My Own Personal Artwork: The Jason

Didn't know I was an arr-teeste, didja?

Oh yeah, I dabble in penciled works....

This is something I did a few years ago and just found in a passel of junk I was about to toss, so I thought I should share with the class.

Ahem:

[ART CLASS TEACHER] Here we have "The Jason", circa 2007. Black pencil media, 3x5 card canvas.

Stark, hard lines and deep shadows highlight the piece as we are shown what may well have been a snapshot from the mind's eye of a terrified camp counselor as they stare into the face of what may well spell out their doom.

The first thing the viewer is drawn to is the single, mournful eye gazing with forlorn sadness from behind a worn, haggard hockey mask, itself a trophy from many horrific slaughters.

Handling the blade of his machete so gingerly as he gazes at the viewer, one can only guess as to what Jason is thinking as he stands in the fore of a conspicuously barren Camp Crystal Lake, late in the evening. Or perhaps it is a very hazy afternoon. In the world of Jason, night would appear as blank and unforgiving as the day.

Without a mother to guide him, without a sense of direction in life other than to kill, his demeanor would be oft thought as one of non-stop carnage. Revenge. Kill those who brought about the death of my mother, whose only thought was to avenge me.

Perhaps we are looking into a brief reflective period in his life as stands silently, thinking of what he has done, where his life has led him, what would happen if he dared stop the madness of his life, set aside his weapon of destruction and walked away from the very place which has brought him nothing but tortured thoughts, searing memories, the very definition of an Oedipal id; avenge the memory of the very mother who had sacrificed so much for you.

Perhaps the road behind him represents the road which he himself must travel in order to bring about the change in himself he contemplates even now.

The dark, lightless cabins in the rear of this work suggest the unlit recesses of Jason's mind, a mind in which all of his thoughts are likewise dark, cold, brooding and relentlessly devoid of anything but the most horrific visions of a killer.

All the more reason then to render this work in black and white; no color, no vibrancy, not even the bright red splashes of blood that so often permeate the life of this poor pitiful man-child creature. [/ART CLASS TEACHER]

If I come across anything else of mine, I'll post it and allow you artisans and patrons to critique.

Until then, the gallery is closed.

Dope out.

- TGWD