Tree dwelling mammal noted for its slowness of movement.
A few months ago Burka asked me if I wanted to draw a comic for the inaugural sloth zine.
I said yes in a heartbeat, obvs.
People have reached out to me about collabs in the past, artists we love. I have variously let them down or lunched them out. Prevaricated, overpromised, ghosted.
I am terrible at it frankly, perhaps because I collaborate with a retinue of artists almost constantly as part of my day job, perhaps because of anxiety, perfectionism, that constant hounding self loathing.
For whatever reason this was different, easier, open. I used to draw comics a lot, i have a few on versum.
It felt like I already had a little pool of ideas just waiting to go.
My first comic was based on a single location in Italy, Lake Garda, where Daniele Baldelli all but invented cosmic disco in the 80’s. I have used this location for a couple of hidythings, and imagined it in its entirety, through deep time, my usual concerns.
A little pocket of 5 or 10 years where young people danced at a disco, amidst a fleeting few thousand of human habitation, bookended by eternity.
I’ve always loved something of the near jaw dropping infinite, the truly awe some, rendered with humble, almost cartoonish simplicity.
That sounds very grandiose, it isn’t meant to. Its a meeting of the very crude tools and skills I have at my command, and the overwhelming concerns I think about: eternity, pantheism, blah blah.
I made a short film a long time ago, epic in scope, corralled by brevity and ability. I was so mired in research, references, things I needed to shoehorn in, a friend said i seemed to be trying to make Moby Dick in 3 minutes. There is truth here.
Anyway, back to Sloth.
I had a big plan: each part could perhaps be ibiza, my much mythologised Es Vedrà, or Newark, Liberty City, New York, Nottingham, some little pocket of rave history, rendered obliquely and secretly, for all eternity.
And here I hit that same snag again: anxiety, self loathing, the leaden weight of my own critique. By issue 03 well 02 even, if we’re being real, I was already out of pep, self belief, hemmed in by self loathing, anxiety, perfectionism.
The cosmic triangle of the same old Dyl scars.
How do we shake it off? DMT? Microdosing? Meditation? Therapy?
None of them seem to really help anymore quite honestly and God I hate running.
If you have any ideas for how to just be creative, how to maybe even enjoy it, do please let me know, I’m all ears 💖