This pic is both in Sketch Machine and Illustration because it started off as a pencil sketch in my little notebook, and by the time it was done I figured I might as well colour it up in the GIMP.

I did a bit of cleanup to the pencil work, which was actually a lot harder than I thought because I couldn't just erase things like construction lines without destroying the texture of the paper that was also scanned in. So, I ended up using the clone brush, and it worked out. I mainly got rid of, as I said, construction lines (which I never bother to erase until I ink something) and especially Xaria's eyes, which were originally open but horribly done.

I have left the construction lines in on the typography, however, mostly because I think it adds character to it and contributes to the sketch/underground comic art look that I love.

Or I'm just lazy.

V

My mother let me draw on walls. It was 1986, I was three, and we were living in a one bedroom apartment in Ghusais, back when there was nothing there except for a block of already decrepit government flats, Al Mulla Plaza (closed because of a border dispute), and a procession of electrical towers between there and Sharjah.

She got a lot of flack for it, of course. Neighbours would come round and wonder why on earth I was still alive after such a heinous crime, and then look worryingly at their own children as the young ones gaped at the sheer audacity of the red and green scrawls, their eyes luminous with the shock of seeing freedom, tolerance and understanding -- and of course, whimsy -- for perhaps the first time in their fragile lives. Several adults vowed never to bring their children into contact with my parents, not the first and certainly not the last time that was said to them.

The rationale my mother offered -- since the simple truth of "Why not?" was far too much for others to bear -- was that since it was a rental, once we moved out the landlord would paint it for the next tenant anyway as per the local norm; if the landlord objected, she was gladly willing to pay for the painting herself. They never objected, but I would have liked to see the look on whoever came to that apartment after we had gone. The building itself was torn down sometime in the 90s to make way for a compound of houses.

It was the only place I ever drew on the walls, and even I am not sure why exactly. The rationale to my three-year-old self probably had something to do with not wanting to waste paper, and the fact that if I drew straight on the walls it would forego entirely the costly and time-consuming framing and hanging processes.

Mostly I just wanted to draw, and my parents wanted great art on the walls, for which I gladly obliged.

You see some strange things at the mall. Most of the time it has to do with fashion accidents and, in the case of Dubai, kiosks selling ridiculous looking real estate, but once in a while you spot something you'd swear came out of a Katsuhito Ishii movie.

Take this guy, for example. Fairly normal looking white guy: shirt, loose trousers, glazed-over, pre-weekend look in his eyes, bag of shopping and... fluffy bathroom slippers?

I hope it was some kind of subversive fashion statement, but chances are that either his pair of snakeskin moccasins were off at the cleaners, or he was just too stoned to know what he had on.

V

Whew!

Just under the wire, but I made it! I have now officially reached the target on one of these internet writing marathon thingummies. While there were weeks of inactivity and times when I was forced to work on other things, I was able to put some good -- but mostly crap -- words to a page, and reach the 20,000 goal.

I'm still not satisfied, however, because the story isn't finished. No, try as I did, the words 'FADE OUT. THE END' were not in my script; in fact, there is a really long way to go.