I've been doing more with visuals than words, lately (...and trying to be better about documenting both...I'm notorious for indulging in process and then completely ignoring product).
A challenge I've given myself lately is to work completely in digital for some of these musings. I trained traditionally and my hand still speaks easiest in the soft, sinuous tongues of brushes and the hard clipped notes of knives, but I've wanted to explore more animated forms of storytelling, and so digital is the constraint I gave myself to make the whole thing a bit more conversational. It's a newer medium for me (the most I do is translate my visuals for clients or tap in a bit of font here and there so something can go to billboards or banners or other such things), so there's a level of unaccustomed clumsiness I'm having to embrace. But there's also a vast well of excitement, and unknown materia waiting in the depths of it, and the quiet padfalls of something larger lurking just beyond the edge of the clearing, and that...that is something worth putting my shoes on for, I think.
Most of the work seems to be revolving around the world of The Inbound Lands, the text-based adventure game whose first chapter I released a few years ago and then promptly gave myself permission to let it be whatever it needed to be. I'm still working on the second chapter (a bulbous, expansive thing, like a root system, or some vast anthill waiting for me to pour molten aluminum into before excavating), but the world has slipped loose its collar and wandered off into several forms: performances, social interactions, costumes, side quests, and visual artifacts like these. I'm alright with that. It seems my players are too, so far....but ultimately I know that the desert is a solitary place, older than any of us, and this too passes into dust in time, and when it does, these things will bury themselves as pillars in the dunes.