Carry on, my wayward son. And it ends with an "i"

Because what is more American on Memorial Day than Kansas? And I do not mean the state, but rather the magnificent band from ye olden dayes that gave us some truly excellent songs to feel good about.

I originally was going to do a piece about being afraid of the dark, but as I was working on this one, I got the song stuck in my head and thought I would do a lyric piece instead. There aren't any figures or anything, because I was too dumb to figure out how to make it pretty, but not totally feminine, so I went without and just did plaid and butterflies instead.

So masculine.

So I suppose it's also a study of contrast and/or how silly I am. I mean, I used paper that looks like it would be at home on a wedding invitation, and butterflies, and pearls, but the lyrics are bold and dark and very obviously Kansas-like. Oh, and plaid, too. That might be kind of masculine. But I love this song, and I am not anyone's son, wayward or otherwise, so I suppose this piece kind of reflects that I can be a girl and still love classic rock. And a piece based on classic rock lyrics can be pretty, and it won't open up any wormholes in space.

Take that, gender roles.

It even has all these sparkles on it. And I put spacers behind the plaid bits, so they pop out a bit, but you can't really see that in this image. And I stamped, in three different fonts and two different colors of ink, the words "CARRY ON" all over the background, to give it a little more movement.

I'm not sure it's the most successful piece I've ever made, but it was nice to work on something pretty and not just something silly. Not that I don't love my little markered cartoons, because I do. I just also like things that are beautiful.

And no, I have not drawn a horse picture for my niece, but she drew one for me. At least, I'm pretty sure it was her. I don't actually know because I found it on the floor outside the bathroom after showering yesterday, but I assume it's her handiwork.

It's a sweet picture. This might actually give me something to work with.

I can't tell if that last letter in my name is supposed to be an i or a y, or if she wasn't sure how my name ended so she made it both, just in case. It ends in an i, just so you know. The i-or-y struggle is one I've been faced with my whole life--or rather, I haven't been, but all the people who know me have. To this day my high school band teacher--who taught me from fifth grade on, and who also directed the school plays which I also participated in--still is never quite sure which one it is. It doesn't matter how many times I've told him. Poor guy.

But I digress. It's an i, I promise.