These pictures reach back twenty-five years. All the way to the high school years I wasted at any pool hall or bar willing to turn a blind eye to the fact I should have been at high school. My first association with the Canadian Fringe phenomenon, an annual slalom of theatre festivals stitching together whole communities of over-talented actors and actresses, begins with these drawings. I was 15, and simultaneously possessed of an iron discipline and a tendency to chase clouds shaped like donkeys, looking for a ride. Also gathered here are: A number of the tiny but virulently odd watercolour paintings that survived my house in London collapsing on me; a dozen Happy Birthday illustrations I did for Paul and Ben’s Cards, a Vancouver company willing to publish depictions of the paradox of celebrating incremental death; whatever future scribbles I knock out for my own amusement, from today until I’m so old I forget I’m not a kid anymore. Oh, wait… No. I do that now.