Constructing Faces

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These digital illustrations defy the rot of enlargement. Swell them. Gorge them until they are A1 giants. They shall not shed a single granule of their grit. The detail is labyrinthine; it craves the vastness. Do not starve them in small frames.

Mistakes? Pah! There is no such thing. The very word is a shackle for small minds.

A line is a line, sir, and once it is struck, it is law! Who is the arbiter of the ink-pot? Who defines the 'correct'? Not you, and certainly not I. If the nib wanders, let it wander! I do not erase the scar; I inhabit it. I weave the blunder into the bone structure.

It is not an error; it is an entry point! The Divine breaking cover. The great, murk-ridden subconscious forcing its snout into the light. And who am I, a mere steward of the graphite, to play the schoolmaster to my own shadows? Am I to rap the knuckles of the Infinite?

I think not. I let the lines breed.