- Russell Maycumber
- St. Augustine, Florida, United States
- Spawned in the sub tropic Eden of North East Florida, I grew up hearing my grandfather spin coquina crusted yarns about voracious horizons and sandy roads through cool green tunnels of magnolias, full of floating bruised blossoms the colors of debutante gowns and Bourbon sweet teas.These were the stories of the old man and his friends making their way in this scrubby ward of crackers and carnies, fishing with dynamite, carving agency from the landscape with a rusty dredge and brine pickled wit. The more I recall the more I realized how much I inherited this compulsion to scratch my own name in the church pew of tomorrowland. Colossus imagined or real inspires none the less. I look to a past for some answer to my own compulsions. I come back to the only real constant, the story. I have tried direct narrative but stalled in the parking lot of Motel Dilettante. Groping with half understood elements of the trade I found the respite of abrupt skits and painful theatre. I persisted and sketches started mulching around the legs of my flat pack kitchen table I use as a studio. I started to blog these moments spent spilling ink this way.