I initially wanted to draw a tiny man frightened into a wild state by the proximity of a giant hand reaching for him, but that proved too complicated for a simple inking project. I really wanted to keep trying my hand at drawing hair, a big, unruly head of soft curls as they become the horizon in the world of a shrunken man as he is held in the powerful grip of the woman that took away his size as she gave him a new life.
I have a very clear memory of my mother telling me about Santa Claus. It’s not exactly easy to reconcile the fact that the woman who birthed me also lied to me in such an colossal manner, but the lie she told me was pretty wonderful. I was born in a city where the temperature never goes below 59°, so there are no homes with chimneys. Parents have to get creative when they talk about a jolly man breaking into their homes once a year, so what my mom told us is that Santa emerged from one of the tree ornaments (the one I was holding, in fact).
Being who I am, I imagined a very small Santa teleporting from the North Pole, sleigh, reindeers and all. When I asked my mom how he could deliver toys to all the boys and girls being so small, she said he grew as he emerged from the ornament. The fragile ornament. The breakable ornament from a set that lost at least one or two components each year because my brothes were so rambunctious. I’m pretty sure I contemplated keeping the ornament, but that’s too entrenched into the memory for me to recall, and I’m sure as hell not going to remind my mom of all this. Anyway, that’s ground zero for the inspiration behind this drawing.
I stretched the meaning of this word prompt to capture the essence of a person who lives in a society that frowns upon relationships between persons of different sizes. She doesn’t care what anyone thinks, and she proclaims that relationship in every way that she can, and one of those ways is t-shirts. One of these days I’m going to wear a shirt just like it, and the message will be true. I’d like to redo this drawing. It looks like garbage.
Another wild stretch of the word meaning to mean the tiny man is slinging his body in the direction of his beloved giantess. Eh, it works in my head, and I have no inner complaints about this drawing floating in my head. Except I do need to edit out some things. Fix some things. Redo some things. Maybe I’ll just do a new version of it, where she’s forcing the slinging with one of her hands wrapped around his slight form. Alright, I’m done thinking out loud.
This drawing’s particulars are adequately covered in its own blog entry here.