25 June 2005

Right. I?ve kind of showered you with big slabs of text lately, which may or may not have been on purpose. Maybe you could email me to tell me whether you like it. Since you?d probably be the only one, your opinion would have an unprecedented big effect. Well, August has always been about text of course, not of visuals. The graphic quality of the strip is important, no doubt, and it keeps improving over time as I experiment with shadows and dark patches and the composition of narrative elements and all that hysterical semiotics. But the emphasis will forever be on the writing.

The why of this conundrum is simple: I?m a writer, first and foremost. That?s what I consider myself to be, anyway. Yes, I kind of dabble in just about every conceivable artform with the possible exception of pottery, but the symbolic fulcrum (I?m pulling this analogy out of my ass, please tell me if it?s applicable here or if I?ve just made a complete fool of myself) of it all is the written word. I want to be a storyteller. I don?t care what the medium is. I?ll take everything in the world and channel my stuff through it. But no matter how exquisite the things I do become, the foundations will always be simple words. That?s what matters most to me.

I?ve always had a fascination for words, for languages and speech. I?m not particularly gifted or anyhing, but I know my fair share of languages. Besides my native language of Dutch, English knows little secrets for me anymore, and French and German are within my grasp as well. Now I?m of the opinion that you never stop learning new things about any language, even your own, but these at least I know well enough to go to the grocery and not embarrass myself. Words have such a power over me that they can make me laugh or get frightened or make me feel things that other things can not. It?s weird. I don?t think many people have that.

Before you ask: I HATE poetry. Mainly because most of it is godawful and makes me cringe.

I do like rhymes though.