The curtain rises over the black-and-white no-woman’s-land of 2019. The suspicious susurration of what one can only assume is loose papers can be heard, as well as the jingle-jangling of pencils, pens, and pins on a hat. My name is Bathsheba Eliam, and it is time to explain.
I started writing this blog (more like "clog"), when I was a lanky, janky pre-teenager trying to introduce you all to as many characters as possible. Since then, a few things have happened: I realized that I am not a man, and then that I am a woman. Secondly, I realized that I couldn’t draw anymore, and then that I COULD in fact still draw. One of these journeys I could not be more proud of, and the other is nothing more than a logjam … a clogjam, if you will ...
… so here I am, a bona fide, 23-carat dust collector, surrounded by the other trophies and atrophies of my famously curated room. I spend time in this museum of the furbelows shown below when I need sleep, or in this case, when I need inspiration, the kind that I cannot get from the rest of the Small World that I live in … After All.
