Notes from the Boneyard: Taking the Chris

Another chirpy illustration this week from Chris.

We’ve been doing these articles so many years together, youd think we would by now have developed some kind of rhyme or reason in our methods.

But it’s quite the opposite.

There is no formula, no plan, other than each week we race to see which comes first, words or imagery, and the other one attempts to work around it.

Often we’ve both done something completely unrelated to each other, but it works because we say it works.

When I first saw Chris, many years ago in McCann’s Bar, I knew I wanted to talk to him.

He struck me as the spitting image of Steve Buscemi, so I automatically associated his character with Mr Pink from ‘Reservoir Dogs’.

When I did get talking to him, I wasn’t far off.

He is in fact all my favourite movie characters rolled into one. But completely his own animal at the same time.

Not saying he reminds me of De Niro in Taxi Driver, but I can completely see him as a character in that film, or films like that. He embodies that bygone world. He wasn’t made for these times. A misfit in today’s world, he is the walking representation of what a true artist is: Someone who lives and dies by the paintbrush.

He has chosen a life that sacrifices everyday comforts for the sake of his art – not an easy road to walk.

Refusing to conform to social norms, he instead manages to exist around the outer regions of society, making a life for himself and his family through doing the thing that he loves most. What comes head-and-shoulders above everything else is his art, and his family. Everything else is obsolete.

Never one to do things the normal way, I recall a time when he exited my abode by curling up into a ball and rolling down the stairs and out the door like a human bowling ball. Thinking back, I don’t quite understand how he didn’t break every bone in his body while performing this magnificent feat. Or maybe he did break a bone or two, but he didn’t let on.

I watched as he rolled on down the driveway, around the corner and out of sight.

Next day I spoke to him and he didn’t mention it. As if it was a completely ordinary thing to do.

But maybe it is normal in his realm, so who am I to argue? Let him roll.