The Myth of Perpetual Summer
pencil & charcoal on vellum + digital

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This is my own personal myth (though not a literal illustration) – it’s, in part, a reference to my birth, my relationship with my family, to half remembered things from early childhood that have been built upon over the years as those memories invariably are. Childhood memories are mythic by their very nature. The snippets of what our adult selves would consider an insignificant event live huge and special and terrible and wonderful in that child-aged part in our minds. It’s partly also about the significance of bees, to myself, to summer memories marked by bee-stings earned by bare-feet on clover choked lawns, and to significance (and current crisis) of bees in the general world-sense. And finally, it is about the way time moves during summer–the accordion folding of one summer into another as one ages, tinged more and more with the the reluctant acceptance that, while long summer days seem to say otherwise, things end.

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