Sarah Jane Lapp
In the digital age, I continue to draw with crow quill and ink because I crave, like a vampire, the direct kinesthetic contact provided by hand, paper and pen. I could live in my own drawings; they are tidier than my own studio and populated with oft-inaccessible humans e.g. the person I see from the bus window, hobbling over cobblestones, wilted lilies stashed in the back pocket.
The detritus-free potential of digital production intrigues me, primarily for its ecological promise. Fellow filmmakers contract cancers from hand film processing; my own animation papers destroy trees. Were I a true environmentalist, I would trade film/art production for stand-up comedy: the city could recycle my jokes at no cost. But selfish genes want to replicate; my RNA chose drawing as its vehicle. Each little promiscuous chromosome hides in a line, as my hand defends its own hand-i-ness. I am teaching myself to copulate with a computer, but evolution happens slowly.