I found this drawing while cleaning out my mother’s home. Created in 1980, during my first graphic design class, it was used as part of a poster for the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.
At the time, I never considered the sound of the music. Now, I believe it is a single unending tunnel. Bent blubbering notes. Dark howls without fangs. Screaming bull elephants, miles away. A rancid piece of newer meat, sweating. The skull-ringing aftermath of sprinting into the side of a dumpster at full speed. A fastball slamming into the solar plexus in ultra-slow motion. A didgeridoo full of goo. The lowest octave of a sentient grunt.
The sustained guttural hum of counting to one, over and over and over again, while sitting quietly.
With a clear mind.
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