Finally

The other day, a friend said I was a saint. I said, if I was a saint, I was a seriously burnt out one.

It got me to wondering if martyrs felt relieved when they died. You spend all this time among people who hate you, or fear you, and generally never understand you, and you create death as this place where you can go to finally be understood. I wanted to develop the crowd at the bottom more to suggest a world that despised the person they were killing, but I never got around to working back into the piece.

In my head, when I read the "finally", I imagine the martyr thinking "took them long enough".

(chalk pastel and charcoal on butcher paper. As if there is any other media.)

I realized today that if you click the image, it blows it up to full quality. Hit that!