I thought I’d have some luck cruising Gorilla Artfare for visual fodder for my textual habit. I did.
This one is from a favorite of mine: Nonie. I’ve written from her work in the past and bought a few cards from her site to support her and to say thanks. Going from memory because I want to stay on target for my writing, she’s a illustrator working for game companies creating character sketches. I dig that and am jealous.
Got lost in hunting down a suitable name. I don’t like it the best, but I’ll go with a straight translation of ‘giraffe’ into Afrikaans: kameelperd. This way I can get moving. Also, gorget: collar armor; spaulder: shoulder armor.
I may look simple and confident in this picture: my Dam’s hoops gleaming at my ears; my Da’s hand-me-down armguards and turtle-shell spaulder fitting so well I felt like I was donning his pride as I put them on only three hours prior. However, this is the moment the exhilaration of my [special] hunt stepped over the root to utter fear.
Rose was the assistant. The photographer’s name was Guy Tetreault, a French-Canadian university student, on a semester abroad. Stand over here. Your hooves to the bungalow, please. But turn your head to me. Chin down just a wee touch. More. Bien. Rose can you even out the bird’s tail feathers for her? Merci. Still too busy. Can we lose the bow and quiver? Clean, sharp, excellent. Now hand her the spear.
He didn’t know what he was doing, he got lucky—in everything.
As I’m back trailing how hard my life has been since that moment I like to imagine it was all his fault. That he did know what he was doing. That he purposefully derailed who I was to be and made me who I became. True path is I accepted that bull’s spear the same way I’ve taken everything hence: arrogantly and willfully.