I know I haven't got a commercial bone in my body now. I used to have a passable talent for following a brief, and delivering on or ahead of the deadline, but... For a shameful and humiliating bout of time, I've been trying to design a sell-able Halloween print, or some image exploiting the usual: owls, pumpkins, ghosts, snaggly trees, zombies (actually not too sure about that one) cats and bones. I remember really cool Halloween parties; improvised ghoulery is lovely, messy fun. Now it's gone corporate, with slave illustrators trotting out their depressing stuff.
The whole kitsch carnival of abysmal and badly drawn stuff is right here, on my screen. and I have nothing in my robust and versatile armoury to improve on it all. Nada. Nix. So here it is, the result of my struggles with the empire of dross, my anti-gift for this tawdry celebration of kiddie blackmail.
Spot on, JB. When I were a lad, up north, Hallowe'en was something you learned about at school. Bonfire Night! Now that was the biz.
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