Time is an illusion.

And thank heavens for that.

Now for something completely different.

And with that, I am officially shot for a little while. My fingers are protesting incessantly at too many long hours, and my brain is apt to join the picket lines. We'll call this the painting for the week, I need some time off to recover.

The Big Sleep

Been a while since I used Painter. It's good to return to a medium that's a little less abstract once and a while, especially as my Photoshop is more and more reliant on splicing graphs.

Never Say Die

Another four hours never hurt anything. Except my hand. Carpal Tunnel, here I come!

Mr. Shiftlet

Squalor Victoria

I haven't said anything in a while, have I? Seems like it, anyway–I'm accustomed to nattering. This one was made pretty quickly, as nice days can be pretty disasterous for my productivity. That's probably why so many really great authors lived in the foggy ice torn islands of the bitter European north. Dickens was so thoroughly surrounded by malevolent attitude and sullen, stick-to-itive damp that writing about the struggles of orphans was his only in-road into a sunny world.

I, however, have a mild fascination with pompous headwear.

Rook