Warm, fuzzy 1981 afternoons at Wyke Junior School. Our class is reading The Hobbit with Mr Fiendly. This is my first encounter with Tolkien and the images the book created in my head stayed with me all these years. The following year I'd get hold of Dungeons and Dragons and by 1984 I was convinced I'd been incarnated into the wrong era.
The decades passed and the feeling grew.
While we were all locked down I decided it was time to paint a Tolkien mural on my wall. I wanted to sit and bask in the magical glow of another, more mysterious world. I made a good start but I haven't done any work on it since September of 2020. Other more important things came up and now the task seems impossible. It also seems like a foolish use of my time. I have a large art project planned and while a mural would be nice it's not really going to get me anywhere. And at 51 I'm starting to feel that time's running short.