This is a working comp from the 1990s. Does anyone remember comps? Before websites and all this Y2K crap we’re used to, there was paper. And ink. Printed pieces. And they had to be good. Fluid. To be able to stand time’s test because there was no dashboard one could log into and make an overnight edit. Diction, line breaks, specs, images. Each was a detail unto itself. I miss that.
I found this in my loft last week. The loft is where all the old stuff is kept. On shelves within easy reach. The papers go back to Day One. There are even some deposit slips from my first sales. Thank you letters. Articles. Ya’ know – old stuff. To remind me that I did it. That I was there.
My adult life is one long mood swing that goes so far forward in anticipation. And ruminates on what I can get done to be more masterful at my trade. To redeem myself for what I couldn’t do well in earlier times. This isn’t about just being a maker, it reaches into me as a person. And then I start fixating on what once was. Rereading makes it real. Again.
The loft and all its contents are a never ending hole to fall in when I have an extra moment. There’s nothing there that doesn’t seem like yesterday even if it happened four decades ago. When I’m honest I use words like hell, and prison. Because that’s what it is. A place to go and feel trapped. Or justified.
The comp never made it past the concept stages.
All This By Hand
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