The Evolution of a Brussels Sprout
ALDI was odiferous that day.
My olfactory was offended.
I had to carry on, as we must in times of trial, pushing past such nasal nuisance.
What old lady was causing such an abomination with unfettered gas releases? Because, y'all, it stank. The store was engulfed in the essence of farts. I pushed my shopping cart passed everyone, blaming each of them. I pointed fingers at that person in the sweatpants, "It was you."
People who wear sweatpants in public are always suspect.
Always.
Brussels sprouts were on the menu that week, so I grabbed one bag. As I continued walking through the produce section, there, available to purchase was a stalk of brussels sprouts -- a large green rod where the little heads protruded. Someone with culinary curiosity would pop those suckers off, chop them up and roast them or shave them for a nice salad, feeling chef-life, knowing they didn't just rip open a bag.
I considered.
Then it dawned on me -- the smell of farts wasn't from Sweatpants Bruce over there grabbing eggs. It was from all these stacked up stalks of brussels sprouts just hanging out in public, flashing us with their hydrogen sulfide gases.
It was so obscene, but as I left the gaseous store, I knew I was safe because my brussels were trapped in a bag, where them smells couldn't harm my nostrils.
So wrong was I.
My drive home was assaulted by the acidy ass of this baby cabbage vegetable.
Like, wow, brussels sprouts. Just. Wow.
And thus sprouted the inspiration for the angry little tot that I've been drawing and creating for the past two months. I started with pencil and my India ink markers, giving him facial expressions of pure anger and utter embarrassment. I practiced shading, giving this two-dimensional character some form.
He became digital (probably my favorite, because now I can post him anywhere), and then I tried to be like a sophisticated artist and drew him much larger using my newly acquired mixed media notepad -- you know -- for big boy art projects.
I practiced using my blending markers (which reek of rubbing alcohol -- they're, like, super drunk colors -- that's why they ooze into each other) and my simple box of Crayola crayons to create versions of the brussels sprout 100 times the size of the little ones I had drawn.
I'll probably start creating him with paper mache, and then I'll pick up metal sculpture. After that, I'll go downtown and, with the help of scaffolding, I will paint him across the brick of some unsuspecting building.
I need to go...I've got work to do.
My olfactory was offended.
I had to carry on, as we must in times of trial, pushing past such nasal nuisance.
What old lady was causing such an abomination with unfettered gas releases? Because, y'all, it stank. The store was engulfed in the essence of farts. I pushed my shopping cart passed everyone, blaming each of them. I pointed fingers at that person in the sweatpants, "It was you."People who wear sweatpants in public are always suspect.
Always.
Brussels sprouts were on the menu that week, so I grabbed one bag. As I continued walking through the produce section, there, available to purchase was a stalk of brussels sprouts -- a large green rod where the little heads protruded. Someone with culinary curiosity would pop those suckers off, chop them up and roast them or shave them for a nice salad, feeling chef-life, knowing they didn't just rip open a bag.
I considered.
Then it dawned on me -- the smell of farts wasn't from Sweatpants Bruce over there grabbing eggs. It was from all these stacked up stalks of brussels sprouts just hanging out in public, flashing us with their hydrogen sulfide gases.
It was so obscene, but as I left the gaseous store, I knew I was safe because my brussels were trapped in a bag, where them smells couldn't harm my nostrils.
So wrong was I.
My drive home was assaulted by the acidy ass of this baby cabbage vegetable.
Like, wow, brussels sprouts. Just. Wow.
And thus sprouted the inspiration for the angry little tot that I've been drawing and creating for the past two months. I started with pencil and my India ink markers, giving him facial expressions of pure anger and utter embarrassment. I practiced shading, giving this two-dimensional character some form.
He became digital (probably my favorite, because now I can post him anywhere), and then I tried to be like a sophisticated artist and drew him much larger using my newly acquired mixed media notepad -- you know -- for big boy art projects.
I practiced using my blending markers (which reek of rubbing alcohol -- they're, like, super drunk colors -- that's why they ooze into each other) and my simple box of Crayola crayons to create versions of the brussels sprout 100 times the size of the little ones I had drawn.
I'll probably start creating him with paper mache, and then I'll pick up metal sculpture. After that, I'll go downtown and, with the help of scaffolding, I will paint him across the brick of some unsuspecting building.
I need to go...I've got work to do.
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