a story, think about it, write, think some more, re-write it, show it to people, get self-concious, change everything, hate myself, have a drink, write some more. But with these simple little drawings I’m able to get the original visual out of my head and never question it motives, points, sellability or demographic. Sometimes the greatest form of expression is the one you’re not that good at, therefore you have no aspirations of  a career with it. No, you just do it because it makes you happy. 

 

I decided that every Friday on this blog I would offer up a new piece of my brain. So tense up with excitement…cause it’s happening people. Happy Hour at the Outer Ring was sketched out on a metal bird. I was on my way to some destination I deemed worthy of taking a chance I might plummet from the sky and die. Sorry. That was dramatic. I hate flying more than I hate Rolling Rock beer (calling it beer is actually insulting to…well, beer). I get all sorts of crazy anxiety and sometimes these doodles calm me a bit. 

Much Love

Travis

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