SCAN MAGAZINE SPRING 2022
As apocalyptic asteroid approaches, an artist apologizes. To my super:
(Humor) Written and illustrated by Julie Tran
Ah, well, this seems to be the end, folks. As the window outside my over-cluttered hovel of a studio apartment lights up with the tail blaze of the life-ending asteroid, I feel it is only right to resolve some grievances I have caused you. Consider it my last chance for spiritual clarity before the moment of collision and we all find out instantly, all at once, whether there are spirits or not. But I digress. Here are some of the apologies I must deliver:
You wore a pitying, “you-live-like-this?” face whenever you came up to fix the fridge or unclog the sink, and I very much resented you for it. But now, seeing as our time on Earth is way more limited than I thought, I must let you know I am sorry for making you zig-zag your way through mountains of newspapers, sketchbooks, paintings and boxes — a journey that undoubtedly took whole minutes off your short life. But more importantly, I must also let you know that I am not a hoarder. Hoarders are anxious, depressed, ill people who can’t separate with their garbage because of their exaggerated sense of responsibility or opportunity in the future. I am an artist. And I really, truly need all my stuff because it's totally going toward this other project I’m working on, hopefully done in humanity’s last fifteen minutes. I’m perfectly fine.
