• about.html - Brief bio of Thomas Pickman. He is a 22 year old starving artist who lives in Upstate NY. §

  

  Call me Thomas Pickman.
  Male.
  22 Years old.
  Artist. The starving variety.
  Resident of Upstate NY,
  
  Likes: painting, Photoshop, cooking,
  comic books, horror, the quiet.
  
  Dislikes: hypocrites, elevator music,
  lawnchairs, watercolors

• contact.html - Email and website. No phone or mailing address at this time. §

  email: pickman@theabandonedwindmill.com
  twitter: http://twitter.com/tpickman
  mail: no current mailing address
  
  Pickman is not taking comissions at this time.

• breakup.html - The first page of his blog
• portfolio.html - Initially was a 404 page, but now has samples of his work.
• links.html - A 404 page.
• http://twitter.com/tpickman - Link to his Twitter account
• mailto:pickman@theabandonedwindmill.com - Email address
• x - A 404 page.

But now I need my monde off the horror. Because I haven’t slept in two days, and my dad needs me to be able to function tomorrow. Can't stop uawning as it is. We’re moving my stuff into the studio he’s letting me use. It’s a ways out of the city, but at least thatt way hi and I won’t be crowding each othwr; and especially not my step mom.

It’s getting harder to type, so, I’m going to sine off and get some shut-eye.

Well, a couple of people have actually expressed interest in reading this site which is... more flattering than I thought it would be, really. So, hello, like 5 people who are reading this! (Still a bigger audience than I expected right off the bat.)

The sky was so clear all day yesterday that when the sun set it lit up the whole (still sadly snowbound) area in gold and red. I actually set my easel up outside for a while; for too long honestly, I didn’t realize it had gotten pitch black until my nose was an inch or two away from the canvas, squinting. At least my long dry spell with Jessica means I won’t have to buy more paint too soon.

Speaking of Her, more evidence that I had become much too dependant on her assistance; I had forgotten what a pain it is to give yourself a shot. Back to the old way of doing things, I suppose.

After I packed it in from the cold, I kept painting in my new studio, which definitely needs more lights and a god damn heater. And also a clock. I had no idea what time it was, so I probably shouldn’t have stayed up as late as I did. Couldn’t tell you when, but I thouht I saw someone moving around in woods. Probably just seeing things since nobody is supposed to be around here, but watching whatever it was weave back and forth through the trees gave me the shivers.

Oh, I’m putting a link to my most recent entry on the main page of the site. Sorry I didn’t do that sooner; I just didn’t think of it.

3/28/11 AM painting.html

This morning I went outside and found a sheet of paper taped to my door all up like Martin Luther’s fucking 95 theses. Except of course instead of religious complaints its some photocopy of a super old newspaper article.

It looks like the article is probably about this windmill (how many could there be in the area?) but I don’t know enough about the history to be sure.

I went to the library hoping to find something to date/corroborate it, but nothing. I actually couldn’t find any references to a windmill in the area at all, let alone the “Bergman Mill”.

Also, whoever left the note wrote some cryptic bullshit at the bottom about hostility. Hell if I know, but it kinda pisses me off. After I photocopied the note, I wrote my own message on it. Going to put it on the door tonight so maybe my prowler will get the message.

What is that message? “Stop leaving notes. Introduce yourself.” Had to fight pretty hard with myself not to add “jackass” in there, but I guess I don’t need to piss them off.

While I was at it, I scanned the original note too, since my cell photo of it was well near illegible. The newspaper is also missing some faily big sections of letters, it was like that when I found it. Both reproduced here, click for larger.

Oh, and something about the site; I know it is pretty basic, but I hope you will give me a break on this, as I don’t tend to do a lot of complex programming. I learned HTML in my teens, so I guess you could say this site and its contents are kind of ‘old school’. I hope it still has a nice design though. I might play around with that later.

Speaking of artistic endeavors, I bought a load of new painting supplies today, since I didn’t have much left after the Jessica days. Now I need to fill some of it up.

To that end, I am issuing a CALL FOR PHOTOGRAPHS. If you are a reader, and it strikes your fancy, I would like it if you emailed me a photo or photos that you took/own the rights to. I am looking for material for inspiration, not reproduction; the photos can be any subject matter, a person, a face, a landscape, an object, maybe just something evocative of a mood. I would really appreciate any contributions!

Be advised however that while you will retain all photo rights, you are giving me the right to display or sell any resulting artwork inspired by your photo in any way I chose. I will, however, most likely give the contributor first dibs at buying anything I produce based on their photo. Thank you in advance!

Going to go tape up that note and make dinner.

3/29/11 PM note2.html

OWNER DIES IN MILL BLAZE

WAYNE COUNTY - Local firefighters spent the early
hours of the morning today battling a blaze at the Berg-
man Mill in Wayne county in a desperate bid to prevent
a more serious incident. The fire was reported by nearby
local Edmund Grace who spotted black smoke rising abo-
ve the trees.
Fire Chief D. Warton says his men struggled to put en-
ough water on the blaze to keep it from igniting the near
by trees. Had it not been successfully contained, much of
the area woodland might have been so many burnt mat-
chsticks this morning.
Tragedy came to light however when the flames had fi-
nally been extinguished near dawn.
"We hadn't even considered that anyone might be in the
mill at that hour," Warton said. "It came as a shock when
we found Mr. Bergman."
Peter Bergman's body was found in the cellar of the
mill when firefighters went into to survey the wreckage.
Bergman's grieving window[sic] told this paper that while it
was not uncommon for her husband to be away from the
house during the night, she had no knowledge of what
business might have called him to the mill this morning.
Bergman's attorney had no comment when asked the 
future of the mill which was Bergman's sole property. 
While firefighters have no confirmed source for the fire,
the cause is believed to be ignited corn dust which can 
be extremely flammable.

S.E. HAVEDON

|†||| |||†|
Hostile

||††| |||||
In direcT ServIcE

Going to bed after ten in the morning seems to have fucked up more than just my sleep schedule.I stayed up all night last night, trying to do some painting, and also keeping an eye out for the mysterious note leaver. Of course he didn’t come, like Santa Claus when you stay up waiting, but I did get some good work done.

I collapsed into bed around ten this morning, and frankly, I slept like the dead. I thought I was just taking a nap, but then I wake up and its almost midnight.

So, yeah, its almost midnight, AND my email is flooded with people asking if I’m okay. I don’t have time to go and answer every single one, so yes, I’m fine. Also, no more headache.

It looks like while I was sleeping, somebody hacked my twitter and website. Yes, they both had the same password, yes I’m an idiot, yes they’ve been changed.

To whoever hacked me, since I know you must be reading this: seriously? Seriously? Yeah, I know target of opportunity and shit, but this site has like 20 readers and you didn’t even do any clever vandalism. What your goal was I don’t know. To make me look crazy? To prove I had a stupid password? Wow, what an accomplishment, you are so superior to me. SARCASM.

On a brighter note, many of you have sent me some absolutely fantastic pictures. Thank you so much; I never thought I’d get such a response. I plan to spend the rest of the week painting, and fixing my sleep cycle.

3/30/11 hacked.html

This is a terrible pun, and a not very good digital sketch, but I wanted to do a quick April Fool’s joke.

Pacman’s Model.

Well, after two days of nothing, I was beginning to hope that my note leaver had gotten bored, or picked up by the dog catchers. You can guess where this is going. I was headed out to buy groceries this morning when I found the note, this time stuck under my car windshield wiper. I donno, maybe it was there yesterday and I just didn’t find it, I spent the whole day painting, so I never checked.

I’m starting to get a little creeped out here. What do you do when someone sends you an obituary? I mean, it’s not my obit, by still, I feel like there’s a level of menace there that’s absent if someone leaves you say, an envelope with newspaper coupons.

The name of the dead guy, I recognized it from somewhere. When I got back from the grocery store, I was damned glad I uploaded those scans of the other notes because they’re nowhere to be found. The dead guy has the same name as one of the people mentioned in the other newspaper article. Also, more scribbling at the bottom. Scanned it while I was out.

I’m angry. I don’t feel safe here, and I really don’t want to tell my dad what’s going on. He’d probably say I was exaggerating, or outright making it up. My dad is usually a cool guy, but he doesn’t believe in weird stuff; even mundane weird stuff like backyard crazies.

The notes disappearing, however much it gives me the fucking chills for reasons I will elaborate on in a moment, reminded me there is someone I could tell who wouldn’t give me a funny look over it, my sister.

4/2/11 obit.html

EDMUND GRACE

WAYNE COUNTY - Mr. Edmund Erasmus Grace pas-
sed away in his home on Thursday evening. Grace
had been an area resident for all of his 87 years, and
an influential and much loved figure in local business
throughout much of his later life.
    Grace was married twice, and is survived by his son,
Emmet, and his newborn grandson Edmund II.
    Calling hours are from 1 o'clock to 4 o'clock Satur-
day for those wishing to pay their respects before the
funeral, which will remain private.
F. ALEXANDER

‡|||| |||||
Heir

My sister Regina isn’t exactly normal; never has been, but, I was always really close to her. Her behavior while it was sometimes alarming, never really got under my skin the way it did dad’s. He was extremely relieved a few years ago when she was diagnosed schizophrenic, and started treatment. I didn’t quite agree with the diagnosis back then, but the meds have helped her, so I suppose dad was right after all.

Reggie is six years older than me. When I was five, she taught me a game, well, I don’t know if you can really call it a game. It has rules, but no real end, or point. Now days my sister insists that she doesn’t remember ever playing or teaching me the game. The game is called “Things Are Disappearing”.

Things Are Disappearing

Rule 1: Everyone plays the game
Rule 2: You can never win, but you can score points by understanding that you are playing
Rule 3: You are responsible for deciding who is responsible.
Rule 4: Deliberately tricking other players is cheating, but allowed anyway.

Step 1: Enter a room with which you are familiar, or that has items with which you are familiar, or familiarize yourself with a place you are not familiar.
Step 2: Leave the place
Step 3. Come back later. A few seconds, minutes or hours. Later.

SOMETHING HAS DISAPPEARED

Step 4. Figure out what is gone. Often it will be the one thing you were sure was fine, but it will almost never be the things that you memorized the positions of. But sometimes it will be.
Step 5. You cannot find the item.
Step 6. Assign blame.

Step 6, explained: Someone is making your items disappear! You know it wasn’t your brother, or a friend, or anybody, because no one else went in the room. The room was empty, but things are disappearing. You are at war with the thing that is making it happen. Give this thing a name. Whenever your things disappear, it is their fault. Blame them.

Step 7: Sometimes things reappear later. Hours, days, months, years. Be grateful that it gave them back, but where were they?
Things are disappearing.

4/2/11 con't things.html

You might have noticed I didn’t post yesterday. What happened was Saturday evening, after a bit of thinking, I decided to drive down and see my sister. She’s been living in Maryland for almost two years now, so it was a nearly seven hour drive both ways. If my camera had been functioning, I’d have pics for you guys. Okay, I do have some pics, but not photos, sadly.

It was good to see Reggie. Sometimes you don’t really notice how much you rely on family until they’re far away. We talked about a lot of stuff, and yeah, I did talk to her about my note-leaver. She suggested that, since the Windmill is in the middle of the woods, maybe there is a homeless or “off the grid” person living in the area that dad didn’t know about. It makes sense to me, but the problem is I don’t know what to do about it. Bear traps, I’m told, are inhumane.

I spent all day Sunday and this morning with my sister. I’m sure there are a load of you who tried to contact me, and I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you sooner, but Reggie doesn’t have a computer, so I was relegated to my phone, which I’m not a big fan of typing on.

While I was down there, Reggie revealed to me that she had found one of my old paintings that I thought had gotten lost. She said it had just turned up in a drawer, and of course that reminded me of “Things are Disappearing” , but Reggie (surprise) didn’t want to talk about it, so I let it go.

Below is the painting she found. It’s one of my earliest works that I would still consider worth looking at, and I’m glad to know it’s not gone. The subject is a porcelain doll of Reggie’s that she ended up breaking at the height of her troubles. It was painted in 2007 and is acrylic on board, 6x9 inches.

Queen's Dahlia by Thomas Pickman, 2007
Click Image for Larger.

As one of my first pieces, it was an experiment in color and technique. If I painted it today ‘d have done it a lot differently, but as a piece of my art history, I’m rather find of it. One thing it taught me, however was that I really hate figure/portrait drawing and anything similar.

Anyway, I got back home (god, is this really ‘home’ already?) a couple of hours ago and I’ve been trying to settle in. Just glad I didn’t come back to yet another note. Ugh. Also, bonus, its finally warm here. It was nearly sixty when checked the weather. No more snow around the Windmill.

Speaking of- a couple of people pointed out something to me. I knew there was a reason that I got it in my head that the Windmill mentioned in the fire article couldn’t be this one. The article specifically mentions a cellar where Bergman was found, but my place pretty emphatically doesn’t have one. The floor (before I covered it with all my painting stuff) here is uneven, but well set stone tiles, and as far as I can tell they are THICK.

I went searching earlier after I got back for anything like a loose stone, or trap door, but it’s as solid as, well, rock. I know some of you will be curious to see it, however, so I did up a digital sketch. An artist’s impression, if you will.

I want to thank everyone again for sending me all the wonderful pictures; I now have a couple of paintings in the works that I think you’ll like. Provided I’m not interrupted of course.

Oh, and a final note; someone asked who I ‘blame’ disappearances on in the game. Well, given that I was six when I came up with it, it’s a bit anticlimactic, so sorry if you’re disappointed. I called him ‘Mr. Thief’. Later, when I was around 12, and thought things should have cooler names, I gave him the title ‘Lord of the Lost’, which frankly only sounds cool if you’re around 12. Amusingly, I recently found out there is a German ‘goth’ band with that very name. Small world. :)

4/4/11 maryland.html

01110011 = s
01100101 = e
01100001 = a
01101100 = l

I don’t know how to start this entry. I don’t know if I even want to write it at all. A part of me wants to just say fuck this and give up this whole online journaling, feelings sharing bullshit.

Something massively fucked up is going on, and I don’t know right now if its originating in my own head, or if one of you out there reading this is chuckling up your sleeve as you ‘gaslight’ the fuck out of this poor artist dude.

Somebody emailed me last night. They told me they found a drawing on my site that I hadn’t linked to or mentioned. They asked, and I suppose this is a reasonable question if one considers the content of the painting, they asked if I had broken the window above the sink myself.

I don’t think I can adequately describe to you my shock and upset upon reading this email. Imagine if your sweet grandmother called you over and said she was going to give you a present and a hug, but the present was a bag of dogshit and the hug was a kick in the nads. That is something the the utter sense of confusion and betrayal that I am feeling.

I did NOT put that picture up on my website; fucking hell, I did not even DRAW that picture. I searched my computer for it and its not there either. And no, I did not break the goddamn window myself.

Well, you might be saying to yourself “obviously the person who emailed you is your hacker who copied your style to fuck with you some more.” Yeah, that’s what I thought to, until they spilled how they had found the pic (since it wasn’t linked anywhere)

According to them there is a code drawn into the scribble of the Windmill floor that I posted the other day. At first I thought that was obvious ‘cover your ass’ bullshit, but then I looked at the pic in question.

Let me say right now I am not the kind of neuveau pretentious asshole artist who puts Da Vinici Code crap into his paintings. Symbolism, metaphor, yeah, great, but actual freaking treasure hunt code shit, no way. I’m not a freemason, and I don’t think they’d let me join their club if I wanted to.

So try to believe me when I say this; I did not consciously or deliberately code anything into that drawing of the floor. It was a hasty scribble, just to get the idea across. A bunch of the big stone tiles have marks across them, so I threw those in, pretty much at fucking random because by the time I was doing the sketch the floor was covered with tarps and easels.

But the suggestion bugged me so much, I spent like an hour staring at that fucking drawing, trying to see where someone could get this code from. I learned two things. 1. I need to spend more time on sketches before I put them up on my site, because frankly it looks embarrassing even for a scribble and 2. the marks in the floor are binary.

WHAT

THE

FUCK

I don’t even know binary. It took me almost the whole hour just to think binary was a possibility; I was initially fixated on it being morse, if it was anything at all.

I don’t even know what to say here. You now all probably think I’m insane, or some attention seeking asshole making the whole thing up, and either way I’m sure half of you are regretting sending me your home addresses.

I want to believe its just coincidence; that I just sat their staring long enough to find SOMETHING in the drawing that pointed to the other image. That if it hadn’t been binary, it would have been morse, or symbology, or tiny half invisible letters invented by man’s pattern seeking brain.

But my animal brain doesn’t believe it. My animal brain is panicking. I am terrified that I might be going insane, and rabid dog raging that someone might be deliberately trying to make me think that.

I didn’t sleep last night. Couldn’t paint, either. Through my bedroom window I saw the shadow of a man moving through the trees, and I turned away and pretended I hadn’t. I spent like three hours this morning with my finger over the delete key, ready to just wipe this whole site and call it a day, hoping maybe that would make it all go away.

But then I realized that if someone is doing this to me then that would be their victory.

I changed the site password again, and I’m going to go through the directory and go over every file and see if there are more that I didn’t put there, and delete anything I find. Probably going to overhaul the site after that. Maybe the hacker seeded my site with bullshit for future use, and it really is just a stupid, disconcerting coincidence.

I’ll let this be my segue into business as usual.

I was shocked, and pleased at the outpouring of people who wanted a business card from me. I was expecting maybe 10 people; I think I’m up to 30 now. I’ll restate here that yes, since its a business address, I’ll mail one to anyone that isn’t living on the moon. It might be a week or two before they get sent out, since I need to get my PO Box set up before I get them printed, naturally.

I’m sorry if you’ve emailed me in the past day and I haven’t gotten back to you. I was busy going through the BS outline above, and really didn’t have the energy to respond to emails. I will be going through my inbox and answering them later this afternoon.

A subject I saw a couple of people ask about was purchasing paintings and commissions.

As it says on the contact page, I am not offering commissions as of right now, because I am trying to focus on my own work creatively. However, if you really can’t wait until I open them, I’m only human, and its possible I can be tempted. ;) After I burn through this pile of creativity in a few weeks/months I will open commissions with standard rates again, and both digital and acrylic custom works will be available.

As for purchasing already completed artworks, that will be coming sooner. I don’t have anything in my back catalogue/portfolio that I’m willing to part with, but I will be selling paintings as they are finished. Paintings based on photos I received will be offered for sale to their photographers first, and put up for public sale if declined. If there is interest, I may also sell prints of future and past works. Please drop me a line if that’s something you’re interested in.

And that brings me to the first change of the site overhaul; comments. Someone emailed me mentioned how my entries weren’t comment-able, and I decided maybe it would be a good idea. Please do not abuse the privilege, or I will take it away.

4/6/11 mindgames.html

Had a weird day. Woke up late; almost 2 PM. I felt like I had been dreaming, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was about. Did some painting; almost done with a small piece called March of the Red Rook.

I’m still angry and confused, but I was a bit calmer today. I apologized to the person I had accused; I feel a bit of an ass for the way I acted. I guess I was looking for someone to blame. Things are still weird for me, but I know people have got my back.

I had my first visitor to the windmill a few hours ago, just around sunset. I was NOT expecting guests, and we really got off on the wrong foot. First he fucking addressed me as ‘miss’ (I may be fat and have a round face but I do NOT look like a girl) and then I spent the whole conversation trying not to be angry, and looking for signs as to whether or not he was the note-leaver.

I almost dropped my brush when he knocked. Before I answered the door I made sure my pocket knife was where it should be.

The guy was in his early 40s, I think. Weathered looking, dark hair, something intense about his eyes. He was wearing work clothes, but after I corrected him on my gender, he shook my hand, and I don’t think he’s done a day of manual labor in his life.

He said his name Emmet Grace and that his family owned most of the land around here. He observed that I was new to the area, and I didn’t contradict him. He said he was sorry to bother me, but he’d somebody prowling around the woods at night that last few days, and wanted to know if it was me.

That was a relief to hear, seriously. I told him it wasn’t me, and he said good because they defaced some of his property.

I considered mentioning the notes, but I didn’t; and I told him I’d keep an eye out for anywhere. He told me if I saw the guy not to get to close, and I should stay out of the woods. Duh. He also told me if the guy started wrecking my property I should come see him so we could make a joint statement to the cops. He told me he worked nearby at some place called ‘Grace Mission House.’ Dad never mentioned it.

Then he thanked me, and left.

So at least it looks like the note-leaver is probably bothering other people too, instead of just me. But I am still hella suspicious about this guy.

Oh.

Okay, you know what I JUST fucking realized. Grace. It’s the same name in the articles. Maybe the note-leaver/vandal has a grudge against the family?

In other news a bunch of you mentioned the real floor tiles having a code or pattern or something. Nah, they really don’t. There are marks on a few of them, but they seem random, and they’re not the same as the ones I drew in that damned pic.

Oh, and some people wanted to know more about Mr. Thief, so I am appending this email exchange I had with one of you.

Subject: Re: Hello!
From: *****
Date: Mon, April 04, 2011 6:54 pm
To: pickman@theabandonedwindmill.com
 
Tom,

…

I was thinking about your entry about the "game" your sister taught you, because it reminded 
me of something. When I was a kid, my grandmother used to blame things like that on a girl 
named Beth, who she claimed haunted her house. Maybe it was just being a kid, or maybe she 
was right, but I swear I saw her a few times. Gran used to say that she wasn't mean, just 
mischievous. Was your Mr. Thief like that too? Not mean, but mischievous?

Thanks,
S*
 
Subject: Re: Hello!
From: pickman@theabandonedwindmill.com
Date: Mon, April 04, 2011 6:54 pm
To: ******
S*,

About your grandmother and "Beth" it seems like when things go missing, people automatically 
look for someone to be 'responsible', since the clash between reality and our memory leaves 
us confused, and without answers. I remember as a kid I believed I had seen Mr. Thief a few 
times, in the distance, or out of the corner of my eye. What I believed I saw was a tall man 
made of pitch blackness. I'm sure I was just seeing shadows.  I wouldn't have described him as 
mischievous; I don't know that I would say he was mean or evil, but neither would I call him 
playful, or benign.

Tom

4/7/11 visitor.html

Another day, another note. This one is just plain weird. I don’t know if I can call it a note. It has writing on it, sort of. Here, see for yourself.

It looks like someone fell asleep with their head on the keyboard. Click it for larger.

At least I feel better since I heard that I’m (presumably) not the only one this loony is bothering. I might stop by and see Mr. Grace to ask if he’s had any weird notes lately.

I would have to get rid of this pounding headache first, though. Since the moment I woke up, it feels like someone kicked me in the head. Not fucking fun. I took some Ibuprofen but it hasn’t helped yet. Hope I’m not coming down with a spring cold, because I don’t need anything ELSE interfering with my painting. It seems pretty likely though since I’m also having pretty nasty acne. :/

Anyway, this is a short update, but I’m just trying to go about my life. Hoping to get that PO box set up soon, but dad’s being a little unreasonable about it. I’d rather not have to drive 40 minutes to check my mail. Ugh.

4/8/11 note3.html

Another short update, but I feel bad for not posting anything yesterday.

I ended up going over to my dad’s place for dinner last night, and spent the night, so I really didn’t have any access to the site. I asked if he knew about the Grace Mission House. He said yeah, he knew they were in the area. They keep to themselves, according to him.

I told him that Mr. Grace had come to see me about a vandal on his property. Naturally dad wigged out a bit about this, and offered to let me borrow his gun. It was tempting, but I’ve never fired one in my life, and I’d really rather not accidentally shoot somebody.

Talked about the PO Box. Dad is pretty insistent on my getting one at the branch he goes to. Apparently it’s a lot cheaper than the one near the windmill, but it means I’ll only be able to check my mail once a week or so, thanks to gas/driving time. Well, better than ‘not at all’ I guess. I was going to get that set up today, but, duh, Sunday. Looks like it will have to wait til later in the week.

I got back here around noon today, and thank god, no new notes, and no weird property damage. I should ask Grace just what kind of vandalism he meant. Still haven’t been able to make heads or tails of that last note. Wondering if he’s just screwing with me now. Looks like an album cover for a garage band or something. Flaming Angel would be a good name for a band. Probably taken already.

Anyway, thank you guys for helping me try to figure all this out. It is interesting that, as several of you you pointed out, the angel is a Seraph, but I don't know what to make of that, aside from maybe the guy is a religious nut. Either that or he just picked some clipart he thought was zany. You never can tell with crazies.

I finished March of the Red Rook, and another piece; Roosting Bridge, and will scan them tomorrow. Both are based on photos I received (and yes, still am accepting photos and addresses) so their photographers will have first shot at them.

Hope you all are having nice weekends.

4/10/11 nonews.html

Fairly relaxing day so far. You would not believe how (comparatively) warm it was today. I was actually walking around in just a t-shirt, and I’m starting to see green spots around the area of the Windmill. Unfortunately, the bugs also got the memo that spring was here. The field was absolutely thick with gnats, and some flies, too.

For those of you who have been looking into the meaning of the last note I received, my advice is just throw the stupid letters out. Why are we even trying to find meaning in the mail of vandal, anyway?

I did look into a few things people had mentioned to me in comments and email.

First is the water; someone was wondering if the windmill was hooked up to the usual water pipes or was drawing from somewhere else. I asked my dad and as far as he is aware, I get my water from the same place everyone else does. However, I don’t know of any way to confirm this; if anyone has any advice, I would be happy to hear it.

Secondly, in light of the weird drawing of me supposedly smashing my own window, someone suggested that I look outside the window for any broken glass. Frankly, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that sooner. The troubling thing is, I DID find a few shards of glass on the ground, which suggests that the window could have been broken from the inside. I don’t like that at all. Going to be getting a secondary lock from the hardware store, just in case someone did break in.

But on to the good news! I scanned two new finished paintings, March of the Red Rook, and Roosting Bridge. Both were inspired by photos sent to me by readers. As such, I have offered the originals up for sale to the photographers first. Roosting Bridge has already been claimed; if March of the Red Rook is not, I will offer it for sale here.

Both paintings acrylic on acrylic paper, and roughly 6x8 inches. They are signed and dated on the back, and will be signed on the front with my monogram at the request of the purchaser.

If you are interested in a signed, full size print of either painting, please let me know. I would like to gauge interest before deciding on a print method.

Thank you all so much.

4/11/11 newpaintings.html

QWERS   S
MOT     T
WOPLR   R
EFA     A
PBOSN   N
MQG     G
CLURE   E
LEI     I 
ANTPN   N
OOU     U 
CIHYP   P
JSS     S
RURDT   T
QAA     A
VSIOT   T
WAE     E

I don’t even know what to say about this any more. I was tempted not to post it at all- as if I were egging the culprit on by paying attention to him. Figured you guys would be mad if I didn’t show it to you though.

So here are my theories.

Theory a: Note-leaver somehow KNOWS that I didn’t figure out what his stupid crazy memo was supposed to mean, and decided to send it again. This theory is REALLY fekking creepy, but not very likely.

Theory b: Note-leaver was so impressed by this note/thinks this note is so important, he deicide to send it twice. Only slightly less creepy than theory a, and much more plausible because crazy.

I picked up my camera from the repair place yesterday. Of course, it worked fine while I was there, but now it won’t sync with my computer. The computer just pretends it doesn’t fucking exist. I am just pissed beyond belief.

QWERSMOT  T
WOPLREFA  A
PBOSNMQG  G
CLURELEI  I
ANTPNOOU  U
CIHYPJSS  S
RURDTQAA  A
VSIOTWAE  E